For those of you who have ever had a difficult in-law live with you, this one is for you.
The best way to describe the state of my mother-in-law's mind at the time of this incident would have to be delusional. For the whole time we lived under the same roof, she always seemed to be in her own little world where nothing else mattered but her wants and desires. I think she would have been happiest if we had relinquished the reigns of the household into her "capable" hands.
This story took place in our kitchen, late at night, on one of the hottest, muggiest nights of the year. Our air-conditioning had never been the greatest. When the sun would beat down all day and the temps were in the 90's, we were lucky if it was 10 degrees cooler in the house. Trying to sleep in that weather was always difficult for me.
My mother-in-law loved to cook large batches of food that she would nibble throughout the week. Unfortunately, she loved doing this at night, usually around midnight or later. The problem was, I had to get up in the morning and go to work. Struggling to fall asleep in the heat and then having to endure the smell of her food as she was cooking, did not make me very happy.
No matter how many times I told her to cook during the day, (since she didn't have a job and was home all day) it always ended up being close to midnight before she'd pull out the Le Creuset cast iron pot.
Her favorite thing to make was oatmeal, a whole vat of it at a time.
On this night, I saw the telltale signs around 11 p.m. or so. Pot on the stove. Oatmeal container next to it. I started to get worried. With the heat I didn't know how I would get enough sleep to face the next day at work. I politely asked if she could wait until the morning, since it was supposed to cool off the next day. I thought I got through to her. It would have been a first, but I was hopeful. I went back to my room.
About 5 minutes later, the smell of oatmeal danced down the hall and into my nostrils. It probably wouldn't have been so bad, but I knew what was coming next. She always put creamy JIF peanut butter in her oatmeal. Not only would I have to endure the extra heat and humidity that boiling food on the stove would cause, but now I would have to try to ignore what smelled like peanut butter cookies wafting through my room. Peanut butter cookies….I love peanut butter cookies! Aughhhhhhh!
I tried to stay calm. I tried to be understanding. But why, when she always did what she pleased and didn't care about anyone but herself. Anger started rising. Must…stay…calm. I knew if I went out there it was going to be ugly. Patience…..understanding…………PEANUT BUTTER! A scream ripped through the inside of my head, "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!!!!"
Down the hall I went. I was about to do something I had never done before in my entire life, I was going to completely lose it.
Mother-in-law was at the stove, merrily stirring her bubbling vat of faux-cookie-smelling-oatmeal. I gritted my teeth. I went over and opened the kitchen door that leads out to a nice screen porch and flipped on the lights. Circling back, I grabbed a couple of pot holders, went over to the stove, and whisked away the vat while she was still stirring. Then I barreled out to the screen porch, fumbled with the screen door with my hands full, stomped down the wooden steps to a cement patio, and hurled the cast iron pot, and the sloppy glop within, toward a sloping flower bed a few feet away.
By this time, mother-in-law had wandered out to the screen porch, dazed and confused and angry.
"Well! Bring it back in here so I can wash it because I'm not going out there to get it!" she said in her annoying clipped, snotty voice.
Is it possible to go beyond completely losing it? Why yes, yes it is. And I went. Completely. Beyond.
While she was speaking, I had started back up the steps, but at her words, I stomped back down them again. I rushed toward the flower bed, not seeing a landscaping rock hidden in the shadows, and fell to my knees. I was up on my feet again like a springing cat. I felt no pain. I dashed over to the pot, no potholders this time, and yanked it up by the handles. I think the heat of my rage was hotter than the pot, because it didn't burn me.
Like a discus thrower at the Olympics, I hurled that pot with all my might into the back yard.
"Well! It can just stay out there because I'm not going out there to get it!" she quipped in the same snotty voice.
"GOOD!" I yelled back, "IT CAN STAY OUT THERE 'TILL HELL FREEZES OVER!!!!!"
I stomped back up the steps to the screen porch as she wandered back into the house.
"Well! Now I don't have enough oatmeal to make another batch!" she fumed.
"GOOD!" I yelled at her again, stomping down the hall and slamming my door as hard as I could.
I still didn't sleep well that night, but I sure got a lot out of my system! That pot sat forlornly in the green grass for a couple of days before we called a truce.
While writing this, I got curious and measured the distance I hurled that silly pot. Approximately 35 feet. Not bad!
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