Sunday, March 16, 2008

Momzilla Archive


Since I figure I may always be posting stories about my ex-mother-in-law I would like to reprise some previous tales of Momzilla from years past. I am so looking forward to the day when my divorce is final and I can get (somewhat) free from her double-taloned hold and screeching voice...So, without further ado, I give you Momzilla:


Originally posted in August of 2006...Momzilla Comes for a Visit

My mother-in-law is Momzilla. She's just horrid to her son. She's alright to me because she believes I am "a bit of a take-charge girl." I'm sure she talks about me behind my back, because she does that to everyone. She is just really unhappy in her own skin, so she has to come down on every other living soul around her. The only one in our family who is exempt is Elena. Thank God, because if she ever levied a blow at my baby, I would tear Momzilla limb from limb.

Last night they came over to visit the baby. By the time I got home from work, and they had only been there one hour, poor Patrick was a complete frazzled mess. The average person pushes Patrick's buttons. His mother plays ragtime on his. She knows every weakness and insecurity and preys upon them like a velociraptor. She frames lines of questioning meant merely to back him (or me) into a corner. An example would be these exchanges from last night:

MZ: "Patrick, you're working now?"
P: "Yup."
MZ: "What days?"
P: "Not sure, it changes every week."
MZ "You have to be more clear with them. They will take advantage of you!"
P: "No Mom, they know what times I can work and what times I can't, they are setting the schedule up to accomodate."
MZ: "Why are you not the one setting the schedule? You should be managing that store!"
P: "I don't want to manage the store."
MZ: "I don't understand why you could be so unambitious and lazy."
P: "Mom, I am not lazy. I watch Elena."

Then later to me:
MZ: "Does your mom come down to help Patrick out with watching Elena?"
Me: "Yes, most days she comes for a few hours in the afternoon."
MZ: "Why?"
Me: "To give Patrick some time off and to spend time with her grandaughter."
MZ: "What does he do while she is watching Elena?"
Me: "He'll run errands, do a project, take a nap...I don't..."
MZ: "WHAT!? A nap? I watched three children and never needed a nap. What is wrong with him? He's soooo lazy!"
Me (warning: I LOST MY SHIT!): "Mary! Please don't put your son down anymore in front of me. I love him dearly and I want you to know that he is an excellent husband and father."
MZ: "But...I don't put him..."
Me: "Yes YOU DO! You roll your eyes. You call him lazy. You say he is not using his schooling. You put down the fact that he is home with Laney. I love him and you are hurting my feelings. Please, please stop."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...AND BOY DID IT FEEL GOOD!



Post Date: SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2005
Mary Popped In

Yesterday, Momzilla (my mother-in-law see previous post here) called around eleven in the morning to see what we were up to and to see if she could come visit "her" baby. Well, I said, you can, but I have a friend coming into town and we are going to go shop, walk, eat, so if we are not home, we should be back by three or four. Oh, she said, I'll call you when I know if we are going to take a drive down or not. OK, I said.

Fast forward to 4:40 PM. I am feeling safe and sound. Melissa and I are sitting on the couch sharing the laptop screen, looking for boutiquey costumes for Elena. I decide that in order to be a good hostess, and to have an excuse to break my diet, I will prepare a peach cobbler. Being a very good wife and mother, a few weeks ago, I peeled and sliced about twenty ripe, sweet fleshed, local-grown peaches and froze them. I pulled them out, made an oat and brown sugar topping and put it in the oven. Fifteen minutes from peach cobbler showtime, I heard a horrifying sound.

It was a loud knock at the door. I was secretly hoping it was the pesky UPS man who annouced his arrival in that same manner. My hopes were dashed when the door opened on its own. My in-laws had popped in. Despite the fact that I was in pretty good shape, awake, showered, dressed, baby dressed, baby not wearing ugly stained outfit, baby napping, coffee brewing, sweet smells filling kitchen, peach cobbler timer dinging...I was still put off by their showing up unannounced. I knew there was a "chance" of them taking a drive down to our neck of the woods, but I kept playing the earlier phone conversation over and over again in my head to see if I had missed when she said they would be down and that they would not call first.

My mother-in-law prefers the pop-in. The pop-in should be outlawed. Pop-ins are always unwelcome. Today, for example, I stayed up late with friends last night. We even slept over at their house and then got up early and, although it was fun, I was completely bankrupt of all energy. As we were all crawling out of the car and into the house and into our napping positions, Derek-from-down-the-street came riding by on his bike and shouted to us. Please GOD, let him just be saying hello. Please GOD, make him stop talking and GO AWAY. I had three bags of overnight luggage and groceries hanging off my arms, one half-asleep trundling baby and one grouchy husband at the self-proclaimed "end of his rope." We finally herded the whole family inside, sans Derek and I wanted to cry I was so happy to be home.

