The third topic, and the one about which I am the most pissed: The MIL from HELL. This will be long and is more for documentation than entertainment.
OK, so you all know that MIL and I don’t get along. This is not new news. You have pretty much all said “get that botch out of your life” at some point before when hearing about craziness. But, I am not smart and I kept thinking that with boundaries and moderation it would be possible to deal with her and allow G to take his son ’round her. This was only for him because I knew he was sad that his mum was so crazy. So, I have let her back in over and over again. Against my better judgment. Against my own wishes. It has bitten me in the ass every time. You’d think I’d learn. Ha!
So what has happened this time? You know you want to know… Well, this time I finally had to call the cops. Oh yeah, it was that fun. She and her sister came over Monday afternoon while I ran to go get Big C from school. I knew it was a setup because she picked with me the ENTIRE f’ing time. You know little things like:
Her: I had G on table food at 2 months. Why isn’t Baby G allowed to eat real food?
Me: He does eat real food. He ate cheese and cucumbers for lunch.
Her: Well, three small meals is OK.
Then later on, when I was feeding the pretty princess (aka Ladybug, aka Tiny C) her baby food for lunch…
Her: Green beans and rice that’s healthy… why isn’t Baby G allowed to eat this?
Me: He is, but this is the food my sister sent for her baby. They both eat a mix of jar food and table food now. He ate when I was eating lunch, so he got to eat off of my plate and she was asleep then, so she’s eating jar food now.
Her: Hmm, well, it just seems like you’d want to feed him healthy food.
I did in fact resist the urge to tell her to mind her own fucking business and point out that my son is spot f’ing on weight for height and Ladybug, pretty as she is, is fat as all get out. No, but she is pretty fat. Lil C was fat like this too (Big C was chunky but not fat, fat like the two younger ones) and thinned out as he started being more mobile.
Anyhoo, after lunch I put the babies on “gasp” the floor. You know, that place where if they “gasp” fall over it won’t hurt to bad because there isn’t far to fall? Right, I am the devil. Upon being placed on the floor the babies did what they do, namely steal toys from each other then scooch around a bit. Only, Ladybug was less scooching and more crawling and Baby G was more sitting and chewing on a baby doll. (He is more crawling NOW, but on Monday he was still mainly scooching, when he could be convinced that there was a good reason not to just sit.) This of course drew more “conversation.”
Her: Baby C can really move, maybe Baby G should be allowed to crawl more.
Me: Mm hm
Her: I used to put G on the bed so he could crawl without hurting his knees.
Me: Mm hm
Her: I’m going to go put him on the bed.
Me: I’d rather you didn’t. (Because, hello bitch I don’t want you in my bedroom) He’s safer on the (carpeted, padded) floor.
Her (to Baby G): I guess Mommy doesn’t want you to crawl.
Actually, Mommy could give a shit if he learns to crawl now or when he’s one or whatever. Frankly, as long as his development is fine and he has proper strength and motor skills, whether or not he uses them to crawl is completely irrelevant to me. If he prefers to sit and play with toys, I’m all for it. Then there was the diaper conversation:
Her: He isn’t wearing a diaper?
Me: No.
Her: Well, what if he pees?
Me: He usually pees on the potty and I’m OK with cleaning up a little baby pee if he has a miss.
Her: Hmm doesn’t seem sanitary.
Me: OK (because sitting in a pissy diaper for who knows how long is sanitary?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? no, literally, with a diaper you don’t know when they pee’d so they could be wet for 1 minute or 60, you don’t know…)
A few minutes later he gave some potty signs that he might need to drop a deuce (this was day one of Poo Watch, so I was still thinking he might go any minute)
Her: Ooh, he tooted.
Me: And made a potty sign, give him to me so I can take him to the potty.
Her: He doesn’t need to poop.
Me: I’m going to give him an opportunity anyway.
** puts Baby on potty, begins potty singing and cueing **
Her (loudly, while he is still trying to go): He don’t need to poop, he just had some gas. Get him off of there. He don’t need to be on that thing. He’s too little for that thing. You don’t need to poop do you. Get him off of there.
