When Lexie’s husband’s parents are left to give up their home due to losing their jobs, they are left stranded. Seeing her husband’s distress at being unable to help, Lexie allows her mother to welcome them to stay with her. Things start off okay, but then the tables start to turn. Instead of being grateful, they start to complain about everything, resulting in a call to social services.
Not long after Cameron and I got married, his parents were faced with unfortunate circumstances. His mom, Jessica, and dad, Roger had no choice but to give up their home because Roger had lost his job.
An elderly couple sitting on a bench | Source: Unsplash
Cameron and I didn’t have the space to take them in. But they were desperate, and so were we. We couldn’t let them just try and figure it out for themselves.
When they realized that my mother lives alone, they asked her to let them move in with her. My mom had a double-story house, but due to being wheelchair bound since a car accident a few years ago, she had a live-in nurse to care for her.
A broken windshield | Source: Pexels
“Please, Tanya,” my mother-in-law said when we were all at my mother’s house for dinner. “We don’t have anywhere else to go. And we don’t have any money available at the moment.”
I knew that this entire thing affected my husband because there was only so much we could do in our own capacity. When my mother agreed, Cameron gripped onto my hand tightly and sighed in relief.
A woman in a wheelchair | Source: Midjourney
“Of course, you can stay here. You can stay for as long as you need to,” my mother told them.
At first, things were okay.
My mother-in-law cooked meals, and my father-in-law mowed the grass and took care of the basic upkeep of the house.
A person cutting oranges | Source: Pexels
But then, things changed and social services got involved. It was a nightmare.
This is what happened.
My in-laws began complaining that my mom was occupying the whole first floor, something that was obvious. Since her accident, my sister and I had converted the first floor into an entire house by itself for my mother.
A wheelchair beside a bed | Source: Pexels
She needed her space, and we were going to give it to her. The second floor was for our space when we visited Mom.
Instead of being grateful, my in-laws complained that they couldn’t put their stuff there. They mumbled about the simple food my mother had in her fridge.
An open fridge | Source: Pexels
“It’s such basic foods. There’s nothing new or different here,” Roger would say.
But still, even though they complained, they didn’t try to buy their own food or food that they would have liked to eat on occasion.
An elderly couple shopping | Source: Pexels
Nothing changed when Jessica got a job as head librarian at the local library or when Roger got a job as a proofreader for the local newspaper.
“Don’t you think they should start looking for a new place?” Cameron asked me when we were taking a walk one evening.
An elderly woman in a library | Source: Pexels
“I’m sure your mom cannot wait to have the house back,” he said.
“Actually,” I replied. “I think she enjoys having people there. She always said that it was too quiet with just her and Linda.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “But my parents can be a lot.”
A couple taking a walk | Source: Pexels
It was as if my husband had spoken it into existence.
One day, as I went over to my mother’s house with pastries, I found her looking upset.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her immediately.
Pastries in a box | Source: Pexels
“Cameron’s parents,” she began slowly. “They’ve been hinting about a nursing home for me. I heard them talk about it last night, too.”
“Mom, do you want me to ask them to leave? They’re crossing the line,” I said, worried about her well-being.
A woman holding her face | Source: Unsplash
“Oh, honey,” she said, a mysterious smile forming on her face. “I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry.”
A few days later, my mother-in-law called us crying.
“How could Tanya do that to us?” she asked.
A crying old woman | Source: Pexels
Apparently, my mother had told them to pack their things and move to the first floor because she was ready to move into a nursing home. She said that she needed the help and that she wanted to live a little easier.
Cameron’s parents thought that they had won the battle they created.
A healthcare facility | Source: Unsplash
Instead, my mother had called social services, telling them that she had two individuals who were living with her temporarily but needed the help.
The next day, people from social services arrived at my mother’s doorstep, ready to take Jessica and Roger away to their social housing facilities.
A person holding a phone | Source: Pexels
They were livid.
