Loving Families...I Wish I Were in One

We did it again.  I swore we'd never do it, but we did.  Well, my husband did.  I was committed; he caved in.  And he got a good dose of why we vowed to begin with.

I'm talking about asking the MIL to babysit.  I've blogged ad nausem about the disasters that occurred in previous babysitting debacles.  Each time the results were the same -- slap me if I ever get the idea to ask her again. 

Why then, I ask, do we continue to subject our family to her "services"?  I think the definition of stupid is "one who does the same thing over and over expecting a different outcome each time."  Our neighbors should report us to DHS for subjecting our kids to the harmful side effects of the MIL.

It's all my husband's fault.  If the social worker asks, I'm throwing him under the bus.  Ya see, my husband refuses to accept that our lives have changed.  We've changed.  When our kids came along, our priorities changed.  They had to.  He totally sees that I would not be a good parent if I were hanging out at the club every weekend getting my drink on.  What he doesn't see, however, is that he cannot go hunting every time he gets the notion because other things are more important.  No, his hunting is COMPLETELY different!

My ass!  My husband and his buddy wanted to go hunting on a day that I had to be at work early.  Instead of telling his friend he couldn't go because I had to be at work and couldn't get the kids to school, he called the MIL.  If it didn't piss me off so bad, I might have got a good laugh out of it.  I knew it would end badly.  It always does.

Sure enough, the MIL spends the night so that she can hang out with the kids.  We decided to let them stay home from school just to be on the safe side.  As I've mentioned before, the MIL has zero taste and always dresses my kids in the most ridiculous get ups.  I was not going to take the chance that my daughter would go to school dressed like Beth from Dog, the Bounty Hunter.  My son was not going to wear sweatpants and cowboy boots.  I don't roll like that (unless I'm rolling over my DEAD body), and my kids won't roll like that either.

Anycrazy, the MIL spent the night and stayed home with the kids.  Sounds like a simple task, huh?  That morning my husband went on his stupid hunting trip, and I went to work.  I received no emergency phone calls, and the kids were playing outside in the backyard when I got home.  They survived the day without injury.  SUCCESS!  Yes, I'm stupid by definition.  I really thought the outcome was different.  Psych! 

My husband left only one directive for the MIL.  DO NOT LET YOUR DOG IN MY HOUSE!  PLEASE!

She brings her little dog with her everywhere she goes including my house!  Now we have an inside dog so we're pretty relaxed about the issue.  However, my full-grown dog has been house broken since he was 6 months old!  He also gets a bath pretty regularly (well, sometimes...)!  Our dog does not chew on our things either.  The MIL's dog stinks and sheds everywhere.  On one visit, that damn dog chewed up the charger to my son's Diego jeep.  Too bad it wasn't plugged in.  I'm not really cool with torturing animals, but the little shit deserved a good charge of electricity.  Regardless of what MIL says, that dog is NOT house broken.  If let into the house, he goes straight upstairs and takes a dump!  This is why my husband refuses to allow her dog in our house.

We didn't know it when we first got home.  The MIL and the poopinator were gone before the kids started confessing.  It started with my daughter going on and on about how this and that were better in Jackson.  (My MIL is a one-upper who loves to say that everything is better where she is.)  A minor annoyance, but a let it go.  Then my son tells us that MIL let Kate (aka the little shitter) in the house.  Later he explains further...

Kate poo-pooed in my room, and it made me puke!

My husband went ballistic.  Mr. OCD housekeeper did a thorough inspection of the crime scene and sprayed some resolve on the DNA.  Shortly afterwards, he got MIL on the 4-1-1.  I didn't get all of it, but it went something like this:

Why'd you let that damn dog in my house?
Oh yes, you did!  E told me.  He said it made him puke, too.
Well, you have no business telling my kids to lie.

I nearly peed my pants from laughing so hard.  My husband and his mom fight below the belt.  They say God awful things to each other.  I remember the first time I witnessed one of these arguments and the MIL said something along the lines of "You are not my son, and you are never welcome in my house again!"  I was mortified!!  I could never imagine my parents saying something like that to me especially over something silly like missing a Sunday luncheon.  This fight was no exception.  She called him back and told him we needed counseling.  He called her back and said he'd read some of her personal letters, and she was the one who needed counseling. 

Don't come back to my house!
"Don't worry!  I won't!  And I don't want you calling me again.  You are not my son!"
Good!  You're a blah, blah, blah...

I'm honestly too embarrassed for the both of them to continue.  Hopefully, my husband has finally learned his lesson.  Probably not, though.  Just wait until deer hunting season comes along...