**Setting Boundaries: A Lesson in Standing Firm**
My wife, Eleanor, comes from a big, lively familythree brothers and two sisters, all with their own households now. Yet without fail, they descend upon our place like a swarm, turning every birthday, anniversary, or even the most obscure bank holiday into a full-blown banquet. And its always at ours. Youve got the room! theyd cheer, as if our hard-earned, mortgage-strangling cottage in the Cotswoldscomplete with garden, barbecue, and room for parkingwas their personal holiday spot.
At first, I didnt mind. Growing up an only child, I actually enjoyed the noisethe chatter, the clinking glasses, the odd tipsy uncle butchering a pub song. But over time, it turned into unpaid labour. Ever roasted a joint for fifteen hungry relatives while they lounged about? The women would flop onto the garden chairs with their G&Ts the second they arrived; the men would heroically man the grill. Meanwhile, Id be up to my elbows in sprouts, my hair a frizzy mess, my smart shirt swapped for a gravy-stained apron. Eleanor would poke her head in, looking sheepish: Need a hand? Id force a smile. Im fine.
The worst part? Finally emerging, knackered, to find them all dressed to the nines like they were at Royal Ascot, while I looked like Id wrestled a hedge. All I wanted was one evening where I could nurse a pint in peace, not ferry plates like a frazzled barmaid.
After these ordeals, Eleanor would quietly tackle the mountain of washing-up while I collapsed into bed. She was just as exhaustedher eyes begging for a lazy Sunday with a takeaway curry and rubbish telly. But neither of us dared make a fuss. Until her brother called.
Were doing my birthday at yours, yeah? Same as usual.
Eleanor hung up, turned to me, and dropped the bombshell: Tomorrow, you wake up, put on that posh jumper you never wear, fix your hair, maybe even slap on some aftershave. But the kitchen? Hands off. Not a single spoon stirred.
I frowned. But what about
Nope. They can bring their own grub. Youre not their personal chef. We deserve a day off too.
The next day, the mob arrived, arms full of Sainsburys bags and Waitrose dessertsonly to find an oddly empty table. The awkward silence was delicious. Eleanor, ever the peacekeeper, declared: New rules. Either chip in or take your parties elsewhere. Were done being your staff.
Cue stunned muttering and the quietest celebration imaginable. But wouldnt you know itmiracles do happen! The next do? Hosted by her sister. Turns out, they *can* manage just fineonce theyve had a little nudge.
**Lesson learned: Sometimes, the kindest thing you can do is say no. Now, when they visit, its differentlighter. They bring dishes, they clear plates, they even laugh without expecting us to perform. And as we sip our drinks on the patio, side by side, feet up and hands unburdened, I catch Eleanors eye and smile. For the first time, it feels like our homeand our peaceis truly ours.
