Snap's Open Salon Blog

I Quit In-Laws Again and Again.

Sat, 13 Aug 2011 17:08:00 -0400

Just when I have lived long enough to think I know something I get the
"ackkkk, ackkkk, ackkkk," of reality screaming at me, "You know nothing!"

When I register this year to vote I will write down my affiliation with the No-Nothing Party.

My first In-Law degree happened when I married my husband. He introduced me to his parents at a restaurant and I had agreed to marry this lovely man with three small children that his ex-wife had left behind for him to raise while she took the house, the car, the money, the cat, .... His mother replied in a way I have never seen before or since. Her face began to melt as she reached for her scotch on the rocks and then she began to assume the form of Edvard Munch's "The Scream", as her mouth opened wide and shouted, "Nooooooooooooooooo......" Her scream resembled a wounded creature in the jungle that no human has laid eyes on, or maybe that's what Sasquatch sounds like. I was so stunned, I dropped my fork and headed for the car. I remember sitting in the cold Volvo waiting for my fiance to return. He did. We married.

I took the children to visit her at her home the following Easter without my husband in tow. She did love her grandchildren. The kids were watching TV, ages four, six and eight. I was with them and our new baby, as she entered the room, armed with her Bible for Easter Sunday, her morning scotch on ice and a cigarette burning with an ash a long as her little finger.

"I'm going to church," she proclaimed, " I still can't believe that my Son married you, you are obviously the worst choice he could have made to raise these beautiful children."

I was sober, not even caffienated, and I approached her quietly. " I have done my very best to be a kind and gentle mother to your grandchildren. I am sorry, but it is hard enough to bond with them without you grandstanding in front of them on Easter Morning sharing your thoughts about my value as a mother. We will be leaving now." And we did.

The last time I saw her, she was very old, had survived strokes, a double mascetomy, outlived everyone she knew, save her children and grandchildren, and had my brother-in-law's children stepping and fetching her scotch and cigarettes to her on her deathbed. I was amazed that she could still keep a two-inch ash on her cigarette. She wasn't kind, but I was quiet and let her say good-bye to her grandchildren. I was in my early forties and I thought I had survived in-laws.

A few years later, our middle son brought his intended home for dinner. Both seniors in college they were ready to tie the knot. We had a lovely meal and I thought she was charming. She shared that she had lost her mother to cancer, she was helping to raise her youngest brother because she was estranged from her father. I offered to throw the wedding for her, she accepted gratefully, and my son said thank you. I happily gave them the money and let her plan her special day. They asked for a little more for a photographer and some other things they had forgotten about, again I happily obliged.

The wedding went off and I saw about 75 of her relations at the reception, and as weddings are, it was a bit of a whirlwind and off they went into the sunset. I felt great. I had helped our son have the wedding he wanted.

As they were still seniors, we helped with money for rent and other necessities, happy to see both graduate and be on their way. She had a miscarriage, and I tried to console her with some flowers, a visit and some words of encouragement.

The following month our Son arrived with his wife and asked for additional financial help. My husband offered a job that our Son could do online for my husband as we knew he had graduated, or so we thought. One credit shy, he left school and was finding it hard to make ends meet. She had a degree in Education, but did not want to teach while she was trying to get pregnant. The additional financial help was starting to smell like old fish. She then took me aside and asked me to purchase a 2500.00 rocking chair for her as she was most likely pregnant. I shared with her that I was not in a position to buy an expensive chair, as I had used my retirement fund to help with the wedding, but that I was willing to shop for something a little less expensive. Bang! It was Deja Vu! It's amazing how many women can change into Munch's "Scream" like turning on a light switch. She charged me with being cheap. I shared with her that I really wanted to help, I just could not afford the chair she desired. Then our Son, called us a few choice words, tore up his father's rather nice check, and as they stormed out, she shouted, "You will never see your Grandchildren!"

I looked at my husband in disbelief. Surely, this can't be happening, she will call in a few hours and change her mind. The only thing I heard for the next few days were the "Cheep-Cheep" of the crickets. She never called. I have never spoken with her again. Have never seen any wedding photos.

The Grandchildren are eight and six now. They visit our Son's birth mother and we have never seen them. My husband is cordial with his Son, but I have decided to take a time out, another In-Law Rehab, if you will. I am afraid that if I meet the children, our only grandchildren to date, I will dissolve and be at risk again to be hurt should she find fault with me again.

So...I thought all of my In-Law education had been completed. I was at peace. And my husband and I agree that better peace in our home together than any friction or fighting over little ones who are not at fault.

Then this summer, my f0rmal education in In-Law studies, my mother-in-law being my undergraduate degree, my daughter-in-law being my graduate degree was now beginning again in earnest...I was about to earn my Phd., and I didn't want one.

