Maria Metlitskaya

mother-in-law's diary

I am a friendly person, I will definitely not find fault with anyone over trifles. True, I will not forgive meanness and betrayal - here I am solid as a rock.

I have friends from childhood and for life, and friends - in general, the sea. I connect with people quickly and easily. True, the need for new acquaintances over the years is less and less. What can you do, probably mental fatigue. This also happens. More and more I want to be alone with myself. Shut up. Read a book, think about the eternal.

I have my own bedroom, I deserve my own space. How I long for peace and relaxation! But ... peace, as you know ... I warn my family, tightly close the door to my room - and I'm not at home. I also hang a sign on the door handle, taken from an overseas hotel, “Please do not disturb.”

But to be honest, mine spit on the sign. Every ten minutes the door to the room opens. When it's sharp, it's a son. Smoother - husband. He seems to be better educated. The son believes that access to me is always open to him. What can you do, it's her own fault - she taught me so. And this is true - I am ready to accept and listen to him always. Despite the headache, an interesting book, telephone conversation with a girlfriend or gently covering me with a warm wave of an approaching dream.

The son is just sure that he - main man in my life. And here he is right. She always taught him that.

I used to love guests. Our house, despite the total shortage of everything and everyone, was welcoming and hospitable. From "nothing" I laid plentiful tables. She did not disdain the most labor-intensive - jelly, pies, aspic. I baked "Napoleon" for tea. In twelve layers. Mom dear! It's scary to remember. Am I everything this is did?

Now a lot has changed. “Marten” has neither the desire nor the strength to stand for two days. In my opinion, people stopped visiting in general. It's easier to meet in a cafe. Money is the same. But pleasure and freedom.

But today is not the case. Today I must, simply must, receive guests at home. And stand by the stove. And set the table. And to communicate - even if I'm completely reluctant.

Because today I have unusual guests. Or rather, the guests are ordinary (I even think that it is too much). But the situation is by no means ordinary.

The fact is that my ardently adored and only son Danila was about to get married.

At twenty-three. Stupid, of course, but what can you do? Love, as they say, to the grave. They cannot live without each other. They cannot breathe. All night I hear the chatter of text messages. Under the knock and fall asleep. By five in the morning.

By the age of twenty-three, Danila already has a rather rich and stormy personal life - he just started early. He ardently convinces me (including himself) that Nyusya is his couple. In all respects. For everyone, this is, of course, very important. Then, to be honest, I got tired of not sleeping at night. Wait for him from the parties. So there is probably something positive in his early marriage for me too. Maybe it will calm down, I think hopefully.

And yes, I have a lot of respect for love. Not for everyone, by the way.

So they decided to get married. I offered passionately and, it seems to me, convincingly, civil marriage. Why not try to start without material, so to speak, costs?

Nyusya was mortally offended at me. You might think I offended her! In general, she did not accept my quite reasonable arguments. Pouted for two weeks. She refused dinner. At the door, she said goodbye dryly. I am this way and that. To be honest, I was scared. It is too early to spoil relations with the daughter-in-law at this stage. I still have time. The son says that Niusya is a vulnerable and sensitive person. True, I don't think so. But that was the first lesson taught to me. I learned it. I am, in general, from the understanding. I realized that I would adapt to my daughter-in-law, and not she to me. This, of course, complicates matters. But - as it is, so it is. For my son, I can't do that.

A wedding is a wedding. Expenses, in the end, we will pull and survive. Well, let's not go to the sea this year. To my adored sea... The meeting with which I have been waiting for the whole cold and hard year. Which gives me the strength to somehow crawl through the next year.

Okay, stop being naughty. Although what could be more ridiculous than a wedding in a restaurant? With all its required attributes. Certainly stupid and extremely costly. And Nyusa, I realized that this is all that is needed. White tablecloths with blue bows. The leading moron, trying, like a parrot, with memorized phrases. Dress to the floor. Veil. The bride's bouquet. White doves and a black limousine.

Do all girls want this? Not true, not everyone. For example, I never wanted to. I always thought it was stupid and vulgar. In my time, they still attached a baby doll to the hood of the newlyweds' car. Now it is not better - the car is decorated like a hearse - with artificial flowers.

Danka, by the way, also always laughed at this. Said that he had So will never. There will be a quiet family dinner in a decent but not pretentious restaurant and honeymoon trip Venice, for example.

But the night cuckoo, as you know, will cuckoo the day cuckoo. I am daytime. Everyone scored on my opinion. But what I understood for sure is that Danka is really in love. How else would he agree to all this obvious nonsense and vulgar rubbish?

And now the X-hour has come. Nyusin's parents are coming to visit us. To meet and discuss current and upcoming issues and expenses. Getting to know the Fockers, in a word.

