Just one day before our summer holiday began, my husband suggested we spend the season at his parents’ cottage in the Cotswolds. In our family, weve got two kidsa nine-year-old son who would be on holiday for the entire summer, and a baby daughter, just seven months old, who I thought would fare much better in the countrysides fresh air than in the stifling bustle of London. My husband reassured me that his parents would be thrilled to have the grandchildren around, and, having raised children themselves, wouldnt expect much from us in terms of help.
It sounded like a perfect opportunity for all of us to unwind, so I agreed readily. As time would show, however, I couldnt have been more wrong.
No sooner had we arrived than my husband and father-in-law made it quite clear that they had no intention of staying in the countrysidethey practically darted back to the city for work and would only grace us with their presence at the cottage on weekends, expecting everything to be prepared for them: meals cooked, the house neat and tidy, and an atmosphere fit for relaxation after a week at work. That left me at the cottage all week, looking after the children and spending time with my mother-in-law.
It only took a few minutes for our eldest, Thomas, to turn the tiny cottage upside down, which meant I had to keep an eye on him constantly. My youngest, Emily, was still a baby; between tending to her needs, trying to eat and rest properly so I wouldnt lose my milk, I was under a level of strain I hadnt felt even in the city. The idea of relaxing amidst nature turned out to be nothing but wishful thinking.
My mother-in-law and I split the chores almost immediatelyshe took to the greenhouse and the planting, while I was left with the kitchen and housekeeping. Wed agreed to take turns watching the children. Because I was up at night feeding Emily, I would end up heading to bed quite early, around nine oclock, while she continued working in the garden. Each evening, once the children were settled, Id ask if she needed help outside, but she always insisted she was fine.
I put up with all the little hardships of country life without complaint, believing my relationship with my mother-in-law was amicable enough.
As it turned out, Id been sorely mistaken. One weekend, my husband pulled me aside and told me that his mother was quite displeased with me. Apparently, she was exhausted from toiling in the garden with no assistance from meall the while complaining that I did nothing but sleep. My husband even repeated her words: a proper daughter-in-law should rise at least two hours before her mother-in-law and go to bed two hours after.
Another issue, it seemed, was my failing to make the childrens beds after their daytime naps, a breach of her standards of cleanliness.
I suppose Im not the perfect hostess, but I cant fathom why I should wear myself to the bone in the garden just to please my mother-in-law. What Ive realised from this summer: no matter how good your intentions, expectations can be wildly different, and its important to communicate them before everyone finds themselves in over their headsotherwise, youll never truly find that peace youre seeking.
