No More Funding Family Vacations
“Your trips to the beach at my expense are over!” I exclaimed after yet another hint from my mother-in-law about a seaside getaway.
Anna Petrovna sat in our kitchen uninvited, stirring her tea slowly as she always did. In the five years I had been with her son, I had never spoken to her in such a tone before. She owned her own apartment, a gift from Gena, one of her many former suitors, but she spent more time in our home than anywhere else.
“What did you just say?” she whispered, slowly placing her cup down on the table.
“Exactly what you heard. I’m tired of financing your whims. Every year, it’s the same thing: as soon as summer hits, you start talking about your ailments, how you need the seaside air, how the doctor suggests it…”
“Lisa, have you lost your mind?” interjected Oleg, my husband, as he walked into the kitchen. “How dare you speak to my mother that way?”
“And how does she dare to beg for money for her vacations every year?” I retorted. “We both work ourselves to the bone to pay off the mortgage, and your mother enjoys a comfortable retirement while demanding that we entertain her!”
“Lisa!” Oleg complained, his voice raised. “That’s my mother! She raised me, sacrificed everything…”
“Sacrificed?” I laughed bitterly. “She ‘sacrificed’ when she sent you to kindergarten so she could meet with lovers, or when she left you with the neighbor for the weekend to vacation with another man?”
Anna Petrovna jumped up from the table:
“How dare you! You have no idea what I went through! I raised my son all by myself!”
“All by yourself?” I smirked. “And what about uncle Gena, who lived with you for three years? Or uncle Vitya, who bought Oleg a bicycle? Or uncle Sasha, who…”
“Shut up!” Oleg shouted. “I won’t allow you to insult my mother!”
“Then explain to her that times have changed. I’m not going to stay silent and tolerate it any longer. If she wants to take vacations, let her save up herself or ask her many admirers for money.”
I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. Oleg caught up with me in the hallway:
“Lisa, where are you going? Let’s talk this through calmly.”
“Calmly?” I turned to him. “For five years I’ve spoken calmly. For five years, I’ve endured her tantrums, her hints, her ongoing attempts to prove I’m unworthy of her son. And what do you do? You always agree with her!”
“She’s an elderly woman, Lisa. She needs support.”
“She’s sixty-two, Oleg. She’s younger than some of my colleagues who work twelve-hour shifts. Meanwhile, your mother spends all day in our apartment watching TV shows and complaining about life! She has her own apartment, a gift from Gena!”
“She deserves a break. She worked all her life.”
“Yes, at the factory. But that doesn’t mean we are obligated to support her now. She has her pension and an apartment gifted to her by uncle Gena. What more does she want?”
“Understanding,” Oleg said quietly. “She lacks understanding from her daughter-in-law.”
“What I lack is understanding from my husband!” I felt tears welling up. “You’re always on her side! Always. When she criticizes my cooking, you stay silent. When she comments on my clothes, you remain quiet. When she says I’m a bad wife, you say nothing!”
“Lisa…”
“Don’t! I’m tired of being the awful daughter-in-law. Let her find another. I’ll find myself a different family.”
I slammed the door and went down the stairs. The sun was shining outside. People hurried to their own affairs, unaware that my life had just flipped upside down.
My phone rang when I reached work. Oleg.
“Lisa, come back home. Mom is crying.”
“Let her cry. I’ve cried for a long time, but unlike her, I did it silently.”
“You’re being cruel.”
“I’m being honest. For the first time in fifteen years.”
“What should I do?”
“Think, Oleg. Think about who your wife is and who your mother is. Reflect on who is building a future with you and who is stuck in the past. Consider why your mother can’t just live in her apartment and keeps showing up at ours.”
I hung up and tried to focus on work. Yet, my thoughts kept drifting back to the morning argument.
Anna Petrovna had entered my life as a caring and supportive future mother-in-law. She baked pies, offered home advice, and genuinely seemed pleased at our marriage. But once we moved into our own apartment, her true colors began to show.
