“Just One Day—And We Were Kicked Out”: How My Mother-in-Law Invited Us Over, Then Couldn’t Stand Our Kids
When my mother-in-law invited us for the weekend at her countryside cottage, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. Our relationship had always been… let’s say, frosty. We never argued outright, but there was no warmth between us. She only called occasionally to check on the grandkids, and I was fine keeping our chats brief. But after retiring, Margaret suddenly decided she wanted to be “Granny of the Year” and see the children. “Come for a barbecue, get some fresh air, relax!” she insisted. Well, if my husband didn’t mind and the kids would enjoy it, I agreed.
He even left work early. We arrived, settled in, the burgers sizzled on the grill, the kids played happily, and the weather was lovely. We were given the upstairs bedrooms—plenty of space. The evening started well; my father-in-law poured my husband a couple of whiskies, and they chatted. Meanwhile, I put our youngest son to bed while the eldest stayed outside with Granny and Grandad—some neighbours had stopped by. A couple of hours later, I returned to find Margaret with a pinched expression. “Take him. He’s drained me! Running around nonstop!”
The next morning, I woke early to make breakfast. Our youngest was with me in the kitchen, while the eldest slept in and later went outside to kick a ball around. Then Margaret stormed in, furious. “Your son is completely unruly! He was thundering down the stairs, shouting—and the guests are still asleep!” Except no one was asleep—it was nearly nine. And our son hadn’t been running, just walking down carefully. But to her, if her grandson made noise, I must be a bad mother.
Later, when everyone was outside, our eldest did run down the stairs once. “There! He’s at it again! No peace with them around!” she sighed dramatically, pressing a palm to her forehead. I bit my tongue, but inside I was seething: “Then why invite us if your own grandkids annoy you?!”
Then our youngest started wailing—teething pain. A full meltdown. Margaret flinched like she’d been zapped. “Right, that’s it! I can’t take it! Leave today! One more day and I’ll lose my mind!” she cried, playing the martyr. My husband tried reasoning: “Mum, I’m still half-asleep from yesterday—I can’t drive!” She instantly fetched the breathalyser. Yes, you heard right—she’d sung him every half-hour to know exactly when to kick us out.
By lunchtime, we were packing. Goodbyes were icy. My husband still speaks to his parents, but I don’t answer her calls anymore. And I won’t. Recently, she rang again—inviting us for New Year’s in her countryside “paradise.” My reply was firm: “No. Once was enough. Your hospitality is more than I can stomach.”
