Don't Rhine on My Parade

by Erin Evans

  Chapter Four

  I know that hating your mother-in-law is cliché. And I am sure there are tons of wonderful, amazing mother-in-laws out there. I was perfectly ready and willing to love mine, but she made up her mind first to hate me. So, what am I to do? Well, in reality, I try to be sickeningly sweet to her face especially around my husband so that he can see what a long suffering angel I am compared to her. I save all my best comments for under my breath and in my head.

  I opened the door and tried to put a smile on my bleary face. “Carolyn,” I said, failing to muster up much cheer. “Hi.”

  She was a very petite five-foot-two, but in her high heels, that matched perfectly with her coordinated outfit, she met my five-foot-four eye to eye. I ran a hand through my tousled short cropped hair and hoped I didn’t have pillow creases or drool on my face.

  “Well, Piper,” (She always said my name as if it was an insult.) “Aren’t you going to let me in? It’s customary for a hostess to invite her guests to enter after greeting them.”

  “We were napping,” I said wearily, then with a rush of courage, “Didn’t you see the note on the door?” I pointed to the Do Not Ring Doorbell sign.

  “I knocked at first, but no one answered,” she said pointedly.

  “That’s because we were sleeping.” I was getting a little peeved.

  “Granny! Granny! Granny’s here!” came the joyful, piercing shrieks behind me. The girls were definitely not going back to sleep now.

  “It doesn’t appear that you are sleeping now,” my mother-in-law said, sweeping past me at the door.

  “What did you bring us?” shouted Megan in complete unashamed greed.

  “Megan honey, that’s not poli—” I started to correct her.

  “Nonsense,” interrupted Carolyn. “Of course I brought them something! Who wants cupcakes!”

  The cheering and high pitched shrieking rose in volume. Just what they needed. High levels of sugar before dinner.

  “Oh, I forgot something in the car,” Carolyn trilled, “Let me run get it, I have some more presents for you!”

  The girls were getting worked up into a frenzy of excitement. Let it not be said that gifts cannot buy love. I briefly considered locking the door behind her and not letting her back in.

  “Here we go!” she returned cheerfully. “Let’s go sit down and see what I brought you.”

  There was a mad dash to the living room. Harvey was lying sprawled out on the couch, all four legs in the air and tongue drooling a puddle on the leather. Carolyn looked at him in disgust.

  “Piper, darling, would you mind putting that animal outside? You know how he bothers my allergies.”

  I scooped Harvey up and kissed him on the nose. I knew there was a reason I loved him so much. Unfortunately he never seemed to bother her allergies enough to keep her away. “I’ll just put him in our room,” I said, determined not to cast my dog outside like an orphan child.

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Carolyn looked shocked. “You know that Mark is allergic to animals. I don’t know why he lets you keep them in the house. It’s not good for his health.”

  Mark was no more allergic to animals than she was. I smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s okay.” I carried Harvey off to our room and placed him on the bed in spite. Otis looked up from grooming himself and tried to kill Harvey with his laser eyes. When that failed he merely laid his ears back on his head and hissed. Harvey decided that under the bed was a much better spot.

  When I returned, it looked like Toys R Us had exploded in the living room. When Megan was first born, Mark and I had sat down with Carolyn and explained to her that since, at the time, we were living in a small apartment, we did not have room for her to bring toys every time she visited. Apparently she believed that since we were now living in a house we had tons of room.

  Megan and Cassidy were beside themselves running from toy to toy. “Did you guys say thank you?” I asked.

  “Oh don’t be silly, Piper!” Carolyn cooed. “I’m their grandmother, they don’t have to say thank you to me!” I gritted my teeth and ran my hand through my hair again. “Did you get a new haircut?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered shortly. A week ago I had tired of my shoulder-length hair and gotten a rather daring pixie cut. I loved it and Mark said it was ‘growing on him.’ Ha, ha.

  “I really liked the way your hair was before,” Carolyn said sweetly. “I can give you the name of my stylist. She can fix even the worst of hair disasters.” Before I could think of a response she was up off the couch and into the kitchen to unwrap cupcakes for my greedy little monsters.

  In the rush to go shopping, get lunch, and get everyone down for a nap, I had neglected the breakfast dishes. I saw Carolyn eyeing them and inwardly cringed. “Piper!” she called.

  “Yes?” I dragged my feet over to the kitchen, feeling like a child being called before the principal.

  “You know that I raised Mark to be very particular about cleanliness. I do hope that you don’t let him come home to this . . . mess.” She waved her hand around including both the dirty dishes and the toys that were lying scattered about the living room floor.

