Several months ago, my husband had a show in St. Petersburg, Russia. It was a whirlwind affair, he basically flew in, worked around the clock, then flew out. There was not much time to see the sites, let alone load up on traditional Russian souvenirs. But I had asked him to please, please bring back some of those nesting dolls for the girls. I have always wanted a set myself, and thought the girls would love to have them. And so he did bring them home, three sets. One for Coco, one for Pea and one for our niece, Lilly. And honestly, I am not exaggerating when I say that he went through hell to get them. The hours he was working were so insane as to preclude him from shopping at any stores during normal business hours. Finally, hours before leaving for the airport, he begged (bullied?) the proprietor of his little hotel to open up a display case in the lobby and sell him the three (how lucky was that?) sets of dolls that were in it.

So he arrived home, Pea loved her nesting dolls, played with them all afternoon and then they want onto a high shelf in her bedroom for when she is older (and more delicate at playtime). Coco’s also went onto a shelf in her room, too, to be enjoyed when she is older. And then I gave the third set to my mother-in-law to give to our niece. She sees her more than we do. Much more. As in she’s practically raising the kid. So it just made sense.

We never heard from anyone about Lilly receiving the dolls. No one emailed or called or even mentioned it in conversation. So we let it go. Oh well, right? It’s that whole differing opinion on thank you notes that has had me at odds with my husband’s family for years. I grew up in a household where you wrote your thank you notes before you could play with your new toys. It’s just how it was, and that has stuck with me to this day. I write thank you notes for everything, from gifts to special care I’ve received from someone in the service industry to my neighbors, who so graciously watered our plants while we were out of town for two days. And if you grew up not writing thank you notes, than you will think that I am uppity. And I admit, I am a little uppity, but this kind of an upbringing was just ingrained in me and I’ve chosen to continue the tradition with my own children. Although they are too young to write notes now, I write them on their behalf.

Fast forward to yesterday afternoon. My mother-in-law requested that my husband, who is preparing for another trip to Russia, although this time to Moscow, bring back a new set of nesting dolls. But this time, she asked for them for herself. Something ridiculous about wanting them so that she can pretend she’s the tiny little doll at the end. Uh… she’s so not being honest. Because she’s mentioned to me two times in the past that the next time my husband is in Russia, he just has to bring back a new set of dolls for Lilly because the ones that he brought her back were too, and I quote, “itty bitty.” “Oh, and while you are at it, bring me some of those cute little Russian pencils, too. You know, the ones you gave Pea.”

These, above, are the pencils she’s referring to.

Anyway, I am so unnerved by this. Am I crazy? Do I let these people get to me too much? Because they just seem so ungrateful. Not only did no one ever even acknowledge that my husband brought back these wonderful little dolls for Lilly, but they’ve apparently all come to an agreement that they aren’t good enough for little Lilly and so my husband should now go out of his way to find her new ones – better ones – the kind that he brought back for his own girls.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. I told my husband, under no uncertain terms, was he to bring those dolls back for Lilly. And it kills me that I’m acting like a spoiled and petulant child, but I just feel so frustrated that nothing is ever good enough for these people. We go out of our way, time and again, to think of everyone. We call when our nieces and nephews are sick. We go to dance competitions. We go to birthday parties. We send gifts. We send cards. We bring back souvenirs from far away lands. But nothing, and I repeat, nothing we do is ever good enough for these people.

Is it me? Is it just me? Do I expect too much? Am I too hard on these people? Should I let go? Can I let go?