I half-heartedly offered to meet at a restaurant. Danka yelled and said that we are obliged to accept the matchmakers. Well, this Nyusia manages to compost my son's brains. Taking off my hat. And by the way, I remember a joke: “A mother has been making a man out of her son for twenty years, and his girlfriend is capable of making an idiot out of him in twenty minutes.”

Little, skinny. What keeps the soul...

And here you are.

The husband, by the way, supported Danka. Traitor. True, what's the matter, I know - my husband hates restaurants. And at home he always has a great opportunity to dump. Under a good pretext, of course. Say, by tomorrow you have to hand over the article. And sniff at yourself. And I suffer to the end and in full. Is it fair? Is it fair? What can you do, our aunts always take the rap for everything. I mean, women. I mean, the weaker sex. Here I am with irony. With bitterness, by the way. About the "weaker sex".

Since yesterday, I've been standing at the stove. My son discussed the menu very meticulously beforehand. It's like he's marrying a Danish princess and we're hosting a royal couple.

And the surname of our fresh relatives, by the way, is Ivasyuki. Beautiful surname. And most importantly - aristocratic. For some reason, I have associations with Ivasi herring - the one from the Soviet past.

Of course, I'm wrong. What's with the surname? I'm nee Petrakov. And in marriage - Sergeyeva. Also not the Naryshkins and not the Poniatowskies. But still funny - Ivasyuki. My extremely witty husband suggested that Danila take his wife's surname. The son was offended. He usually laughs with us. We concluded that the situation is difficult. And sighed heavily at the same time.

Danka sets the table. Looks at the clearance of glasses and glasses.

“Oh-ho-ho,” I sigh, and thoughtfully retire to the kitchen.

- Has the jelly frozen? - the son shouts from the room. - And the filling?

I don't answer out of spite. I cut salted salmon.

- Mom, well, just butts! he is outraged. - Cut smarter! my boy orders.

- Go to hell! I snap. And I threaten: - Better not get me started!

The threat works, and, thank God, he is washed away.

I hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner.

Son took up the vacuum cleaner ?!

“Our business is bad,” I think.

Everything is much more serious than we expected.

Iwashyuki appear minute by minute. Of course: the head of the family is a lieutenant colonel. I don't have time to paint the other eye and take off the apron. Danka gives me a sizzling look. Husband comes out. Shakes hands and smiles. I know exactly what he dreams of. So that all this rigmarole ends quickly. I angrily look at him and grin, it will hardly turn out faster. This is what I feel.

The husband offers slippers to the guests. New, by the way. The lieutenant colonel puts on his. The wife pulls them out of the package.

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Has your son, whom you seem to have just brought from the hospital yesterday and recently taken to first grade, changed a lot? Scribbling text messages, hanging on the phone for hours, answering at random? The diagnosis is clear. Remember the anecdote: a mother has been making a man out of her son for twenty years, and his girlfriend is able to make an idiot out of him in twenty minutes. Yes, yes, the hour is not far off when you will become not just a woman and not even just a wife and mother, but a mother-in-law. And you should definitely read this book, because it is an excellent psychotherapy for those who have recently become a mother-in-law, and for those who have long been bearing this burden, and for those who are terrified of changes in their lives.

Or maybe you are the same girl who became the reason for the transformation of the hope of the family into a lover's fool? Then this book is also for you - after all, every mother-in-law was once a daughter-in-law. And every bride - attention! - someday she can become a mother-in-law.

Maria Metlitskaya

mother-in-law's diary

I am a friendly person, I will definitely not find fault with anyone over trifles. True, I will not forgive meanness and betrayal - here I am solid as a rock.

I have friends from childhood and for life, and friends - in general, the sea. I connect with people quickly and easily. True, the need for new acquaintances over the years is less and less. What can you do, probably mental fatigue. This also happens. More and more I want to be alone with myself. Shut up. Read a book, think about the eternal.

I have my own bedroom, I deserve my own space. How I long for peace and relaxation! But ... peace, as you know ... I warn my family, tightly close the door to my room - and I'm not at home. I also hang a sign on the door handle, taken from an overseas hotel, “Please do not disturb.”

But to be honest, mine spit on the sign. Every ten minutes the door to the room opens. When it's sharp, it's a son. Smoother - husband. He seems to be better educated. The son believes that access to me is always open to him. What can you do, it's her own fault - she taught me so. And this is true - I am ready to accept and listen to him always. Regardless of a headache, an interesting book, a phone conversation with a friend, or an approaching dream gently covering me with a warm wave.

The son is simply sure that he is the main person in my life. And here he is right. She always taught him that.

