Etiquette reports about visiting mothers-in-law may be neatly sorted into two even piles, Miss Manners has discovered.
Half are complaints about mothers-in-law who invade kitchens and nurseries and simply start doing things their own way, presumably to express distaste for the way the tasks have been done or left undone. They seem to believe that they can take over the household. Miss Manners is asked to scold them for being arrogant.The other half are complaints about mothers-in-law who sit there and do nothing, seeming oblivious to the cooking, cleaning or child-care chores going on around them. They seem to believe they are there to be waited upon. Miss Manners is asked to scold them for being arrogant.
(Wait, there's one letter left over. It's from a daughter-in-law who wants to know how to persuade her mother-in-law to visit more often. Without actually throwing it aside as a crank letter, Miss Manners is forced to classify it as statistically insignificant.)
Before starting an in-law match service, Miss Manners would like to clear up a few things that are puzzling her. Such as: Aren't these the same daughters-in-law that the mothers were complaining were incapable of writing letters?
Failing an answer to that: Where are all the other relatives? An occasional sister-in-law is cited, but fathers-in-law and brothers-in-law are held responsible only for their own particular messes, not for any general housekeeping. Also, where are the husband/son people while all this controversy is raging? It doesn't take that long to pick up some milk and detergent.
So we may be talking about more than meets the eye. But even so, Miss Manners is determined not to uncover any nasty psychological stuff. The beauty of etiquette is that it is supposed to clear up conflicts at the surface level, without exposing all those ugly tangles underneath.
The proper question to which she will therefore address herself is: What, if anything, can a visiting relative do that will not be classified as either interfering or shirking? The general rules for all house guests are to straighten up after themselves, and to offer to help with mealtime-related work, but also to accept refusals of help. The purpose is to make the mechanics of visiting as light as possible, without presuming that the work is really shared. The hosts are in charge, and reciprocal visits should even things out.
In the case of relatives, however, there are complicating factors. The ordinary host/guest relationship is skewered by the respect due to age and parenthood, the habit of instruction from parent to child, and the overwhelming fact of not being able to say, "OK, that's it, these people are never setting foot here ever again."
In addition, some individuals prefer the work-as-you-go system, by which the visitor takes an active part in the household, while others prefer the work-on-your-own-turf system, by which the sharing is done sequentially, depending on who is hostess. And attitudes are not necessarily paired in the same family.
But regardless of preference, a visiting relative must claim to be of the former persuasion while the hostess must claim to be of the latter. Thus, the proper opening dialogue is:
Visitor: "Darling, you would really be doing me a favor to tell me how I can help you. You do everything so beautifully it looks effortless, but I know how hard you work. Besides, idleness makes me restless."
Hostess: "Oh, I won't hear of it. You just make yourself comfortable and don't worry about a thing. I have everything all planned, and I just want you to enjoy yourself."
This exchange cannot be skipped; those who either just start doing things or get out of the way are bound to guess wrong about what is really wanted.
But neither statement is to be taken at face value. These are conventional openings from which negotiation can proceed.
Specific tasks (or non-tasks, such as "Would you be a dear and check to see if the baby's still sleeping?") can be offered or suggested.
But all such tasks must be limited and obvious. What gets helpful people into trouble in other people's houses is figuring things out for themselves.
All housekeepers believe that their systems for doing things are logical, and anyone else ought to be able to deduce them from first principles. Of course that's where the glasses go; no place else would make sense. How can anyone in her right mind think that the towels should be folded in thirds?
However, it is beyond anyone's power to detect a system in anybody else's household. Miss Manners suspects that half those poor, vilified mothers-in-law have decided it is best to go ahead and do what seems to need doing, as well as they can; and the other half decided that it was best not to attempt things and do them wrong.
Dear Miss Manners: It has been said, when you can't get your guests to go home, your party's a success.
I take a great deal of enjoyment in having friends to my home for cocktails, dinner and fellowship, rather than going out to a restaurant or club. The atmosphere is cordial and relaxing, although the work to put on an event is substantial.
My problem is getting the folks to go home after a reasonable time. Therefore, I have come to use "suggestion," saying, "Shall we call it an evening?"
I have been told that this is an inappropriate thing for a host to say. Then what would you suggest? Perhaps it would be best not to entertain at home.
Gentle Reader: Now, now. While Miss Manners does not care for your solution, she does not require you to abandon your house as a venue for social life in order to evacuate your guests.
You cannot use a phrase actually announcing the end of the evening. But the host's gracious speech of thanking people for having visited him, may be delivered without apparent provocation. When you have had enough, say, "I so enjoyed having you here - it was wonderful of you to come," and then stand up. Remain standing until your guests are on their feet. Miss Manners promises you it won't be long.