In Iowa: Part 3-Hoping my in-laws are still speaking to me after this post

The best part of Iowa, obviously, is visiting family. I am the luckiest girl in the world because I count my mother-in-law among my very closest friends and Chuckie?  Well...Chuckie is Chuckie...my staunchest defender, advocate, my protector...a surrogate father of whom I treasure. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that they're both a little warped in the head. I'm not sure if it's Iowa, their affiliation with me, or just simple insanity, but everything they do is slightly bent. From hand-feeding a possum on their porch, to providing squirrels with grape jelly-filled watermelon rinds, to doggedly resurrecting a 17-year-old dead fish, to Linda's enraged obsession to eradicate her lawn of cute toadstools...I couldn't be more delighted to be related to such wacky and wonderful people!

The very center of Chuck and Linda's world is their adorable little dog, Ziggy. Forgive me for saying it, but the Zigster is a bit spoiled. At one point during our visit, his highness stopped dead in front of his full-to-the-brim water bowl and pierced Linda with a scathing stare that sent her scrambling. "Oh honey..." she cooed, "Do you need some fresh water?" She quickly re-filled his bowl of which Zig-a-roni deigned to lap with lackluster enthusiasm. Then he walked away, evidently disappointed. If he could have shrugged...I believe he would have. Chuckie made it slightly better by adding ice cubes to the bowl but I believe the dog, if we dare call him that, was holding out for Acqua di Cristallo Tributo (Oh my gosh...look it up. $60,000 a bottle!). My father-in-law, in an attempt to appease the little tyrant, is content to act as Ziggy's human Chucksicle.

Chuckie's second obsession, following Zig-a-licious, is the meticulous care of his beloved aquarium. Each resident has a detailed patient chart rivaling those used at the Mayo Clinic. Chuck is up-to-date and prepared in the eventuality of any fish ailment. Forget fin rot and ich. These diseases are small potatoes for the plecostomus in Chuck's tank. Chuckie should either take up a new profession as a fish doctor or finally admit and seek treatment for Munchhausen Syndrome with Chichlids. One poor little guy was on his last leg...er, uh...fin while we were there and Chuck refused to let him go. I casually petitioned Sydney for prayer via text during lunch. A candlelight vigil was scheduled and black velvet cloth was unearthed in order to drape the aquarium for when our little friend finally passed (through the plumbing system.). But by sure will alone...sidenote: Do NOT let Chuck by my deathbed...how is one to pass peacefully into that great aquarium in the sky with that guy endlessly poking you in the fin and blinding you with that blasted 1,000 watt fluorescent light-bulb? In the end, I think the fish decided that it was just easier NOT to die.

And then there's Linda. It has taken me YEARS to uncover her neurosis and, by jiggity, it was a big one. Big enough to almost ruin our relationship.

So...there I was, admiring Linda's front lawn when I spotted an adorable little toadstool peering out

between Linda's lush blades of grass. So sweet. I pointed out its presence to my mother-in-law who immediately frowned in studied consternation. "I had thought I'd stomped on all of them yesterday," she grimaced, rather Grinch-like, if I'm being honest. Brad, Savannah, and I gasped in horror. We are big fans of the fauna fungus. In fact, Savannah's screensaver sports our little dachshund posing next to an impressive sporophore. Leering, Linda lunged toward my minuscule mushroom. "No-oo," I cried, shielding it with my body. Backing off, Linda lamented, "Amy, I'm so sorry. I had no idea what that little toadstool meant to you. How about I go into the house and make you one of those flavored coffees so that you can enjoy it when you get back from your walk?" Peace was restored. A relationship repaired.

Fool. I never saw it coming.

Returning from our abbreviated walk given the mid-west's melting heat (We hadn't even made it half a block before I was begging to turn around), a clear, line-in-the-sand had been drawn. A message served. A warning bestowed. Barring my path to the door (and all that sweet air-conditioning) lay the strewn, lifeless bodies of two toadstools. Their mangled forms clearly

communicating Linda's directive of: My lawn/My laws.  Clearly, this was not a woman to be "truffled" with.

I had never viewed these people, my people, from this perspective before. But if the worse that they have to offer is an obsessive need to resurrect reluctant fish and heartlessly tromping toadstools, then I am more than proud to call them "family." Thank goodness I don't have any obsessive or troubling habits!