crossingfriendshipbridge Probably the most feared words in the English language next to “We have to talk,” are mother-in-law.  We’ve all got one. Well, most of us do.  I’ve had one in my life, in one way or another, for almost 14 years.

This is not a story of the evil mother-in-law invading my life.  She’s not at all evil.  Sure, she’s got her quirks, but the anti-Christ she is not.  Being in a relationship with her son for 14 years has taught me that.  And oh, how our relationship has changed in that time.

toni_smithWhen Derik and I were dating, it was very cheerful and new.  I’d go to his house, compliment his mother on her decoration and smile sweetly; although, I always sensed she was looking for what was under the surface of my polite chit chat.  She and I scoped each other out.  I liken it to The Dating Game, except she’s sitting behind the divider, and I’m sitting in a fold-up director’s chair, wringing my hands, hoping my responses to her questions will provide her with enough information.  That is, enough information to decide whether or not I’m “right” for her son.  Derik was watching in the “backstage” area and apparently decided all was good because he asked me to marry him.

From this point on, the relationship between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law began to slowly blossom.  We began to talk to one another woman to woman.  The pressure of needing to impress each other lessened.  We never were and are never going to be the girls who lunch together and get manicures, but we have become friends.

Now we can talk about baking cookies; though, her idea of burned and my idea of burned differ slightly.  We can compare notes about raising children; though, we each must tread lightly in that arena.  We can chat on the phone without either of us stressing out trying to figure out a topic.  In fact, I’m the one who initiates the weekly webcam session.

This Christmas she came for her usual visit, but I sensed she didn’t feel as welcome as I wanted her to feel.  I wrote her a card where I shared my true feelings.  Even though she and I come from very different astral planes, we still have a lot in common, namely her son.  I wanted her to know that I still love her, and I’m glad to call her a friend.  I hid the card in her pocketbook, so she would find it after she left my house.  When she found it, she called me on the phone, crying.  She cries easily.  We kid about it every Christmas when the lights go down at Christmas Eve service for Silent Night and any other milestone where she tears up.  Hey, it’s our way.  But I think she really understood how much I appreciate all her help and her *gulp* advice.  It’s a start, a step toward crossing over the friendship bridge.  Maybe by next Christmas, she’ll be up for those pedicures.



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