My Daughter-in-law Has No Respect For Me
Oh, the joys of family! You love your child more than life itself, and then BAM! they bring home another human to share your existence. And then, oh boy, does that human, your daughter-in-law, decide to rewrite the rulebook of respect. It's like they think they've discovered a new continent of 'how things should be done,' and apparently, your old map is completely useless!
Seriously, sometimes I feel like I’m speaking a foreign language when I try to offer a tiny bit of advice. It's not like I'm trying to take over the world, just, you know, share a lifetime of wisdom about not putting the milk in the cupboard. You'd think this would be common knowledge, right? But nope, that wisdom seems to bounce right off like a ping pong ball off a brick wall.
I remember when my son, bless his heart, used to actually listen to me. We had a good system. I'd offer advice, he'd nod, maybe roll his eyes a little, but he'd listen. Now? It's like my words vanish into the ether the moment they leave my mouth, only to be replaced by a polite, but firm, "Thanks, Mom, we've got it." We've got it? Honey, "we" haven't got a clue about the proper way to fold a fitted sheet, but I'm too afraid to say anything!
It’s the little things, you see. The way she’ll just… not ask. Like, remember those epic holiday dinners I used to orchestrate with military precision? Napkins perfectly folded, the turkey glistening, everyone seated according to a carefully considered seating chart that avoided any potential family drama. Now? It's potluck chaos, and if I mention the importance of a good gravy boat, I get that look.
The look. Oh, the look! It’s a masterful blend of condescension and a subtle hint that perhaps my brain cells have retired and are currently vacationing in Boca Raton. It’s the same look she gives when I ask what that little blinking light on the router means. "Oh, Mom," she’ll sigh, as if explaining the internet to me is akin to defusing a bomb with one hand tied behind her back.
And the boundaries! Good heavens, the boundaries are more like suggestion boxes at this point. I might offer to help with a bit of laundry, you know, just to lend a hand. Next thing you know, she’s pointing at a pile of delicates and saying, "Could you just make sure to use the gentle cycle, and maybe separate the darks from the lights?" I’ve been doing laundry since before she was a twinkle in her father’s eye! I invented the gentle cycle!
Then there’s the whole technology gap. I’m pretty sure my daughter-in-law was born with a smartphone fused to her hand. If I ask her how to send a picture to my sister, it’s like I’ve asked her to build a rocket ship. She’ll patiently, or sometimes not-so-patiently, guide me, but there’s always that underlying tone. The tone that says, "Honestly, how can you not know this? Is your brain still stuck in the dial-up era?"
I try to be helpful, really I do. I offer to babysit, to bring over a home-cooked meal, to even, gasp, help with the gardening. But it's like my contributions are met with a polite nod and then… well, then things are re-done. My perfectly weeded flower bed might suddenly sprout a strategically placed gnome I’ve never seen before. My lovingly baked cookies might be deemed "too crumbly" and mysteriously disappear.
And my son? He's caught in the middle, bless his soul. He’s learned to master the art of the evasive maneuver. "Mom, honey, that's a great idea, but [Daughter-in-law's Name] has a system." Or, "Yeah, we’ll think about that, but [Daughter-in-law's Name] was looking into something similar." It’s like I've become a consultant whose advice is always politely filed away and never implemented.
Sometimes I wonder if she thinks I’m just a decorative accessory. Like, "Oh, isn't that nice, Mom's here. Let's make sure she has a comfortable chair and a cup of tea, and maybe a knitting project." Meanwhile, the world is spinning, Wi-Fi is blinking ominously, and the fitted sheets are still unfolded!
I’ve even tried to, you know, gently suggest things. Like, when she's about to put her delicate silk scarf in with the jeans. I’ll chirp, "Oh, honey, maybe that scarf would be happier with the softer things?" And she’ll just smile that smile and say, "Don't worry, Mom, I've got this." And I know, with a sinking heart, that somewhere in her laundry basket, a silk scarf is about to have a very bad day.
It's not that I don't like her, mind you. She’s smart, she’s capable, and she clearly loves my son very, very much. That’s the important part, right? But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish she'd remember that I’ve navigated this parenting thing for a while. I’ve seen a few things. I’ve made a few mistakes (and learned from them, thank you very much!).
It’s like she thinks she’s the first person to ever raise a human being. And I’m sitting here, a seasoned veteran of toddler tantrums and teenage angst, and I’m just supposed to nod and smile and admire her innovative approach to, say, packing a lunchbox. My way involved a sandwich and an apple. Her way involves artisanal cheese and a bento box that looks like it belongs in a museum.
And don't even get me started on the cooking. I used to be the undisputed queen of casseroles. My tuna noodle casserole was legendary. Now? Apparently, it's "too heavy" or "lacks a certain je ne sais quoi." I'm pretty sure the 'je ne sais quoi' is just butter and love, but what do I know? I'm just a humble grandma who once made a whole Thanksgiving dinner from scratch.
The most amusing (and slightly terrifying) part is when she asks for my "opinion." It’s always phrased in a way that suggests she’s humoring me. "So, Mom, what do you think about this shade of paint for the nursery?" And I’ll offer a heartfelt suggestion, something that’s stood the test of time, and she’ll nod, then whip out her phone and start scrolling through Pinterest, all while saying, "Oh, interesting!"
I sometimes feel like a historical artifact. "And here, ladies and gentlemen, we have a rare specimen of a mother-in-law, whose advice on diaper changing techniques is now considered quaint and, dare I say, somewhat charming." It's a wonder I don't have a velvet rope around me to keep people from touching.
But you know what? Despite the occasional eye-roll, the polite dismissals, and the feeling that my life experience is being filed under "charming anecdotes," I wouldn't trade my son or my daughter-in-law for anything. She’s a force of nature, and my son is lucky to have her. And maybe, just maybe, one day she’ll realize that a little bit of unsolicited advice from a seasoned pro can be a good thing. Or, you know, she’ll accidentally put her silk scarf in with the jeans and finally understand my pain. Either way, I’m here, with my casserole recipes ready, just in case.