Minutiae, and a realization

A number of people have asked me, "so how's it going with MIL?"  They always ask the question as if they're bracing themselves for something in response, like an explosion or a temper tantrum.

But, I vowed not to be an asshole.  A vow I'm (mostly) sticking to.  And in all honesty, things are fine.

All I can really say is that she is as she ever was.  Somebody I have difficulty understanding on just about every level - why she acts the way she does, why she says the things she does, why she talks about the things she does - but somebody who is essentially harmless.

The hardest part is dealing with the incessant questions about things that it would not occur to me to care about -- like where everyone has their morning tea.  Or detailed descriptions of what she had for morning tea, or what the children had when they stayed with her for a couple of hours while I was out running errands.

My mom was traveling in the Caribbean for work, and called me from the Miami airport when she was back in the country.  We talked about her trip, its successes and difficulties, politics, what workout programs we were doing, funny stories about the kids, the usual.

When I got off the phone, MIL said, "how's your mum?"

"Oh, she's good.  Stuck in the Miami airport for a couple of extra hours because they missed an earlier connecting flight, but her trip went well.  She's fine."

"Stuck in the airport?  Is she going to have her tea in the airport?"

"Uhhhh... I assume that if she's hungry, she'll find something to eat.  We didn't discuss it."

Because who gives a shit???

I finally had to tell MIL  that I don't care what anybody eats.  I said it nicely and in relation to a funny story (because I have vowed not to be an asshole), but I had to say something before my head exploded.

I know that some people do.  I dated a guy about 15 years ago who was always obsessing over what he was going to order at a restaurant that he wouldn't be going to for days.  His family was like this, too.  Every Sunday we all met for brunch at this diner in Atlanta, and every Saturday they would have extensive questions and discussions about what they were going to have.  At a diner.  Where they all ordered the same thing every time, anyway -- some form of eggs, toast, orange juice and coffee. 

But I really don't give a shit.  I'm not a big foodie.  I like cooking, but I'm not particularly interested in eating, and I don't think about food when I'm not hungry.  My children are fed at school, and the school is certified and properly licensed, and I generally peruse the menu schedule that is sent out every month, but beyond that, I don't really care.  They eat at school, they appear energetic and nobody shows signs of malnourishment, they're growing properly, so I assume everything is fine.  One less thing, you know?

I was complaining to my friend Andrea about the level of discourse in my house and how precipitously it has dropped since MIL arrived.  Much discussion about morning tea and the weather and all that, and not much else.  Quite honestly, I would rather not talk than talk about that stuff. 

She very gently pointed out that the household I grew up in was not normal in that regard.  "You are now discovering what it's like for the rest of us," she said.  "Not everyone grew up with witty, well-read diplomats for parents, with the discussion swirling around about foreign policy and cultural stuff."

"Hmmm, I guess I never thought of it that way," I said.

"Yeah.  You should hear the conversations I have with my dad.  This is what it's like for most people.  You just have no idea.  You were spoiled."

One more thing to blame on my parents?