Others witness the warmth and intimacy of our friendship with surprise – for this is a relationship renowned for its capacity for venom and petty spite – an astonishing 60% of married women cite their relationship with their husband's mother as bad.
My mother-in-law, Cheryl, forgot the birthday of my youngest son two years running. As I shrieked to my husband, "He's only had three of them!" So when we belatedly celebrated Caspar's third anniversary the following weekend, I was notably frosty towards her.
But this is not a typical tale of monster-in-law woes. Emergencies, including my little niece breaking her arm, made the oversight understandable. Later, I felt awful for treating Cheryl badly, and called to apologise. She said, "Oh, Anna, you know I'd never do anything intentionally to upset you." I did know, which made it OK. I adore my mother-in-law.
It has been this way since the start: when Phil and I announced our engagement, Cheryl held my hand and said: "What do you see in him? I mean, I know he's wonderful, but are you sure?"
Others witness the warmth and intimacy of our friendship with surprise – for this is a relationship renowned for its capacity for venom and petty spite – an astonishing 60% of married women cite their relationship with their husband's mother as bad. Anecdotal evidence matches up; one friend of mine notes that her husband's mother serves her fewer roast potatoes than everyone else.
I know I am blessed, for a war against your mother-in-law can ruin a family. Even if the antagonism is contained, this is a battle fought from the heart, for she is the other woman: the one who loves your husband as much, if not more, than you do. As a wife, you presume your man's first loyalty is to you. It is a shock to realise that, in some primal sense, you are secondary to the woman who gave him life. Early on in our relationship, I implied that Cheryl wasn't perfect – my husband, then aged 24, cried.
Ah well – I imagine even Martha Washington, wife of the first president of the United States, gnawed her fist when her husband said: "My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All that I am I owe to my mother. I attribute all my success in life to the moral, intellectual and physical education I received from her." All right, George – enough already.
But rivalry is possible only if there is malicious intent on one side. When Cheryl visits, she inevitably dons plastic gloves and starts cleaning our kitchen. "Don't you annoy Anna with your interfering?" her friends say.
"No," she replies, correctly, "Anna's grateful for the help!" I am, because I know that her cleaning is not an implied criticism. She never does criticise me. (If she did, I don't think my husband would cry.) The truth is, I love her son and so she could forgive me anything.
If all this sounds too sugary to be true, may I say even my own mother rolls her eyes at my royal treatment chez "Chezzer". My husband is not allowed to clear the plates before I've finished eating, my favourite foods are always provided; the heating is cranked up to my hell-like preference. Every one of my perceived talents is magnified, and I am frequently urged to "read the paper! Have a rest!" I appreciate it, because we all know it doesn't have to be like this.
"Mother-in-law" is a contradiction in terms – you can't legally force someone to be a mother, and yet, marrying into a family, your natural hope is that she will be – but so often the opposite is true. Mothers can be selfish; we can confuse what is best for our children with what is best, so we think, for us. The mother-in-law has the power to damage a marriage by forcing her son to choose a primary allegiance – but this is egotism not love.
Cheryl is one of those rare women – all communication is direct and honest; there's no emotional manipulation, ever. Formerly an outreach teacher, working with children with emotional and behavioural difficulties, she is remarkably tolerant. She didn't take offence when I sulked over the forgotten birthday, nor did she get angry when my eldest son, then four, tore up a precious photograph of his grandfather as a child. I was about to go bananas, but Cheryl simply took away the torn pieces, murmuring that she should not have left it on the side.
We enjoyed a close relationship before Phil and I had children – perhaps my husband did marry a version of his mother, for we are similar in attitude and share the same values. "I think I have a good sense of you," she says to me, "and you have a sense of me too." But pleasing Cheryl is easy as she is delighted at the tiniest consideration. True goodness is hard to come by, and when you find it you are humbled by it.
If we disagree on an aspect of childcare there is no rancour, because we are not in competition; she has ensured it. I seek her advice purely because she doesn't preach, and if my children need reprimanding, she asks my permission. She respects boundaries. I hear of mother-in-laws taking children for illicit haircuts – while Cheryl aches to have Oscar's fringe "out of his eyes for school", she contains that desire, bears the disappointment. Her most daring transgression is to buy them sticky buns.
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