We were expecting the inlaws one evening, and I hinted that they could swing by and pick up our daughter and her kids. They waved their hands in dismissal.
I heard the gate close behind my daughterinlaw, but I paid it no mind; she liked to wander off on her own, away from the little ones. My husband and I have gotten used to looking after our grandchildren, putting them to bed and playing with them, because the young couple are either out working or taking a break.
When she didnt return for the night, I stopped worrying.
Son, wheres Emily? I cant get a hold of her! I called.
Its fine, Mum, shes gone for a weekend away, my son replied.
What time is it? She should be back by now.
Shes off in the hills with her friends.
My son stayed calm, but my mind kept racing. How could she say nothing at all? What sort of attitude was that?
Then another realization hit me, and I couldnt find peace.
When my son Michael married Emily, they were both twenty. Michael moved into Emilys flat, each a singleton, but both wanted a family eventually. I had no objections.
Soon they had a baby, then a second child.
Thats when things really started. Michael would bring the grandchildren over in a pram, then head off to work. In the evenings Emily would pop over, the three of them would dine at our place, and then theyd all go back to Emilys house.
For me, it was a treat to play with the grandkids, since they didnt visit often. Emily lives on the far side of the village, so a quick dash isnt possible. Yet she kept coming, and soon the children began arriving more frequently, sometimes staying overnight when it rained or snowed. My husband and I were only pleased.
I made sure the kids always had something to eat, took them for walks so the parents could nap in the afternoon, helped with baths and laundry. When the children announced they were moving in with us, I felt a surge of triumph. I was the best grandmainlaw, the best motherfigure, and the youngsters seemed to appreciate it.
My husband travelled for work all over the country, earning a decent wage in pounds, while I kept the home running. Cooking and cleaning were no problem for me; I even ran a small sidebusiness from the back garden, handling everything myself.
But as the years piled up, I began to tire. The kids each wanted their own meals, so I had to cook separately for each, and Emily often had errands that left the children in my care.
How could I complain? She isnt my child. I started urging Michael, Could you both wash up and tidy a bit? Im getting exhausted.
Mum, Emilys expecting another baby. She cant use your kitchen the smell is too strong. She didnt want to tell you, but she asked if you could tidy up a little, because she cant even stay there for a minute.
A shiver ran down my spine. Another baby? My husband and I barely get any sleep as the eldest grandson rises at dawn, watches TV in our sitting room, and insists on staying there until late at night. Emilys little one feeds and sleeps elsewhere, while David, the youngest, is still at home.
Son, the kids need to be with you, I said.
Theyre going to need new furniture, theres no room left. Could you move to the kitchen and well turn your bedroom into a nursery?
I could only stare. Our cottage has two bedrooms, a pantry, a corridor, and a very small kitchen.
Son, where will Dad and I fit? The sofa is already stretched out; theres nowhere to step.
Then dont worry about David falling asleep.
Soon a cot for the grandson appeared in our bedroom. He would wobble awake, crawl back to his parents, be carried back, and the night would turn into a long, sleepless grind. By morning my head felt like a mountain.
When the inlaws came again, I hinted they could fetch my daughter and her kids, and they waved their hands again:
They lived with us for five years, youve only had us a year, so dont count on us.
I realised things werent right, but I didnt know where to turn.
Even before the third child arrived, the daughterinlaw never helped; she always found an excuse. One moment shed watch the kids, the next shed leave them to wander, while the rest of us were stuck in the garden.
Now she refuses to bend, cant hold a baby, cant cook everything she does meets with resistance.
Shes off on a road trip, doesnt answer the phone, and only told my husband something. Were worried; the children miss their mother, yet she doesnt call, saying shes resting.
Son, whos looking after the kids?
Me.
Ah, you, I said, and my eyes darkened. Fine, feed them and get them to bed.
Michael doesnt know what the children like or how they fall asleep, and I turned to my husband:
This is the last straw; I wont lift a finger.
We slept in the kitchen to avoid disturbing the son. He woke in a sour mood, but I pretended not to notice. The children wanted toast, then chicken, and I pointed to the fridge:
Everythings in there, cook it. Youre playing house now.
Two days later Michael called Emily, begging her to come back because he couldnt cope.
She arrived, brighteyed and full of good cheer.
So I had to travel all the way here because you cant fry an egg or boil pasta? she shouted, making sure we both heard her.
She threw herself into the kitchen, rattling pots while the fridge stood empty.
Where are the groceries?
The ones you bought? I asked.
Do you have any eggs? Potatoes?
No, I dont. Go fetch the hens, collect the eggs, then go shopping and fill the fridge.
She scooped up the children, told their mother she wouldnt be staying, and Michael turned on us, saying the inlaws were a nightmare. My husband and I clung to each others hands.
All this time the kids never asked how they were being fed, never thanked us, never bought anything they liked.
Did we earn this pay for all we did?
I keep racking my brain why does my kindness get met with such treatment? I did everything out of love, so why did they behave like this? What do you think?
