All in the Family

In-laws get a bad rap. We all know the (appropiately enough) in-laws from Kansas who show up unannounced at Christmas. "That there is an RV, Clark. . . ." Everybody Loves Raymond based an entire show on living across the street from your mother-in-law. (And to say it wasn't pretty is putting it mildly. Can you even imagine having Marie as a mother-in-law?) There are houses with "mother-in-law quarters". . . because they can't possibly share any breathing room with us. . . And the jokes and the stereotypes go on, and on, and on. After eleven years of marriage, I finally hosted my first Thanksgiving last week. The in-laws were here for five days. And we had a great time. Really. No punchlines or "insert in-law bashing here." Not to say that we haven't had issues--that happens even with blood relatives. It's like anything else: you take the good with the bad, roll with the punches, and somehow muddle through life together.

After fifteen years of knowing my in-laws, I'm learning to appreciate the things I gain from the people I chose when I chose their son:

1. They bring something new--literally--to the table. Is it weird for my Irish mother-in-law to make Chinese noodles for our American Thanksgiving? Yes. Are they tasty? Definitely. And do my kids expect them for holidays now? You bet.

2. All the crafts and projects that I don't have patience for. . . Grandma was BORN to do. The woman sat at our kitchen bar on Saturday for hours with a hot glue gun and a foam nativity scene. The girls came and went but she kept right on working. And it was ok that the donkey's ears were upside down (surely there was something at Jesus's birth that resembled a hamster, wasn't there?) and that the sequins were missing--again. Mama probably wouldn't have been half as calm, cool, and collected.

3. There are 21 years of my husband's life that I'm not a part of. And I love that these people know those stories and can tell my girls. Daddy used to set up snake traps with his imaginary friends, Cowboy and H Pom Poon (Yes, that was really his name. Hey. . . . maybe that's where the Chinese noodle recipe came from. . . ) He fell out of his crib at 18 months and broke his arm. He built the canoe that we take out every summer in the basement of my in-laws' home. Sometimes I forget that once upon a time, the man I love was the little boy that they raised.

4. It's ok to be the bad person. I've gotten upset in the past when I'm JUST the mom and my girls' aunties and grandparents get all the glory. No one wants Mom when they're around, the girls cry when they leave, there aren't any rules until mean old Mommy butts in and makes everyone's lives miserable. Or so it seems. But then I remember that my girls will have lots of aunties, lots of cousins, two grandmas, two papas. . . and one Mom. And I'm not here to spoil them and give them everything they want. It IS about being the bad guy: teaching them right from wrong, helping them make good choices, and making sure they're ready someday to get married and have their own families. And then I can sit back and do foam crafts and spoil their kiddos rotten. :)

5. Even when it's hard, it's worth it. I know we don't always see eye-to-eye and that there's a fair amount of tongue biting from all parties involved, but I'm truly blessed to have these people who raised the man who is raising my babies. I know that part of what made me fall in love with R was loving the family he came from. And I'm so glad that they're a part of my daughters' lives. They can roll up in the R.V. at our place anytime. As long as Chinese noodles are involved.