I thought letting my mother-in-law stay with us would test my patience, but I never expected a kitchen sponge to cause so much trouble. After she ignored my requests one too many times, I decided to teach her a lesson.
“HEATHER!”
Brenda’s scream sent my husband racing downstairs.
I was sitting at the kitchen table when my husband, Timothy, appeared.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
Brenda pointed at the counter.
“HEATHER!”
“Look what your wife did!”
Timothy stared at the sealed bags beside our sink.
“Heather, why are there sponges all over the counter?”
“Ask your mother which one she’d like to use for breakfast.”
“Look what your wife did!”
Brenda turned to him.
“You’re not going to let her humiliate me, are you?”
I expected Timothy to explain why I’d reached my limit.
Instead, he looked uncomfortable.
Brenda turned to him.
“Mom, this isn’t what we talked about.”
I set down my coffee.
“What did you two talk about?”
Three weeks earlier, Brenda had moved into our house while hers was being renovated.
I live with my husband, Timothy, and our eight-year-old son, Henry.
“This isn’t what we talked about.”
And I’d agreed to my mother-in-law staying for a few months.
She was family, and I wanted her to feel welcome.
But I also knew we had different habits.
During her first week, I discovered she’d been using my razor.
She was family.
“Oh, sweetheart, I thought it was an extra,” she said.
I bought another and asked her not to use my things without checking.
A few days later, she tasted my spaghetti sauce, licked the spoon, and put it back.
“Brenda, could you use a clean spoon?”
“It’s all going into the same stomach, Heather.”
“I thought it was an extra.”
“Not everyone’s stomach.”
She laughed and handed me the spoon.
She also left half-finished cups around the house.
When I asked her to bring them to the sink, she called me particular.
“Mostly, I just like having cups left when I want coffee.”
“Not everyone’s stomach.”
She laughed. I thought we were getting along.
Then came the sponge.
One evening, Brenda made herself dinner while I helped Henry finish his homework.
When I entered the kitchen, she was wiping sauce and crumbs off the floor with our dish sponge.
She rinsed it and placed it beside the sink.
I thought we were getting along.
“Brenda, what are you doing? That sponge is only for dishes!”
She smiled.
“Sweetheart, what’s the big deal? I’m not scrubbing the entire floor with it. I’m just wiping up a few crumbs.”
“Please don’t do that! The floor is covered in germs. You can’t wash dishes with that sponge afterward! Use a separate cloth for the floor!”
“That sponge is only for dishes!”
Brenda giggled.
“Soap kills all the germs. Don’t worry.”
I showed her the blue floor cloth hanging nearby.
“Could you please use this instead?”
“All right, Heather.”
I threw away the sponge and replaced it.
Brenda giggled.
The following afternoon, I was about to wash Henry’s lunch plate when I noticed crumbs and a hair caught in the new sponge.
I called Brenda into the kitchen.
“Did you use this on the floor again?”
She shrugged.
I called Brenda into the kitchen.
“Don’t make such a big deal out of it! No one’s going to grab a vacuum or a mop just to clean up a couple of crumbs.”
“That’s why we have the floor cloth.”
“Then use it, dear.”
She returned to her magazine.
I stood there holding the sponge, wondering how she’d turned my request into an offer to clean up after her.
“Then use it, dear.”
That evening, I brought it up while Timothy was putting away dinner.
“Mom, Heather’s right,” he said. “Please stop using the dish sponge on the floor.”
Brenda sighed.
“I’ve cleaned kitchens longer than either of you has been alive.”
“Then using a separate cloth shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Mom, Heather’s right.”
She looked offended.
“Fine. I’ll use your special cloth.”
Timothy kissed my cheek as she walked away.
“See? Problem solved.”
She looked offended.
I wanted to believe him.
After replacing another ruined sponge, I came home the following week and caught Brenda wiping the floor with yet another one.
I’d kept four discarded sponges in separate bags in the utility closet.
I’d meant to take them to the outside trash, but Henry’s school project and work had kept me busy.
I wanted to believe him.
After everyone went to bed, I brought the sealed bags into the kitchen.
I wrote USED ON FLOOR on each one.
Beside them, I placed a new dish sponge and a clean blue cloth.
Then I wrote Brenda a note.
I wrote USED ON FLOOR on each one.
“Since you’ve said these sponges are fine for washing dishes after they’ve been used on the floor, I’ve saved them for you. Please choose whichever one you’d feel comfortable using on your own plate.”
I knew she’d be furious.
I also knew she wouldn’t take another polite request seriously.
I left everything on the counter and went upstairs.
I knew she’d be furious.
The following morning, Brenda’s scream woke the household.
She held my note between two fingers.
“You saved dirty sponges just to embarrass me?”
“They were already bagged for disposal.”
Brenda’s scream woke the household.
“Would you wash your breakfast plate with one?”
“Of course not! They’ve been sitting around!”
“But you keep putting floor sponges back beside our dishes.”
“That’s different. I rinse them!”
“Of course not!”
Brenda turned to Timothy.
“You’re not going to let her humiliate me, are you?”
