Mark Twain once remarked that Adam must have been the luckiest man on earth because he didn’t have a mother-in-law. Now I can only speak from a woman’s point of view, but it seems that there are two types of mother-in-law: The first type likes to think she knows her son better than anyone and believes that no one will ever be good enough for him. The second know her son all too well and is just grateful someone finally agreed to put up with him. I’m just lucky that my mother-in-law falls into the latter group.
I recently ran across a survey that asked what famous woman you would choose as your mother-in-law if you could trade yours and remain married to your spouse. Roseanne Barr came in first with 5.9% of the vote. Hillary Clinton and Martha Stewart tied for second at 3.5%, with Anyone Else/ It Doesn’t Matter Who coming in at a close third. My guess would be the women that answered this particular survey married men with mothers that fall into that “no woman will ever be good enough” category.
Please don’t think I’m trying to be all high and mighty and brag. I can’t help that I hit the mom- in-law jackpot. My mother-in-law is the first person I call and complain to after I’ve walked into my bedroom and found my husband has re-installed the fax machine from his office . . . right next to my side of the bed. She won’t even get upset or try to defend the poor guy when a “free” cruise offer rolls out at of the blessed machine at 3:00 a.m. She just gets it.
I know, I know. Not everyone is as lucky. There’s a reason there are jokes out there like this one:
(A couple sits down to dinner at a fancy restaurant)
Husband: The menu describes this one as full bodied, imposing with a
nutty base, a sharp bite, and a bitter aftertaste.
Wife: Are we talking about a bottle of wine or your mother?
Speaking of restaurants, I’m betting many of y’all know my mother-in-law, Florence Packard Anderson, or to most, just plain Flo. As the creative mind behind the old Airport Restaurant, Emmeline and Hessie’s, and the Fourth of May, she’s been a culinary tour de force and all-out jolly Island resident ever since her husband moved the family down South to take a job at the King of Prince in 1970.
Only five years later, Flo found herself a widowed young mother of three children, and she did what she does best: stayed calm and carried on, just like the old British motto from World War II. She taught herself how to cook so she could support her family. When Samuel Clemens chose his pen name, he settled on “Mark Twain,” a call shouted out on steamboats to signal that they’ve reached safe water. Flo is my “mark twain.” No matter what the situation, I feel like I’m in safe water and can tell her anything.
My youngest daughter, Margot, wants to follow in Gramma Flo’s footsteps. Last week, we took the girls to Charleston for Spring Break. On the way home, I asked them both what their favorite part of the trip was.
“When the otter from the aquarium fell asleep sucking his thumb,” my oldest told me from the back seat, giggling uncontrollably.
“When we dined at Cypress and the chef gave me a tour of the kitchen and showed me how to cook a chocolate soufflé,” my youngest replied dreamily, almost as if she could still taste it.
On her seventh birthday in January, Gramma asked Margot what she wanted as a present. “Oh, you know; the usual. A few new cooking utensils, a new apron, maybe a cookbook or two,” she answered. She got all of that and more. Gramma even arranged to give Margot and her cousin and BFF, Lily, six weeks of cooking lessons. Upon completion, they would hold a graduation dinner for the family, showcasing their new culinary skills.
When graduation night finally arrived, the girls presented us with punch served on fancy silver trays. They passed around mini croissants stuffed with bacon and demitasse cups of butternut squash soup. They even served us dinner on china at the dining room table accented with their own centerpieces. They brought out desserts with huge smiles on their faces, never complaining that they still hadn’t eaten a bite.
Later that night, Gramma presented the Bronze Spoon for Culinary Excellence, thereby christening them her junior apprentices. As Margot bounced up to receive her award, you could see she actually was following in Flo’s footsteps. She worked hard, had fun, smiled, laughed, and above all else, loved every minute of taking care of her family. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of her.
Some people hold things back, worrying about how others will see them. Not Flo. She gives you everything. Even when she laughs, she gives you all she’s got. Who wouldn’t want their daughter to grow up to be like that?
My very clever friend Charlotte would say that what Flo has is “something you can’t be robbed of . . . even if you were held up at the Jiffy. No one could take it away.” The only way to describe it is as something special. I just know we’re all lucky to have her.
Especially me when I call her tonight to complain that Charlie still hasn’t changed the light bulb in the closet and that I’m so tired I can’t even sleep. I’m sure she’ll just smile to herself, letting me find my own way in safe water. And I'll know she’ll be there if I need her to give me all she’s got along the way.
****Note changes to bio
Laura is happy to report she still has the same number of children and husbands…but has somehow acquired another cat while losing two fish. She is not entirely sure if there is a direct correlation but (excuse the pun) admits something does seem fishy.
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