For years, my mother-in-law treated my house like a dump, but the day I stopped arguing with her and I started observing, everything changed.
I am 30 years old, I am married to a man I love and I raise two children who, in one way or another, manage to be kinder and more reasonable than half of the adults in our family.
My daughter is 11 years old. My son has 8.
They leave their cups everywhere, forget to put their socks in the laundry basket and react as if “go brush your teeth” is the worst oppression humanity has ever experienced. But that's not my biggest problem.
My biggest problem has always been my mother-in-law, Diane.
Diane has this gift of entering my home as if she was doing me a favor and leaving behind a little chaos, just to make me understand something.
She never called before she came.
She never sends an SMS.
She was just coming in with her huge purse, her heady perfume and that frozen smile that never reached her eyes.
“Oh, relax,” she said if I looked surprised. “I am part of the family. »
The family, in Diane’s world, meant that she could open my fridge without asking, criticizing the races I had done, moving things around in my kitchen and, one way or another, leaving every room dirtier than she had found it.
If it prepared tea, there was a trace of moisture on the counter, spilled sugar near the pot, and two dirty spoons in the sink for no reason.
If she made herself a sandwich, bread crumbs appeared in places where we did not expect it, like on the hallway table.
If she came on a rainy day, she would cross my floor all clean with her muddy shoes, take a look at the footprints, and then continue her way as if she were admiring her own work.
The worst thing is that if I ever asked her, calmly, politely, like a civilized adult, to kindly clean up behind her, she laughed.
She really laughed.
