Having entrusted our children to their grandparents for three days, the expected occurred. Not only did the kids fall asleep immediately, but they also stayed in their beds for two of the three nights—a feat we hadn’t managed in six months. There were no tantrums, and our extensive emergency plan for situations like injuries or disasters thankfully went unused. They even remembered how to use the house keys, no doubt grateful for the reminders I’d given them before leaving.
Although I felt that slight annoyance when children show better behavior for others than for their parents, I was thrilled we could enjoy Sarah and George’s lovely wedding without worrying about returning to chaos or moody in-laws plotting to disappear to Peru.
As the Stansted Express took us home, a WhatsApp message alerted us that their grandparents were with our kids at the park. The update wasn’t from them but from our friend Sarah, who had encountered Sean and Marian an hour prior. They were all enjoying a sunny Saturday together at the playground, indulging in ice cream.
This scenario reflects a common pattern—my in-laws seem to charm everyone they meet. Being in a restaurant with Marian feels like attending a gala with a minor royal; people fuss over her as if she’s taking a break from a busy schedule to cut a ribbon. From an elderly Italian man showering her with compliments in a Hackney eatery to a heavily tattooed young woman in a Walthamstow café whose stern demeanor melts under Marian’s questions about her fashion degree, the attention never wavers.
By the time we returned home, the kids were excited to see us, albeit in a way that suggested we hadn’t been on their minds for some time. My daughter rushed to her mother with joy but seemed more reserved with me, initially opting to linger near her grandad, the charming new figure in her life.
This recalled a visit from them just before our son’s birth six years ago. He took his time arriving, so we spent four days in the hospital while Sean and Marian prepped our flat in Stoke Newington and anxiously waited. After two days, still childless, I was released from the maternity ward while my wife rested.
Given that the World Cup was happening, I took Sean for a pint at our local pub, assuring him he’d love it. As we entered, the barman waved, not to me, but to my father-in-law, who was greeted with a hearty “Sean!” from across the room. Juan, a Uruguayan builder, had made a firm friend of my father-in-law while they watched the last couple of days’ matches together. I, a regular patron for three years, walked in behind him unnoticed.
Follow Séamas on X @shockproofbeats.
