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Blog Confessions of a SAHD Chapter II Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part VII | Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part VII | | Print | |
| Written by Joeprah | |
Continued from: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part II Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part III Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part IV Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part V Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad: Part VI
Bella had turned two years old in April, so I was safely still knee deep in diapers. The nurses marveled at how I changed our newborn daughter’s diapers. Jodi had some mending to do after the delivery, so I was pretty much a full-time father to two girls, from the moment Mady was born. Jodi was able to help with the girls about 4 or 5 days after delivery but she really wasn’t at 100% until about a month after Mady was born. What did that mean? Well, for starters, it was assumed that I needed help. I remember my mother-in-law, although she meant well, trying to make my life easier. When a mother-in-law tries to make life easier it almost always mean they make things worse. Looking back on the situation it definitely seems comical, but when a mother-in-law makes you roughly 3 gallons of spaghetti soup that was supposed to be spaghetti and meat balls you just wonder—why? Here’s the scenario, about a couple days after we had come home from the hospital I got a phone call from my MIL saying she wanted to come over and make us dinner. It was less of a suggestion and more of a statement, so with little choice I agreed. I really had no idea what type of tempest I was in for and I was still struggling with why it was assumed that I needed this kind of help. Shortly after she arrived she began to turn our little kitchen into symphony of sounds and smells. I would like to tell you that it smelled inviting, I would like to tell you that it sounded like progress—sadly I can do neither. More quickly than I would have imagined, it was announced that the dinner was completed. Our family was now the proud owners of an ungodly amount of noodles in what appeared to be red water housed in perhaps the largest pot I had ever seen. The amount of noodles was simply staggering. I am guessing I had enough cooked noodles in that pot to rival any of the Chinese restaurants in the area.
It truly was a moral dilemma at this point. When someone is thoughtful enough to go out of their way to try and help you, you can only thank them no matter what the end result is. I kept telling myself, as I regarded the lifeless noodles in the tomato water, “say ‘Thank you,’” and I did. But still—why was all of this noodle defacing necessary? What was going to happen? Because we had another baby would we just forget to make dinner—for a month? I even had a reputation of being a good cook. Let’s just theorize that I couldn’t cook one night, would I now, all of sudden, forget how to pick up a phone and call a pizza place? During my tenure with Bella as a stay at home dad I prided myself on not only performing up to expectations but exceeding them. So, when people came to my aid without asking if or in what department I needed help I became annoyed. There wasn’t a, “I am coming over to lend a hand, what can I do?” It was more of a, “I think you guys need twenty pounds worth of spaghetti soup—here you go.” Like a David Lynch film it was strange and left much up to interpretation. The aftermath of this meal was amazing. There were big pots, little pots, dishes, cutlery, pans, utensils and more pots. What the meal lacked for in taste and appeal it made up for in chaos and mayhem. The dishes, to outward appearances, lay in the strainer drying and clean. It was only upon close examination, after the assailant had left, that it became obvious that the clean dishes were all simply forgeries of their former unsoiled selves. Chunks of sauce and noodles could be found everywhere. I had a kitchen full of dirty dishes, a large pot of what some would call food and a family to look after. As quick as my mother-in-law came to lend a helping hand was as quickly as she disappeared into the noodleless night. I know she meant well and I know that it was a gesture of kindness only intended to make life easier for us, but it ended up only giving me more work to do. Stay Tuned for the Next Installment
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. Let's hope not. Even though I have similar stories to be told, but I can tell them because word gets around and I feel the wrath of angry in-laws. 
haha, she probably will read it, and that's why you've got "she meant well" in there like six times. You're awesome for posting this, there's a few things I'd like to post on the internets about MY mil. 
If I were you, I'd delete it before your sweet little MIL reads it. mXcomment 1.0.6 © 2007-2008 - visualclinic.fr
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