Oh, the pleasures of family dynamics; those complex networks of affection, animosity, and, it seems, rent. What if I told you a small story from the front lines of my own soap opera to start things off?
Imagine this: Dad recently passed away and went to the great beyond, leaving Mom sad and alone. So, of course, I propose that she move in with us, partly out of compassion and partly out of sheer guilt. You know, to socialize with the grandchildren and take in the warmth of family.
Now enter my spouse, who has obviously been attending the “How to Be a Loving Family Man” course. His initial response was a firm no, but after some deft haggling on my part, he reluctantly agreed—but only under one condition. The worst part, get ready: my distraught mother would have to pay the rent.
You did really read correctly. Pay rent. in a home that we currently own and are not renting. Start the crying or laughing. His logic? He replied, grinning in a way that I can only characterize as evil, “Your mother is a leech.” “After she moves in with us, she won’t go.”
His reasoning continued, a train on the loose about to crash down a precipice. She simply doesn’t make sense to utilize anything for free when she will consume our food and electricity. This residence is not a hotel, and she has to know that!
With my blood boiling, I knew something was wrong. The reason for this issue is that I wedded a man who seemed to believe he was the Ritz-Carlton’s management. How daring! Here we are, with equal rights to the house, having both contributed to its acquisition, and he’s enacting capitalist regulations as if we were operating a profit-making Airbnb.
The worst part is that my spouse isn’t a horrible person. Really, no. He and my mother have simply disagreed from the beginning. He told me the truth about how he really felt the night he turned into Mr. Rent Collector. “Ever since I met her, your mother has detested me. She wouldn’t feel at ease living with me right now.
I am therefore torn between my mother, who is in great need of her daughter’s support, and my husband, whom I really love despite his imperfections. I ask you, dear reader, the million-dollar question: What should I do? In true dramatic manner. Shall I rent my mother a room or my husband’s empathy?
Brilliant girl!
A little girl tells her mom: “Mommy, a funny lady came to visit while you were at work”. Mommy replies: “Not right now. Let’s wait for Daddy to come home”. So they wait, and when Daddy arrives, Mommy asks: “Okay, sweetheart, what were you saying about Daddy and the funny lady?”
Daddy starts to speak, but Mommy cuts him off. “You be quiet. I’ll talk to my lawyer in the morning. Go ahead, dear.” The little girl continues: “Daddy told me to stay downstairs while he and the lady went upstairs, but I followed them without him knowing. I saw them hugging and laughing at the top of the stairs.
Then they went into your bedroom and closed the door, but I peeked through the keyhole”. “Good job, sweetie”, Mommy says with a smile. “What did you see?” “I saw them hugging and laughing some more.”
“And then what happened?” Mommy asks. The little girl answers proudly: “Then they did what you and Uncle Jack did last summer when Daddy went to Vancouver!”
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