Love, Jimmie

I don’t have my own personal in-laws anymore, although when I did, I found them to be lovely people.  I probably didn’t realize at the time how lovely they were as I didn’t have what you’d call a happy marriage and it clouded my vision with everything.  However, I’ve made my peace with it (mostly) and with him (mostly) and I hope he’s done the same with me, so there’s no need to dwell on any negativity here.

The in-laws that I currently have the most of come from Martie’s husband, Coach.  He entered our lives so seamlessly, so flawlessly, that it is hard to remember what it was like before he ever came along.  Coach would do anything in the world for me and for our family.  He fixes my broken stuff.  He tells me how to listen for car problems.  He hangs out at Madre and Poppa’s house, with or without the rest of us.  He gives me a guy’s perspective whenever I need one.  It’s like he got a real wife with Martie and then a fake one with me.  (For the record, I seem to be the only one who breaks stuff and cannot fix it and calls whining at 11:00 pm with need for an immediate answer.  If he were close enough, I’d make him kill all my bugs, too.  So I have to say I’m probably not his favorite fake wife but you’d never know it, he’s so nice to me.)    

With Coach came his own family.  The more time that passes, the closer we all get.  I just never experienced anything like that really, so it is a constant surprise.  Coach’s parents, like Coach, would do anything for me, I think.  I am invited to every major holiday event.  I am hugged just like the other kids.  They ask about me every time there is a get-together.  And every year at Christmas, Coach’s mom fixes me a bag of goodies.  She makes all this homemade stuff, see, like jellies and pickles and okra.  One time, ONE TIME, I said that liked a jelly she made (it was corn cob, and if you’ve never tried it, you need to), and that was it.  Now I get a care package of one of each jelly she made over the course of the year (always a corn cob included), and one of each pickle, pepper, okra, etc. she made.  Martie, Coach, Pooh and Tigger come home on Christmas Eve laden down with every gift imaginable from Coach’s parents, and we rifle through all of it so I can see their loot.  Once we’ve done that, I sit back and wait.  I don’t say anything because one year Grandma might forget and I won’t want anyone to know how disappointed I’ll be, but every year Coach will say, “Oh, wait, there’s a bag for you in the car.”  Off he’ll trot and I’ll just beam.  It’s pretty much my favorite gift.

If anyone would like to come over for some biscuits, just let me know.  I’ve got plenty of jelly to go around.  Freddie, the pickled okra belongs to you and me.