A Mother in Law's Love

So my husband, Rob, and I
have been married for fourteen years now
and we have been together
for nineteen years.

My relationship with him
has changed and deepened
over time.

As one would expect.

So has my relationship
with my in-laws.

However,
make no mistake.

Your in-laws are not your parents.

They are your husband's parents.
They are your children's grandparents.

They may love you
and stick up for you
and even cook you really tasty food

but their loyalties lie with blood.

Case in point:

Rob and I and the kids went to dinner last weekend
with my BIL and SIL

my niece

my nephew and my MIL.

As we were sitting at the table,
I decided to regale my captives
with a story from the day before.

I had been fixing lunch for Trey to take to school.

His school is a peanut free school
which, while I understand the reasoning behind it,
can be a major pain the ass
when your kid won't eat any kind of sandwich
besides peanut butter with apricot jam.

So, I got out a bowl and a thermos
and started heating up some spaghettios with meatballs
in the microwave.

Now, since they are going into a thermos
and I want them to be warm at lunch,
I heat them up good and hot.

I heated a half can's worth for 3 minutes on high.
Those suckers were BOILING when the time was up.

Using potholders
(because I am very smart!)
I reach up to get the bowl from the microwave
installed above the stove.

Alas, the bowl slips from my hands,
hits the smoothtop range
and the spaghettios, meatballs and sauce
come splashing onto me.

Did I tell you they were HOT?

Holy freaking mother of God, these were so damn hot!

It spashed onto my shirtfront.
It splashed onto my forearm.

And then,
the unthinkable.

It splashed up onto my double chin.

OH. MY. HELL.

MY WATTLE IS ON FIRE!!!!

I rush to the sink, turn on the cold water
and begin frantically hosing down my
steaming wattle,
which is beginning to crisp.

I stop,
rip off my shirt,
having been distracted from my wattle
by my cooking cleavage,
and recommence wattle splashing.

During this time,
I forgot entirely about my forearm.

Fast forward to the following day.

My wattle has made a nice recovery,
thanks to the Lord above.
My cleavage could use some skin tightening
so I am wishing I had perhaps burned it more.

But my forearm, man, it got nailed.
It is red, it was blistering, it was painful.

Long story short,
I was telling my story to my captive audience at the table
in hopes of some sympathy.

Instead, this is how it went:

Me:
So, I was making Trey lunch
and I put this bowl of spaghettios with meatballs
in the...."

Mother in Law, interrupting:
Spaghettios?

Me:
Yes. With meatballs.
Anyway, I....

Mother in Law, interrupting again:
Chef Boyardee Spaghettios?
You were feeding my grandchild Chef Boyardee Spaghettios?

At this she is looking incredulously around the table
at this horrible and blatant form of child abuse.

Me:
Yes, it's a peanut free school and he won't eat sandwiches.
Anyway, so I heated them up in the microwave
and then as I was getting out the bowl of boiling hot
spaghettios, it....

Mother in Law, in a rather high pitched, shrill tone:
You were heating them up in the MICROWAVE??

Me, clueless:
Yes, I can't put the thermos in the microwave so I used a bowl.
Anyway, the bowl dropped and I....

Mother in Law:
Why weren't you heating them up in a SAUCEPAN??

Me, at this point frantic to reach the point of the story:

I GOT BURNED!!
I GOT BURNED!!
Look, see, right here.
OW! OW!
It's blistering!

Mother in Law:
Won't he eat some nice lunch meat?

Yes, ladies and gentlemen,
make no mistake.
Your in-laws might love you
but they will let you burn
to save their grandchildren
from spaghettios.

with meatballs.

In the microwave.