My MIL Treated My Mom’s Country House like a Resort – I Taught Her No One Was There to Serve Her
Ordering Mom to move her own flowers was the final straw for my MIL, who spent every weekend being served on at my mom’s country home.
I therefore set my alarm for five in the morning. and made the decision to alter the regulations. When Susan awoke, what would happen?
For once, I didn’t push the snooze button when the alarm went off at five in the morning.
I crept downstairs, put on yesterday’s sweatshirt, and got out of bed before my husband, Daniel, woke up.
It was still dark inside the house. The refrigerator humming in my mother’s kitchen was the only sound, and the lake beyond was a sheet of black glass.
Her kitchen.
I was more concerned about that than I had been a week ago.
This was the first summer our family spent together after we were married in the spring.
My mom owns a small home by the lake.
She was anxious for a week when my husband’s parents initially appeared. In her mind, we were now married and this was family, so she got new linens and wanted everything to be flawless.
Since June, we have spent most weekends up there due to the weather.
And every weekend had the same appearance.
At six, my mother got up.
She would prepare breakfast for six people. tidied it up. Susan didn’t eat conventional
mayonnaise, so she needed beds, towels, and a 40-minute round trip to the supermarket.
She then prepared dinner.
My mother-in-law, Susan, showed there, entered the house, and took her phone and iced drink to
the deck lounger.
That was all. She spent that weekend.
She hadn’t once sought for assistance during the summer.
Never once.
She had never gone to the sink with a dish. I have never sliced an onion. Not even her own coffee cup was taken in by her.
She eventually stopped saying “thank you.” The thing that truly affected me was that.
However, it was the flower boxes that really caused me to lose it.
Mom had planted fresh geraniums along the deck rail the Saturday before. For weeks, she had been anticipating it. Instead of six tiny boxes of red flowers, she showed me photos of them on her phone in the car, as if she had planted a prize-winning garden.
“Oh. No, these are all wrong here. I’m lying right here and they’re blocking my whole view of the water. Don’t do that again,” Susan exclaimed as she emerged with her tea, sat down, and
observed them.
Never do that again.
in the home of my mother. Regarding the roses my mom gave me. That morning, my mother
placed a cushion on the lounger.
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Mom replied as she began to move them.
Her own flowers were moved by her. as the woman observed.
My mother was someone I knew. She was gentle and would do anything to maintain harmony, especially for me.
I wasn’t swallowing it for precisely that reason.
Shouting would have been ineffective at that point.
Susan would have returned home and reported my attack to everyone. Additionally, I didn’t want
to sit across from a woman who believed I hated her for the next thirty Christmases.
I hadn’t spoken at all that evening.
I would set my alarm instead.
I discovered an old dry-erase board that Mom kept next to the pantry at 5:07 a.m.
I placed it on the table in the kitchen.
I typed “WEEKEND JOBS” at the top.
I then split up the job.
“Daniel: breakfast cleanup.”
Richard’s father said, “Richard: grocery run.”
“Me: lunch.”
“Susan: breakfast.”
Dinner was rotated.
Next to Mom’s name at the bottom, I scribbled, “Enjoy your house.”
I heard slippers behind me while I was still staring at it.
In her robe, Mom stood in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing something.”
She read the board as she got closer.
Before she got to the second sentence, her expression shifted.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No, honey. Take that down.”
“It’s your house.”
“They’re guests.”
“They’ve been guests here almost every weekend for two months.”
She spoke more softly, as though Susan could hear us through the roof.
“You can’t give people chores when you’ve invited them somewhere.”
I gave her a look.
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not how you treat guests.”
“Is telling the person who owns the house where she’s allowed to put her flowers how you treat a host?”
Her jaw stiffened.
“She didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You moved them.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Then put them back.”
Mom turned to face the windows.
That look was familiar to me. Flowers were not on her mind. She was figuring out how much pain she would have to put up with if she acknowledged that she wanted them there.
“I’m not having you start something with your mother-in-law because of me,” she replied.
“I’m not starting anything. I’m ending something.”
She grabbed the eraser.
I accepted the board.
“One day,” I replied. “Just try one day where everybody takes care of themselves.”
“I like taking care of people.”
“I know. That’s different from being everybody’s maid.”
I could tell by her expression that I had overreached myself.
Then there were footsteps above.
Mom gazed at the board.
“Oh, Lord.”
Fifteen minutes later, suited for a day on the deck, Susan came downstairs in sandals and a linen cover-up.
She went directly to the coffee maker.
No coffee was available.
Mom moved slightly next to me.
I put my hand on her wrist.
After opening one cabinet, Susan opened another.
“Is the coffee not on?”
“Not yet,” I replied.
She looked at Mom.
“Oh.”
Then she saw the board.
Once, she read it.
But then again.
Susan chuckled.
“What’s this?”
“Weekend jobs,” I replied.
“I can see that,” she answered.
