I dont understand why my wife is so dreadfilled about her mothers visit until she arrives and takes over our lives.
When my motherinlaw, Martha, calls to say shell be staying with us for a few days, I instantly notice Emilys shoulders tighten.
I cant see the reason. After all, Martha lives alone in Birmingham and hardly ever drops by our quiet house near the Cotswolds. I think it will be a nice chance for a family catchup.
But as the day draws nearer, Emily looks increasingly tense.
Why are you so worked up? I ask with a grin. Shes only staying a few days, shell enjoy us, see the kids it cant be that bad!
Emily meets my eyes with a weary, almost resigned look.
You dont know her like I do, she murmurs.
At that moment I convince myself shes exaggerating.
I have no idea whats about to happen.
The takeover
Martha arrives with two massive suitcases, as if she plans to move in for the year. She barely pauses to give us a kiss before stepping inside, scanning the house with a critical eye like an inspector checking if everything meets her standards.
At first everything seems normal. She wraps us in hugs, hands the children presents, and offers a bag brimming with homemade jams, biscuits and readymade meals.
I tell myself Emily is overthinking.
Then the next morning comes.
And our house is no longer ours.
This is your tea? How dreadful! How can you drink something so bitter? she exclaims, looking at me as I sip from my mug.
I smile, assuming shes joking.
She is far from finished.
These curtains are hideous! They make the room look dark and depressing. Youll need new ones.
Why did you put the sofa there? It makes no sense! The whole layout needs rearranging.
You really dont know how to wash dishes properly? First rinse with hot water, then scrub, then rinse again!
Within hours she has claimed the house, upending our routines and imposing her rules.
Emily stays silent, but I can see she is holding back a comment.
Martha isnt about to stop there.
A déjàvu
The scene reminds me oddly of an episode a few months ago with Emilys younger sister, Poppy.
Martha had gone to visit Poppy in Oxford, intending to stay two weeks. She left after only four days.
We wondered why. Poppy is always easygoing and never complains.
Eventually we figured it out.
Martha behaved exactly the same way there: criticizing the childrens upbringing, reorganising the kitchen, dictating how Poppy should run her life.
Poppy could only tolerate a few days. She quietly packed a suitcase, bought a train ticket and saw Martha off at the station without another word.
And now the story repeats itself.
Only this time were trapped.
The point of no return
After four days the tension becomes unbearable.
I come home from work and find Emily sitting at the kitchen table, staring vacantly.
I sit opposite her.
I cant take it any longer she whispers.
That morning Martha has crossed every line.
Dont you 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 move in with you? Im alone in Birmingham, youre my family, after all
Its too much.
We realise that if we do nothing, shell never leave.
The next morning we summon all our courage and tell her its time to go.
She freezes.
Oh, I see Im in the way. Youre going to kick me out, just like you did to Poppy, right?
We try to explain we simply need our space and were exhausted.
She refuses to listen.
Silently she zips up her bags and walks out without a goodbye.
The calm after the storm
When shes gone, a strange quiet settles over the house.
Emily and I remain in the kitchen, sipping tea in silence, still processing the past few days.
Do you think shell ever forgive us? she asks softly.
I sigh. No idea.
But for the first time in a week I feel genuine relief.
The endless circle
A week later Poppy calls.
I cant believe you did that to Mum! she exclaims, outraged.
Emily and I exchange a look.
How ironic.
When Martha stayed with Poppy, she lasted no more than four days before sending her packing.
Now she accuses us of doing the same thing.
We sit in silence after the call, lost in thought.
Do all parents become this way as they age? More intrusive, more demanding, more oppressive?
And the scariest question of all
Will we one day turn into someone like her?
