My son is a mess; my daughter-in-law is just like him. Im exhausted from living in their chaos.
I never thought Id say it out loud, but Ive had enough. Im sick of the dirty dishes, the floors that havent seen a broom in weeks, the lingering smell of spoiled food, and feeling like Im living with careless roommates instead of in my own home. And all of this because of my own son and his love, whove been staying here for two months as if theyre on holiday.
Oliver is twenty. Hes studying remotely, just finished his military service, and landed a job straight away. A grown man, supposedly independent, who helps with bills and doesnt sit idle. I was proud of him. Until that wretched conversation.
Mum, he said one day, its hard for Emily at home. Her parents argue, things get thrownshe cant even study in peace. Can she stay here a while, till things calm down? We wont be any trouble.
I felt sorry for her. Id met her beforequiet, polite, eyes downcast, soft-spoken. How could I say no? Besides, Oliver has his own room, theres space. But I didnt expect the *gift* this would turn out to be.
The first few weeks, they made some effortdishes cleared, floors swept, no noise. We even made a cleaning rota: Saturdays for them, Wednesdays for me. I thought maybe theyd grown up. But by week three, it all fell apart.
Dirty plates with dried-on scraps piled up in the sink for days, hair and wrappers littered the floor. The bathroom? Shampoo streaks, hair in the drain, soap scum everywhere. Their room looked like a denclothes strewn about, crumbs on the desk, unmade bed. Emily wanders around in a face mask, phone in hand, as if shes at a spa, not in *my* house.
I tried to talk, to remind them. Always the same: We havent had time, well do it later. But later never came. I started putting the mop and cleaning supplies right in their handsno words, just silence. Not even that worked. Once, they spilled sauce on the tablecloth and just walked away. Guess who cleaned it? Me.
When I walked into their room and saw the state of it, I couldnt hold back:
Doesnt it bother you, living like this?
Oliver didnt even blink. Genius thrives in chaos.
But I dont see genius in this chaos. Just two adults whove decided pigs live better and Mum should pick up after them.
Oliver promised to chip ingroceries, bills. In reality, he only pays the utilities. He shops once a week, but the takeaway sushi, pizza, and the rest? Nearly every day. They offer me some, but that doesnt helpthe fridge is still empty. With that money, we could feed the whole family.
Emily doesnt work; shes studying. She has a grant, but she hasnt put a single pound toward food or cleaning. Spends it all on rubbish. When I suggested even a small contribution, she just shrugged, offended.
I raised Oliver alone. His father left before he was born. My parents helped, I worked twice as hard, saved, did everything for him. Never held it over him. And I dont want to start now. But watching my home turn into a pigsty? I cant take it anymore.
I tried talking calmly. Once, twice, three times. Now its clearthey wont change. They think Im just a nagging old woman who should be grateful they tolerate me under their roof.
Two months Ive put up with this. Enough. Ill tell them straight: either they sort themselves out, or they find a student flat. Maybe there, theyll learn what it means to respect someone elses space.
Because Im done being their maid. I want peaceno stress, no towering piles of dirty dishes, no socks left on the kitchen floor.
What would you do? Should I risk a row with my son? Or keep turning a blind eye to this mess, in a home I built with my own hands?