“You’re breakfast.”
She gave me the impression that I had informed her that she would be replacing the roof.
“You’re serious?”
“Very.”
Her smile vanished.
“Your mother invited us here.”
Daniel came downstairs before I could respond.
He examined the board.
He then turned to face me.
The previous evening, I had told him that I was tired of seeing Mom labor herself to death. I hadn’t made my plans clear to him.
Susan faced him.
“Apparently I’m making breakfast.”
Daniel paused.
It seemed like a lot longer half-second.
After that, he said, “Okay.”
Susan gazed at him.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll clean up afterward.”
She crossed her arms.
“When people stay at my house, I don’t hand them a chore list.”
Richard had just down the stairs. He came to a halt.
Daniel turned to face his mom.
“No. Dad does the grocery shopping, I usually make breakfast, and everybody clears the table except you.”
Susan jerked her head to look at Richard.
He shrugged awkwardly.
“I do usually shop.”
“That’s not the point.”
That was precisely the point.
Susan thought she was an excellent hostess. She had said that to me. She made dinner plans, selected flowers for the table, selected the music to play, and assigned seats to each person.
The work was done by others.
I saw that knowledge spread around the room, but Mom sought to save everyone right away.
“I can just make eggs,” she said.
“No,” I firmly said.
Susan looked at me sternly.
She then unlocked the fridge.
She said, “Fine. Where are they?”
Breakfast was served by nine in the morning.
Nothing particularly noteworthy happened. No one was poisoned by Susan. There was no hunger.
She prepared toast and scrambled eggs. The eggs had a hint of dryness. Even though she had seen Mom take the butter from the same shelf every weekend, she still wanted to know where it
was. Where was the frying pan, she asked? She was unable to locate the spatula.
Mom stood up three times.
I told her to sit down three times.
Susan habitually left her plate on the table after breakfast.
Daniel examined it.
Then at her.
She came back and took it.
I ought to have felt victorious.
Rather, I was exhausted.
because Mom appeared to be miserable.
By midday, I had come to the conclusion that Susan wasn’t the only one struggling with the new system.
Mom trailed me through the kitchen.
“You’ve cut those tomatoes too thick.”
“They’ll survive.”
“I could make the dressing.”
“I’ve got it.”
“The good bowl is in the bottom cabinet.”
“Mom.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she inquired, pausing.
I couldn’t shake that question.
Not a “Can I help?” Not a “What do you need?”
What should I do?
“Go sit outside,” I urged.
“Do what?”
“Whatever you want.”
She seems really disoriented.
I heard conversations coming from the guest room door later that afternoon when I went upstairs for a sweater.
Richard and Susan were there.
Until Susan stated, “This is exactly what I was trying to prevent,” I wasn’t making an effort to pay attention.
I came to a halt.
I couldn’t hear what Richard was saying.
Susan replied, “She told me herself. She said it’s getting harder. The cleaning, the shopping, all of it.
Now everyone’s treating her like she can’t manage her own house.”
I knocked.
The conversation ceased.
The door was opened by Susan.
“What are you talking about?”
“Excuse me?”
“My mother told you it was getting harder?”
Susan glanced at Richard, then back at me.
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
When I came downstairs, Mom was seated on the terrace.
I asked her straight.
She let out a sigh.
“It wasn’t some big secret.”
“What did you tell Susan?”
“Nothing important.”
Susan had pursued me.
“You told me maintaining this place was wearing you out.”
“I said I get tired more easily than I used to,” my mom said.
“And that the grocery runs were a nuisance,” Susan remarked. “And that opening the house every weekend was a lot of work.”
I looked across at Susan.
“So your solution was to do absolutely nothing?”
Her face became stern.
“No. My solution was not to make her feel like she couldn’t handle her own life.”
In fact, I chuckled.
“By leaving coffee cups everywhere?”
Susan blushed.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She was silent for a while.
She then took a seat.
“When my mother got older, we started helping her with everything. At least that’s what we called it.”
Her tone shifted.
“We took groceries out of her hands. Told her not to cook. Told her to sit down when she tried to clean. Every holiday, she’d start doing something and somebody would say, ‘Mom, don’t
worry about that.’ We thought we were being good to her.”
Susan turned to face the lake.
“One day she told me we’d made her feel useless.”
No one spoke up.
“She said we’d decided she was old before she had. That every time we told her to sit down, what she heard was that nobody needed her anymore.”
I glanced at my mother.
She kept a close eye on Susan.
Susan went on.
“So when your mother told me this house was getting harder but kept saying how much she loved having everyone here, I thought I understood.”
“You thought making her wait on you was helping her?”
“I thought letting her host the way she wanted was helping her.”
I could almost understand how she had arrived for a brief, unpleasant moment.
Nearly.
Then I recalled the flowers.
“What does any of that have to do with leaving your coffee cup on the table?”
Susan remained silent.
