I had no clue why my wife, Emily, was suddenly so tense about her mothers visit until she turned up and practically took over our lives.
When Margaret, Emilys mum, called to say shed be staying a few days, I instantly noticed Emilys shoulders tighten.
It baffled me. After all, Margaret lived alone in York and rarely made the trek to our cosy cottage near the Lake District. I thought it would be a nice excuse for a family catchup.
But the closer the date got, the more on edge Emily became.
Why are you fussing so much? I laughed, Shell be here a few days, have a cuppa, see the kids it cant be that terrible.
Emily gave me a weary, resigned look.
You dont know her like I do, she murmured.
At the time I convinced myself she was overreacting. I had no idea what was waiting for us.
The invasion
Margaret arrived with two massive suitcases, as if she planned to move in for good. She didnt even pause for a hug before stepping inside, scanning our home with the keen eye of an inspector checking whether everything met her standards.
At first everything seemed normal. She squeezed us both, handed the children presents, and produced a tote full of homemade jam, biscuits and premade meals.
I thought Emily was simply being a worrywart.
Then the next morning arrived.
And our cottage was no longer ours.
This is your tea? How dreadful! How can you drink something so weak? she exclaimed, eyeing my mug.
I smiled, assuming she was joking.
She was just getting started.
These curtains are hideous! They make the room look gloomy. Youll need new ones.
Why have you placed the sofa there? It makes no sense! The whole layout needs redoing.
You really dont know how to wash dishes properly? First hot water, then scrub, then rinse again!
Within hours shed claimed the house, upended our routines and imposed a litany of rules.
Emily stayed silent, though I could see her biting back comments.
But Margaret wasnt done.
Déjà vu
The whole scene reminded me oddly of an incident a few months earlier with Emilys younger sister, Lucy. Margaret had travelled to Bristol to stay with Lucy for two weeks, yet she was back in York after only four days. We wondered whyLucy is usually easygoing and never complains.
It turned out Margaret had behaved exactly the same way there: critiquing the kids upbringing, rearranging the kitchen, telling Lucy how she should run her life. Lucy couldnt stand more than a few days, quietly packed a bag, bought a train ticket and escorted Margaret to the station without a word.
And now the pattern repeated, only this time we were the ones trapped.
The point of no return
After four days the tension was unbearable.
Coming home from work, I found Emily sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space. I sat opposite her.
I cant take it any longer, she whispered.
That morning Margaret had 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 moved in with you? Im alone in York; youre my family after all
It was too much.
We realised that unless we acted, shed never leave.
The next morning we summoned all our courage and told her it was time to go home. She froze.
Oh, I see Im a nuisance. Youre sending me packing, just like you did to Lucy, right?
We tried to explain we simply needed our space and were exhausted, but she wouldnt hear a word of it.
In silence she closed her suitcases and walked out without a goodbye.
The calm after the storm
When she left, the quiet that settled over the cottage felt almost unreal. Emily and I lingered at the kitchen table, sipping tea in stunned silence, still processing the past few days.
Do you think shell ever forgive us? Emily asked softly.
I sighed. I have no idea.
For the first time in a week I felt a genuine sense of relief.
A neverending circle
A week later Lucy called, outraged.
I cant believe you did that to Mum! she exclaimed.
Emily and I exchanged a look.
How ironic.
When Margaret stayed with Lucy, she lasted no more than four days before being shown the door. Now Lucy was accusing us of doing exactly the same thing.
We sat in silence after the call, each lost in thought.
Do all parents become this way as they agemore invasive, more demanding, more oppressive?
And the scariest question of all
Will we ever become like her?
