My mother-in-law passed away several years ago, and after wed laid her to rest, I promised myself Id live by one rule: speak only kindness of the dead, or remain silent.
There was something else I swore, tooId never turn into her, no matter who my son brought home.
But you know, good intentions and real life rarely walk hand in hand.
My only son, Thomas, turned 25 not long ago and, as summer began, he brought his girlfriend home to meet us.
Sticking to my resolution not to interfere, I welcomed her warmly, though truthfully, I kept half my doubts firmly hidden.
I told myselfI wont look down my nose at her, pick her apart, or try to give her advice she didnt ask for. My late mother-in-law did all those things, and it soured our relationship so badly that we ended up barely being able to tolerate one another.
I dont ever want Thomas or his girlfriend to feel unwelcome. Honestly, I enjoy making them both a cuppa, knowing who prefers what for breakfast, and on weekends, Ill spoil them with a proper fry-up or a bit of a treatthough during the week, between work and everything else, theres little time for such extras.
When I can, I try to give them spaceoff to the lake with my husband, popping round a friends for a chat, or going to my mums to help her with making chutney or a new batch of pickles, just so they can have the house to themselves.
Still, something happened recentlysomething that made me pause and have a chuckle, though it also truly surprised me. One evening, Thomass girlfriend proudly showed off a new blouse shed picked up on her way home from work.
It wasnt pricey, and shed even managed to get a further discount because there was a button missing.
She tried it on, twirled aboutand she really did look lovely in it. The next day, Friday, before we headed out to a family gathering, I asked if she fancied wearing her new blouse. She told me she couldntshe hadnt sewn the button back on.
I must admit, the words slipped out before I knew it, Oh, really? I found it hard to believe a young woman of 22 didnt have a needle, thread, or even a spare button in her flat.
It left me wonderingif she cant manage a button, how will she look after a home, or handle lifes more pressing challenges?
Now Im stuckI cant quite tell if I should quietly sew the button myself, offer to show her how, or simply leave it be. If she wants to wear the blouse, shell figure it out; if not, it can sit buttonless in the wardrobe.
But one thing I know for certainI dont want to become the sort of mother-in-law I once had. Ive seen how that story ends, and I want no part in repeating it.