“Or making her drive 40 minutes because you don’t like the mayonnaise she buys?”
Nothing.
“Or telling her where she’s allowed to put her own flowers?”
Her expression shifted.
Mom cast a downward glance.
I continued.
“Maybe that’s why you let her make breakfast the first weekend. It isn’t why you stopped saying thank you.”
Susan parted her lips, then shut them again.
Richard gazed at the deck boards.
Daniel arrived outdoors in time to hear the quiet.
Then Mom said something.
“I do like it.”
I turned to face her.
Her hands were clasped in her lap.
“I like cooking for everyone. I like having the bedrooms full. I like hearing people down here in the morning.”
Susan seems overly relieved.
Mom wasn’t done yet.
“But I suppose I got carried away.”
I questioned, “With what?”
She gave me a look.
“Trying to make them want to come back.”
At first, I didn’t get it.
Then I did.
Mom laughed a little, embarrassed.
“You got married. Suddenly there’s this whole other family. I wanted things to be easy. I wanted them to like being here. I wanted you not to have to worry that your mother and your husband’s mother couldn’t get along.”
I gave her a look.
“The sheets,” I replied.
She gave a small smile.
“The sheets,” I replied.
Mom gave a small smile. “The sheets.”
“The special groceries,” I continued.
Mom stated, “I wanted everybody comfortable.”
I let the thought fade. “And every time we came back…”
Mom gave me a look and said, “I thought I was doing something right.”
In my mind, the entire summer was reconfigured.
Mom hadn’t only been helping Susan because she was unable to refuse.
She had been going to auditions.
for a spot in my new household.
Susan appeared shocked.
“I thought you liked doing all this.”
With a nod, Mom replied, “I do.”
Susan gave a blink.
Afterward, Mom added, “I like taking care of people. I don’t like being taken for granted. Those aren’t the same thing.”
After that, nobody had anything to say.
Susan looked at the board at five o’clock.
Next to dinner was her name.
I briefly believed that we were going to start afresh.
She gazed at it.
Next, at Mom.
“What were you planning to make?”
Mom got to her feet.
I looked at her.
She took a seat again.
Susan let out a sigh.
“Fine. Where do you keep the potatoes?”
Dinner wasn’t really good.
Nor was it terrible.
Susan neglected to add salt to the vegetables and overcooked the chicken. She inquired about each kitchen cabinet.
However, she stopped asking Mom halfway through.
She did her own searching.
Then Mom went for the plates without thinking.
Susan was the first to pick them up.
“Leave those. I’ll get them.”
Mom grinned.
Then her face changed.
“Don’t tell me to sit down either.”
Susan froze.
I nearly laughed for the first time all day.
Susan managed to catch herself.
“Right.”
The plates were pressed up on her chest.
“Do you want to help?”
Mom thought about it.
“No.”
“Okay.”
The dishes were carried inside by Susan.
Her coffee cup was already in the sink when I arrived downstairs the following morning.
I didn’t bring it up.
Mom didn’t either.
Susan discovered Mom on the deck before they departed on Sunday afternoon.
I didn’t pretend not to listen, but I remained close enough to hear.
Susan turned to face the geraniums.
“I’m sorry about those.”
Mom remained silent.
“I shouldn’t have told you to move them. It’s your house.”
“No,” Mom replied. “You shouldn’t have.”
Susan agreed to that.
No justifications. Not a word.
She then took another look at the flowers.
“They are pretty.”
Mom grinned.
“I know.”
Susan saw the chore board as she passed the kitchen table while Daniel was packing suitcases into the car.
For the upcoming weekend, I had already thoroughly cleaned it.
She grabbed the marker.
I briefly believed that she was going to delete everything.
Rather, she typed, “Susan – Saturday breakfast.”
She set down the marker.
She stopped next to the lounger she had been using all summer as she made her way outside.
A portion of the water was obscured by the geraniums from that chair.
Susan examined the flowers.
Then at the scenery.
She didn’t ask anyone to move anything.
She chose a different chair.
Mom saw.
I did as well.
I believed I ought to let my mother-in-law know that no one was available to assist her, so I had
set my alarm. Yes, I did. However, there were other changes as well.
Mom stopped viewing each visit as a test that she needed to pass. Susan began doing enough work to realize how much had always been going on around her, carrying her own plate, and
asking questions before assuming anything.
I also discovered that I didn’t have to fight every battle on my mother’s behalf in order to defend her.
Sometimes all I had to do was give her enough space to say no.
The geraniums remained precisely where she had planted them.
The true question is whether you would have faced Susan head-on or let the chore board teach her a lesson if you were in my shoes.
Here’s another tale you might love if you liked this one: By 3:00 p.m. I was crying on my 50th birthday because it seemed like my husband and older kids had forgotten about me. Then a
moving truck pulled in, and I noticed my late mother’s yellow lamp among the strange furniture. How did it arrive there?
