The Out-Laws

In which mama iMoo harbours violent fantasies:

1 October 2007: Today, once again, I came close to losing it with my sister-in-law. Married to my (presumably deaf) brother, she is by profession a mother of three and by vocation, a busybody on a scale previously unknown.

She cannot understand why I feed my son organic food. In fact, she cannot understand most of the decisions I (we) make about bringing up our son but today, the topic was organic food. She thinks I’m gullible, faddish and that I’ve more money than sense. To her mind, buying organic is akin to going to tarot readings or choosing your clothes according to the cycles of the moon.

So there she was in my kitchen, with her giant arse sticking out of my fridge rummaging around for something (lard, perhaps?) when she came across a bag of organic carrots. From the reaction, you would think she had discovered nuclear waste. “Do you know how much these cost?” she demanded. I did as it happened since I had bought them. She on the other hand did not. But not knowing something has never stopped her venturing a view. So I was vague and non-committal which prompted lots of head-shaking, eye-rolling, lip-pursing and sighing.

It’s not as though as I campaign for her to buy organic food. Or even discuss the fact that I do. I’m not shoving this message down her throat. She only found out because she has no MANNERS, no boundaries and no sense of appropriate behaviour in someone else’s house.

And I could have given her a million reasons why I pay (a very small bit) extra for organic vegetables but I would never presume to lecture her. In general, it is not good to review others’ parenting skills - explicitly or implicitly.  In a hundred years, I would NEVER comment on what she feeds her kids. Imagine if I said: ‘Siofra’s looking really well today. That orange hue really suits her skin. Must be all those lovely flavoured drinks you’re giving her.’

And yes I know. Her pass-remarkability (is that a word?) is merely a projection of her own insecurities as a parent. Her comments are just defensiveness masked as aggression. I get it. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’d occasionally like to wipe her face off a pebble dash wall.

I never used to harbour violent tendencies … what happened to me?