May 7, 2004
Annoying Parenting Advice

Parenting advice (read: digs) from my in-laws ranks right up there with root canals and Pap smears as something I’d rather not have. But I get unsolicited remarks all the time from my mother-in-law.

One of her favourite strategies is to direct a question at our daughter that’s really intended for me. “Are you still wearing a diaper? Your daddy was potty trained by 18 months and you’re almost two!” (I don’t believe this to be true as her daddy is barely potty trained now.)

Then there is her similar but more straightforward ventriloquist tactic. With my daughter on her knee, she tucks her head behind and speaks in a childlike voice as if it is coming from the baby: “Mommy, don’t make me go to bed yet! I’m not finished playing with Grandma.”

And then there’s the advice she directs right at me: “We let him watch all the TV he wanted, and he turned out just fine,” or “You’re breastfeeding still? Hope you won’t be one of those moms who has to go to school at lunch to feed her kid!” (Insert roars of laughter here.)

Today she really pushed her luck. She drops by unannounced (what else is new?) at 5 p.m.—a particularly bad time of day when we all arrive home hungry and tired from work and day care. And before I can see it coming, I get slammed with the deadly backwards compliment. “It’s amazing! I just don’t know how you manage to do it all. Trying to juggle your business career and being a mom at the same time…” She glances around and then finishes her thought: “That doesn’t leave much time for housework, now does it?”

May 23, 2004
Eating Out (The Horror! The Horror!)

Dining out with my in-laws is inevitably a painful experience. Left to themselves, they would go years without eating in a restaurant. So when I naïvely suggested that we all go out for breakfast to a local diner on this otherwise uneventful weekend, it sent them into a tizzy.

It started with the panic around what to wear. We got several 911 calls in the morning from his mother confirming the attire. “Do we need to dress up for this thing?” We explain that they can wear whatever they want. “Okay, well, I was going to wear my purple pants—you know, the one with the little pockets...”

They arrive late, worn out from perfecting their various wardrobe malfunctions: My mother-in-law has her best neon-pink lipstick on and has chosen to wear the black velvet suit usually reserved for Christmas. My father-in- law has on grey dress pants that last fit him in the ’80s. Choosing our seats becomes a high-stakes game of Monopoly. Landing the one next to my husband is like owning real estate in midtown New York. Naturally, my mother-in-law gets the coveted spot.

She straightens and polishes the flatware, inspecting it for conspicuous marks. “You have to be careful in places like this. I just can’t stand to think about how many mouths this fork has been in.” And a couple minutes later: “What’s this? $5.95 for eggs? I could have made breakfast for all of us for under $10.” An awkward silence falls over the table for the remainder of the meal and I’m left wondering why I came up with this stupid idea in the first place.


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