My mother’s old cookie jar had been sitting on my kitchen counter for years. It was ugly, chipped, and cracked along one side, but it was one of the few things I had left from her, so I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. My mother-in-law, Carol, had never understood that. Every time she visited, she found something to criticize. The dishes needed rearranging. The pantry was disorganized. The counters weren’t being used properly. I learned to let her talk.
Then one Sunday, she came into my kitchen while my husband and I were distracted and started rearranging things again. I noticed her near the cookie jar, but thought nothing of it. Later that afternoon, I found the jar sitting inside the trash can. I was furious and pulled it out before anyone could take it away. My daughter was watching from the doorway when she suddenly pointed at the bottom of the jar.
“Mom,” she said, “what is that?”
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