I had no idea why my wife was so jittery about her mums visit until she turned up and started running the show.
When my motherinlaw, Dorothy, called to say shed be staying a few days at our flat in Brighton, I could see Emilys shoulders tighten instantly.
I couldnt understand it. After all, Dorothy lived alone in York and rarely popped over to our quiet cottage near the Cotswolds. I thought it would be a nice chance for a family catchup.
But the closer the date got, the more on edge Emily became.
Why are you getting so worked up? I laughed. Shell be here a few days, shell enjoy our company, meet the kids it cant be that bad.
Emily gave me a weary, almost resigned look.
You dont know her like I do, she murmured.
I was convinced she was blowing it out of proportion.
Little did I know what was about to unfold.
The takeover
Dorothy arrived with two massive suitcases, as if she planned to set up camp for a year. She didnt even pause to kiss us before marching in, eyeing the house like a qualitycontrol inspector deciding whether everything met her standards.
At first everything seemed normal. She hugged us, handed the children a pile of gifts, and offered a bag brimming with homemade jam, biscuits and readymade pies.
I thought Emily was simply overreacting.
Then the next morning arrived.
And our home was no longer ours.
This is your coffee? How dreadful! How can you drink something so bitter? she shouted, staring at me as I sipped my mug.
I smiled, assuming she was joking.
She was far from finished.
These curtains are horrendous! They make the room look gloomy. We need brandnew ones.
Why have you put the sofa over there? It makes no sense! The whole layout needs rearranging.
You really dont know how to wash dishes properly, do you? First rinse with hot water, then scrub, then rinse again!
Within hours she had taken charge of the house, overturning our routines and imposing her own rules.
Emily stayed silent, but I could see how hard she was trying not to speak up.
Dorothy wasnt about to stop there.
Déjà vu
The whole scene reminded me oddly of an episode a few months earlier with Emilys younger sister, Lucy.
Dorothy had visited Lucy in Bristol, saying shed stay for two weeks, yet she was back home after just four days. We wondered whyLucy was always easygoing and never complained.
Eventually we pieced it together.
Dorothy 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 Dorothy off at the station without a word.
And now the pattern was repeating.
Only this time we were the ones caught.
The point of no return
After four days the tension was unbearable.
Returning from work, I found Emily sitting at the kitchen table, eyes glazed.
I took a seat opposite her.
I cant take it any longer, she whispered.
That morning Dorothy 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 should 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, she would never leave.
The next morning we mustered all our courage and told her it was time to go.
She froze.
Oh, I see Im a bother. Youre going to kick me out, just like Sophie 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 suitcases and slipped out the front door without even a goodbye.
The calm after the storm
When she was gone, the peace that settled over our home felt almost surreal.
Emily and I sat in the kitchen, sipping tea in a comfortable silence, still shaking from the past week.
Do you think shell ever forgive us? she asked softly.
I sighed. I have no idea.
For the first time in days I felt a genuine sense of relief.
A neverending circle
A week later Lucy rang us up.
I cant believe you did that to Mum! she shouted, sounding outraged.
Emily and I exchanged a look.
How ironic.
When Dorothy was staying with Lucy, shed lasted no more than four days before sending her packing.
Now she was accusing us of doing exactly the same thing.
We sat in stunned silence after the call, each lost in thought.
Do all parents become like this as they agemore intrusive, more demanding, more oppressive?
And the most unsettling question of all
Will we ever become like her?
