The Only Thing Worse Than Your Unbearable Mother-in-Law

At the height of the potato famine in January of 1852 in Ireland, a young mother addresses her husband. “We have little food and less money. Our son, our only child, is not yet two months old; he is hungry, as are you and I. There is barely enough food for the three of us. We cannot afford to have your father live here anymore. You must take him to the poor house.”

Her husband says that he cannot leave his elderly and infirm father at the poor house, that the poor house is a euphemism for starvation, disease, and death. “Yes, times are tough,” he says, “but where there is life, there is hope.” The husband points out that they are a family albeit a poor one and that what happens to one is what happens to all.

The wife persists. “Take your father to the poor house,” she insists. “The food that your father eats is food that we could give to our son.”

The argument persists for some weeks until, finally, on a bitterly cold and particularly hungry day, the father relents and agrees to take his father to the poor house. “Come on, Da,” he says. “We have to go.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen that this is our only choice,” says the wife. “Here. We have a blanket in the closet. Take it and wrap up your father for it is brutally cold and the journey is long.”

At this point, the baby speaks to his father. (That’s right. The baby, who is only two months old, speaks.) The baby says, “Before you go, cut the blanket in half. Take my grandfather to the poor house to starve and die with only half the blanket. Leave the other half of the blanket here in the closet. For when it is my turn to take you to the poor house a generation from now, I will use the other half of the blanket.”

The mother—shocked and chastised by her talking two month old—relents. The grandfather lives out the remainder of his days in the home of his son, daughter-in-law and grandchild.

The family lives happily, if hungrily, ever after.*

***

Let me begin my remarks about parenting this week by stipulating that your mother-in-law is unbearable. I acknowledge that no one gets along with her, not even her own family. I appreciate what a completely and utterly overbearing woman she is. You don’t have to tell me; I’m convinced.

I’ll be specific: your mother-in-law gives unwelcome, unhelpful, and inaccurate advice about how to bring up your children. Her insights, such as they are, might have been helpful in the mid-18th century in Eastern Europe but have no possible relevance today. Indeed, rather than antibiotics and modern medical science, her home remedies seem to involve castor oil on a good day and occasionally to require eye of newt.

Worst of all, her anxiety is off the charts, completely unbearable. I acknowledge, for the record, that just the other day when you wanted to take the kids to the park, your mother-in-law threw herself across the doorway of your home, slobbering incoherently about how the forecast called for snow, hail, and a plague of locusts of Biblical proportions yet you live in Miami where, to any objective observer, the weather seemed “pretty nice out.”

Or as Ernie K-Doe of the Coasters sang in 1961:

She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution

Before pontificating about what to do with your spouse’s mom—remember murder for hire is still frowned upon by legal authorities in many of our United States—and how your children will be better off as result of said profound advice, let me remind my gracious readers that Churchill defined democracy as “the worst form of government on the planet. Except for all the others.”

Putting up with your mother-in-law is unbearable. I agree. You may not remember, but I’ve met your mother-in-law. For no reason whatsoever, she tried to run me over with her truck. I don’t like her either. But the sad fact is that you have to put up with her, call her, go over for a visit, pretend to like that tasteless slop she shockingly refers to as “home cooked food.”

Because the alternative, cutting her out of the life of her grandchildren, is worse.

Model for your kids that even people who disagree can have a civil meal together. Allow your children to understand that even people who have little in common can make it through an evening without coming to blows. Show your kids how much family means in your family.

In short, leave the blanket in the closet. Because the only thing worse than your unbearable mother-in-law is a talking two month old.

* I would be grateful to any gentle reader who could point me to the origin of this tale as I would like to give credit to the author.