“Yes, I live alone. Yes, it’s in my own house. But no, this doesn’t mean your relatives can move in like it’s a dormitory!”
These words from Valeria initiated a tense conversation with her husband, Pavel, who, absorbed in his phone, responded lazily, “You’re just worrying over nothing again. Mom will stay for a week or two at most. Besides, the house is empty anyway.”
Trying to assert herself, Valeria reminded him, “Pavel, this is my grandmother’s home. Mine now. I invested a year renovating it alone — during our brief break. It’s not empty; I live here.”
He grumbled back, “Yeah, you live here… between orders and Instagram stories. Online shops are a hobby with money, not real work.”
Valeria clenched her fists to avoid throwing the nearest object—glass, ceramics—all tempting targets, yet she spared the dishes, unlike her husband.
“Can’t mom just go to a sanatorium like other retirees?” Pavel asked.
Valeria explained, “She has blood pressure problems. She needs the sea, sun, and iodine.”
Exhaling, she added, “Mom’s tongue is as sharp as a razor. She still sees me as a housebound girl. Last year, just for placing a pillow incorrectly, she declared she didn’t raise her son to sleep in the backyard.”
Pavel set his phone down and looked at her like a weary genius summoned from vacation over an inability to open a jar.
“It’s all your complexes. Mom has character but is kind. You just take everything the wrong way,” he said.
Valeria shot back, “When she washed the mirror with my shampoo last year saying, ‘At least this is useful,’ was I supposed to see that positively?”
Pavel scratched his head and headed toward the corridor, calling out neutrally, “She’s arriving Friday. I warned you. If it bothers you, you can go stay with Svetka. Her husband is on a business trip. You’ll have wine and girl talk.”
“And what about you?” Valeria shouted, overwhelmed by a wave of helplessness and anger. “Will you be alone here with your mommy?”
He slammed the bathroom door: “Well, we’re closer than you are with her anyway.”
That was no longer just a warning bell—it was a fire alarm.
When Raisa Petrovna arrived, she entered as Empress Catherine might: white hat, suitcase in hand as if moving in for winter, and a nonstop flow of orders:
- “Valerochka, open up! The draft is chilly, and my neck hurts!”
- “Pavel, son, bring the suitcase—you’re standing there like a statue.”
- “Where are the towels? And why isn’t there a vase in the bedroom? I had such beautiful peonies…”
Valeria greeted her with polite detachment, which, if you were oblivious enough, could be mistaken for indifference.
“The towels are in the bathroom, and the vase went to the summer house with everything else that annoys me in this house,” she said.
“Am I also annoying?” Raisa Petrovna asked reproachfully, settling into her armchair as if it were a throne.
“No, you inspire me to feats. Today I already mentally bought a ticket to Kamchatka,” Valeria replied.
Pavel snorted, “You wanted solitude by the sea. Now consider Mom a lesson in patience, Buddhism, a new spiritual stage.”
Valeria tilted her head implying calm while her inner fire raged, “A stage? One hit and the stage will be under your eye.”
Raisa Petrovna shook her head and said strictly, “Family means compromise. Women are keepers of the hearth—not this internet business, jars, boxes, stories, pretensions…”
“I do keep my hearth,” Valeria replied sharply. “But you’re coming in with fire and gasoline.” She smiled and turned up the TV volume.
“Family means compromise, and the hearth is sacred—it’s more than just a house.”
On the third day, Valeria realized it was either her or Raisa Petrovna; the same roof could not house them both.
Mornings were filled with complaints: the coffee was wrong, the towels weren’t fresh, Pavel had lost weight from bad food, and Valeria’s appearance was criticized for lounging in a bathrobe instead of proper homewear and having short nails without a manicure.
By the fifth day, Raisa Petrovna suggested she might stay until the end of August, declaring, “Pavel doesn’t mind. The air is good, the peace, the view, it soothes my soul.”
Valeria, voice sharp as a blade, replied, “I’m starting to twitch under my eye—think that’s a coincidence?”
Raisa Petrovna insisted it was nerves caused by Valeria’s independence, saying, “A woman shouldn’t live alone. You’re wearing yourself out.” Pavel grunted agreement, “Mom’s right. You act like you’re at war all the time.”
Valeria turned to him calmly, “Funny you say that, Pavel. It is war—only the battlefield is my home.”
That evening, she messaged Svetka: “Still renovating? Need a place to hide? Come here—with your whole soccer team and dog. Let’s see how Raisa Petrovna manages sea solitude.”
