“One Day Was Enough”: How My Mother-in-Law Invited Us Over, Then Couldn’t Handle 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, chilly. No shouting matches, but no warmth either. She only called occasionally to ask after the grandkids, and I was fine keeping our chats short. But after retiring, Margaret Edwards suddenly decided she wanted to be “Grandmother of the Year” and spend time with the children. “Come over for a barbecue—fresh air, a proper break!” 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 barbecue was sizzling, the kids were playing, the weather was lovely. They put us up in the guest room upstairs—plenty of space. The evening was pleasant enough; my father-in-law poured my husband a few whiskies, and they caught up. Meanwhile, I put our youngest, Oliver, to bed while our older boy, Henry, stayed outside with his grandparents—neighbors had dropped by. A couple of hours later, I returned to find Margaret with a face like thunder. “Take him. He’s drained me! Running nonstop!”
The next morning, I got up early to make breakfast. Oliver was with me in the kitchen, while Henry slept in and later went outside to kick a ball about. Then Margaret stormed in, furious. “Your boy has no manners! Clattering down the stairs, shouting—people are still asleep!” Except no one was—it was nearly nine. And Henry hadn’t been running, just walking carefully. But there was no reasoning with her—if her grandson made noise, I was clearly failing as a mother.
Later, Henry did dash down the stairs when everyone was outside. “There! He’s at it again! No peace with them around!” she sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead. I bit my tongue, but inside, I was fuming. “Why invite us if your own grandchildren are too much for you?!”
Then Oliver started wailing—teething pain. Full-blown meltdown. Margaret shot up like she’d been electrocuted. “Right, that’s it! I can’t take anymore! Leave today! One more day and I’ll lose my mind!” she wailed like a martyr. My husband tried to protest: “Mum, I’m still tired from yesterday—I can’t drive yet!” She immediately fetched the breathalyser. Yes, you heard right—she’d been testing his alcohol levels every half hour to know when she could kick us out.
By lunchtime, we’d packed. The goodbyes were frosty. My husband still talks to his parents, but I don’t pick up when she calls. And I won’t. Recently, she rang again—this time inviting us for New Year’s at her countryside “paradise.” My reply was firm: “No. Once was enough. Your hospitality is more than I can stomach.”
