Brought to you by the letter ‘P’ – parents, provender, progress.
I’m thinking of switching to having the date for my post titles; you know how it is – some mornings, you just can’t assemble your random thoughts into the sort of order which a single title would cover, this being just one of those. Maybe I could add subtitles. Or is that too complicated?
Anyway.
Firstly, I’ve managed to whack my way through another ten or so new recipes in recent weeks, meaning I’ve got the smallest glimmer of a hope of completing 52 recipes in 2010. This weekend, we tried a lemon and lentil soup (v. g.), killer peanut butter fudge cookies (so good I am lusting after them now, at a distance of ten miles), and a mushroom and nut loaf which was really rather excellent. All keepers, definitely.
Secondly, our workshop now has a roof. Well, it has a protective layer of stuff fastened down with battening; the stuff can be a roof in its own right for three months, but within that time it will gain its fircone-like shingling, meaning it just becomes a part of the belt-and-braces approach to weatherproofing which Quercus has opted for with this project. The waney-edged boards arrive soon, so the walls will be clad, and before we know it, we’ll be reclaiming our stuff from a neighbour’s garage and there’ll be one less element of chaos to cope with. (At the moment, Quercus’s car forms a mobile shed – the boot is full of circular saws, chainsaws and brushcutters. As you do.)
Thirdly, Quercus’s mother departs the province today, after a stay of ten days. It’s been OK-ish – we had several near-misses in terms of open warfare when she wouldn’t leave something alone (to wit: ambitions for life, jobs, babies, childcare, living without money, What The Neighbours Think Of Us and The Situation With My Father), but it could have been worse, and by my standard measure of success (no-one died) we passed with flying colours. That said, the sheer quantity of time we’ve spent with her this year has made me think a bit. We’ve all found it really difficult having her about for so long – probably eight weeks this year – in part because we are ungrateful fuckpigs, but mostly because she is genuinely the most difficult person to get on with that I have ever met, which, coupled with extremely irritating personal habits (‘Morning Has Broken’, out of tune, ad nauseum, at six-thirty in the morning would be hard to take for anyone, I think, as would the continual use of ‘spend a penny’ when you go near a bathroom – woman, you are GOING FOR A WEE, like anyone normal), bring us close to the brink every time we’re together, and, what’s more, our normal tolerance levels haven’t really recovered from her first visit, back in March, letalone the recent and prolonged blows-upon-a-bruise visitations.
We have fallen into the habit of asking her to visit at Christmas, preferring to take our medecine at the start of the time off we get rather than for the New Year. We have yet to actually articulate this invitation this year, and she will shortly be off to Canada for about three weeks, meaning we’re going to have a longer break than we’ve so far enjoyed from each others’ company (because I’m sure we piss her off as much as she does us), so I wondered if we ought to get it in before she goes. But then… At the moment, the idea of her coming here at Christmas fills me with dread.
The thing is, while I can tolerate her, and manage her, and, with the odd flash of white rage, bite back the things I’d like to say (while restraining my arm from its murderous fumbling for the nearest heavy object) and so on, Quercus finds it much, much harder. She makes him so cross that he sometimes physically removes himself and goes for a very irritable walk, just to wear off the anger. He rants, nightly, about the many ways in which she is impossible. Worse than that, his relationship with her makes him feel immensely guilty: that he doesn’t get on with her better, than he isn’t more forthcoming when she’s around, that he can’t be himself with her, that he knows that NOT being himself probably makes it worse, that he can’t bring himself to be the person to whom he thinks she would react better, that he longs for her departure as soon as she arrives, that she tries very hard to help us, both physically and financially, that she can be very thoughtful yet still he feels as he does.
I feel a few of these guilts myself – she does a lot to help us, and she’s the only member of our joint families who does (though lordy me, when someone reminds you of this and actively asks you for thanks or praise, it doesn’t help, does it?). But the thing I feel mostly is that I worry that every time she comes to see us for a significant event, that significant event gets rained on slightly. The small girl’s second birthday was a good case in point – she was vile about something-or-other, and we had a very tense few hours while she got over whatever it was that had caused the vileness. Last Christmas she was so rude the very first evening she arrived that Quercus determined to ask her to leave if she hadn’t cheered the fuck up by the following morning. Does it always have to be like this? Apparently so. I’ve taken to challenging her head-on about the things she does, sometimes, i.e. ‘we seem to be at loggerheads here; have I said something to upset you?’ Sometimes this works, sometimes it causes only teenage flouncing.
