The Wife and Her Ultimatum
This morning, my daughter-in-law, Emily, looked me dead in the eye and said, Margaret, from now on, dear mother-in-law, you wont be eating any of my meals. Do as you pleaseyouve got your own shelf in the fridge, cook for yourself. And preferably before I wake up or get back from work. I stood there, stunned, like Id been slapped. So after all these years of me cooking for the family, Im suddenly banished from the kitchen and robbed of a proper home-cooked meal? Im still fuminghonestly, I need to vent or Ill explode from the sheer cheek of it.
My husband, George, and I have lived in the same house as our son, James, and his wife, Emily, for two years now. When they got married, we suggested they move inthe house is big, plenty of space, and I thought Id help the young couple out. At first, Emily seemed lovelysmiling, thanking me for dinners, even asking for my shepherds pie recipe. Naively, I was chuffed James had found a wife like that. I cooked for everyone, cleaned, did my best to make them comfortable. And now she says *this* to me! Like Im some intruder in my own home, like my roasts and puddings arent good enough for her ladyship.
It started a few months back, when Emily began moaning that I cooked too much. Said she was on a diet, that my dishes were heavy. Oddwho was forcing her to eat my steak and kidney pie? Want salad? Cook your own greens, I wont stop you. But instead, she nitpicked everythingthe gravy was too salty, the roast potatoes underdone, why so much oil? I bit my tongue, not wanting a row. James, my son, just said, Mum, ignore her, Emilys stressed with work. But I knew it wasnt stress. Shed decided the kitchen was her domain now, and I was in the way.
Then yesterday was the last straw. Like always, I made pancakes for breakfastthin, crisp at the edges, just how James has loved them since he was little. Set them on the table, called everyone down. Emily walked in, glared at them like theyd personally offended her, and said, Margaret, Ive asked you not to cook so much. WeJames and Ihave porridge in the mornings. I nearly snapped that no one banned porridge, but then came her ultimatum. My *own shelf* in the fridge! Cooking for myself! In *my* house, where Ive been in charge for 40 years, where every corners got my sweat in it!
I tried talking to James. Said, Son, so now I cook just for myself, like Im in some bedsit? This is your home, but Im not the hired help. But as usual, he played peacekeeper: Mum, Emily just wants her space. Try to understand. *Space*? And what about mine? Ive given my life to this family, and now Im downgraded to a *shelf*? George, my husband, didnt back me up either. Margaret, dont overreact, he said. Emilys young, she wants to run the house. *Run it*? And what am I, then?
Honestly, I dont know what to do. Part of me wants to pack my bags and stay with my sister in another townlet them figure it out. But this is *my* home, *my* kitchen, *my* son! Why should I be the one to budge? Ive tried being a good mother-in-lawkept my nose out of things, never mocked Emilys quinoa experiments, even did her washing-up when she was too tired. And now shes crossed me off the family meal plan like Im some stranger.
Last night, I went into the kitchen and made my own dinnermushrooms and mash, just how I like it. Emily huffed when she saw: Well, *Margaret*, isnt this better? I stayed quiet, but inside I was boiling. *Better*? A family split into your meals and my meals? Ive always believed food brings people together, that problems get solved over a shared table. Now weve got a full-blown war over pancakes and a bloody fridge shelf.
Im weighing my options. Maybe have it out with Emily? Tell her it hurts, that I wont be treated like a guest in my own home? But I worry shell twist it, say Im overbearing or dont respect boundaries. Or maybe I just stop cooking altogetherlet James and her live on granola while I order a takeaway. Well see how long they last without my steak pie.
But what really stings is James. Hes stuck between me, his mum, and his wife, whos clearly forcing him to pick sides. I dont want him hurt, but I wont grovel either. Ive worked my whole life, raised him, built this home. And now some girl tells me what shelf Im allowed? No, Emily. Not like this.
For now, Im keeping cool. Ill cook for myself, like she asked, but I wont surrender. Maybe shell rethink when she sees Im not begging for forgiveness. Or maybe George and Dad need a proper sit-down. I dont want a war, but Im done biting my tongue. This house is mine, and Ive earned my place at the table. Emily ought to ask herself if her boundaries are worth tearing this family apart.