Cameron and I met them at my mother’s house because they demanded an audience.
“This is outrageous! We thought we were moving downstairs, not out of the house!” my mother-in-law shrieked.
An angry old woman | Source: Pexels
“How dare she trick us like this! We have done everything for her these past few months,” my father-in-law added.
Beside me, my husband flinched. He was caught in the middle, not knowing what to do or how to react.
“You took advantage of her kindness and tried to push her into a nursing home. You got what you deserved,” I retorted, barely containing my own anger at their words.
An angry old man | Source: Pexels
“You can’t just throw us out like this!” my mother-in-law protested.
“You’ve got a little place to live now,” my mother said, smiling. “But also, that’s not my problem. I helped you out, and you did nothing but complain. You didn’t want to be here. You were just here because you had no choice. Now, you can learn to fend for yourselves.”
Jessica was appalled. I don’t think she expected my mother to retaliate in that way.
A smiling woman in a wheelchair | Source: Unsplash
It was true, social services housed them in a little apartment which was close to both their jobs. They would be absolutely fine until they chose to move elsewhere.
As they left, they continued to curse, but it was clear that they had been defeated by the whole episode.
A small apartment | Source: Unsplash
“I’m sorry,” my husband told my mother when we settled her down again. “This was all my fault.”
It took a while for my mother to calm him down and make him realize that nothing was his fault.
“Your parents needed a place to stay, and they were welcome to do so here, but they continued to complain. They made life difficult here. Everything was a problem,” she said.
An upset man | Source: Unsplash
I continued to work my way around the kitchen while they spoke. I knew that my husband needed a pick-me-up, so I made his favorite Indian dishes, hoping that it would do the trick.
If I had to admit it, I also felt like it was my fault. I should have objected to the move in the first place. But I knew that my in-laws needed a place to live when they lost their homes. And maybe it was because of guilt.
A plate of food | Source: Unsplash
Guilt born from the mere fact that Cameron and I couldn’t do it ourselves, that we both had allowed them to live with my mother.
As we got into bed that night, I told my husband that we needed to see his parents. We needed to make sure that they were okay, despite their horrible behavior, they needed to know that we still cared.
A couple lying together | Source: Unsplash
The following day, we met them at their new apartment. It was a quaint little place, but it was just enough for the two of them. As we walked in, there were boxes lying everywhere and the smell of burnt toast permeated the air.
“I didn’t check the toaster setting,” Roger said, as his way of explaining.
Opened cardboard boxes | Source: Midjourney
We ended up taking them to a café for lunch, where they admitted to their behavior.
“We were in the wrong,” my mother-in-law said. “We know that now. We saw an easy way to live with Tanya, and we just wanted more. But now, we have to make it work for ourselves.”
An interior of a coffee shop | Source: Unsplash
I dug into my pancakes while Cameron let his parents have a piece of his mind. He went on about how they needed to be responsible for their actions and that nothing would make up for their behavior toward my mother.
“You embarrassed me. And you took advantage of my wife’s mother,” he said. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”
A stack of pancakes | Source: Unsplash
I allowed him to talk his way through it, while his parents continued to eat their eggs benedict in silence.
As we drove home, my husband stopped to get my mother a bouquet of flowers.
“She deserves it,” he said.
A bouquet of flowers | Source: Unsplash
What would you have done?
My Husband Leaves Piles of Dirty Dishes and Refuses to Wash Them – One Day, I Taught Him a Real Lesson
Danielle’s kitchen once overflowed with dishes, but a playful plot turned it into a place of partnership. Discover how her creative maneuver sparked clean counters and renewed camaraderie in her marriage.
My name is Danielle, and at 45, I’ve pretty much seen it all. As a nurse, I spend ten hours a day making life a little easier for everyone else, but back at home, it’s a whole different story.
Danielle | Source: Midjourney
You see, my husband, Mark, works from home. He earns a good chunk more than I do, which somehow translates to him dubbing himself the “real breadwinner.” That’s his excuse for leaving every single household chore to me.
