**Diary Entry**
I asked my mother-in-law to take our son while my wife and I went on holiday. Her response is something I’ll remember forever.
Most people either dislike their mothers-in-law or view them with suspicion, but my colleague always spoke of his wife’s mother with deep respect. Curious, I asked him the secret to their good relationship.
“When I got married,” he said, “I eyed my future mother-in-law with unease. I’d heard too many horror stories from friends about meddling in-laws, and assumed it was the same for everyone. Especially since my wife’s mum was single—I half-expected her to fill her loneliness by interfering in our lives. But as time passed, she kept her distance. Sure, she called my wife daily—I’d often overhear their cheerful chats—but that was it.”
“When our son was born, I thought, *This is it. She’ll be at our flat day and night, offering endless advice.* But once again, she surprised me. She bought a pram, brought a suitcase full of baby clothes, and then—just like that—slipped quietly back into her own life. She’d only step in when my wife had a doctor’s appointment or an emergency. Otherwise, she stayed out of the way.”
“Then, last summer, I hatched a brilliant plan. I suggested a beach holiday—just the two of us—while our boy stayed with his gran. *She’s on her own anyway,* I reasoned. *She’d love the company.* My wife smirked and told me to ask her myself.”
“So I went, arms laden with chocolates. She welcomed me warmly, brewing tea as I explained how nice it would be for our son to spend the summer with her while we recharged by the sea. She listened quietly, then replied—”
“*I could take him, of course. It’s no trouble. But tell me, dear—when else will you get the chance to take your three-year-old to the beach? Just this once. Next year, he’ll be four—a little different. In fifteen years, he won’t *want* to go with you. He’ll be grown, with friends of his own. Don’t throw away this precious time.*”
“*Before you know it, he’ll be too big to hold your hand as the waves crash around his knees. You’ll never get back the wonder on his face the first time you place a seashell in his palm or build a sandcastle together. That’s your right—and his—to remember that it was his dad who showed him the sea, not someone else. Don’t cheat yourself of that.*”
“*Trust me,* she added softly, *our children are with us for such a short while. Every moment is irreplaceable.*”
“And you know what? She was right. I remembered being packed off to my gran’s every summer, my own father too buried in work to spare me a thought. By the time his heart gave out, I realised I had nothing of him to hold onto. So that year, we took our son to the coast. And the next. And the next. And as for my mother-in-law? I’ll always respect her. A wise woman indeed.”