My motherinlaw and fatherinlaw drop by, and I hint that they could take my daughter and her kids back, but they wave their hands dismissively.
I hear the gate close behind my daughterinlaw, yet I pay it no mindshe often likes to wander off alone, without the children. My husband and I have gotten used to looking after our grandchildren, playing with them and even putting them to bed ourselves, because the young couple are either out on errands or taking a nap.
When she doesnt come back for the night, I start to worry.
Son, wheres Evelyn? I cant get hold of her!
Mom, its fine, shes gone for a break.
But its late, she should be back by now.
Mom, shes off in the hills with her friends.
My son stays calm, but my thoughts race. How could she say nothing at all? What kind of attitude is that?
Then another realization hits me and I cant relax.
When my son married Evelyn, they were both twenty. George moved in with Evelyn, as if both were single, but he still wanted to bring a husband into his own home. I had nothing against that.
Soon they had a baby, then a second one.
Thats when everything begins. My son would bring the grandchildren over in his pram, handling his own business, and in the evenings Evelyn would arrive, the kids would stay for dinner, and then wed all head over to Evelyns place.
For me its a joy to play with the grandkids, because they dont visit often. Evelyn lives on the far side of the village, so getting there isnt easy.
When they start coming more and more, sometimes staying overnight when it rains or snows, my husband and I are simply delighted.
I do everything I can to make sure the kids have food, I take them for walks so the young parents can nap, I help with bathing, washing and laundry.
One day the children announce theyre moving in with us, and I feel a surge of triumph. Im the best grandmother, the best mother; the kids appreciate me.
My husband travels for work all over the country, earning a good wage, while I keep the house running. Cooking and cleaning are no problem for me; I even manage the small garden on my own.
But now, perhaps because Im older, Im getting exhausted. The kids have picky appetites, each needing a separate dish, and Evelyn often has errands and leaves the children to me.
How can I complain? She isnt my child, so I tell George they should at least wash their own dishes and tidy up, because Im getting tired.
Mom, Evelyns pregnant again; she cant use your kitchen because of the smell. She didnt want to tell you, but could you tidy up a bit? She cant even stay a minute.
A shiver runs down my spine. Another baby? George and I barely get any sleep; the older grandchild wakes up at dawn and watches TV in our room, staying there late into the night. Evelyn will still be feeding the little one and sleeping, while David is at home.
Son, the children need to stay with you.
Mom, well have to buy new furniture; theres no space at all. Maybe you could move to the kitchen and well turn our bedroom into a nursery.
I stare in disbelief. Our cottage has only two bedrooms, a pantry, a hallway and a tiny kitchen.
Son, where will we and dad fit? The sofa is already unfolded, and theres nowhere to step.
Then dont worry about David falling asleep.
Now theres a cot for the grandchild in our room. He keeps waking up, crawling back to his parents, who bring him back, and the whole night turns into a sleepless blur; by morning my head feels like a stone.
My inlaws come again, and I suggest they could take the daughter and her kids back, but they wave their hands:
They lived with us for five years, and only a year with youdont count on us.
I realize again that things arent as they should be, but what can I do?
Even before the third child arrived, my daughterinlaw never helped; she always found an excuse, saying she was watching the kids or taking them for a walk, while in reality everyone was glued to their phones and we were working in the garden.
Now she wont bend over, wont hold a baby, wont cookeverything meets with a reaction from her.
Shes gone off on a road trip, not answering her phone, saying nothing to us, only to my husband. Were worried; the kids miss their mother, but she doesnt call, shes resting.
Son, who did she leave the children with?
Me.
Oh, you, I say, darkness clouding my eyes, then great, feed them and put them to bed.
My son doesnt know what the children like or how they fall asleep, and I tell my husband:
This is the last straw; I cant even blink.
We spend the night in the kitchen so we dont disturb the son. In the morning his mood is sour, but I pretend not to notice. The children want toast, then chicken, and I point to the fridge:
Everythings in there, cook itafter all, youre taking over as husband.
Two days pass; George calls Evelyn, begging her to return because he cant manage alone.
She arrives, bringing a bright mood with her.
So I had to come all the way here. You cant fry an egg or boil pasta?
She shouts so we can hear, and rushes to the kitchen, pots clanging, only to find the fridge empty.
Where are the groceries?
The ones you bought? I ask.
Youre saving me eggs? Or potatoes?
No, Im not saving anything. Dig up the garden, feed the chickens, collect the eggs, go to the shop and stock the fridge.
She grabs the children, says she wont set foot in our house again. My son is angry, saying the inlaws treat him badly. My husband and I hold each others hands tightly.
All this time the children never ask whos paying the bills, never thank us for the meals, never buy anything they like.
Is this the reward for all we do?
I stare at my own headwhy is my kindness met with such treatment? I did everything out of love; why did they behave like this? What do you think?