It’s been better, though not unfailingly so, since the small girl arrived. Prior to her appearance, most visits included at least two threats to go home, while we are now down to a batting average of one or so, with only moderate use of guilt thrown in. So far, she has only taken her irritation with us out on the small girl once or twice, and she has only done something which we felt was openly not a good idea once, when she was trailing a small child, howling, up and down the lane to the car, to pack her things, rather than waiting ten minutes so that one of us could take over and she could just get on. The small girl didn’t understand what she’d done to warrant being pulled about, chided and ignored in equal parts; the simple answer was that we had asked her grandma to look after her when her grandma hadn’t wanted to, and it would have been rather easier if said grandma had just said no – the resulting child meltdown took far longer to sort out than we’d gained in child-free time.
It’s a difficult thing, letting the dynamic between the small girl and her grandma evolve without stepping in too often. I don’t want the small girl to pick up the habits of her grandma’s which drive us to distraction, and nor do I want her to see how annoying we find the woman. I had no relationship with my grandparents – two dead, two uninterested – and I do want my daughter to have a better sense of where she comes from, of her wider family, than I had; two people did not form a big enough support network when my mother died, and I have never felt more keenly the lack of siblings near my own age, or grandparents, or uncles and aunts, than I did at that time. But are irritating people better than no people at all? Sometimes, I am not sure. It’s a sort of ‘if you can’t be with the one you love…’ scenario, really. And the small girl does love her grandma, despite her quixotic nature. I suppose I just hope that she comes to see how irritating she can be (thus maintaining our sanity!) but loves her nonetheless, with the distance of a generation, with more ease than we have managed.
And in the meantime, here I am, busily contemplating pregnancy and babies and how that would alter our family as it stands, and what role Quercus’s mother would have in that shift. It’s a bit sticky, frankly. I still long for the huge family dinners, with ten people crammed around a ridiculously small table, or Sunday mornings with fourteen children of varying ages destroying the counters while assembling a very sugary breakfast, or midweek evenings with the stove lit and lots of people watching something entertaining on DVD, or winter walks with several dogs, a few antiquated relatives trailing sticks about the place and a riot of children poking streams, chasing cats and generally being beastly. Fun. Friendship. Respect. Laughter.
I don’t know that there is an answer to The Problem of Families, and Relatives In General, is there? Except one involving wood alcohol, anyway.
Anyway. On to less sticky things. Or not, as the case may be.
Lemon and Lentil Soup
Get hold of…
3 potatoes, diced
2 carrots, chopped
2 chopped onions
A goodly wodge of garlic, chopped
A slug of olive oil
A generous handful of herbs (parsley, sage, oregano, basil – whatever comes to hand)
A large mug of lentils
About a pint and a half of water
A stockcube
3 mugs of spinach/chard/sorrel/greens of some sort you can’t quite identify, which probably won’t kill you
The juice of two lemons, squished rather inefficiently with your hands
A spot of salt and pepper
Then…
Into the pan with the onions, garlic, carrots and taters, and fry them in the oil for a bit, until they start to capitulate. Whop in the lentils, water, herbs and stockcube, stick on a lid and boil it all up until the potatoes soften, at which point, in go spinach and lemon juice for another ten minutes or so. Make sure it’s all cooked through; take off the heat; blend to avoid wierdly stringy bits of spinach in soup context, which would be Just Wrong.
Cookies and nut loaf to follow.
So. After that depressing little wander through the familial labyrinth, tell me nice happy things (including the recipe for healing such maternal discord) this instant, gentle reader, in the box of commentage below.
I had a very prickly relationship with my mother-in-law, ranging from taking me aside the day Himself told her we lived together (…What do you think you are playing at? ….and …Do you know what you are doing? savaging whispered in my ear…) to calling me ‘it’ and ‘thing’ when she was living with us whilst recovering from a major illness. She would smile at me (with just her mouth but not her eyes) when Himself was around but would snap curtly or totally ignore me when he was not.
It did take him a little while to notice this relationship as I suspect he could not believe his mother would act so. In the end we moved, moved very far away – to Africa. When she died – I felt intense relief but I suspect Himself felt incredibly guilty but he will never discuss or talk about her so I don’t really know how he feels.
I also have a prickly relationship with my mother – but for a totally different reason – she cites that we never bonded when I was born but I feel that I was never good enough for her high standards – but she is my mother and she does love my boys and they in return have a granny that they love back.
I have ranted on somewhat when what I should have done is written down your recipe and gone to the kitchen instead!!
x
Well. I shan’t touch upon the topic of mothers-in-law, as mine is a godless terror who would only ever look right with my hands wrapped round her throat. No wait. My husband’s hands would work too.