Our kitchen tells the tale of neglect every evening. “Welcome to Mount Dishmore,” I mutter as I walk in the door and the sight of piled-up dishes greets me. It’s like they’re competing for a mountain climbing record.
A pile of dirty dishes in the sink | Source: Pexels
Mark, lounging on the sofa, throws a casual, “Tough day?” my way without moving an inch.
“Yep, and it just got tougher,” I respond, eyeing the chaos in the sink. Something inside me snaps. Enough is enough.
Every morning, I leave a note on the fridge that reads, “Please wash any dishes you use today. Thanks!” But it might as well be invisible. By the evening, the kitchen sink is a disaster zone. Cups and plates tower precariously, a testament to Mark’s culinary adventures throughout the day.
The note | Source: Midjourney
One evening, as I balanced a frying pan on top of a wobbly stack of bowls, I asked Mark if he could help me with the dishes. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?” he said, his eyes glued to his laptop screen. That something was obviously very important. So important it couldn’t be paused for a few minutes to help clear the debris he’d contributed to all day.
I tried different tactics. More notes. More pleas. “Babe, it’s really hard for me to come home after a long shift and face this,” I told him one night, hoping for a sliver of empathy.
“It’s just a few dishes, Dani. You’ll get through them in no time,” he replied without looking up from his screen. His nonchalance stung.
Danielle comes to hide the mug in her closet | Source: Midjourney
The breaking point came on a particularly tough Thursday. After a grueling double shift, I came home to find the sink more crowded than a bargain bin on Black Friday. That was it. I was done being the sole dish fairy.
The next morning, I didn’t leave a note. Instead, I washed every dish—except one. Mark’s favorite mug, the one with the quirky superhero he’s loved since his teens. I cleaned it, dried it, and hid it in the back of our bedroom closet.
That evening, Mark rummaged through the cupboards with a frown. “Have you seen my mug?” he asked, sounding puzzled.
Mark tries to find his mug | Source: Midjourney
“Nope,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Maybe it’s lost in the great Mount Dishmore.”
He chuckled and grabbed another cup, but I saw the gears turning in his head. Each day that followed, a few more items mysteriously disappeared: a fork here, a spoon there, and his plate with the comic hero. I was waging a silent protest, and for the first time, I had his attention.
As the days passed, Mark’s favorite items began to vanish one by one. His favorite comic hero plate—gone. The steak knives we got for our anniversary—vanished. Each disappearance was meticulously planned. I continued my silent strike, my secret little rebellion against the kingdom of unwashed dishes that Mark had built.
Empty cupboard | Source: Midjourney
One morning, as Mark reached for a bowl to make his cereal, he paused, scanning the almost empty cupboard. “Dani, have we been robbed? Where’s all our stuff?”
I sipped my coffee, feigning confusion. “Hmm, I guess things are walking away since they’re not getting cleaned.”
Mark’s frustration bubbled as he used a measuring cup for his cereal. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
Cereal in a measuring cup | Source: Midjourney
I just shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in my eye. The kitchen had transformed into a culinary Bermuda Triangle, and Mark was finally noticing the chaos.
By Saturday, the climax of my plan unfolded. I announced a spa day for myself, leaving Mark home alone. “Enjoy your day!” I called cheerfully, knowing well the scene I’d return to.
I came back, relaxed and rejuvenated, to find Mark in the middle of the kitchen, staring bewildered at the barren counters and the near-empty sink. “Where are all the dishes?” he asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.
Mark tries to find the remaining dishes | Source: Midjourney
“They decided to wash themselves,” I quipped, hanging my coat.
That’s when it happened. Mark sighed, a deep, resigning sigh. He filled the sink with water, squirted some soap, and started scrubbing the few pieces left. I lounged in the living room, the clinks and clatters from the kitchen music to my ears. Mark was finally partaking in the symphony of chores.