  My tongue took over my common sense. “Well, dishes and picking up after the kids is his job, Carolyn,” I said with a straight face. “After a long day of watching the kids I am just too beat to pick up at night. Mark always draws me a hot bath and then cleans the whole house for me.” Her jaw dropped. “You did raise him to be so thoughtful and considerate!” I patted her arm. “I only hope that I can be the same sort of mother.” I quickly made my exit before she could think of a rejoinder.

  When Mark and I had first met, we had thought it so wonderful that we both came from the same home town. I knew that Carolyn, being a widow with an only child, was not totally thrilled to be sharing Mark’s affection with another woman, but I thought all that would quickly pass when she saw how happy we were together. Then, I thought that grandchildren would so fill her heart with joy that she would forgive me for stealing Mark. Now, I was just grateful that she would babysit for us once a week so that we could go out on a date night. Although sometimes I wondered if free babysitting was really all it was cracked up to be.

  My parents were still busy raising my baby sister, Sarah, who was ten years younger than me. Occasionally they would babysit, and, with a little arm twisting, so would my sister. My other sister and brother had each moved out of town after college and were pursuing careers in different states. Basically, we saw just enough of my family to like them, and not enough for them to drive us crazy.

  To give her credit, Carolyn adored her grandchildren. She also spoiled them mercilessly. She thought I was far too strict and did everything in her power to undermine me. She was deaf and impervious to any suggestion that she had overstayed her welcome, and the one time I did say, “I think it’s time for Granny to go home!” she started to cry. Emotional blackmail was just one of the many weapons in her arsenal.

  There would be no getting rid of her until Mark came home at six. Unless . . . but no. I had made it for years now without using the Voice on her. Oh, how satisfying it would be though! I could have her packed up and out the door in seconds. I savored the mental image before reluctantly discarding it. I would have to put up with being the third wheel in my own home for a couple of hours. My faithless children would act like she was the sun and moon and completely ignore me. And my skills as a housewife would be criticized at every turn. Joy. Exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon.

  “Piper darling,” Carolyn broke in on my reverie, “I noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign is down next door.” Our neighbors had moved several months ago and Carolyn had been threatening to buy the house and move in, so as to be of greater help to me. I was threatening Mark that I would slit my wrists if she did. He thought I was being funny.

  I tried to hide my triumphant grin. “Yes, a young woman purchased it and moved in just a couple of days ago.”

&nb
sp; “That’s just too bad,” Carolyn pouted, “I was thinking that if I lived closer I could help you more with the girls.”

  “I know,” I smiled, “But Cecily is really very nice. I’m sure she’ll make a lovely neighbor.”

  “Cecily? What kind of name is that?”

  I shrugged, “It’s her name. I like it. It’s kind of old fashioned.”

  “Hmm.” Apparently it was not on the approved list of names, rather like Piper. “What does she do?”

  I stopped to think. I’d only spoken to the woman once when I went over to welcome her to the neighborhood, and offer, with complete insincerity, to help in any way I could. I was glad she knew how the game was played and she assured me that if she needed help she would call. Our social duties done, we had talked a little about jobs and families.

  “Umm, I think she works the night shift at the hospital,” I remembered.

  “A single woman working the night shift!” Carolyn was shocked.

  “Yup.”

  “That sounds rather dangerous. Perhaps she should change to the day shift.”

  I mentally rolled my eyes. “I’m sure she can take care of herself.”

  “Piper, I don’t know how you were raised, but in my day young ladies did not go out all night alone!”

  “I saw her carry her recliner into the house all by herself. I’m betting that she can handle going out alone at night. Besides,” I added, “someone has to work the night shift. People don’t just get hurt in the daytime.”

  “Well, the world would be a better place if they did,” Carolyn huffed and then turned her attention back to the girls. I wasn’t sure if she meant that people should get hurt during the day, or just that they shouldn’t at night, but I wasn’t about to ask for clarification.

  The afternoon dragged on. The girls were having a riot and were quickly reaching a sugar meltdown. Mark really hated to come home to wired, cranky, hyper children. If it was just me I would try to calm them down a bit, but since it was his mother, I hoped he would notice the difference in his children’s behavior. I’m evil, I know. All those parenting books that I follow so faithfully say that the key to good parenting is consistency. Does consistently being inconsistent count?

  Of course, he was late and I was frazzled before he managed to shoo his mother out the door. Being her only son, he could say things like, “You need to go home now, Mom. I want to have dinner alone with my family,” and she wouldn’t get offended. I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if I said that.

  Dinner, as usual, was part circus juggling act trying to keep all the plates and cups on the table where they belonged, forks in hands, and food chewed only one bite at a time. Mark and I paper, rock, scissored for who had to bathe and put the kids to bed. He lost. There were quite a few dishes, but at least I could do them in silence, blessed silence.

