My sisterinlaw and I drop by, and I hint that she could take her daughter and grandchildren back, but they wave their hands dismissively. I hear the gate close behind our daughterinlaw, yet I pay it no mindshe often goes for a walk alone, without the kids. My husband John and I have gotten used to feeding, entertaining and even putting our grandchildren to bed ourselves because the young couple are either busy or taking a break.
When she doesnt come back for the night, I start to worry.
Peter, wheres Emily? I cant get a hold of her! I ask.
Dont worry, Mum, shes gone for a weekend away, he replies.
What time is it? She should be back by now, I press.
Shes taken a trip to the Lake District with her friends, he says calmly.
Peter stays relaxed, but my mind races. How can she leave without saying a word? Whats going on?
Then another realization hits me, and I cant rest.
When Peter married Emily, they were both about twenty. Ian moved in with Emily because they were both single, yet she also wanted a husband of her own. I had no objection.
Soon they had a baby, then a second child.
Thats when everything began. Peter would bring the grandchildren home in a stroller and head off on his errands. In the evenings Emily would arrive, Peter would join, and after dinner wed all head back to Emilys house.
I love looking after the grandchildren because they dont visit often; Emily lives on the far side of the village, so its not easy to pop over. When they do come, it feels like a gift. The children start arriving more frequently, sometimes staying over when it rains or snows, and John and I are simply delighted.
I do everything to make sure the kids have food, I walk with the grandchildren so the parents can nap at lunch, I help with washing and laundry.
One day the children announce they are moving in with us, and I feel a surge of triumph. Im the best grandmother and the best motherinlaw; the kids seem to appreciate me.
John travels for work all over the country, earning a good salary, while I keep the house running. Cooking and cleaning are no problem for me; I even manage the small homebusiness we have.
But lately, perhaps because Im getting older, Im getting exhausted. The kids have picky diets and need separate meals, and Emily often has errands and leaves the children to me.
How can I point this out? She isnt my child, so I tell Ian they should start washing their own dishes and tidying up because Im tired.
Mum, Emily is expecting another baby; she cant use our kitchen, the smell is too strong. She didnt want to tell you, but could you tidy up a bit? She cant even stay a minute, Ian says.
A chill runs down my spine. Another baby? John and I are already short on sleep; the older grandson gets up at dawn, watches TV in our sitting room, and stays there late into the night. Emilys baby will be fed and put to sleep, while little David is still at home.
Peter, the children need to be with you, I hear.
Well need new furniture; theres no space left. Maybe you could move to the kitchen and well turn your bedroom into a nursery, they suggest.
I stare in disbelief. Our house has two bedrooms, a pantry, a corridor and a tiny kitchen.
Peter, where will Dad and I fit? The sofa is already fully extended; theres no room to step, I protest.
Then dont complain if David falls asleep on the couch, they reply.
Soon a cot for the grandson appears in our bedroom. Hes constantly waking up, crawling back to his parents, being carried back and forth, and the whole night turns into a racket. I cant sleep; in the morning my head feels like a mountain of stone.
My sisterinlaw and her family arrive again, and I hint that they could take Emily and the kids back, but they wave their arms wildly.
They lived with us for five years, youve only been here a year, so dont count on us, they say.
I realise again that things arent as they should be, but I dont know where to turn.
Emily never helped even before the third child arrived; she always found a reason to stay awaywatching the kids, taking them for walks, while we worked in the garden and everyone was glued to their phones.
Now she wont bend, wont hold a baby, wont cook, because every request meets with a reaction.
Shes gone offroad, wont answer her phone, tells only John whats happening. Were worried; the children miss their mother, but she doesnt call, shes on holiday.
Peter, whos looking after the kids? I ask.
Me, John answers.
Ah, you then, I say, feeling my eyes grow dark. Fine, feed them and put them to bed.
Peter doesnt know what the children like or how they fall asleep, and I tell John, Im at the end of my patience; I cant even blink.
We spend the night in the kitchen, trying not to disturb Peter. In the morning hes in a sour mood, but I pretend not to notice. The kids want toast or chicken, and I point to the fridge.
Everythings in there, cook itafter all, youre playing house now.
This goes on for two days. Ian calls Emily, begging her to return because he cant manage alone.
She arrives, bringing a bright mood with her.
So I had to come all this way. Cant you fry an egg or boil some pasta? she shouts, loud enough for John and me to hear.
She rushes into the kitchen, banging pots, while the fridge is empty.
Where are the groceries? I ask.
The ones you bought? she replies.
Are you saving the eggs for me? Or the potatoes?
No, just dig up the chicken, collect the eggs, go to the shop and put something in the fridge, she snaps, then scoops the children into her arms and tells their mother she wont be coming back. Peter is angry, saying his inlaws treat him badly. John and I cling to each others hands tightly.
All this time the children never ask how theyre being fed, never thank us for the meals, never buy anything they like.
Is this the payment we get for our hard work?
I rub my templeswhy is my kindness met with such treatment? I do everything out of love for them; why do they behave this way? What do you think?
