Mum was already cross with me as soon as she heard that my husbands relatives had invited us to stay with them this summer. They live down by the coast and would be more than happy to put me and my daughter up for the entire summer. Naturally, I want to go; the doctor advised us to let our little one spend some time by the sea so shell be healthier and less prone to colds during the year.
But Mum is in fits about it, saying theres too much work to be done in the garden over summer and she simply cant manage on her own. She relies heavily on my help and is quick to remind me how little I did for her last year. Admittedly, last year the baby was just a few months old and I hardly had a minute to spare for Mums garden.
To be honest, I got fed up with that garden back in secondary school. Everyone else used to have long lazy summers or proper holidays, but I had to traipse over to the garden nearly every day, armed with a list of jobspulling weeds, watering, tidying, you name it. My parents worked all week and could only get there at weekends. Because I had free time, the garden became my responsibility.
While other kids mucked about, went swimming, or played games, I was sweating away over the veg patches. Mum, never satisfied, was always the first to point out that I did everything wrong as soon as she set foot among her prized seedlings on Saturday.
When I was at uni, I wanted to earn extra money during the summer, but of course, that just got me another earful.
After I married, Mum tried to rope my husband into the gardening, but after a couple of visits he saw it was endless slog for little reward and put his foot down. Mum was scandalised, insisting we were growing food for ourselves too, but my husband quite sensibly realised it was both easier and cheaper to buy everything from Sainsburys than to waste every weekend in Mums allotment.
I stopped going so often myself, though Mum nagged me for miles. Then I became pregnant and it all faded away; I simply couldnt manage the heat outdoors any more.
Once the baby came along, I basically skipped the whole gardening season, even though Mum subtly hinted it could all be managed somehow. Even she knew, with a newborn, I wouldnt have managed. Yet she was already making plans for the following year.
Mum reasoned that by then the baby would be bigger, we could take turns watching her, and I could finally make a proper contribution to the veg patch.
And the little one would be fine! shed enthuse. Its grimy and polluted in the cityproper greenery is so dustybut its gorgeous here: fresh air, sunshine, well get a paddling pool, stick up a brolly, and let her splash about. Mum had grand ideas.
My own plans were nothing like hers, though I kept quiet to avoid an argument.
Over New Year, my mother-in-laws sister, who is also my husband’s godmotherand whom hes very close to, almost like a second mumcame round. She and her husband have a house near the sea. Their adult son has gone to work abroad, so they live there on their own.
They invited us to come down and stay for the summer, free of charge. They even said theyd be delighted to have us.
At first, I thought it was just being polite, but then my aunt-in-law rang my husband a few times to remind him they were expecting us. Of course, my husband cant take the whole summer off, but he can book a week at the start to drive us there and another week in the autumn to bring us home.
Were absolutely longing to go to the seaside, and the doctor said it would do wonders for the little one, especially to help her dodge winter bugs. So, yes, Ive said yes. Only my mothers thrown a spanner in the works.
Suddenly, sunshine became harmful, and she started asking why Id want to go live with strangers, and whether her own garden wasnt good enough for improving the babys health. She reminded me that shed managed the entire garden alone last summer. My minds made up, which only winds Mum up more.
Because, honestly, who in their right mind would choose gardening over the sea? Especially if you dont really need anything from the allotment. We buy all our fruit and veg at the shops, Mums homemade pickles and jams are still stockpiled in the cellar gathering dustwe dont even eat them. None of us are particularly keen…