Initially, it began with minor criticisms: not washing dishes properly, not ironing Oleg’s shirt correctly, not cooking his favorite soup correctly. Then came the hints that I didn’t earn enough, that I should consider having children, that modern women didn’t know how to be good wives.
Then came the requests for assistance. First, those were modest—help with buying medicine, paying utility bills. Eventually, they grew bolder—new furniture, repairs, and finally, yearly trips to the seaside.
“The doctor says I need the seaside climate,” she would declare every summer. “But you can’t travel on a pension. Of course, if you can’t help…”
And we did help. Every year. Oleg felt obligated, while I silently set aside funds from our salaries for Mom’s vacations.
When I returned home that evening, the apartment was empty. There was a note from Oleg on the table: “Went to Mom’s. Think about your behavior.”
I crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. Think? I had been thinking for fifteen years. I thought about how to keep the peace in the family, how to please my mother-in-law, how not to upset my husband. Now it was time to think about myself.
The next day, Oleg didn’t show up. He didn’t call either. Instead, my mother rang:
“Lisa, what’s happening? Anna Petrovna called, crying on the phone, saying you kicked her out…”
“Mom, I didn’t kick anyone out. I just spoke the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I’m not financing her vacations anymore. That I’m tired of being the cash cow.”
“Lisa, she’s your husband’s mother. You need to show respect for your elders.”
“Respect needs to be mutual, Mom. And she doesn’t respect me. Never has.”
“But it’s family…”
“Family is me and Oleg. She’s a relative. And if she wants to remain part of our family, then she needs to learn to behave accordingly.”
For three days I lived alone. I went to work, cooked dinner for myself, watched movies. Oddly, I didn’t feel lonely. On the contrary, for the first time in a long while, there was silence and peace in the house.
On the fourth day, Oleg arrived. He looked unkempt—sleep-deprived, unshaven, in a wrinkled shirt.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi.”
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
We sat in the living room. Oleg was silent for a long time, then he spoke:
“Mom said she’s willing to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For… for being harsh sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” I scoffed. “Oleg, your mother wasn’t just harsh. She was rude. There’s a difference.”
“Lisa, please. She promised to change.”
“How many times have we heard this before? After every fight she swore she wouldn’t interfere in our lives again. A month later, it would all start anew.”
“But now she understands she could lose her son.”
“She won’t lose her son. But she will lose the right to dictate how we live.”
“What do you suggest?”
“First, no more vacations on our dime. If she wants to relax, she can save up. Second, visits only by agreement. The time when she could show up unexpectedly from her apartment and inspect my fridge is over. Third, no advice regarding our lives—where to work, what to cook, when to have kids. Those are our decisions.”
“And if she doesn’t agree?”
“Then you choose: either your wife or your mother. There’s no third option.”
Oleg rubbed his face with his hands:
“Is this an ultimatum?”
“This is a condition for continuing our marriage. I can no longer live in a house where I’m not respected; where my needs are always secondary compared to your mother’s whims.”
“But she’s old, Lisa. Alone.”
“She’s not old. She’s spoiled. And she’s alone by choice. How many men have been in her life? Why hasn’t she succeeded with any of them? Maybe it’s time to consider her character?”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”
“Then don’t make me say it. Just decide—are you building a future with me or still living in the past with her?”
Oleg left again. This time for a week. I didn’t call or text him. If he couldn’t choose between his mother and his wife, then the choice had already been made.
A week later, he returned, suitcase in hand.
“I talked with Mom,” he said. “I explained your conditions to her. She agreed.”
“All the conditions?”
“All of them. She even found a job—she’ll be watching kids in the neighboring house. Says she wants to be independent.”
“And you believe her?”
“I want to believe. I want to try one more time.”
“Fine. But remember, this is the last chance. If she starts again, I won’t create scenes; I’ll just leave.”
