Layla’s husband, Tom, has an annual tradition involving a family vacation that she isn’t invited to. After years of being excluded, Layla finally asks why she isn’t allowed to join, only for Tom to lie and blame his mother. But when Layla does her own digging, she and her mother-in-law discover a family secret that breaks the family apart.
My husband, Tom, has been going on an annual island vacation with his family since we had gotten married. That’s twelve years of family trips without me.
Every year, he’d pack his bags and leave our two kids and me behind.
“My mom doesn’t want in-laws on the trip, Layla,” he said. “You know this. It’s the same story every year. But still, you continue to ask about it.”
My husband rolled his eyes and sat on the couch, his hands wrapped tightly around his phone.
“Why don’t you just cancel this one, and we can take the kids on holiday instead?” I asked, tossing a salad to go with our dinner.
“Why would I do that?” he retorted. “The kids are too young and it will be chaotic. When they’re older, we can start talking about holidays with them.”
“And me?” I asked. “Are you sure your mom will mind?”
And that was when something snapped in me.
There, right on social media for everyone to see, was a carousel of photos from last year’s vacation. There was Tom, smiling widely next to his brother and sister-in-law. There were other photos of their sister and her husband, too.
But I was told that Tom’s mother didn’t want any in-laws on the trip?
“It’s clear that she just didn’t want you there,” I said to myself.
I needed to know more information before I blew up at my mother-in-law. As much as Denise seemed to have an issue with me, I knew that if I asked her straight up, she would give me an answer.
So, I decided to call Sadie, Tom’s brother’s wife. She was fairly new to the family, with them having only been married for about a year now.
So that’s what they thought. That I hadn’t been able to make their trip because of my children.
“Listen, Layla,” she said. “I’ve got to go, I’m getting another call. I’ll call you this evening!”
She hung up immediately.
I knew that my next move would be going to my mother-in-law. If anyone was at the root of this lie, it would be Denise.
“Wait, what?” I asked, stunned.
“Tell me what you know,” she said, pouring a glass of juice.
Shocked, I spilled everything. The photos, Tom’s lies, the years of being left behind with and without my sons.
And more than that, she became a constant presence in my life, always wanting to be around me and help wherever she could, and insisting on being an active grandmother to my kids.
“I never imagined that it would all come to this,” she said one afternoon as we sat in the living room together.
“Me neither,” I replied. “But at least we know the truth now.”
I’m a mom to a 9-year-old boy, and let me tell you, the mess in his room has been driving me up the wall!
The chaos in my son, Leo’s, room was legendary. Toys lay strewn across the floor like fallen leaves, clothes were draped over every available surface, and a mountain of dirty laundry threatened to engulf his bed. I’d nagged, I’d pleaded, I’d even resorted to threats, but nothing seemed to penetrate the fog of his youthful disorganization.
Then, my in-laws arrived for a barbecue. As the aroma of grilling burgers filled the air, I vented my frustrations to my mother-in-law, lamenting the eternal struggle against the tyranny of childhood clutter.
She listened patiently, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, don’t worry, dear,” she said, “I’ll get him to clean it up.”
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “How, exactly?”
She simply smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’ll see.”
And see, I did. My mother-in-law, with the grace of a seasoned magician, approached Leo, who was currently engrossed in a video game. She whispered something in his ear, her voice a low, conspiratorial murmur.
Leo, initially resistant, suddenly sprang to his feet, a look of excitement replacing his usual indifference. He bolted upstairs, a whirlwind of energy, leaving a trail of discarded toys in his wake.
Within an hour, a miracle had occurred. Leo’s room was transformed. Toys were neatly tucked away in bins, clothes were folded and placed in drawers, and the mountain of laundry had miraculously vanished. Even the dreaded “Lego death trap” lurking under the bed was miraculously cleared.
Astonished, I turned to my mother-in-law. “What did you say to him?” I demanded, my curiosity piqued.
She chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I simply told him I had hidden a hundred dollars somewhere in his room. He had to find it before he could have any dessert.”
My jaw dropped. “You bribed him?”
“Of course,” she replied, “A little incentive never hurt anyone.”
And there it was. The secret to conquering the chaos of childhood: a little bit of bribery and a whole lot of grandma magic.
From that day on, I adopted my mother-in-law’s strategy. A misplaced toy? “I hear the tooth fairy is looking for a hiding spot for some extra special coins…” A forgotten chore? “I wonder where I put those extra movie tickets I was saving for you…”
Leo, initially skeptical, quickly learned the game. He became a cleaning machine, his room miraculously transforming into a haven of order and cleanliness whenever the “treasure hunt” was announced.
And while some might argue that bribery is not the most ethical parenting technique, I couldn’t help but admire my mother-in-law’s ingenuity. After all, in the battle against childhood clutter, a little bit of strategic maneuvering never hurt anyone.
Besides, who am I to argue with results? Leo’s room was cleaner than it had ever been, and I was finally enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. And that, I realized, was priceless.
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