Me: pss pss pss A-B-C-D-E-F-G pss pss pss
As you can see it was going smashingly. Of course these little goings on were in addition to wiping Lil C’s ass (he’s 4!!!!!!! I’m so pissed at his mom and previous babysitter for not teaching him to wipe his own ass!!!!), making Big C a snack (which ended up burning during The Episode), making sure the babies didn’t start a rumble over Elmo and the naked baby doll and entertaining two grown f’ing adults who were doing jack f’ing nothing to help. ** Sidebar: If you are visiting someone who is caring for 4 children (two of whom are infants) and trying to get her house ready for Daddy to come home… HELP or SHUT UP and GET OUT of the WAY!!!! Do not give commentary on who needs what, do not hold one child and pretend the others don’t exist and do not prevent said person from getting the children what they need by engaging in useless criticism of how inefficiently she’s caring for the children. Really, help or leave.
So far we’re just on “normal” annoying, but not overtly toxic type behavior. But, see this BS is what boils under the surface and makes me blow when the toxic bs does start. And it always does. This time it was over me making the kids sit and putting Lil C in time out because he spilled permanent dye on the carpet in my entry way. Now, I full admit the entryway was not the best place for the box of pysanky dyes. It should have been in the closet, but that required moving a chair, which required cleaning up baby toys and not having a 4 year old up my ass, which never happens. So, yes, the box was in a bad spot. The children had been made aware of its’ presence and warned of its’ carpet destroying power. But, alas, Lil C is 4 and my house is small. So, while wrestling he managed to knock it over. And bright blue dye stained my carpet. My brown carpet. Now, at the time I was in the kitchen, and I heard “Get off me, uh! Don’t! *wrestling and scuffling* You’re going to hit the babies! *scampering… CRASH… agonized howling* Uncle G’s going to bust you now, Lil C!” So, naturally, I ran into the living room and broke up the chaos by making the boys sit on separate couches. I then immediately began clean-up efforts (as Big C grilled cheese burned). Lil C is howling on his chair this entire time. I should let you that he is a howler, though. For instance if I tell him no more Cocoa Pebbles (after his third bowl), or if I tell him we can’t play X-box until the babies lay down, or if he accidentally spills his juice he howls as if I’ve beaten him. I have never beaten him.
Upon my putting the boys on couches, both MIL and her sister look at me as if I’d poured boiling oil on the children. Yes, I raised my voice. It was loud. I didn’t scream. I didn’t call anyone names. I didn’t blame anyone. I just separated them and put them on couches to reduce the chaos. When I found out what happened I did tell Lil C that I was angry that he knocked over the box because my carpet will probably be stained forever. I didn’t yell. I didn’t tell him he was an awful child. I didn’t even say “I’m angry with you” I said “I’m angry that you knocked over this box, when I told you it was off limits.” He was still howling. I told him (sternly) to stop crying, he hadn’t been spanked, he wasn’t hurt, he was just sitting on a couch and that’s no reason to cry. He toned it down to a whimper.
Big C’s sandwich? Still burning. Two grown adults perfectly capable of flipping an f’ing grilled cheese? In living room, still looking as if I’d hog tied and beaten Lil C with an extension cord.
So, I went into the kitchen to remedy the burning cheese situation and called Big C with me to find out what happened. He told me. It was clearly an accident. Mostly brought on by the fact that both boys were playing too rough and Lil C had few routes to run away from the wrestling because La Diabla and her sister “makes him nervesous.” He is a special kid. Yes, I mean that kind of special. It doesn’t change the fact that G will be furious when he gets home. Another straw on the camel’s back.
Apparently whilst I’m in the kitchen (mind you Spot Bot, best $100 I’ve ever spent, is working on the dye this whole time) Ms. Know-It-All has decided to help finally. By dabbing up the dye with a paper towel. Which was a complete waste of paper towels. It’s not food dye, it’s instant permanent dye. The only chance of getting it out is with special cleaner while it’s wet. I continue with resetting the Spot Bot as needed. Nothing is coming up. Then for some crazy reason the bitch decides to start grilling Big C (Lil C has fallen asleep in his chair at this point). So, I stop her. I say “P, I’ve already spoken to him, it’s taken care of.” Because seriously, I don’t allow the overstepping with the kids. She then turns on me, shaking the dye spotted towel in my face telling me to dab it up. I tell her, politely, that I have it under control. She continues to be in my face grilling me now about why the box was in the entryway and telling me where she would have put it and how I should just dab it up. Very aggressive and in my face.