However. Grandmothers are important. Yes, she might drive you to drink, but the wee one needs her. If she is annoying, the wee one (and future wee ones) will see it. Guaranteed. But they still need her. If for nothing else: they will benefit from having a sympathetic ear at their disposal when the need arises to complain about their own parents. Those teen years are good bonding time for kids and their grandparents.
My mother “tolerates” her own mother, but me an’ my grammie get along great. When you toss my mum into the mix, it upsets the delicate pH balance and war always seems to ensue. You are always a child in your parents’ eyes, but grandparents and grandkids benefit from some distance. It helps them gain some perspective. Plus, having her around helps your wee ones know that they have “people”. My husband is an only child with very few relatives and he was heart-breakingly lonely at times, growing up. It is quite sad.
Anyway, those are my two cents. Hope it helps.
interestingly….my mother-in-law is actually my favourite relative of B’s — which should tell you something about the rest of them. Apparently she wasn’t particularly great as a ‘mother’ – rather detached and disinterested as soon as they were able to assemble a bowl of cereal on their own (or so B tells it) but she’s quite tolerable as a Grandma. She’s got her issues – then again, so do we all — but you can rest easy that your little one will, as she gets older, see those *issues* and recognize them for what they are (vastly irritating or just plain quirky) and separate that from the fact that she’s Granny and they can enjoy a different ‘thing’ altogether. Savannah is rather bemused at her Grandma’s oddities and we have quite the hilarious conversations afterwards (even more so when Grandpa — they’re divorced — visits)…..
and there’s a sodding cat in front of my screen so i shall have to end this here….:)
First: You are not alone!
My mother drives me to drink; my husband is an absolute saint for having put up with her for the last 20 years and only occasionally giving way to shouting matches with her. My brother doesn’t like her, and she had a bust-up with my SiL which has been glossed over on the surface but still festers for both of them. Open warfare hasn’t quite been declared by any of us, but it’s damned close.
It’s quite natural to feel guilty, believe me. My mother has been told a few home truths in the last couple of years and has made efforts to behave, but honestly, she’s like a spoilt toddler sometimes. She doesn’t have any grandchildren (which has been part of the problem) and I’m not about to abandon her, but I’ve made it clear that she won’t see my husband if she bitches to/about him all the time, which in turn means she’ll probably see less of me. Or, I end up spending less of the little free time I do have with him because I’m with her – and I can make her feel guilty about that, and have no shame in doing so.
Grandparent/child relationships are very important. My mother didn’t get on with her MiL but I was mid-teens before I realised.
I also have an interesting relationship with my MiL – Especially now the OH is an ex-OH – She is completely bats – sometimes in an endearing way & others in a “Pass me the Gin NOW” kind of way – Bless her she has tried to stay neutral over the marriage split but it’s kind of obvious that ‘the whore he ran off with’ comes even lower in her eyes than I do – mainly because her beloved grandchildren depise her intensely
She is well loved by the Grandkids though – even though they all recognise her eccentricities – so I’m glad despite having chewed my fingers to the bone on many occaisions they have a relationship with her especially as I don’t have my own Mum around anymore
Sigh. Fact is that just because one is related to someone does not mean one actually likes them. Sad but true. Not sure why the world at large doesn’t seem to recognize this and feels one should play Happy Families at every opportunity and go all Norman Rockwell (ignoring the fact that everyone around that table is feeling that the turkey should probably be shoved firmly over the nearest blood-relation’s head thankyewverymuch).
I didn’t have a mother-in-law as Kaj’s mum was killed when he was twelve. My FiL was (is) a right piece of work, but fortunately part of his oddity includes a tendency to hermitism, including the bizarre practice of walking his dog at 3 a.m. so no one will see him. Sisters and brothers in law are tolerable and, fortunately, rather far away so the one sister who has the truly horrible habit of ‘dropping in’ with absolutely no warning at all (makes me FURIOUS) at least is kept from doing so more than once every year or so.
My mother does have the sulking/flouncing habit and is a past mistress of finely-tuned guilt. I finally learned to do as you’re doing and confront her calmly when she is being particularly irritating or difficult. That included telling her that her bursting into tears whenever she is crossed in something smells very like emotional manipulation and is Not On. Of course that led to months of conversations where she would turn her back on me and wobble out ‘don’t cry, DON’T CRY,’ but it’s gotten a bit better. Now, if I can just learn to stop pressing those ginormous red self-destruct buttons she wears so prominently everywhere…
should you ever achieve the huge-family-dinner-sortofthing, might i suggest you completely hid all sharps & blunt instruments? i think that you & quercus are doing a wonderful thing for your littlest: teaching her how to deal with difficult people by doing so. @mel said it best
. while mobile sheds are a handy thing, congratulations on the near completion of your shed!