I used to love guests. Our house, despite the total shortage of everything and everyone, was welcoming and hospitable. From "nothing" I laid plentiful tables. She did not disdain the most labor-intensive - jelly, pies, aspic. I baked "Napoleon" for tea. In twelve layers. Mom dear! It's scary to remember. Am I everything this is did?

Now a lot has changed. “Marten” has neither the desire nor the strength to stand for two days. In my opinion, people stopped visiting in general. It's easier to meet in a cafe. Money is the same. But pleasure and freedom.

But today is not the case. Today I must, simply must, receive guests at home. And stand by the stove. And set the table. And to communicate - even if I'm completely reluctant.

Because today I have unusual guests. Or rather, the guests are ordinary (I even think that it is too much). But the situation is by no means ordinary.

The fact is that my ardently adored and only son Danila was about to get married.

At twenty-three. Stupid, of course, but what can you do? Love, as they say, to the grave. They cannot live without each other. They cannot breathe. All night I hear the chatter of text messages. Under the knock and fall asleep. By five in the morning.

By the age of twenty-three, Danila already has a rather rich and stormy personal life - he just started early. He ardently convinces me (including himself) that Nyusya is his couple. In all respects. For everyone, this is, of course, very important. Then, to be honest, I got tired of not sleeping at night. Wait for him from the parties. So there is probably something positive in his early marriage for me too. Maybe it will calm down, I think hopefully.

And yes, I have a lot of respect for love. Not for everyone, by the way.

So they decided to get married. I offered fervently and, it seems to me, convincingly, a civil marriage. Why not try to start without material, so to speak, costs?

Nyusya was mortally offended at me. You might think I offended her! In general, she did not accept my quite reasonable arguments. Pouted for two weeks. She refused dinner. At the door, she said goodbye dryly. I am this way and that. To be honest, I was scared. It is too early to spoil relations with the daughter-in-law at this stage. I still have time. The son says that Niusya is a vulnerable and sensitive person. True, I don't think so. But that was the first lesson taught to me. I learned it. I am, in general, from the understanding. I realized that I would adapt to my daughter-in-law, and not she to me. This, of course, complicates matters. But - as it is, so it is. For my son, I can't do that.

A wedding is a wedding. Expenses, in the end, we will pull and survive. Well, let's not go to the sea this year. To my adored sea... The meeting with which I have been waiting for the whole cold and hard year. Which gives me the strength to somehow crawl through the next year.

Okay, stop being naughty. Although what could be more ridiculous than a wedding in a restaurant? With all its required attributes. Certainly stupid and extremely costly. And Nyusa, I realized that this is all that is needed. White tablecloths with blue bows. The leading moron, trying, like a parrot, with memorized phrases. Dress to the floor. Veil. The bride's bouquet. White doves and a black limousine.

Do all girls want this? Not true, not everyone. For example, I never wanted to. I always thought it was stupid and vulgar. In my time, they still attached a baby doll to the hood of the newlyweds' car. Now it is not better - the car is decorated like a hearse - with artificial flowers.

Danka, by the way, also always laughed at this. Said that he had So will never. There will be a quiet family dinner in a decent but not pretentious restaurant and a honeymoon trip to Venice, for example.

But the night cuckoo, as you know, will cuckoo the day cuckoo. I am daytime. Everyone scored on my opinion. But what I understood for sure is that Danka is really in love. How else would he agree to all this obvious nonsense and vulgar rubbish?

And now the X-hour has come. Nyusin's parents are coming to visit us. To meet and discuss current and upcoming issues and expenses. Getting to know the Fockers, in a word.

I half-heartedly offered to meet at a restaurant. Danka yelled and said that we are obliged to accept the matchmakers. Well, this Nyusia manages to compost my son's brains. Taking off my hat. And by the way, I remember a joke: “A mother has been making a man out of her son for twenty years, and his girlfriend is capable of making an idiot out of him in twenty minutes.”

Little, skinny. What keeps the soul...

And here you are.

The husband, by the way, supported Danka. Traitor. True, what's the matter, I know - my husband hates restaurants. And at home he always has a great opportunity to dump. Under a good pretext, of course. Say, by tomorrow you have to hand over the article. And sniff at yourself. And I suffer to the end and in full. Is it fair? Is it fair? What can you do, our aunts always take the rap for everything. I mean, women. I mean, the weaker sex. Here I am with irony. With bitterness, by the way. About the "weaker sex".

Since yesterday, I've been standing at the stove. My son discussed the menu very meticulously beforehand. It's like he's marrying a Danish princess and we're hosting a royal couple.

