The day before our summer holiday began, my husband suggested we spend the whole season at his parents cottage in the Lake District. We have two childrena nine-year-old son who would be on summer holiday from school, and a seven-month-old baby girl. He said the fresh air would do the little one much more good than the stuffy city atmosphere in Manchester. My husband assured me that his parents wouldnt mind, that theyd be delighted to have time with their grandchildren, and, being all too familiar with the challenges of raising young children, they wouldnt expect too much from us.
I thought it was a wonderful opportunity for all of us to enjoy the summer together, so I agreed. In hindsight, I realise how gravely mistaken I was.
Almost as soon as we arrived, my husband and father-in-law lost all interest in country life, soon returning to their home and work in Liverpool, only popping back on weekends. When they did visit, they each expected the table to be set, the house tidied, and a calm retreat arranged for them to rest from their working week. All through the week, it was just me, the children, and my mother-in-law at the cottage.
It took my older son only minutes to turn the small cottage upside down, and I had to watch him constantly. My daughter was still just a baby, needing my attention throughout the day and night. On top of caring for her, I had to make sure I was eating and sleeping enough to keep up my milk supply. The tension and stress were greater than anything Id ever experienced in the city, and there was little chance to actually enjoy the countryside.
My mother-in-law and I quickly divided the chores: she was always in the greenhouse and tending to the vegetable patch, while I stayed inside the cottage, cooking and cleaning. Wed take turns looking after the children. Because I was up nursing the baby at night, Id retire earlyaround nine in the eveningwhile my mother-in-law would be busy until late out in the garden. I offered help every night after settling the children, but she always politely declined.
I bore the domestic trials of cottage life in silence, convinced that my mother-in-law and I were on good terms.
As it turned out, I was spectacularly wrong. The truth became painfully clear when my husband appeared one Saturday and drew me aside. He told me his mother was quite cross with me. Apparently, she was worn out by the garden work and felt abandoned, thinking I spent all my time asleep instead of helping. My husband even quoted her: “A daughter-in-law should rise at least two hours before her mother-in-law, and be the last to bed.”
Id upset her in other ways, too. She was dearly displeased that I didnt always make the childrens beds after their daytime naps; apparently, that clashed with her standards of cleanliness.
Perhaps Im not cut out to be the perfect hostess, but I simply cannot fathom why I must run myself into the ground in the garden just to keep my mother-in-law happy.