So, I told her “I appreciate ya’ll comin’ to help out with the babies, but I think it’s time to go now.” Very nicely. In Big C’s words I was being “very patient.”
That would be when things went to hell. She started getting loud and in my face even more about the box and told me that I couldn’t handle the stress of the kids and shouldn’t have them. I finally snapped and told her to get out. She continued to escalate things and I f’ing lost it. I couldn’t take it anymore. After hours of picking at me, plus the aggressiveness regarding the mess, now blaming my frustration on the kids when in fact it was her that had me flustered and you know the fact that I nicely told her that her welcome was worn out but she was still in my house. Yeah, I lost it. I shouted at her. I cursed. In front of the kids. And I regret it. That said, it lasted all of two minutes before I got back under control. Back under control I told her that she no longer welcome and she needed to leave now. She then broke the camels back: she threatened to call children’s services and tell them I was abusing the kids. She started shouting that Baby G was HER grandson and she had a right… I don’t know to what, because that’s where I cut her off. I informed her that she had no rights to my son. He is MY son and mother trumps grandmother every day of the week. She needed to leave my house before I called the police to have her escorted out.
She lunged at me. She actually made to assault me. At this point her sister did step in front of her and try to get her to “just go and call children’s services from home.” Yes, this was Aunt C. The one I always wished was my MIL. She continued to shout threats at me over her sisters head making as if to lunge at me. Big C was scared and crying. Lil C? Still asleep. The babies were upset, but not crying. I called the cops. While I was speaking with the cops she continued to yell and be belligerent. At one point they asked me how old she was. I told them 51 or 52, early 50′s and she shouted into the phone “I’m 53″ so I told the operator, “You heard her, she’s 53.”
I had completely stopped responding to her at this point. But she continued to shout and be loud and refuse to leave my house. I called G and told him to come home. The police were on the way, his mother had crossed the line for the last time and I was afraid to be there alone until the cops came. I was afraid she would try to take my baby. He said he was on his way because his aunt had already called to tell him that I was having a breakdown. I fought for two minutes, his mother had been shouting and making threats for over 30 minutes at this point. I was the one having a breakdown? La Diabla and Aunt Diabla left at some point after I called G but before he got to the house. While waiting on G and the police I comforted the children. I made sure Lil C knew that the grownups fighting was not his fault. When I asked Big C what was making him upset he said “I thought they were both going to start hitting you and I couldn’t get to the phone to call 9-1-1.” I assured him that no one was going to hit me (although, I had that same fear) and loved on both of the boys. The babies were fine at this point. Well, Ladybug wanted a bottle, but Ladybug always wants a bottle.
I told the police that I thought she had finally left. I asked them to check and be sure but if she was gone we didn’t need anything else and I was sorry for wasting their time on domestic bs. They were kind and said they would check and if she did come back to call them and they would make sure she left and that a person should feel safe in their own home. I felt amazingly better knowing that the cops were taking this seriously and that I had it on record that she was a threat to me, in case she did try to take Baby G. Also, I became the queen of the run on sentence.
G assured me that we were on the same page with cutting ties with her permanently, watched the kids while I spoke with my sister and then went back to work. While he was t work Aunt Diabla called to “see if they had restraining orders on them.” Because beat cops can do that now? It doesn’t take a judge? While G was talking to her he heard his mother in the background giving my name and our address to someone. She had actually called children’s services. Aunt Diabla did nothing to stop her. G informed her that if children’s services showed up at our door he was breaking ties with the whole family.
At 7pm a cop showed up to make sure the children were safe.
There is more to be told, but the bottom line is we have cut ties permanently and G intends to get a protection order if they try to come near the baby.
