When my husband Jason mentioned that his mom, Linda, had sold her condo and needed a temporary place to stay “for a few weeks,” I immediately felt uneasy. Our previous weekend visits had been pretty challenging, but I agreed—on the condition that we set some clear ground rules.
Linda arrived lugging three large suitcases, a few houseplants, and carrying an air of endless vacation. Initially, I was hopeful, yet it soon became apparent that she had no intention of contributing to the household chores. She left dishes piled on the table, smudged mirrors that she never cleaned, and even added her laundry to ours without asking. When I gently reminded her to tidy up, she just smiled and replied, “Oh, honey, I’m just a guest—you wouldn’t expect a guest to do chores, would you?”
Jason tried to keep the peace by saying, “She’s my mom, babe,” and that was the end of it. Instead of arguing, I decided to embrace her “guest” status and give her the ultimate guest experience.
On Monday, Linda woke up to a personalized breakfast menu on her nightstand, offering choices like cereal in our finest bowl, toast “lightly crisped to perfection,” or a chef’s surprise from last night’s leftovers. She was amused and chose the cereal, though with a raised eyebrow.
Tuesday night, I introduced our new “house security protocol” by scheduling the WiFi to turn off automatically at 11 p.m. Although Linda wasn’t thrilled, I pointed out that many hotels have similar energy-saving rules. By Wednesday, I started putting up friendly “Housekeeping in Progress! Do Not Disturb!” signs after cleaning—one on the bathroom mirror and another near the kitchen sink. Linda appeared puzzled, but didn’t say much.
On Thursday evening, instead of cooking dinner, I left a curated stack of takeout menus in her room. When she asked about dinner, I explained that guests should have a variety of options to choose from.
Then on Sunday morning, I placed a lighthearted “invoice” on her dresser, complete with fictional charges for housekeeping, laundry, and “hospitality services.” It was meant as a playful nudge, not a real bill.
Later that day, when Linda brought the paper to the kitchen looking flustered, I explained that it was all in good humor—a playful way to fully embrace the “guest experience” she insisted on. Though taken aback, she wasn’t angry, just thoughtful.
After discussing it with Jason, Linda decided it was time to find her own space, and by the end of the week, she had arranged to stay with a friend.
Peace returned to our home. The dishes stayed clean, the WiFi stayed on, and I finally enjoyed a full cup of coffee in my favorite mug without interruption. Even Jason eventually admitted, “Okay… maybe you handled that better than I thought.”
Sometimes a little creativity—and a playful twist on kindness—can go a long way. Although Linda never lifted a finger, in the end, she gracefully extricated herself from our guest room.