I couldn’t figure out why my wife dreaded her mother’s visit until she arrived and took over our lives.
When Margaret called to say shed be staying a few days with us, I instantly saw Emily tense up.
I had no idea why. After all, Margaret lived alone in York and hardly ever came to our quiet home near the Lake District. I thought it would be a nice chance for a family catchup.
But the closer the date got, the more on edge Emily seemed.
Why are you so wound up? I laughed. Shell be here a few days, enjoy a cuppa, see the kids it cant be that bad!
Emily gave me a weary, almost resigned look.
You dont know her like I do, she murmured.
At that moment I was convinced she was overreacting.
I had no clue what lay ahead.
The takeover
Margaret turned up with two massive suitcases, as if she intended to move in permanently. She didnt even pause for a kiss before stepping inside, scanning the house with a critical eye, like an inspector checking everything against her standards.
At first everything seemed normal. She hugged us, handed the children presents, and gave us a bag filled with homemade jam, biscuits and readymade meals.
I told myself Emily was simply being anxious for nothing.
Then the next morning arrived.
And our house was no longer ours.
This is your tea? How dreadful! How can you drink something so bitter? she shouted, watching me take a sip from my mug.
I smiled, assuming she was joking.
She was far from finished.
These curtains are ghastly! They make the room look drab. They need replacing.
Why have you put the sofa over there? It makes no sense! The whole layout has to be redone.
Do you really not know how to wash the dishes properly? First rinse with hot water, then scrub, then rinse again!
Within hours she had claimed the house, upended our routines and imposed her own rules.
Emily kept quiet, but I could see how hard she was fighting the urge to speak up.
Margaret wasnt about to stop there.
Déjà vu
The whole scene reminded me oddly of an incident a few months earlier with Emilys younger sister, Lucy.
Margaret had visited Lucy in Bristol, planning to stay two weeks. She left after only four days.
We wondered why. Lucy was always gentle and never complained.
Then we figured it out.
Margaret had behaved exactly the same way there: critiquing the kids upbringing, rearranging the kitchen, dictating how Lucy should run her life.
Lucy couldnt stand it for more than a few days. She quietly packed a bag, bought a train ticket and saw Margaret off at the station without a word.
Now the pattern was repeating.
Only this time we were trapped.
The point of no return
After four days the tension was unbearable.
When I came home from work I found Emily sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space.
I sat opposite her.
I cant take any more, she whispered.
That morning Margaret had crossed every line.
You dont make a proper breakfast for your husband? Just cereal? Thats a childs meal!
You never call me! A daughter ought to look after her mother!
Ive been thinking what if I moved in with you? Im alone in York, youre my family after all
It was the last straw.
We realised that if we did nothing, shed never leave.
The next morning we summoned all our courage and told her it was time to go.
She froze.
Oh, I see Im a bother. Youre kicking me out, just like Lucy did, right?
We tried to explain that we simply needed our own space and were exhausted.
She wouldnt hear a word of it.
Silently she packed her bags and walked out without a goodbye.
The calm after the storm
When she was gone, the quiet that settled over the house felt almost surreal.
Emily and I sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea in silence, still reeling from the past few days.
Do you think shell ever forgive us? she asked softly.
I sighed. I have no idea.
But for the first time in a week I felt a genuine sense of relief.
A neverending circle
A week later Lucy called.
I cant believe you did that to Mum! she shouted, sounding outraged.
Emily and I exchanged a glance.
How ironic.
When Margaret stayed with Lucy, shed lasted no more than four days before sending her packing.
Now she was accusing us of doing the same thing.
We sat in stunned silence after the call, lost in thought.
Do all parents become like this as they agemore intrusive, more demanding, more oppressive?
And the most frightening question of all
Will we one day turn into someone like Margaret?
