A Letter to My Future Daughters-In-Law

Dear Daughter-In-Law

I have thought of you often and what you might look and act like. I have done the numbers and while I am no mathematician I realize there will be three of you. That is bad news for me.  You will all be comparing notes. “Did she clear his plate and leave yours when you were there?” or “OMG. She ironed his BOXERS.” or “What in the hell kind of polyester matching ensemble was she wearing?” Yes. I know your kind.

Being a woman that always has a plan, I have prepared for you.  As a matter of fact, it has become my life’s mission to work daily towards paying you back. In advance. Because I am clear that once you have your meat hooks in my boys, you will hold the power.  But. Guess what girlies?  Until then, I do.

Why, just yesterday I realized my oldest son had absolutely NO IDEA how to work the washing machine.  Mortified, I reminded myself that I swore when I birthed those three boys I would not raise helpless husbands. So. I marched him into the laundry room to show him how to use the machine.

Then this little thought bubble popped into my head of you sweetly convincing him that it is fine if he doesn’t come home for Christmas for the THIRD YEAR in a row because it’s just so far and your parents REALLY need you. I looked at my sweet boy, wrapped my arms around him and said, “Sweetie.  You go play xbox. Mama will get this.”

Similarly I have decided not to EVER let them cook.  One of them recently asked me how to make a hot dog.  “Oh honey,” I replied.  “I will get that for you.” It would have been so easy to teach him how to boil water.  But. You can do that.  Right after you convince him to use YOUR mother’s middle name instead of mine for the sweet baby girl you are expecting.  Anne is a lovely name. It would do you good to remember that.

You should know that I cook a chef style meal almost every evening for my boys.  They have come to expect it. All of them are particularly fond of my enchiladas.  A recipe you will never have. But one I will cook. Every. Single. Time. You are here. You will notice my fake smile directed at you as my aproned self places the enchiladas on the table to the mouth watering delight of my sweet baby boys. “You should make these at home, Sarah. Your husband loves them.” Additionally. I make their breakfast. And their lunches. Every day.

One final thing.  I strongly encourage all of the boys to throw their wet towels on the floor and that it is perfectly acceptable to remove items of clothing and just leave them right where they’re standing.  I enjoy putting their clothes in the hamper.  Oh. Also. They don’t make their beds, they NEVER put their clean clothes away (I do silly), have been known to complain if I don’t turn their socks right side out and you will need to encourage them to shower and brush their teeth daily.

Oh. Sorry. One more thing. At night, just before you turn out the lights.  It will be VERY important for you to remind them how wonderful they are and how TRULY grateful you are to have them. They are accustomed to this.

On occasion I feel a twinge of guilt and wonder if these measures are too drastic and then I think of you insisting they move away from me  to your hometown to be closer to your family and I head to the kitchen and whip up a batch of their favorite cookies.