I was in Casualty one New Year with my small girl, and a whole lot of split lips, black eyes, missing teeth etc (including one concussion). As we waited it became apparent that the carnage was from one family – or rather half of one. The other half was down the nick. The matriarch said ‘It’s the fault of the drink drive legislation, you have a drink, you can’t go home, things get ugly’. I hope that cheers you up some! Only a family gets close enough to treat each other that badly!
Oh darling, I almost cried with fear on reading that. I so want not to infuriate my children and be a lovely old woman who is close to her family, but it’s a fine line to tread. And being *too* polite and careful not to irritate can be almost as annoying as butting in.
If I had my mother back now, as she was in the days before she became ill, I would be less defensive and tell her she was right more often – even if it was “thanks for the advice, I can see that it makes sense and we’ll really think about it”- but meaning it – and I’d be more spontaneous with hugs and appreciation when she did anything nice. In short, reward good behaviour and try not to focus on the bad. Like, behave like a parent, but not in a patronising way.
There is good there – think of all those lovely thoughtful presents she brought with her. They weren’t random, she knew what would please you and wanted to give you treats. If she’s asking for praise, she’s feeling insecure.
“Morning has broken” reminds me of the time we had someone who broke into hymn singing at odd moments staying with us. She was doing it in the next room and Al, who was then in his teens, broke into “Kum ba ya, mi’Lordy, kum ba ya”, sotto voce. We snorted with laughter, it broke the tension and we didn’t care about the singing any more. Similarly, could you start joking terms for going to the loo? If you and Q started powdering your noses, pointing Percy at the porcelain (not said in front of her, obv), you may not care any longer about her old-fashioned euphemism, which was a perfectly normal term back in the day. Going for a wee would sound awfully twee from a woman in her 60s, you know – I’d say it about a child but not about myself.
The only person who can start the change in these relationships is you. She isn’t going to know how to.
I’ve remembered a time when my mother she stormed into my house complaining that the chickens were clucking outside and annoying her. I pointed out tersely that I couldn’t stop them. Now, being older and less irritable, I’d give her a kiss, say I was sorry they were upsetting her and suggest we have a cup of tea and a chat until they settled down. But she’s been dead seven years, it’s too late for that. Sadly, none of my children mourned her one bit, because they knew how unhappy she’d made me – but I feel now that I could have prevented some of that. But they don’t remember her in her better days and I wish they did.
“my mother she stormed” – God, I’ve turned into such a Norfolk speaker!
Ye gods: families, families, families. How nice to know it’s not just us.
That said, I think I’m going to try to take Z’s lesson to heart – after all, Quercus’s mother won’t always be here, as I know from my own mother’s death, and yes, despite her irritations, she does mean well. I think the answer is to simply see less of her, for a shorter time at a go, for a while. I will build up my tolerance! I will!
Oh, and hello, elizabeth Rimmer, and, well – !
I think shorter visits would help a lot. Ten days (for example) of someone one is actually very fond of, is usually far too much, so, if it’s someone one finds trying, well, it’s bound to end dysfunctionally.
I, too, drink.
Just a quick hello….I’ve lurked way too long, and with a sisterly hug…I join the many that absolutely can not stand when family comes around. I literally was drunk practically all of Thanksgiving last year. This year, thankfully, it will be just us.
Us.
And my sweet mate, goes looney when his family is around, and hasn’t spoken to them in months now. Guilt. Yes. But sometimes we have to Bless & Release!!
Blessed Be!
10 days! by day 2 under the same roof as my MIL I’d be digging a big woman-sized hole in the back yard in the middle of the night. Then I’d climb into it and bury myself under a large pile of rocks before the temptation to commit a terrible crime became just too hard to resist. Generally I just become a lush in her company in order to cope with her scary, cruel psychopathy. So that makes for a whole happy bundle of familial dysfunctions doesn’t it?
Don’t think tea will help much with this one. Keeping it all short and sweet sounds like a good idea.
My soon to be mother-in-law did the nuttiest thing this last weekend. My fiance was in her pool and the air was cooler than the pool temperature so my fiance came out of the pool shivering in a rather exaggerated fashion, as certain fully grown men will do, grumbling about how really, really cold he was.
