Dear MIL

Dear MIL,

It was very nice of you to drive over to The Zone today for a last-minute visit. I really enjoyed racing to the grocery store in the one free hour I had this morning, just so we could serve you lunch. Thanks for the generous 2-hour notice.

We so enjoyed listening to you brag about all of your other grandchildren. It made your endless criticism of Moose’s weight, Wizard’s academics, and Wild Thing’s myriad activities so much more … vitriolic. Your powers of observation are quite amazing. You never fail to find fault with my children, yet you completely failed to intune your son’s grave illness for months. Brava! My mother is so psychic that she knows I’m not feeling well before I do.

Finally, thanks for bringing WineGuy that large dish of your tzimmes (her version is short rib and sweet potato stew with prunes). You think it’s your son’s favorite meal, but truthfully he merely tolerates it. No one else in the house will touch that vile stuff. I’ve trained my children to eat only my grandmother’s tzimmes (carrots, raisins, brown sugar, cinnamon). Your pile of poo will go directly into the freezer until the time when your son regains his taste for meat and/or sweet things. BTW, he hasn’t touched sweet foods in nearly 2 months.

Tell your husband to get his whiny ass out of bed so that you can come back here and help us. We need to leave our children for several weeks for WG to seek medical treatment, and you are the most logical people to stay with our kids. I don’t care if FIL’s back hurts him: his son, his pride and joy, is fighting for his life and needs a break.

Your faithful DIL,


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