For reasons unknown, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law sagas have been the hallmark of my existence pretty much since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.
It all kicked off with the grand battle between my great-grandmother and my grandmother. When I was small, my parents parked me at my grans flat until a spot opened up at nursery, and there I witnessed what can only be described as domestic warfare. Youd think two entirely different women lived in that flat. One gran cooed at me sweetly, offered jam tarts, spun magical tales, and painted with me. The other, however, shouted at her bedridden mother-in-law, wailing about the nightmare life had handed her and, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, yelled, How much longer are you going to hang on?
After great-grandma finally passed away, my family moved out of our rented two-up-two-down and into Grans, only to spark a brand-new spatthis time, between Mum and Gran. It got so noisy that the neighbours would pop round in their slippers, pleading for peace and quiet, though calm rarely reigned for long.
By the time I was doing my A-levels, Gran was buried. Mum, ever the stoic, didnt so much as sniffle, and after the funerals nine-day ordeal, she launched a full-scale mutiny in the flatstuffing every one of Grans treasures into bin bags and carting them out with zero sentimentality. Dad returned from work to find the flat stripped of all things Gran and could barely believe Mums sympathy for his late mother. The two went at it hammer and tongs all evening, and in hindsight, that was the first domino that led to their divorce. Within six months, Dad had packed up and left.
My own wedding to James was a modest affair. Living arrangements were tricky, sosurprise, surpriseId have to shack up with his mum. There danced before my eyes all those old rows Id witnessed, and all I wanted was at least a neutral truce with my mother-in-lawif not best mates, then at least civil, without shortening each others life spans.
Determined, I mustered up all the patience Derbyshire could produce and endured my mother-in-laws daily critiques for over a year: the laundry, my roast dinners, the way I fluffed the pillows. She never actually swore but, oh, did she deliver gourmet-level sarcasm, making sure I knew who was queen bee.
After yet another constructive feedback session, I invited her to sit down for a proper chat. I bought a nice Victoria sponge, shooed my husband out for a walk, and shared my familys inheritance of female hostilities. I suggested we try not to repeat history, perhaps just be friendly neighbours under one roof.
She cut me off, shoved the cake aside as if it were a Tescos reduced item, and declared, Theres only one mistress of this house, and you know who it is. Ill communicate if and when it suits me. The best option for you? Dont communicate at all. Walk past mequietly, mind youand keep out of my way.
When James came in, looking at me all hopeful, I simply shook my head. But my mother-in-law came charging out of her lair: Well, next-door-neighbour, is your husbands supper ready?
I replied that, with her attitude, she neednt expect anyone to dish up for her when shes elderly and helpless. That lit the touchpaper! James tried to calm us, but after a year of bottling it up, I finally blew my top.
To keep our marriage afloat, we found a rented flat, penny-pinching all the way, and gradually saved enough for a mortgage on a house. In the meantime, my mother-in-law fell seriously ill and needed round-the-clock care. With no desire to replay childhood traumas, I flat-out refused caregiver duty.
I suggested James find a family to move in and look after his mum, in exchange for inheriting her flat. He grumbled but conceded. Caregivers came and went, lasting barely a fortnight, each driven out by my mother-in-laws spiritif thats what were calling itdescribing her as impossible. Eventually, we found a resilient couple who lasted a glorious two months. We signed an agreement: the flat in exchange for care, with the added caveat that someone keep an eye on how his mum was doing.
Honestly, I dont think I was the problem in our odd little arrangement. Had there been a queue round the block for her flat, I might have admitted defeatbut no one was exactly clamouring for the privilege.