Mother-in-law frantically, worriedly told him to get inside and take a hot shower while I’m screaming that he’s fine, he’s fine, don’t be ridiculous, dry off, sit down, stop being theatrical you foul. I do hate when people freak out about nothing. Future sister in law is in the pool asking what the commotion is about, adding further to the commotion. Someone suggests that he stands in the sun. All this screaming because a 39 year old man is shivering?! For pete’s sake let the man shiver for four minutes.
I second the “shorter visits” idea. I’m also a big believer in writing angry letters to family members and then not sending the letters. Makes me feel better, calmer every single time.
you said ‘fourteen children’ and made me throw up a little again….. chuckle
the problem with annoying relatives is not their annoyingness. not completely. it’s that we take it really really personally. understandbly so. the relationships are just so entwined and complex.
like saying ‘spend a penny’, i’m sure you know yourself that is absolutely nothing. but it’s embedded in the whole She Drives Me Nuts relationship. one day she’ll sneeze and you’ll take a shovel to her head because she didn’t sneeze properly in your estimation. i’ve been there, shovel in hand.
i noticed, when the shit hit the fan last year, that when my lovely inlaws visited i was always irritated with them. the smallest thing.
this year was an entirely different experience. partly because i’m happier, but also because i wasn’t viewing everything they said and did as a personal attack, or a trait that was passed down to their son, ahem…
i think it’s difficult to make an unemotional detachment, but i do think it possible to create some emotional distance, with work. when you can view them as individuals, nutty or annoying or whatever, but their own person and not put on this earth specifically to drive you to murder, you start to chill out.
pick your battles, and be upfront on some things, like you did. not everything is acceptable of course.
when all else fails, just remember, it’s the body disposal method that counts.
hee, I’m glad I wasn’t drinking anything when I read Mon’s comment. Either I would have choked or it would have covered the screen
I attended a meeting last year where as an introduction we were asked to cite something we were proud of. I’m not good at listing my achievements and came up with: “Since losing my dad I’m proud that so far I haven’t murdered my mother.” Luckily everyone laughed but I wasn’t entirely joking…
Oh my.
How well I know this one.
And how well you know I know this one.
*sigh*
There are no answers other than parents, and partners parents, can shred us with a look, never mind a morning chorus, and they are all completely. fucking. mental.
Mater and I are just about on basic talking terms after 6 months of nothing; Dad is…well, over there most of the time so I only talk to him about once a month.
Your MiL, like my mum, loves her child deeply but could no more express it nicely than she could fly to the moon on a Friday night. So she carps, and whinges, and bitches, and drives you all batty. And Q, like me, sees it all as an absolute affront to the fact that he is now an adult, for heaven’s sake, and thus, can wear his hair however he wants, thank you very much, and no, really, this shirt is fine.
I have no suggestions, given that my children have complained for years about having to go to Nana’s house for even one afternoon a week. However, in recent times, they have seemed to be a little less adamant about it, and D feels she’s mellowing in her older age.
For me, the bright side is that TRM’s mum died in 2007, with no major regret on his part, so there’s one less catastrophe that could have been. (But she didn’t like C apparently so perhaps I would have been ok? Who knows?)
Anyway, oodles of love to all of you.
Hope the peace and quiet is, well, peaceful! xxx
Just thought I’d pop in from Lurkland to confirm that this soup is indeed, as promised, v.g. Not only that, it was a perfect match for the contents of this week’s veg box. Well, apart from the lemons. And the lentils, obviously. Thank you! Oh, and please don’t drop the post titles – they make me smile.
“when all else fails, just remember, it’s the body disposal method that counts.”
*snort*
This sort of topic (and the following comments) always makes me feel guilty because I am completely intolerant of my in-laws and they really aren’t that bad at all, not to mention that I only see them for a few days at a time. Yet I am sulky and rude in their presence. I ought to be grateful they aren’t much, much worse but instead I ruminate on their faults. Sigh. You two are saints, honestly.
I too long for those big, joyous, crowded family dinners. I come from a family of three children and very few non-nuclear relatives so although I’ve experienced some joyous holiday meals, they were mostly with adult friends of the family. But maybe, as Elizabeth Rimmer suggested, those experiences are a nostalgic phantasm anyway.
I do love the manner in which you have presented this issue and it really does offer us some fodder for thought. On the other hand, through what precisely I have seen, I just simply hope when other reviews pack on that people today stay on issue and not get started upon a tirade of the news of the day. Still, thank you for this superb piece and although I can not necessarily go along with this in totality, I value your point of view.