My MIL Taught My Kids to Call Her ‘Mommy’ While I Was Away

What would you do if someone else told your kids to call them Mom? That’s insane, right? It’s ludicrous. I never thought anyone would have the guts to do that, let alone my own mother-in-law. Well, I made sure she never tried to take my place again.

My name is Jennifer, and ever since I announced my pregnancy, it felt like I’ve been at odds with my mother-in-law, Elaine. See, she had taken it upon herself to ensure that my journey into motherhood was as challenging as possible. Her words, “You’re not so special, I could get pregnant too if I wanted,” echoed through my mind at every family gathering, casting a shadow over what should have been joyous occasions.

Our relationship, strained at best before, turned icier with the arrival of our twins. Elaine insisted on not being called ‘grandma,’ a demand I was all too happy to comply with. My kids took to calling her all sorts of things, often by her first name.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that she saw my children not as her grandchildren, but as competitors for her son’s attention. This bizarre tension culminated in a situation I never anticipated would happen, leading to an incident that felt like a direct challenge to my role as a mother.

One day, due to an unavoidable emergency, my husband and I were left with no choice but to leave our twins with Elaine. I had reservations, of course, but I convinced myself that it was just for a few hours. What could possibly go wrong?

Upon our return, our son, with all the innocence and joy of a child, ran into our arms exclaiming, “Look what our MOMMY bought us!” Confused, I knelt down, at eye level with him, and said, “But baby, I AM your mommy.”

“No, it’s not you, it’s her.” His finger pointed not at me, but at Elaine, who wore a smug, triumphant grin. My heart sank. The implication was clear and malicious. In our absence, she had sown the seeds of confusion in my children’s minds about who their mother was.

I bit back the sharp retort that sprang to my lips, choosing silence over confrontation in front of my children. However, the incident left a bitter taste in my mouth, a burning need for retribution simmering within me. The opportunity presented itself sooner than I expected, with Elaine’s birthday the following week.

Determined to make a statement, I hatched a plan that would be impossible for her to ignore. It was risky, perhaps a tad petty, but I was past caring. The idea was simple yet symbolic, a gift that would convey a message she couldn’t misinterpret. I spent the next few days meticulously planning, ensuring every detail was perfect for the upcoming celebration.

The day of Elaine’s birthday arrived, and the air was thick with anticipation — or at least it was for me. As guests milled around, offering their congratulations and gifts, I waited for the right moment to present my meticulously chosen present. My husband, aware of the tension but oblivious to my plan, gave me a reassuring squeeze of the hand, a silent plea to keep the peace.

Finally, the moment came. The room quieted as Elaine prepared to open gifts, and all eyes turned to me as I stepped forward, a beautifully wrapped package in hand and one of the waitstaff trailing me with another huge box. The weight of the room’s expectations felt heavy on my shoulders, but my resolve was firm. I handed her the gift, our eyes locking in a silent standoff.

She unwrapped the package with an air of curiosity that quickly turned to confusion, then to realization as the nature of the gift became apparent. The room was filled with a mix of reactions — some guests whispered among themselves, trying to decipher the message behind it all, while others looked on in bemused silence.

From the box I had handed Elaine came a huge bundle of baby-blue t-shirts, all with ‘Best GRANDMA Ever!’ scrawled in big, red letters across their chests. My MIL stepped back, not knowing what to say. “You have another gift, Gran,” I urged her with a smile.

Without waiting for her to open it, I turned to the box the staff member had placed on the table and undid the top. The entire thing unfurled gracefully and inside stood a big, beautiful cake. In bold lettering, it read, “For our best GRANDMA.”

As Elaine struggled to compose herself, offering a strained thank you, I knew that my message had hit its mark. The gift was more than just objects; it was a declaration, a reclaiming of my role as the mother of my children, a role that Elaine had so callously attempted to undermine.

The tension that followed was palpable, a stark reminder of the unspoken rivalry between us. Yet, for the first time since becoming a mother, I felt a sense of empowerment, a conviction in my actions that I had lacked before. The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the undercurrents of our silent battle leaving a lasting impression on all who witnessed it.

As the dust settled from the birthday debacle, I couldn’t help but replay the evening’s events in my mind. The look on Elaine’s face as she was bombarded with the shirts and the grandiose was unequaled. Yet, as satisfying as it was to see Elaine’s discomfort, a part of me couldn’t shake a lingering sense of unease. Was this really the solution to our problems?

In the weeks that followed, the atmosphere within the family was tense, to say the least. My husband, caught in the middle, did his best to mediate, but the damage was done. Elaine, for her part, seemed to retreat into a shell, her attempts to disrupt my relationship with my twins less frequent but still palpable. I wondered if my actions had only served to deepen the divide, making any hope for a peaceful future together even more elusive.

Then, one afternoon, as I watched my twins playing in the garden, their laughter a balm to my frayed nerves, I had an epiphany. This feud with Elaine wasn’t just about the petty squabbles and the need for revenge; it was about setting an example for my children. What lesson were they learning from all this? That conflict was best resolved with retaliation and spite?

Determined to break the cycle, I reached out to Elaine, extending an olive branch. The conversation was awkward, strained by months of tension, but necessary. I expressed my desire to move past our differences, for the sake of the twins. To my surprise, Elaine was receptive, albeit cautiously. It seemed the birthday stunt, while humiliating, had made her reflect on her actions and the impact they were having on the family dynamic.

In the spirit of reconciliation, we agreed to set some ground rules. Elaine would respect my boundaries as a mother, and in return, I would ensure that she had a meaningful relationship with her grandchildren, free from the titles and labels that had caused so much strife. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start.

The first test of our new understanding came at a family gathering some months later. The twins, now fully versed in who their mother was, greeted Elaine with a cheerful “Hi, Granny!” Her response, a warm hug and a genuine smile, was a far cry from the sour expressions of the past. Watching them together, I felt a glimmer of hope for our blended family.

In the end, the photographs of Elaine’s sour face on her birthday were the only things I kept from my revenge plot, a reminder of a time when we let our pride dictate our actions. Now, they sit tucked away in an album, a testament to how far we’ve come as a family, united by love, respect, and the occasional reminder that being ‘the best GRANDMA ever’ isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Even though things turned out well, do you think there was a better way to handle this? Let us know on Facebook.

How about another story? Click here to read about a woman who saw her mother-in-law sneak into their nursery at night to give her baby something to eat.