A weekend with the in-laws

After almost three years, I visited the in-laws this past weekend. It was an exercise on learning how to deal with disagreeable situations and not taking the stuff personally.

I did really well. I was able to show compassion for my MIL’s shortcomings. By telling myself that what she did and said reflected who she was and what she saw, not me, I was able to shield myself from her. She was trying very hard to behave, mind you.

Once I took myself out of the picture and observed her for who she is, I started understanding the woman. It was amazing. It was like seeing the play by play in slow motion and seeing the workings of her mind and those parts of her behaviour that I find so annoying.

I found out that the whole time she was trying to be pleasing, agreeable, and loving. She has no idea that the final result is annoyance. I realized that she talks non-stop out of pure inadequacy, and the more she talks, the more she puts her foot in her mouth. I was able to just listen, observe, and analyze: a very interesting exercise.

What we did, most of the time, was to use preemptive measures. I brought the baking, so she didn’t have an excuse to kill herself baking for us. I cooked more than half the food, to stop her from going around complaining. But by the third day, this morning, she’d decided to take her place in the kitchen.

From the moment we woke up, she started offering food, and more food, and juice, and cookies, and water, and more cookies. When my husband and I started lining her cupboards, a project her husband had been procrastinating, she kept offering scissors, a knife, this and that, non-stop. Then I went completely silent and decided that I’d had it. It was time to go. Three days was my limit, as planned.

The problem was her hip issues. When she walks she constantly says “ouch,” every two seconds or so. But she comes to you with questions like, “Do you want the bigger cutting mat? No? Are you sure? I can get it? It’s bigger. It will make it easier. It’s no problem. I can just go get it.”

When you finally cave in and say yes, then she starts her slow, painful walk downstairs. You can see her slow, clumsy movements, and you can hear her, “Ouch…ouch…ahhh…ouch…”

Yes, I did well. But it was time to go. Actually, when I remember, I kind of feel like throwing up. But I did it. I didn’t say, “I can do that. There is no need for you to bother. I’m an adult, you know. I can help myself.”

Why wasn’t that a good idea? Because I tried it before. Then she cried her eyes out, and continued her futile quest to be liked by doing sacrificial, unnecessary deeds. So it is a waste of time. Better let her do whatever she likes. After all, it is her house. Who am I to come and set rules for her?