Her mother-in-law was a force of nature—loving, persistent, and occasionally obsessed. One week, her mission was sour cream. Not just any sour cream, but rich, country-style, and she was determined to gift it to someone in the family. She began a calling spree, starting with her daughter, who firmly declined. Undeterred, she moved on to the eldest daughter-in-law, who had mastered the “three no’s” rule by age forty. Another rejection.
Next, she tried her eldest son, but he was at work and politely declined. That didn’t stop her from venting about the daughter-in-law who “didn’t appreciate fresh food.” With a grunt, she dialed her eldest grandson. “Alex, I have sour cream,” she announced. He was in the middle of exams and not exactly dreaming of dairy. He declined, too.
Still, she pressed on. The middle grandson picked up, and when he mumbled “uh,” she took it as a yes. Triumphant, she packed the sour cream and headed out for a visit. Her son, just back from work, opened the door to find her smiling and clutching the container like a trophy.
She handed it over with pride, still muttering about the daughter-in-law’s lack of culinary appreciation. Her son accepted it with a mix of amusement and surrender. The sour cream had found its home—whether anyone wanted it or not.
Later, the family laughed about the saga. It wasn’t just about dairy—it was about her unstoppable spirit. When she set her mind to something, even sour cream became a quest. And in her own quirky way, she made sure everyone felt her love… one container at a time.
