Well. We survived Mexico. With its “never below 50 degrees weather”. And wonderful food that wasn’t “prepared” with the help of a car and drive-thru window. And the lazy afternoons spent knitting (oh, yes, I ‘knitted’) and playing dominoes and dice.
Yes, we survived all of that to come back here. To Tennessee. Where it is THIRTEEN degrees outside. Where I have to use every scarf made on vacation just to try and stay warm. Where I’ve been working since I stepped on to Tennessee soil (yes, within hours of pulling into the driveway from an 18-hour drive, I had counseling sessions. I amaze myself).
Needless to say, I miss Mexico.
And my in-laws. I had probably spent a total of 3 days with them up until this trip. I’ve now spent 2 consecutive weeks with them and I have fallen in love. Which is odd because normally spending 2 weeks with anyone makes you want to scratch your eyes out. But that didn’t happen for me. Thank God.
The best part, for me, was finally getting to fill in some blanks in my imagination. I have it in my head what kind of grandparents my parents will make one day (hopefully). My mom will constantly play dress up with a little girl, whispering into her ear how she’ll make a beautiful Miss Philippines one day. And she’ll back up this dream by reading the book of Esther to her every night before bed. My dad will finally get to invest in the complete Lego kingdom he’s always dreamed of. And tell them the story of Jim Henson.
I couldn’t dream about my potential child’s other grandparents until I met them, though. But now I have dreams about them, too. Now I imagine my mother-in-law presenting a little girl with her first (handmade!) apron so they can make chocolate pies together. My father-in-law will teach them how to play “Don’t you feel cheated?” and how much eggs cost in China.
Our future children (Mark would throw up if he ever read that) are going to be lucky little boogers.
Ok. Enough gushing. On to the stories…
This is milk. I don’t drink milk other than for cereal consumption. If left on my own I would maybe go through a gallon a month.
One of the things I learned about Mark after we got married was that this guy? He drinks milk. Gallons upon gallons of milk. I make milk runs on the way home from work at least every other week, not to mention buying it every time I go grocery shopping. Despite a couple of cups here and there, he is the sole milk drinker in our home.
With that said and out of the way, on our first day in Mexico the four of us went to the grocery store to pick up food that we’d enjoy. Mark and his dad wandered off to discuss the pros and cons of various cuts of meat… or something, and me and his mom wandered through various aisles.
Mom-in-love: Do you guys like hot dogs?
Me: Yeah. Mark likes brats better, though, so get those.*
(turn down the next aisle)
Mom-in-love: What about tangerines?
Me: Yeah, those are good!
(turn down the next aisle)
Mom-in-love: Do you guys drink milk?
Ok, I’m going to interrupt right here because I don’t think I made a strong enough point up above.
Mark. LOVES. milk.
We were preparing to leave for this two-week long vacation and he called me to ask if I’d pick up some milk because we had run out AND HE MIGHT DIE IF HE DOESN’T GET HIS MILK. Please hurry.
So I bought a half gallon and was sure that it would go to waste before we left. But what my man wants, my man gets. And he wanted milk.
It gets worse.
We left his car on our side of the border and his parents picked us up to carry us over. When we were locking the car up Mark says to me, “I hope the milk doesn’t go bad”. HE BROUGHT THE MILK WITH US. On a 24 hour road trip. AND he was hoping it would still be good in two weeks.
Ok, back to the grocery store.
Me: Yeah. Mark LOVES milk. He drinks it all. the. time. Get the milk.
Cut to a few hours later…
Mom-in-love: Oh, Mark, just so you know, there’s some milk in the fridge.
Mark: Oh, I don’t drink milk.
Excuse me? You don’t drink milk? Who the *bleep* are you, and what have you done with my husband?
Mark: Yeah. I read it may be what is causing the inflammation in my shoulder muscle.
Really? Really?!? Because I’m pretty sure there is a stow-away carton of milk sitting in a Civic in Texas that would beg to differ.
I was cool with him making me look like a total fool in front of his mother and making it seem like I had a dairy loving fling on the side and I was simply unable to keep my lovers’ preferences straight. I really was cool with that.
What I wasn’t cool with was getting back to our car two weeks later and hearing this…
Mark: Hey! My milk is still good! AWESOME!
* I was also wrong about the brats. Apparently, he hates those and would never, ever eat them. Yeah, don’t look for us on any future episodes of The Newlywed Show.