“I understand.”
Anna Petrovna kept her word. For the first few months. She really found a job, stopped asking for money, and only called when necessary. Even apologized to me—though it was dry and formal, it was still an apology.
But you can’t change one’s nature. Gradually, she began returning to her old habits. At first cautiously, stealthily. She mentioned her needs nonchalantly, hinted at difficulties, and complained about her health.
Then, when it became clear that summer was approaching, she couldn’t hold back any longer:
“Lisa, I know we agreed, but the doctor insists I need to go to the seaside. I really need to improve my health…”
“Anna Petrovna,” I replied calmly, “we’ve discussed this already. If you need treatment, you can see the public therapist. He will prescribe you a referral to a sanatorium through social services.”
“But the conditions there… And I thought we were family…”
“We are family. But we are not sponsors.”
“Oleg!” she turned to her son. “Do you hear how your wife is talking to me?”
“Mom,” Oleg said firmly, “we made an agreement. Lisa is right.”
Anna Petrovna’s face twisted in rage:
“What does she think she is? Just a district accountant! And she acts like a queen! I didn’t want a wife like that for you, Oleg!”
“But this is the wife I have,” he replied calmly. “And I chose her, just as she chose me.”
“Chose!” scoffed the mother-in-law. “She’s using you like a golden mine! She’s privatized your apartment, registered the car in her name…”
“Anna Petrovna,” I interrupted her, “the apartment is registered in both our names, and we bought the car with our combined funds. But your apartment was indeed given to you by the man who gifted it. Maybe you should be more careful with accusations?”
“How dare you!” she jumped up. “I honestly earned my home!”
“How? I’m curious to hear this.”
“Oleg, if you don’t put this witch in her place right now, I will never step foot in your house again!”
“Mom,” Oleg sighed, “don’t step foot in it. I’m tired of being the mediator between the two most important women in my life.”
Anna Petrovna looked at him in astonishment and then at me with hatred.
“Fine,” she hissed. “Fine. Just remember, my son: wives come and go, but you have one mother.”
“Yes,” Oleg nodded. “One. And because of that, I don’t want to lose her. But I don’t want to lose my wife either.”
“So choose.”
“I have already chosen. A life without scandals and reproaches. A home where there is peace. I chose a wife who loves me and does not use me.”
Anna Petrovna grabbed her bag and headed for the door:
“You’ll regret this, Oleg. You’ll regret this day.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But not today.”
The door slammed. We were left alone.
“Are you regretting it?” I asked.
“Regretting what?”
“That you put me above your mother.”
“Lisa,” he took my hands, “I didn’t put you above my mother. I put common sense above emotions. Our future above the past.”
“And what if she stops communicating with us?”
“She will. She loves controlling my life too much to just disappear. But now she knows there are boundaries she can’t cross.”
And he was right. A month later, Anna Petrovna called. Her voice was normal, almost friendly:
“Oleg, how are you? How’s your health?”
“Everything’s good, mom. How about you?”
“Not bad. I’m working, earning. By the way, I saved money for a short trip to the seaside. I want to go to Anapa for a week.”
“That’s wonderful, mom. Enjoy yourself!”
“Thanks, son. Say hi to… your wife.”
“I will.”
After that conversation, I understood: we had won. It wasn’t just me who triumphed over Anna Petrovna, but rather we—our family—had conquered chaos and injustice. We established rules that protected our peace and our rights.
Of course, it wasn’t a final victory. Anna Petrovna occasionally tried to revert to her old ways. But now she understood: we had boundaries that she couldn’t cross. And we were ready to defend them.
I finally realized: being a good daughter-in-law doesn’t mean being submissive. Respecting elders doesn’t imply tolerating their rudeness. And family isn’t just about blood ties, but also mutual respect, understanding, and a willingness to compromise.
That summer, Oleg and I went on vacation ourselves. For the first time in many years. And it was the best holiday of our lives.