How to Keep the Mother-in-Law at Bay
When my mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, announced her intention to move in with me and Edward, I, Charlotte, nearly choked on my tea. Live under the same roof as her? That would be like volunteering for survival training in the wilderness! Not that she was a bad sort, but her habit of giving orders, criticising my roast dinners, and rearranging our furniture was beyond bearing. I loved my home and my family, but a mother-in-law as a permanent resident? No, thank you! So I devised a clever plan to convince Margaret Whitmore that she’d be better off in her own place—all while remaining the “perfect daughter-in-law.” Sharing my scheme in case anyone else finds themselves in a similar pickle!
Edward and I had been married six years, and in all that time, Margaret Whitmore had been a “guest full of surprises.” She’d turn up for a week and start washing the dishes “her way,” or declare that our tabby cat, Whiskers, was poorly trained. But living with her full-time? That would be like housing a drill sergeant who issued commands at dawn. When she announced, “Eddie darling, I’m not as young as I was, and living alone is such a struggle—I’ll move in with you,” I panicked. Edward, ever the dutiful son, said, “Lottie, we ought to help Mother.” Help her? Of course—but not at the cost of my sanity! I smiled sweetly and replied, “Edward, let’s think how we can make this comfortable for everyone.” Meanwhile, my mind was already plotting.
Step one: make the house “unsuitable” for Mother-in-Law. Margaret Whitmore adored silence, order, and her favourite Earl Grey tea. I played on that. I began playing music a little too loud—nothing raucous, just cheerful pop tunes she detested. “Charlotte,” she’d grumble, “what on earth is this racket?” I’d blink innocently. “Oh, Margaret, just keeping things lively—we young ones need our fun, don’t we?” I also “forgot” to stock her tea, offering her chamomile instead. She recoiled as if I’d handed her vinegar. And when she complained of a draught, I “accidentally” left the window ajar. Edward noticed my antics and whispered, “Lottie, are you trying to drive Mother out?” I merely winked. “Trust me, darling.”
Step two: remind her of the comforts of her own home. Margaret Whitmore had a cosy cottage where everything suited her tastes: floral curtains, an old telly for her cherished period dramas, and a neighbour, Mrs. Higgins, with whom she took tea every evening. I began dropping hints. “Margaret, doesn’t Mrs. Higgins miss you terribly?” Or, “Your cottage is so peaceful—our house is always in an uproar; you’d never rest here.” Once, I even suggested, “Should we move in with you? Your place is so perfectly kept!” She bristled at once. “Certainly not! My home is my haven!” Exactly, I thought—she doesn’t truly want to leave it.
Step three: create the illusion of busyness. I knew Margaret loved feeling useful, but I refused to let her take charge of my household. So I assigned her “missions.” I asked her to post a parcel, then help me pick fabric for new curtains (though I had no intention of buying any). “Margaret,” I’d say, “you’re so terribly busy—how would you find time to live here?” She’d nod importantly, and I’d rejoice—the more occupied she was, the less she’d think of moving in.
Step four: secure my husband’s support. Edward adored his mother, but he cherished our quiet domestic bliss too. I put it plainly: “Edward, if Mother moves in, we’ll live by her rules. Are you ready for her boiled cabbage every night and lectures on sock-folding?” He sighed. “Lottie, I want her close, but perhaps it’s better to help her in her own home?” Victory! We agreed to visit more often, tend to repairs, and run errands—but live apart.
In the end, the plan worked. After a week’s stay, Margaret declared, “No, children, I’d rather remain in my cottage. Your home is far too lively for my taste.” I nearly leapt for joy but clasped my hands demurely. “As you wish, we’ll always be nearby!” Now we visit every weekend, bringing groceries and fixing leaky taps while she reigns content in her “haven.” And I’ve kept my home—and my wits—intact.
When my friend Emily heard the tale, she laughed. “Charlotte, you’re a strategist! You ought to write a book—‘How to Deter a Mother-in-Law!’” I chuckled, but the thought stuck. If your mother-in-law dreams of moving in, don’t despair. Be cunning—a dash of noise, a few “accidental” inconveniences, and she’ll prefer her own nest. The key is to smile sweetly, preserving your reputation as the “perfect daughter-in-law.” And guard your home fiercely—it’s your castle, even if the mother-in-law fancies herself the conquering queen!