Svetka replied with a smiley and, “I’m in.”
Unaware of the approaching storm filled with noisy children, sniffly noses, muddy shoes on sofas, Svetka’s husband working from home yelling in Zoom, and a slightly unhinged labrador obsessed with slippers, Raisa Petrovna was about to face chaos.
But Valeria smiled—which always signals trouble, just not for herself.
On the sixth day, morning calm shattered like an anchor torn loose. Raisa Petrovna sat on the veranda in her white terry robe, sweeping crumbs off the table, muttering:
“Valerochka, you could take some courses in housewifery and femininity. Why is the coffee bitter? Floors sticky? Why does your gaze look tired? Your husband isn’t bad; you should keep him.”
Valeria calmly replied, “My cousin and her whole team arrive in fifteen minutes.”
Raisa froze, sensing an apocalypse, “Team? What team?”
Valeria smiled innocently, “Svetka, her three boys, husband, and dog.”
“BOYS?” echoed across the kitchen.
Pavel peeked out of the bedroom, less confident, “Val, are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” she said sweetly. “You said mom has character; she’ll find spending time with energetic young ones interesting.”
Raisa pursed her lips, and Valeria mentioned the dog was a beloved family member — a gentle labrador.
Fifteen minutes later, a battered but proud truck rolled into the yard, its open trunk filled with a colorful ball, suitcases, groceries, and a sneaker hanging from the yellow labrador’s mouth.
“Lerka!” Svetka shouted upon arrival, bringing the energy of a summer camp. Behind her, three boys ready for chaos poured out, and one launched a ball that ricocheted off the veranda window frame, startling Raisa.
“Hello…” she began, but a shrill voice interrupted, “Aunt Valya, can we set up a tent in the garden?”
“Of course,” Valeria replied without turning. “Where I planted peonies last year.”
Pavel coughed, “Val, are you sure?”
“I thought it through,” she answered, heading to greet her guests.
Within half an hour, pillows, blankets, balls, and chip bags littered the living room. The kitchen buzzed with boys demanding pancakes, the dog chased its tail, and Svetka’s balding husband held a conference call amid the bustle.
Raisa Petrovna sat stiffly, eyes silently asking, “Why me?”
Svetka offered breakfast choices, to which Raisa coldly replied she preferred silence. Unfazed, Svetka smiled and said the kids would wear headphones while cooking.
The first night was sleepless for Raisa — whispering boys, a restless dog with a shoe, kitchen noises from Svetka’s husband, and cartoons blasting at dawn.
Out on the veranda, she looked weary, asking, “Valeria, is it always like this here?”
“Usually quieter,” Valeria responded softly. “But patience must be trained. Buddhism. A new level.” Pavel chuckled passing by.
On day three, the “team” made themselves entirely at home — boys raiding the kitchen, the dog burying Raisa’s slippers in the garden, and Svetka declaring a Spartan-style cleanup.
Valeria noticed Raisa’s criticisms had lessened.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” Pavel asked as Valeria hung laundry.
“What exactly?” she blinked innocently.
“All this—to get your mom to leave,” he murmured.
She just smiled.
By day five, Raisa couldn’t take it and told Pavel she needed a quieter place to rest—sea or even a swamp would do.
Valeria sliced apples calmly, humming softly.
When the truck carrying Raisa and her suitcase departed, Pavel approached Valeria.
“You’re a clever woman,” he admitted.
“I’m the keeper of the hearth,” she said innocently. “Sometimes a fire needs the right kindling.”
He sighed but glanced at her with newfound respect.
“When is Svetka leaving?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Valeria shrugged. “We thought about spending the rest of August together — as a team.”
Pavel rolled his eyes but said nothing; arguing with Valeria was like pouring water into a sieve.
The following days were filled with the lively chaos of boys building secret bases in the attic, Rex the labrador bringing sticks, socks, and even a live mole into the house, while Svetka’s husband held meetings amid cooking duties.
Valeria felt in control, knowing she kept a secret weapon — noisy, chaotic allies who could take on anything.
After two weeks, when the team finally left, silence returned, and Valeria found herself missing the noise, the mess, and even Rex, who often tried to drown his toys in the toilet.
Sitting on the veranda with coffee, she was joined by Pavel, who mentioned, “Mom called. She’s thinking about coming back for a couple days.”
Valeria smiled, thinking it might be time to call Svetka again.
In conclusion: Living together under one roof can test family bonds and patience. Setting boundaries and embracing a bit of chaos with allies can transform conflicts into manageable, even joyful experiences.