My youngest Son came home from college proclaiming true love. I was happy for him because he has a soft side, and had been treated badly by girls in the past. "This is the one Mom!" We want to get married before fall semester starts! This time I became Edvard Munch's "Scream". My face melted, and I yowled a sound I have never hear before....."Nooooooooooo!" That's what I wanted to do, and I know why women do it now. Instead, I said, " Son, can't this wait until you graduate?"

"Oh no, Mom, she's it, I can't wait!"

"How long have you known her?"

"A couple of days, and she's leaving for a semester abroad, and then we'll get married this summer."

Knowing that forbidden fruit often seems more delicious, I said, "Well, I am very happy for you, when do we get to meet her."

"Well, she's back in Wyoming, getting ready to go on her Semester abroad, so you can meet her when she gets back this summer."

I thought I had a reprieve.

Anyway, we met, but the parents were to busy to see us, so we waited, and waited. The wedding was scheduled for August and I still had not met the parents. Finally I get a call from my Son,

"Mom, can you come quick and meet us for Dinner?"

"Son, it is 5 o'clock and your Dad is out of town."

"This is the only time they have Mom, please."

So I went. And it began. I was told that the wedding would be in Billings, Montana, and the reception would be the next day, 3 1/2 hours away in Yellowstone at the Lake Lodge and Hotel. But there are no more rooms available because they had booked them for thier family. We made small talk, found that both the Mother-in-Law and I studied Russian in College and she had a degree in Russian. I spoke a simple phrase to her in Russian so we could chat and have fun, and she retorted, that she couldn't remember any Russian at all.

In our Church, before a couple is married, the Groom is Ordained as a Priestholder. It is a rite of passage and the Ordination is administered by the Father of the Groom. It is held in the Chapel on the Sabbath. It is a solemn and divine occassion. Two days before the Ordianation, our Son called at 5 in the afternoon and proclaimed that he was going to be ordained by his intended Father-In-Law at their daughters house twenty minutes from our home, becuase they were too busy to stay for the Sunday Ordination that we had planned. We said, please don't do it, why are they not consulting with us, we can't make it in two hours, plus we have invited family and friends on Sunday. My son capitulated, was ordained by the girls father, and I rushed over to support him.

After the Ordination, or Sandbagging, as I refer to it, I asked for the invitations as we were now four weeks out from the wedding.

The Mother-in Law asked for a sample of my handwriting and if it wasn't good enough, she would have to address them.

"Excuse Me?" I shuddered with anger. "I will not submit a sample of my handwriting to you. May I please have some invitations."

"Well, we are sending out 500, so I only have 50 f0r you, and I would rather that you give me the addresses and I will send them out."

"I am asking you once more for the invitations, may I please have them now so that I might leave."

"Well, I guess, Audible Sigh, that we will just have to stop everything and count out your invitations."

They counted, I waited, and looked at my Son. I was beginning to feel steam coming out of my ears. I got the invites, said thank you, and left.

I left for Florida the following morning, to visit my ailing parents for a week.

When I returned home a week later the invitations were missing from my study. I queried my son, and he said that I had taken too long, and they had asked him to return them. These were not RSVP, just announcements.

Now my Irish rose up in me.

I didn't have a phone number for her, but I had an e-mail address.

I sent a message concerning the Ordination, the Invitations and the stunning turn of events.

She returned my e-mail and asked to meet so that she could explain in terms that a small child could understand why they were doing the right thing.

I returned her e-mail and shared that we were beyond conversation, that my husband, who had already been humiliated enough by the Sandbagging of the Ordination, was not interested in attending the wedding, and that I was following suit. We regretfully chose not to attend the wedding in Montana nor the reception in Yellowstone.

The most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. But the behavior has continued to escalate. The day my Son finished his summer finals, yesterday, they came to take him on a Pack Trip for ten days in the wilds of Wyoming which gives him two days to get ready for the wedding, and no time with us.

My husband and I spent yesterday with our Son hand-delivering announcements to close friends and sharing our decision with him. We will have a quiet ceremony with him and his bride when he returns in September or October and the dust has settled. This ceremony and the reception that follows will be for everyone who cannot attend this whirlwind event in Montana and Yellowstone. It will be quiet and civil, and my Son is looking forward to it.

We tried to help him by lettting him know he could say no to the Pack Trip, as he wasn't asked to go, he was told. He does not enjoy camping and does not ride. He is on his way. I feel that I almost have my Phd., but all I know is that it is all a work in progress, and even when you quit....life after quitting, or changing, or trying to find peace, doesn't always mean others do. But Quitting feels better than pretending.

