Love 'em or leave 'em...

Do you like your in-laws? The mother and father kind, not the sister or brother kind...

I have struggled to have a relationship with mine. Part of why it aint happening is my fault I know. I can be...inflexible? I can have...expectations? High ones. I can feel...dissapointed hurt and unforgiving when said expectations aren't met? Yep. Yep. And, YEP. Sigh. The hugest (new word: huge-est) problem is when my characteristics and theirs are the same. Ah! See! Now you get it!

I am continually hurt by my in laws, and continuously baffled by how to reach them. Granted, as my husband says, moving 3000 miles away from them didn't help matters much. Recently, my MIL emailed me asking what the kids wanted for the holidays. I replied with first a blatheration (new word! you figure it out!) of thanks and gratitude for her asking and then I followed up with all their sizes and their individual likes/dislikes for clothing, listed authors and book titles, listed bands and musical genres, specified PS2 and Gameboy SP and Basic Leapster. I went so far as to delve into each childs personal and current hobbies and suggested accoutrements (ooh, never used that word before, hope I spelled it right!) for each. Today my FIL called my husband at work. He said, since they didn't really want to buy the kids bathrobes and slippers (yes, sadly, this was one of the multitude of clothing options I offered) they would just buy the kids those new pre-filled credit/debit card things.

Happy Holidays, heres some plastic cash for you. You're 7 years old, go to town.

Can you hear me hitting my forehead on the wall?

Previous to this, they sprung for new spring outfits each year. New school clothes each August. Loads of gifts for Hannukah and birthdays. When things began getting tense between me and my MIL, the spring and school clothing drives ended. That's ok, I don't assume that money=love. Birthday gifts got more...technical, less...fun. Then last October we decided to move the 3000 miles away. We are officially on the shit list. At least, I am. Cuz the move was MY idea. It was MY fault. Now my kids get plastic cash as a gift.

I get a broken heart.