My sisterinlaw and her husband show up at our door, and I hint that they could take their daughter back with the kids, but they wave their hands dismissively. I hear the gate close behind my daughterinlaw, yet I pay it no mind; she likes to wander off on her own for a stroll without the children. My husband and I have gotten used to looking after our grandchildren, feeding them, playing with them and often putting them to bed ourselves, because the young couple are either busy or taking a break.
When she doesnt return for the night, I start to worry.
James, wheres Poppy? I cant get a hold of her!
Dont worry, Mum, shes gone for a weekend away.
But its getting late, she should be back by now.
Shes off in the hills with her friends.
James stays calm, but my head is pounding. How could she leave without saying a word? What kind of attitude is this?
Then another realization hits me and I cant shake it.
When my son married Poppy, they were both about twenty. Ian moved in with Poppy because they were both single, yet she still wanted to bring a husband into the picture. I had no objection.
Soon they had a baby, then a second.
Thats when things start to change. James brings the grandchildren over in a pram and goes about his own business. In the evenings Poppy arrives, James arrives, and after dinner we all head over to her house.
For me, playing with the grandchildren is a delightthey dont visit often, and Poppy lives on the far side of the village, so a quick trip isnt easy. When they start coming more regularly, staying over when it rains or snows, my husband and I are just thrilled.
I make sure the kids have something to eat, I take them for walks so the young parents can nap in the afternoon, I help with baths and washing the childrens clothes.
One day the kids announce theyre moving in with us, and I feel a surge of triumph. Im the best grandma and mother they could ask for.
My husband travels for work across the country, earning a good wage, while I keep the house running. Cooking and cleaning are no trouble; I also run a small sidebusiness from home and handle everything myself.
But now, perhaps because Im getting older, Im exhausted. The kids eat different things, each needing a separate meal, and Poppy often has errands and leaves the children in my care.
How can I point this out? Shes not my child, so I tell Ian that they should wash up after themselves and tidy up because Im tired.
Mum, Poppy is expecting another baby. She cant use our kitchen; the smell is too strong. She didnt want to tell you, but she needs you to clean up, otherwise she cant even stay a minute.
A shiver runs up my spine. Another baby? James and I are already running on empty; the older grandson gets up at dawn to watch TV in our living room and stays there until late at night. Poppys baby is fed and put to sleep, while David, the youngest, stays at home.
James, the children need to be near you.
Mum, well have to buy new furniture; theres no space left. Maybe you could move to the kitchen and well turn our bedroom into a nursery.
I blink. Our house has two rooms, a pantry, a corridor and a very tiny kitchen.
James, where will you and Dad fit? The sofa is already pulled out, theres no room to step.
Then dont complain if David falls asleep on the couch.
Soon a cot for the grandchild occupies our bedroom. Hes up and down, sleeping with his parents, being carried back and forth; the whole night is a racket, and I cant sleep. In the morning my head feels like a stone.
My sisterinlaw and her husband come again, and I hint that they could take their daughter back with the kids, but they wave their hands:
They lived with us for five years, and only a year with you, so dont count on us.
I realize things arent as they should be, but where can I turn?
Even before the third child arrived, my daughterinlaw never helped; she always found an excuse, saying she was watching the kids or taking them for a walk, while everyone else was on their phones and we were working in the garden.
Now she refuses to bend, wont hold a baby, wont cookeverything she does meets with resistance.
Shes gone off on a road trip, doesnt answer her phone, and tells only my husband whats happening. We worry; the kids miss their mother, but she doesnt call, saying shes resting.
James, whos looking after the kids now?
Me.
Oh, you, I say, and darkness pools in my eyes. Fine, feed them and put them to bed.
James doesnt know what the children like or how they fall asleep, and I tell Tom:
This is the last straw; I cant even nod.
We spend the night in the kitchen, trying not to disturb James. In the morning hes in a sour mood, but I pretend not to notice. The kids want toast, then chicken, and I point to the fridge:
Everythings in there, cook whatever you like, now that youre playing house.
This goes on for two days. Ian calls Poppy, begging her to come back because he cant manage.
She arrives, full of cheer.
So I had to drive all the way here? You cant fry an egg or boil some pasta?
She shouts so loudly we both hear her. She rushes to the kitchen, banging pots while the fridge is empty.
Where are the groceries?
What groceries did you buy? I ask.
Do you spare me eggs? Or potatoes?
No, dont spare them. Dig up the garden, feed the chickens, collect the eggs, go to the shop and put something in the fridge.
She grabs the childrens hands and, to their mother, says she wont stay. James is angry, saying life with the inlaws is miserable. My husband and I clutch each others hands tightly.
All this time the kids never ask whos paying the bills, never thank us for the meals, never buy anything they like.
Is this the payment we get for our kindness?
Im left wondering why my generosity is met with such treatment. I did everything out of lovewhy do they behave like this? What do you think?