How To Cheat On Your Husband. A Revisionist Theory.

Fri, 5 Feb 2010 20:02:50 -0500

Our sophisticated forum gave an Editor's Pick to "How to Cheat on Your Husband." I offer a few revisions to the list, as I don't live in Manhattan, and have children, a household, full-time job and other things to attend to, including church and confession.

Without a scintilla of moral thought attached, the Esteemed Salon Author offered her list of clever ways to keep your husband in the dark. The grand finale...a great Nina Simone Song...the best part of the Essay.

I don't take issue with the morality, but the practicality of the list. I also offer a better tune to link to at the end. And in the words of John Wayne, "I think this is a rat's writ, writ for a rat." as review of the first post and list.

Bear with me, at first, the post was so outrageous,I thought it might be a joke, so I checked the tags.

Nothing about humor, but the tags were quite simply "how to cheat on your husband, business."

And that is precise, because cheating is a business. And she is a busy woman.

Her sophisticated, and well developed list offered many ways to put more energy,and more time, into subterfuge, than any woman with a real life has.

First a few revisions for The List:

Cell Phone...the kind that terrorists use...yeah, your husband is never going to hear it ring. "Ring a ding dong, Ringity, Dong, Dong."
Slashing the seat in your car. (As if he isn't going to notice the sliced up Mercedes leather seat and the ringing sound it makes.)
Fake lists with fake names, what, are we in high school?
Signing up for fake evening lessons several times a week. My favorite is Wine Tasting as Self-Improvement. How about throwing in some Pole-Dancing at the Bada-Bing!
Extra pair of high heels and stockings to hide in the car along with the soccer balls and groceries. *Under the mat in the trunk, where your husband will look for the spare tire when you have a flat.
Changing at a gas station, please, can't we at least choose the bathroom in a 5-Star Hotel for this kind of wardrobe and make-up transformation. Not even a transvestite would change in a gas station. I won't even piddle at a gas station. Where is the sophistication here, plus stop at the 5-Star Hotel during Wine-Tasting to change has a certain appeal and lubricating effect.
Sexy clothing, perfume, make-up and nice for the other guy, but look like a slob everywhere else and smell like a hobo. Hello? Self-Esteem?
The wet wipes to clean yourself off before you get home, at the gas station again, hell, I can't stand the smell of those things on a baby, much less all over my face, and once again, NO MORE GAS STATIONS!(courtesy of Joan Crawford).
Dirt bag clothing and hair ties for the husband when you get home, and a bag of dirt to make you look tired and worn out from your Pole-Dancing, and don't forget expensive bath beads to get rid of the other swarthy man's pheromones (like guys can smell that, unless he is gay.) Then get out of the tub like a pouty kitten, a-la Anne Margaret in Viva Las Vegas (Grrrrr) and work to put your husband in the mood for another romp after your fiesta fomp across town.

I'm exhausted just thinking about putting all of this together between a full-time job, children. and taking care of the cooking, laundry, and the list goes on in my busy life.

This woman is living on another planet. Or she is the great Toni Collette with three or four different women living at home, with a husband who is, quite frankly, either a Saint or the Poster Child of Supidity in the great TV Series, The United States of Tara.

Yes, I can see Toni pulling the Salon Author's list off with; a Director, Crew, Stand-In, Great Writing, Make-Up, Hair, Wardrobe, Grips, Lighting, Music, Special Effects, Craft Services, a Soundtrack and a great Cast to boot.

As for the rest of us who live in the real world and not on Sex in The City or any other The United States of Tara, here is the revisionist theory to Cheating on Your Husband.

Put as much time and energy into your marriage as this author puts into her cheating list, and all other activities related there-t0, and slip in some of the sexy stuff that she has for the other man, for your spouse instead...and you might even have fun, great sex, and a great marriage that will be the envy of all. What a thought. And no slit seats. AND NO GAS STATIONS. Take each other to a 5-Star Hotel.

Ringity Ding Dong.

Why Should I Keep the Family Secret?

Thu, 4 Feb 2010 13:02:46 -0500

Okay, now I'm pissed.

And I need your help, because I could really screw things up here.

My Maternal Grandmother lived for a long, long time. Longer than most of us would care to live.

On her deathbed, she gave up the ghost, that her youngest daughter of four was not her husband's child.

Bombshell. Not only was this illegitimate child her clear favorite, but the grandchildren as well. They all got the best of the best when it came to antiques etc.

My Mother swore me to keep the secret because she and her three other sisters decided it would be cruel to tell their half-sister because my Grandmother never told them who the real father was.

So the reasoning was...if there is no one to send their sister to, no other family to call her own, no father to find...no point in giving up the truth.