I had a sudden need to use the bathroom (the kind that being back in your own home will inspire) and proceeded to spend some time in there. DING DONG...OH NO!!! Yes, the doorbell. It was Derek. "I can pat your dog?" Damn pop-ins.


Post Date: SATURDAY, MAY 13, 2006
Big Underpants

This one goes out to my friend Tiff. She's had a bit of a rough month, so this story is dedicated to her sense of humor. She once told me that mere mention of the word underpants can send her into hysterics. It comes from a high school variety show where one of her peers did a comedy act centering around the word "underpants." Classic Tiff. This is the story of some underpants...some BIG ASS panties.

So one day, my in-laws came over. They come over a lot and visit with Elena and help us out. My mother-in-law is a primo bargain hunter so she always has a few gifts to share. This particular visit, she had been to the local Filenes which was closing. They had "slim-pickings," but she was able to find a few things. She brought me a bra that could have doubled as a baby sling for the new baby. I think it was a 44 DD. I may be a bit more buxom while pregnant, but no where NEAR that size. I politely declined saying that lace bras with padding make me itch. Phew...that was a near miss.

She rummaged in the Filenes shopping bag some more and produced three pairs of underpants. I was looking down at the time, going through some pictures. She annouced that these were for when I "get big and pregnant." They were a size 12. Well, size 12 is smaller than my regular size of 16...in pants. Apparently, underwear are sized very differently. A size 8 is the equivalent of a size 16 pants size. So, a 12 is a touch bigger...Here is what a size 12 in underpants looks like:



Post Date: SATURDAY, MAY 20, 2006
Painting the House

I don't really know if it's appropriate that I write a vent here about my in-laws, but I've done it before, so why stop now?

Anyhow, for awhile now the in-laws have been making their visits when I am at work. This is nice because I either don't have to see them or I get to come home for a short visit, which is just enough. Well, Momzilla is on a campaign to get us to move out of this house. She is convinced that we have to paint the house if we ever want to sell it. So, she has offered to pay for the painting of the house, inside and out. Very kind offer, right?

Well, you would think so, wouldn't you? There are parameters to the offer:
1) It must be done by THEIR painter
2) It must be done quickly
3) We will owe them the money or it will be a gift depending on the conversation

The conversation we had yesterday went like this:
Me, "$7000 is too much money. We can't be on the hook to you for that much money. We'll never be able to pay you back."

MZ, "It's a gift to you. You don't have to pay us back."

Me, "Well, if it's a gift, I would rather we take the money to use for maternity leave, so I don't have to sell my car to pay for my time off."

MZ, "We don't have $7000 just floating around!"

Me, "Then don't paint our house for us! I would never ask you to! I haven't even talked to Patrick about it, so we will have to discuss it and decide, but I do not think I can accept it...it's just too much."

MZ, "Well, I have to tell the painter NOW. He would come and do the painting in two weeks."

Me, "If the answer has to be today, then it is no."

MZ, "When can you have an answer? Maybe we should just do the interior stuff, that's only $1200."

Me, "Maybe, we'll see. I have to talk to Patrick and I would want to get another quote."

MZ, "Well, this guy was going to do a lot of repairs."

Me, "I was wondering because $7000 seemed like an awful lot for a little house. I would rather paint it ourselves or give a credit to a buyer when we do go to sell it. It's seems frivilous to do it at this point. It's not urgent."

MZ, "Oh! You have a lot of rot and mildew! It's in bad, bad shape."

Me, "I just don't want to think about this right now while I am 8 months pregnant! I can't imagine cleaning the house to be able to enable ceiling painting throughout. Just let me talk to Patrick about it."

MZ, "But, I want you out of this house and neighborhood."

UGH!! Yes, I know you want us out of this neighborhood. I know you don't like diversity and want us to move away from it. I know you look at our neighbor, who is a 16 year-old hispanic girl and imagine she is a crack whore. She's not, she's a good girl. "But, I saw her hanging all over BOYYYYYYYYS," you hiss. That's what 16 year-olds do!

OK readers, what the hell do I do?

2 comments:

nancy said...

I have the same situation, again, only with my own mother when she is here. If you have some time, scroll through my previous entries and you can get the gist of what my mother did and was like growing up. In other words, I would take parenting advice from my cat before I took it from her. LOL!

Love the underwear story, too.. made me laugh on a dreary day! My mother actually bought me a bra which was a 34B -- Now, once I got boobs when I was 13 or so, I went straight to a 36D and then a DD. NO fun and I have no idea what she was thinking...

Thanks for the laughs. That Mother or MIL guilt is a doozy...

Amelia's moms said...

Ahhh...how lovely to reminisce.....of course I was dying to see the underwear again.