I like my mother-in-law.  Really.

I know many sitcom plots and joke books would be half as thick without mother-in-law disdain but I and mine actually get along.  Better than get along really: We have a special bond.  We’re married to the same person.

Let me take you back two Thanksgiving dinners.  We’re dining on my mother-in-law’s scrumptious lunch (she’s an outstanding cook) when we notice Phil, my father-in-law, is missing from the table.  He was just there a second ago.  Where’d he go? Then we heard it – the long swooshes of the power washer against the siding of the house.  On Thanksgiving.

He ate.  Sat as long as he could (less than 60 seconds) and then went power-washing.  On Thanksgiving.

Now, let’s look at yesterday afternoon.  My wife.  Out of things to do.  Bored.  After sitting as long as she could after lunch (less tan 60 seconds) went cleaning upstairs. In a house that’s not hers. Without being asked to do such a thing.

My in-laws, until last night, had a storage room – you know, where things are stored.  But my wife saw potential for that there room and had the free time to make her dream a reality.  Vwala! – an exercise space materialized in minutes.

Two piles – and only two piles – were made of the stuff that previously inhabited that room: Pile A: Goodwill. Pile B: Trash.  This morning, as soon as I wiped the gunk from the corners of my eyes, I was put to work taking stuff from pile A to the truck where my father-in-law happily – nay, proudly – drove it away at his little girl’s request.

Now the organizing of the remaining stuff has begun.  Shelves are being purchased.  Diagrams are being drafted.  An investment in an elliptical machine is being pondered. Phase two of Becky’s grand plan has been set in motion.  And Brenda, my mother-in-law, and I have once again bonded over our dwarfed work ethics, our love for sitting on couches and conversing, and our common plight: Our being hitched to type-A overachievers who won’t leave our stuff alone.

We love them.  Our lives are better because of them.  Our free time is put to good use by them.  And they’ve brought us together.

How long can I hide at Starbucks today “checking my e-mail” and how long can Brenda hide at Target “buying snacks”?  We. Will. See.