I asked my mother-in-law to take our grandson while my wife and I went on holiday. Her reply is something I’ll never forget.
Most people either dislike their mothers-in-law or regard them with suspicion. But my colleague always spoke of his wife’s mother with deep respect. When I asked him the secret to their good relationship, he told me this:
«When I got married, I was wary of my future mother-in-law. I’d heard too many horror stories from friends about meddling in-laws and assumed it would be the same for me. Especially since my wife’s mother was widowed—I expected her to interfere out of loneliness. But as time passed, she kept her distance. She called my wife daily—I’d hear them chatting away—but that was it.
Then our son was born, and I braced myself for her to move in, fussing over every little thing. But again, she surprised me. She bought a pram, delivered a suitcase of baby clothes, then quietly stepped back. She helped when needed—when my wife had a doctor’s appointment or a dentist visit—but never overstayed her welcome.
Then came the summer, and I had a brilliant idea. I suggested a seaside getaway—just my wife and me—and leaving our son with his grandmother. After all, she was alone; surely she’d love the company. My wife smirked and told me to ask her myself.
I arrived at her doorstep, chocolates in hand. She welcomed me warmly, brewing tea as we sat. I explained how nice it would be for our boy to stay with her while we recharged by the coast. She listened, then replied:
‘I could take him, dear—it wouldn’t be a burden. But tell me this: When will you ever get another chance to take your three-year-old to the sea? This year—only this year. Next summer, he’ll be four, already a little different. And you’ll have lost a whole season with him, palmed off to his gran. Would you really give up something so precious so easily?
In fifteen years, your boy won’t *want* to go with you. He’ll be too grown, too busy with friends. He’ll grow up fast—and if you miss this, you’ll have no memories of his first splash in the waves, his little hand in yours. No recollection of the first shell you placed in his palm, or the sandcastle you built together.
That’s *your* right. And it’s *his* right to remember that his father showed him the sea—not someone else. Don’t take that from him.
‘Believe me,’ she said, ‘our children are only ours for a little while. Every moment with them is irreplaceable.’
Her words struck deep. I remembered being sent away every summer to stay with my grandmother. How my own father never had time—always working—until a heart attack took him, leaving me with nothing to reminisce about.
So that year, we took our son to the coast. And the next.
And my mother-in-law? I respect her more than ever—because she’s the wisest woman I know.»