Watching him tackle the task, I felt a wave of satisfaction mixed with relief. It wasn’t just about the dishes; it was about sharing our lives, all parts of it. I appreciated his effort, seeing it as a sign of his love, as much as a recognition of my daily toil.
Mark washes the rest of the dishes | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I ‘discovered’ all the missing items. “Oh look, they’ve come back from their adventure,” I exclaimed, showing him the box of neatly arranged dishes and cutlery.
Mark looked at me, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it was really,” he admitted. “It’s a lot to deal with alone, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” I agreed, happy to hear those words.
From that day on, Mark made a genuine effort. He’d wash his coffee mug right after finishing his morning brew. Sometimes, I’d find him battling Mount Dishmore without any prompt. The sight was as refreshing as my spa day had been.
Danielle enjoys her SPA day | Source: Midjourney
The sippy cup, a relic from my campaign, now sat prominently on a shelf, a light-hearted trophy from our domestic battleground, reminding us both of the lessons learned and the peace restored.
Nowadays, our evenings are quite the idyllic scene, a stark contrast to the chaotic nights of the past. Mark and I share the kitchen duties seamlessly, humming along to old ’80s hits while we cook and clean together. He washes the dishes as I dry them, each plate and cup sparking small conversations about our day.
Mark and Danielle | Source: Midjourney
The kitchen, once a battleground of unwashed dishes and unspoken frustrations, has transformed into a place of laughter and collaboration. Mark often jokes about the “Great Dish Disappearance.” We chuckle at the memory, appreciating how far we’ve come.
I Am 8 Months Pregnant and My Husband’s Night Eating Is Constantly Leaving Me Hungry
Hey everyone, just here sharing a bit of my life as I’m 8 months pregnant and super excited about our little one coming soon. But, I’ve got this kind of weird situation at home making things tougher than expected. My biggest challenge isn’t the usual pregnancy stuff, but my husband, Mark, and his relentless nighttime eating.
A man eating against a dark backdrop
Every night, after midnight, Mark goes on his kitchen raids. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if it didn’t hit me so hard. He literally eats everything—meals I prepped for the next day, my lunch leftovers, you name it. When you’re 8 months pregnant and wake up to find no food, then have to either cook again or run to the store, it’s just exhausting.
An upset pregnant woman holding her belly | Source: Shutterstock
We’ve talked about this so many times, but he just laughs it off and suggests I should simply make more or stash away some special snacks for myself. It feels like he’s not taking any of this seriously, just treating it as a quirky thing he does.
An upset woman with her head in her hands as her husband looks on | Source: Shutterstock
So, last Thursday night really showed me how bad it’s gotten. I spent the afternoon cooking up a big batch of my favorite chili, thinking it would last a few days and was even considerate enough to make extra for Mark.
A ramekin filled with chili | Source: Pexels
But come 1 AM, there I am, woken up by pots banging. I find Mark in the kitchen, helping himself to nearly all the chili. “Babe, I was just so hungry, and it smelled so good,” he tried to explain, clueless about the effort I put into making it last. “I made that chili so we could have meals ready for the week. We can’t keep doing this. I’m totally out of energy, and it’s really not fair,” I told him.
A crying pregnant woman | Source: Shutterstock
His solution? “Why don’t we just make more tomorrow?” I was too tired to argue and just went back to bed, but I knew something had to change. I couldn’t keep up like this, not this far into my pregnancy.
A man arguing with his pregnant wife | Source: Shutterstock
Things just kept going the same way. Mornings where I’d find my meals and snacks gone were becoming the norm. It was draining, and after one morning of finding out he’d eaten the lasagna I’d planned for lunch, I hit my breaking point.
A slice of lasagna garnished with basil | Source: Pexels
Sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by grocery bags because I was too worn out to put them away, I called my sister. I was in tears, telling her how Mark’s eating habits were leaving me hungry and messing up my sleep every night.
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