  Of course, no sooner was I alone then I started missing being with the girls and felt left out of all the splashing and giggling that was going on in the bathroom. I tried to hurry so that I could get in some snuggle time before they went to sleep.

  As I finished up the dishes, I could hear Mark in the girls’ room telling them a bedtime story. When he was a child, his father had read him a book about a gentleman rabbit named Uncle Wiggly. Megan and Cassidy loved to hear Uncle Wiggly stories but I was pretty sure that the stories Mark told had only the character’s name in common with the book his father read him.

  Mark asked them every night what story they wanted to hear, and they would get to make up a title. Tonight it was “Uncle Wiggly and the Steve Bong.”

  “Steve Gong?” Mark asked.

  “No,” Megan said, “Steve Bong.”

  “What’s a Steve Bong?”

  “It’s a machine.”

  “A machine?”

  “Yes. A machine that gives you candy whenever you want.”

  “Honey?” Mark yelled out to me. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  “No idea!” I shouted back. “Megan? Where did you hear about a ‘steve bong’?”

  “I made it up,” Megan shouted back.

  “She made it up!” I yelled back to Mark.

  “I heard!” he yelled.

  There’s a lot of yelling that goes on in this house. Why walk across the room to talk to someone when you can yell? It’s much more energy efficient.

  He started his story. “Once upon a time, Uncle Wiggly woke up and was eating breakfast. There was a knock at his door. ‘Come in,’ said Uncle Wiggly and opened the door. It was his good friend Steve. He had a strange machine next to him. ‘What’s that?’ asked Uncle Wiggly. ‘It’s a bong!’ said Steve. ‘It’s so radical, man!’”

  “Mark!” I yelled disapprovingly.

  “It was her idea!” he yelled back and continued, the girls giggling at his pot-head voice. “Uncle Wiggly and Steve used the bong all day long. ‘This is so cool,’ said Uncle Wiggly, ‘everything is so green! This is way better than drinking Jack Daniels all day long!’”

  “Mark!” I yelled again, much sharper. The girls were in hysterical giggles. Fortunately they had no clue what he was talking about.

  “We like this story, Mommy!” Megan yelled. “Daddy has a funny voice!”

  “Then it was time for Steve to go home. ‘Thank you for bringing over your bong, Steve,’ said Uncle Wiggly. ‘No problem, man,’ said Steve, ‘let’s do it again tomorrow!’ ‘Righteous, man!’ said Uncle Wiggly. The End. Now lie down and go to sleep.”

  “eed a ug!” yelled Cassidy.

  I quickly gave the counters a lick and a promise and joined Mark to give hugs and kisses and snuggles. Their hair smelled fresh and clean and I wanted to hold them close and keep them this way forever.

  We gently tucked them into bed and warned them of the consequences if they didn’t lie right down and go to sleep. You would think that eventually a kid would be able to remember that they weren’t allowed to get out of bed and run around the house. Nope. I could go in there, place them back in bed, walk out the door, turn around, and they would be walking right behind me.

  No sooner had Mark and I flopped down on the couch (okay, started to make out on the couch) then the screaming started.

  “Mommy! Daddy!” Megan sounded genuinely terrified. She’s a wonderful actress. I should sell her to Hollywood. “I’m scared!”

  “You’ve been in there less than two minutes!”

  “It’s yark!” Cassidy joined in.

  “It’s supposed to be dark. Close your eyes and you won’t notice.”

  “I’m scared Mommy!” Megan’s voice raised in a petrified shriek. “There are monsters and ogres in my closet!”

  I glared at Mark. “This is your fault. I told you not to let them watch Shrek.”

  He shrugged, “They wanted to. Megan, honey,” he called, “There are no monsters or ogres in your closet.”

  “I saw them! I’m scared,” Megan was screaming now in terror. I started to feel bad. Maybe she was really scared. She was only four years old. She shouldn’t be watching scary movies.

  Cassidy started screaming too, “I scared! onsters and yogurt!”

  Megan instantly stopped.

  “No Cassidy,” she said firmly. “Monsters and Ogres. Not yogurt. Ogres.”

  “Yogurt,” Cassidy repeated.

  “No,” Megan said patiently, “Oooh-gres. Ooooh-gres. Not yogurt.”

  “Yogurt.”

  “Ogres.”

  “Ogres,” Cassie finally got it right.

  Megan tried to pick up the terrified act where she had left off. “We need the light on! We’re scared.”

  I wasn’t buying it and Mark was distracting me by nibbling on my neck. I giggled. “Go to sleep!” I called and then yelped as he scooped me off the couch and carried me back to our room. “I don’t want to hear from you again!” I yelled over my shoulder and got my head whacked into the door frame by accident. “Ow.”

  “This is all your fault,” I said again to Mark. “You never
should have let them watch Shrek.”

  “Shhh,” he said and flipped off the light.