And the surname of our fresh relatives, by the way, is Ivasyuki. Beautiful surname. And most importantly - aristocratic. For some reason, I have associations with Ivasi herring - the one from the Soviet past.

Of course, I'm wrong. What's with the surname? I'm nee Petrakov. And in marriage - Sergeyeva. Also not the Naryshkins and not the Poniatowskies. But still funny - Ivasyuki. My extremely witty husband suggested that Danila take his wife's surname. The son was offended. He usually laughs with us. We concluded that the situation is difficult. And sighed heavily at the same time.

Has your son, whom you seem to have just brought from the hospital yesterday and recently taken to first grade, changed a lot? Scribbling text messages, hanging on the phone for hours, answering at random? The diagnosis is clear. Remember the anecdote: a mother has been making a man out of her son for twenty years, and his girlfriend is able to make an idiot out of him in twenty minutes. Yes, yes, the hour is not far off when you will become not just a woman and not even just a wife and mother, but a mother-in-law. And you should definitely read this book, because it is an excellent psychotherapy for those who have recently become a mother-in-law, and for those who have long been bearing this burden, and for those who are terrified of changes in their lives.

Or maybe you are the same girl who became the reason for the transformation of the hope of the family into a lover's fool? Then this book is also for you - after all, every mother-in-law was once a daughter-in-law. And every bride - attention! - someday she can become a mother-in-law.

Maria Metlitskaya

mother-in-law's diary

I am a friendly person, I will definitely not find fault with anyone over trifles. True, I will not forgive meanness and betrayal - here I am solid as a rock.

I have friends from childhood and for life, and friends - in general, the sea. I connect with people quickly and easily. True, the need for new acquaintances over the years is less and less. What can you do, probably mental fatigue. This also happens. More and more I want to be alone with myself. Shut up. Read a book, think about the eternal.

I have my own bedroom, I deserve my own space. How I long for peace and relaxation! But ... peace, as you know ... I warn my family, tightly close the door to my room - and I'm not at home. I also hang a sign on the door handle, taken from an overseas hotel, “Please do not disturb.”

But to be honest, mine spit on the sign. Every ten minutes the door to the room opens. When it's sharp, it's a son. Smoother - husband. He seems to be better educated. The son believes that access to me is always open to him. What can you do, it's her own fault - she taught me so. And this is true - I am ready to accept and listen to him always. Regardless of a headache, an interesting book, a phone conversation with a friend, or an approaching dream gently covering me with a warm wave.

The son is simply sure that he is the main person in my life. And here he is right. She always taught him that.

I used to love guests. Our house, despite the total shortage of everything and everyone, was welcoming and hospitable. From "nothing" I laid plentiful tables. She did not disdain the most labor-intensive - jelly, pies, aspic. I baked "Napoleon" for tea. In twelve layers. Mom dear! It's scary to remember. Am I everything this is did?

Now a lot has changed. “Marten” has neither the desire nor the strength to stand for two days. In my opinion, people stopped visiting in general. It's easier to meet in a cafe. Money is the same. But pleasure and freedom.

But today is not the case. Today I must, simply must, receive guests at home. And stand by the stove. And set the table. And to communicate - even if I'm completely reluctant.

Because today I have unusual guests. Or rather, the guests are ordinary (I even think that it is too much). But the situation is by no means ordinary.

The fact is that my ardently adored and only son Danila was about to get married.

At twenty-three. Stupid, of course, but what can you do? Love, as they say, to the grave. They cannot live without each other. They cannot breathe. All night I hear the chatter of text messages. Under the knock and fall asleep. By five in the morning.

By the age of twenty-three, Danila already has a rather rich and stormy personal life - he just started early. He ardently convinces me (including himself) that Nyusya is his couple. In all respects. For everyone, this is, of course, very important. Then, to be honest, I got tired of not sleeping at night. Wait for him from the parties. So there is probably something positive in his early marriage for me too. Maybe it will calm down, I think hopefully.

And yes, I have a lot of respect for love. Not for everyone, by the way.

So they decided to get married. I offered fervently and, it seems to me, convincingly, a civil marriage. Why not try to start without material, so to speak, costs?

Nyusya was mortally offended at me. You might think I offended her! In general, she did not accept my quite reasonable arguments. Pouted for two weeks. She refused dinner. At the door, she said goodbye dryly. I am this way and that. To be honest, I was scared. It is too early to spoil relations with the daughter-in-law at this stage. I still have time. The son says that Niusya is a vulnerable and sensitive person. True, I don't think so. But that was the first lesson taught to me. I learned it. I am, in general, from the understanding. I realized that I would adapt to my daughter-in-law, and not she to me. This, of course, complicates matters. But - as it is, so it is. For my son, I can't do that.