My MIL moved in “to help” — but when I came home to find three young women living in my house, folding laundry, flirting, and cutting my husband’s hair, I knew I wasn’t the one being replaced. I was forty, and that was exactly when my life turned into chaos. I didn’t know how other people managed it, but I felt like the lead in a survival show.
Only, instead of the jungle, I had a kitchen.
Instead of predators, three children.
And instead of a team, an ever-growing to-do list.
“Mom, I’m getting a tattoo on my neck. It’ll say ‘Free soul’…” my teenage daughter, Sue, announced without asking for permission.
“And we want a new Lego and no more homework!” shouted my twin boys, wrapping themselves with tape and tossing first-grade books like confetti.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen with a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, staring at my laptop, where a presentation blinked at me. I was supposed to submit it the previous Friday.
…The story doesn’t end here, it continues on the next page 👇
