The Five-Year Plan for Getting Along With In-laws

By Anna Seip

 

 

When I got engaged to Jim, I planned on marrying into a normal family. I envisioned a wonderful set of in-laws: a mom who baked turkeys, a dad with carpentry skills and sisters who would share clothes with me. Then, I actually met them. Reality kicked in and I had to face facts: they didn’t like me.

 

For one thing, I was divorced. Nobody in my fiancé’s family had ever been divorced. They had a problem with “little Jimmy” marrying a wanton woman.

 

Not only was I divorced, I was divorced with a child. Before my future mother-in-law even met my son, she let me know – via e-mail and post card – that she and Jim’s dad would not be grandparents to my son. They wanted to be “just grandfriends.” I was livid. Why would she want to put limits on a relationship that hadn’t even started yet?

 

Under their scornful glances, I still had a wedding to plan. Jim’s mother and sisters took over the details. They wanted to make sure I was on track with the type of wedding they wanted. I resisted the urge to remind them that I’d planned a wedding before.

 

 “I’m sure it’s going to be a small wedding. I can’t see Jimmy having a large wedding,” his sister said.

 

“And I’ll need a copy of the guest list to look it over. You are inviting all the cousins, right?” his other sister said.

 

“And you have to invite Aunt Sarah and Uncle Donald to the rehearsal dinner,” his mother said. “If you don’t, they’ll just be staring at the walls of their hotel room the night before the wedding.”

 

“Well, rehearsal dinners are typically for the wedding party only,” I said.

 

And on and on it went. Until it all just blew up. A week before the big day, Jim’s mom called him and yelled at him for an hour. She told him I “didn’t care about family.” Didn’t care about family?! She was the one who wanted to be “just” a grandfriend! Then Jim’s sister called and asked him if he “was absolutely sure” I was the right person for him.

 

We survived the wedding then realized the problems were still there. Despite taking vows, I didn’t automatically become a member of their family.

 

I wanted no contact with people who had treated me and my son so badly. Jim and I spent the first year of our marriage distancing ourselves from them. How in the world did my amazing husband come from this group? That year, he and I hosted our own Thanksgiving dinner – for three.

 

“But, what if Jimmy doesn’t like your stuffing?” my father-in-law asked. “He’s used to his mother’s stuffing. What do you put in it? Because he doesn’t like celery.”

 

I tried to attend Christmas dinner at the in-laws’ house but had a panic attack on the way there. I told my husband he could either take me home or take me to the hospital. As soon as he turned the car around, I felt better.  

 

The panic attacks continued with every family event. Finally, I went to my pastor for counseling. The more I talked, the more it sounded like a comedy routine. There’s a reason so many mother-in-law jokes exist.

 

“Put yourself on a five-year plan,” my pastor said. “Pretend you’re a missionary, setting up camp in a new culture. Observe the ways of the natives.”

 

“I don’t get it,” I said.

 

“When I send a missionary over to some remote country, they want to quit almost immediately,” he said. “But, if a missionary can tough it out in a country for five years, he’ll end up staying forever.”

 

And, for some reason, that advice clicked. I made a plan – a five-year plan – to slowly assimilate into the in-law tribe. I was heading into only my second year of marriage, so things were going to take a while.

 

“Hey,” my husband said, “just think: we’re two-fifths of the way there!”

 

OK, I would never advise anyone to have a baby just to improve in-law relations. I wanted to have a baby regardless. It just happened to be a bonus that my in-laws were so happy about it. My mother-in-law took me shopping for maternity clothes and hosted a baby shower for me. We still didn’t have much to say to each other, but we were both excited about the arrival of a new family member. When my daughter was born, we named her Lila, after my mother-in-law’s only sister who had died years ago. My husband and I had kept the name a secret until the birth. When my mother-in-law heard the name, she wept tears of joy. I really do think that’s where our relationship took a turn for the better.

 

For Christmas that year, she gave my son a present with a gift tag that read, “From Grandma.” My son didn’t notice, but I did – and it choked me up. Buoyed by our first good Christmas visit in years, I asked her if she’d mind if I hosted her birthday dinner at my house. She was thrilled with the idea.

 

I invited the grandparents, sisters, their husbands and children. Part of me worried that nobody would show. But, all 15 of them came. The sisters complimented my cooking and washed all the dishes afterward.

 

“Wow, we’ve never had a visit that good with my family before,” my husband said.

 

Sure, my father-in-law talked nonstop, but maybe it was just his way of maintaining his status as the patriarch, a.k.a the chief of the tribe. And yeah, maybe my mother-in-law was quiet, but she was smiling – a sign of happiness in any culture.

 

As I head into my fifth year of marriage, I feel like a successful missionary. This tribe, after many years, has finally welcomed me. And, I consider myself one of them. Things aren’t perfect, but we’ve grown more comfortable with each other. I now have a mom who cooks turkeys and a dad who knows how to unclog a drain. I’m still working on sharing the sisters’ closets. But, there’s time. After all, I’m going to be a part of this family forever.