I have eleven cousins from my Maternal Grandparents Union. Three of them are half-cousins and one of them is my only female cousin.

She came to visit me lately, after thirty years, for what I thought would be a pleasant visit. Her brother, whom I went to college with was with her as well, and I adore him.

She was a bit catty, and then she started attacking my sister. Well, to be honest, my sister is nothing to defend, but, I have only spoken with her three of four times in the past thirty years. My sister has problems.

She attacked my sister verbally in a public restaurant, lashing out for twenty minutes, while I sat there stunned.

My half-or-quarter-cousin, who worships my Grandfather and has one of his oil portraits hanging on her wall, and many of his other photos, has crossed the line with me.

I have kept this secret for my Mother, but I am just a hair's breadth from calling her, setting her straight and asking for my Grandfather's Portrait.

She was snooty to me, didn't call me before she left, didn't thank me for the siblings photo that I took of them and posted on her facebook page.

I know I am feeling childish and hurt.

However, this girl has been a classic bitch to me since we were young.

I just want to take her down a notch or two and give her a reality check.

Or does it really matter.

I don't know.

What would Grandaddy do? He never told his daughter she wasn't his, and he knew. Guess it's not my place either. Right?

Broken Heart Syndrome: A Genetic Tale.

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 02:07:51 -0400

I have been married once. I feel in love fast, hard and completely. I believe it is genetic. All of my maternal and paternal parents and grandparents were romantics. Hard and fast. My great-grandmother died of pneumonia before antibiotics in her early fifties and her healthy, loving husband died six weeks later. My g-g-g-g-g grand parents were married on April 7, 1777, before James marched from Amherst, Virginia, to Norfolk, Virginia to fight and defeat Lord Dumore and Leticia stayed faithfully behind on the beaten farm in Amherst. He returned, walking wounded back from Norfolk, becoming a father to five, and living a full life. He died first, she died not far behind in the early 1800's when both had been beaten down by life and the burden their small part in building a new country.

I also know a couple locally who died within minutes of each other in the E.R. The husband had been Life-Flighted from a rural home to a regional medical center. He stayed alive long enough for his wife to make the two hour drive from home in a snow storm. He died of heart-attack after being revived three times before she arrived. When he died, she was at his bedside, and collapsed of a massive coronary and never recovered. The staff stood by in absolute shock. She was ten years younger and healthy as they come.

My husband is dying slowly of complications from his service in Vietnam in 1968. You name it, he has it. He has a will with a DNR as well as I.

We have talked about letting each other go without the violent and deadly cost of life-saving efforts of modern, western medicine. No Rib-Crushing CPR, No Intubation, No Machines of Any Kind to Sustain a Life That Has Already Been Taken by God.

Both of us believe in predestination and that when it is our time, we are out of here.

He had told me several times that when he blinks SOS with his eyes (if he is able)...we have agreed that it is the signal for me to let him go, and to help him, if necessary.

We are both one hundred percent disabled by any standard, and we take care of each other very well. God has let us be healthly enough to cover each other on 'bad' days. We are never each bedridden together. One of us is always healthy enough to do simple chores, and take care of the other. It is a romantic comedy. Messy, funny, uncertain, full of song, lots of loving, and filled with trust. We just dont know what the last act wil be. We live each day with two-thirds of a script. And we have run up against the end of the second act. Where are Oscar and Hammerstein?

Being a care-giver is like being an eraser. You only have so much until the nub is gone. Mine is very low, down to the metal, he has a bit more left. Only because he became disabled first.

I found out today, that I most likely will go first, even though he has ten year on me. A routine test came back nasty. Unreal. Everything has pointed in the other direction. I haven't decided if I will fight or just go.

I will have to tell him.

I am not afraid.

I am tired.

I will blink SOS.

He will help me.

The only saving grace is who goes first, and who will be given the blessing of helping the other leave peacefully before facing this orb alone.

I trust I can hold out. Beat this Bastard Disease and let my husband leave first.

I pray that I can hold his hand while he goes, with a smile, stroking his forehead, comforting him and then letting him slip away.

And then, faithfully follow with the clinical definition of the broken-heart syndrome. For life without him will be empty, and there will be no one who will understand me or my challenges.

When a spouse decides to die, it is a good thing, for we can follow them at will. We can choose our time and place with dignity. It has always been so even in the most ancient of cultures.

Listen to your spouse and talk to each other about how you want to die.

We have, and are at peace.

It is our last act of free agency...to leave this world as we came, alone, and at peace.

William Shatner Sings Rocketman: Nuff Said.

Sun, 31 May 2009 15:05:35 -0400