For the 5 of you that read this blog, I deeply apologize for the gap in posts. All has not been quite - it never really is.....
In the spirit of the holiday I thought I would branch out and share a FIL story with you.
You may recall our nuptials took place in Mexico, well, the In-laws thought they would stay a second week. Nice, right? Who doesn't want to spend their honeymoon with their new husband's parents? We convinced them to go elsewhere - which became us driving them to Cancun to stay with their friends in a condo.
The day after our wedding we rented a car and took the hour long trek to Cancun. We repeatedly ask the FIL for the address and directions but were given vague answers.
Once we got there we were directed all over the town while he 'looked' for the building. After 2 failed attempts it came out that he had in fact forgotten the address back in Canada and was looking for low rise brown condo building.
Then he made us drop him at hotel so he could call the woman's son to get the address. He had some trouble given he didn't have the number and was trying to call the Ontario operator using 411.
So at this point the Hubz was ready to loose his mind so I used our calling card to call my aunt to have her look up the son's number in the phone book. Brilliant right?
The FIL won't let me call the son - he called and instructed us we had to find the 'To Cancun' - no address just the name.
This is when I lost it and went and called the son myself to, you know, get an address.
The MIL loves our dog, and I do mean loves. Sometimes we wonder if she likes the dog more than the grandkid - but that is another post for another time.
For many years there was a ongoing 'please don't feed the dog' battle between us and she.
A few times a week she would make some kind of homemade stew for the dog and bring it over here during the day for the dog's lunch. The dog doesn't eat lunch. What dog eats lunch?
So our healthy 15lbs dog grew into a chubby 18lbs bundle of love. No matter how much we tried the MIL would not stop feeding her.
You see, in her mind, dog food is cancer causing and dogs should eat people food. (You can kinda see where this is going, right?)
In the summer of 2005, the pups went to spend a few days with the MIL while we went to the cottage. Upon our return we called and asked if we could come pick the dog up. Turns out the dog wasn't there so much as at the Emerg Vet with severe pancreatitis. (It was much harder to get that out of them than you might think).
See the MIL had made the dog a huge bowl of dark meat chicken and broccoli stew, of which she ate all. Making her terribly terribly sick.
Now, by no means is that the funny part. My poor pup recovered, thank god.
The funny part is how the MIL blamed us.
Go ahead, read that again, I'll wait.
It was our fault the dog wasn't used to people food and the vet was crazy for saying it was her good cooking that made the dog sick.
And if you are wondering, no she never apologized.
As you may recall my MIL thinks of our garden as her garden.
A few years back I was working from home in the morning since I had a photo shoot in my 'hood in the afternoon. At some point during the morning she must have come over because when I went to let the dog out she was working away.
I said 'hello' and she said something about not knowing I was home (my car was in the driveway) and not wanting to bother me (cough). She asked that since it looked like rain could she leave her purse and lunch (!) inside. I agreed and reminded her to lock up when she left.
So, I guess I must have locked the back door behind me (which I always do) because when I got home that night we had a message that she had walked all the way home in the pouring rain (hungry) because I had locked her out of the house.
My birthday was last week, I may be entering my Carlsberg years but I do still kinda love 'all about me day'.
My family and friends really do go out of their way to make me feel loved and I love them extra for it. I am a lucky gal.
Then there are my in-laws; every year they forget and every year my Hubz reminds them at the last minute so they feel bad and give me a guilt gift. This year was no exception.
On the big day I got a call from the FIL with wishes and the promise of a little something the following weekend.
My Hubz has been ill for about two months. The in-laws have been showing up randomly with soup, bottled water and tea. The day after my birthday some more soup showed up while we were out at work. It was carrot; the Hubz does not enjoy carrot soup so it sat in our fridge until I got around to pitching it on the weekend.
The day of the arranged in-law visit came and went, without an appearance. There were phone calls made with no response.
So shockingly they aren't speaking to us - this is so not unusual.
As near as we can figure the MIL must have come by during the day to see if the soup had been eaten only to find it sitting untouched in the fridge and now is pissed.
Pregnancy makes me sick. Literally. I puked everyday for 41 weeks.
The early days -premeds- were the worst.
On one particularly terrible day, having had 5 'spells' in an hour, I called in sick and planned to spend the day in bed, garbage bin at my side.
By around 10:30am I had finally fallen back to sleep, only to be woken up by, you guessed it, my MIL. She had come over to take the dog for a walk.
So, there I am in a tank top and undies, in bed, sleeping and totally green. Most people would ask if I needed anything and then leave. My MIL sits on the end of my bed and starts telling me some 'enthralling' story about one of her neighbours or clients or how the Emperor of China's daughter isn't getting ultrasounds so maybe I shouldn't either or something.
Halfway through this fascinating tale I start retching again. She keeps talking, only louder to be heard over my heaving.
Laying halfway off my bed with my head in the bin, having just performed a spot-on impression of the Exorcist, she asks 'Are you listening to me?'
I am not a crier. Don't get me wrong, I am not morally opposed to crying, I just am more of the bottle-it-all-up or bitch-and-complain-about-it type.
So for my husband to call home to find me balling my eyes, was, well, rather off-putting to him.
See, as you may recall my MIL has a charming habit of just stopping by. She did this often in the early days of my maternity leave (before she realized she doesn't like babies). One time when my daughter was about 4 months old she barged in to find us napping on the couch together.
She then proceeded to freak out, wake up the baby and shower me with (ahem) useful advice.
And I quote "What are you doing? Don't let the baby sleep on you! She will get used to your heartbeat and never want to sleep without you!" Note: not that the 41 weeks in utero would have made her at all used to my heartbeat.
"When she gets colicy, give her boiling water in a bottle." Note: she was never once colicy, and I am not sure scalding water would make a kid stop crying.
"Here is a book written by the Pet Psychic with diets you should give the dog. She is very wise and you should do this or the dog will get cancer." Note: It was the same diet that she fed to our dog giving her severe pancreatitis.
It was the Pet Psychic diet that sent me over the end.