Mum was already upset with me when she found out my husband’s relatives had invited us to stay with them by the seaside this summer. They live on the coast and would be delighted to have me and my daughter for the entire summer. Of course I want to go; the doctor advised us to take the little one to the sea so shed be healthier and suffer fewer colds throughout the year.
But Mum is in tears, insisting such a plan is simply unreasonable because the summer months are so busy in the garden and she cant manage on her own. She relies heavily on my help. She still brings up how I didnt help her enough last year. Its truemy daughter was only a few months old then and I had no time for Mums vegetable patch.
Even back in secondary school, Id had enough of that garden. While everyone else had summers full of swimming, cycling and lazing about, I was marched to the vegetable plot nearly every day, a chore list in hand, tackling the weeding, watering and other endless jobs. My parents worked weekdays and could only pitch in at weekends, but I was expected to give up my free timewhy wouldnt I want to spend it in the garden?
While other children were out playing, I was fretting over beans and carrots, all so Mum could spend her weekends lecturing me about how I was somehow still doing it wrong.
When I went to university, I wanted to earn some extra cash in the summer, but that only earned me a fresh round of guilt trips.
After getting married, Mum tried to rope my husband, George, into gardening too. He went along a couple of times, saw that the work never ended, and quickly refused to take part again. Mum was most affronted, pointing out the vegetables werent just for her, but for us as well. But George reckoned it was easier and less expensive to simply buy what we needed from Sainsburys than to spend our lives digging in her garden every weekend.
I didnt go as often either, despite Mum making me feel guilty from a distance. Then I became pregnant and the matter was settledI couldnt possibly help out since the heat made me feel dreadful.
Once my daughter Amelia was born, I skipped the gardening season altogether, though Mum hinted that surely with a bit of organization I could fit it in. Even she realised, with an infant, it simply wasnt practical. But she was already plotting for next year.
Mum reasoned that by then, Amelia would be big enough to take turns in the garden, and I could finally make my grand contribution to the great vegetable mission.
And the baby will benefit, she insisted. The city is full of pollution and grimy grass, while the countryside is lovelyfresh air, sunshine, and we could buy a little paddling pool and a sun umbrella. Shell have a wonderful time, Mum said, her plans growing ever more elaborate.
These prospects didnt really inspire me, but I kept my mouth shut not to make things worse. My own ideas looked quite different.
During Christmas holidays, my mother-in-law was visited by her sister, my husbands aunt and godmother, to whom hes very close. Shes practically his second mum. She and her husband live on the coast in Devon. Their grown-up son works abroad, so its just the two of them at home these days.
They invited us to stay this summer, completely free of charge, saying theyd be absolutely thrilled to have us.
At first, I thought they were simply being polite, but then my husbands aunt rang several times to remind us that their offer still stood. George, of course, cant take the whole summer off, but can drive us down for a week at the start of summer and return for another week in autumn to collect us.
We desperately want to spend time by the sea, and our doctor has recommended a seaside holiday, so Im all for it. Only my mother is making life difficult.
Suddenly the sun became dangerous, and how could I go off to stay with strangerswhile her beloved garden became the new miracle for my daughters health. She brought up her lonely labours in the garden last summer too. I remain determined to go, which only infuriates her further.
Honestly, given the choice between a garden and the seaside, who in their right mind would pick the garden? Especially when I dont even need anything from it. We buy all our fruit and veg from the shops, and Mums jams and pickles remain untouched in the cellar, gathering dusttheyre simply not to our taste.
Sometimes, we hold onto old expectations out of habit, not real need. But its just as important to choose a path that brings growth and happiness to our own family, even if it means gently disappointing those we love. After all, true care sometimes means letting others forge their own traditions, and trusting that love will endure beyond a few missed gardening seasons.
