Some people bring dessert to family holidays—my mother-in-law brought chaos. After what she pulled at Thanksgiving, I decided Christmas would be unforgettable… for both of us.
My name is Wren. I’m 35, married to Jett, and we have a five-year-old daughter named Sage, who is the light of our lives. Jett and I have been together for six years. And I would love to say that I’ve always had a great relationship with my mother-in-law (MIL), Ivy, but that would be a big fat lie.
From day one, Ivy has never really liked me. She doesn’t scream or fight or cause big blowups — that would at least be honest. No, she’s more of the sneaky, mean type. The kind who acts sweet in front of others but always leaves behind just enough of a mess to ruin your mood.
Every holiday with her is like walking through a garden where the flowers look pretty, but every petal tastes sour.
Thanksgiving has always been my holiday. Even before Jett and I met, I would host dinner at my tiny apartment, squeezing people around mismatched chairs and serving way too much food. I call it my Super Bowl, my moment to shine.
When my husband and I finally moved in together, Ivy and I made a casual deal to “split” the calendar. I’d host Thanksgiving, she would host Christmas. It felt fair at the time, but looking back, I should’ve written up a real contract with all sorts of rules.
Every Thanksgiving since then, my MIL has found new and creative ways to mess things up. One year, she offered to “help” with preparations and then snuck around the kitchen adding salt and pepper to every single dish!
Little Sage was the one who told me about it, saying, “I saw Grandma playing with the food.” That year, the stuffing was so salty you could’ve dried fish on it! The potatoes were basically impossible to eat.
Another year, she managed to “accidentally” burn a pot of beets so badly the smoke alarm went off for almost an hour! I’d left the kitchen to use the bathroom, leaving the pot cooking low, but a few minutes later, the beets were burnt to a crisp!
The stove had been turned up higher, and I knew the only person who’d do that — Ivy. And one time, I had just finished putting up string lights in the dining room when she offered to “help.” Instead, she cut right through the cord while “fixing loose ends.”
Every time it was the same routine — a shrug, a quiet “oops,” and a fake smile that made me want to throw mashed potatoes at the wall! It always ended in a mess, and always on my day.
Jett wasn’t blind to it, but he wasn’t the type to fight either. He’d say things like, “She’s just trying to help,” or “You know how she is.” But after the beet mess, even he stopped making excuses.
He started watching her closely during the holidays, almost like he was on guard duty.
Still, it wasn’t enough to stop her.
This year, Thanksgiving was supposed to be perfect.
It was the first time we were hosting in our new home, a small but cozy place we’d saved every penny to buy. We weren’t rich, so every dish, decoration, and detail mattered.
I went all out this time.
My husband and I had spent the entire week getting ready. We cooked, cleaned, and decorated. I wanted it to feel special.
I cleaned the house from top to bottom, scrubbing every corner until I could see my face in the kitchen floor. I even cleaned the baseboards and set the table like something from a magazine.
I also folded the napkins into perfect fans, made centerpieces out of pinecones and mini pumpkins, and even made homemade rolls for the first time. However, one of the things that made me nervous was that we only had one bathroom for everyone.
In my old place, I had a bathroom in my bedroom and another one for guests.
The main thing that worried me, though, was Ivy. I had to keep telling myself, “Don’t let her get to you this year. Stay calm,” because having Jett’s mom around always made my blood pressure go up.
“I swear,” I told Jett the morning of, “if your mom starts one of her little tricks again, I’m not saying a word. I’m just going to smile, nod, and tune her out.”
He kissed my forehead and said, “Maybe she’ll surprise us with one peaceful holiday. Let’s give her a chance.”
And for most of the day, it seemed like we had finally called a truce.
Ivy arrived wearing a huge fur coat and carrying a pie she probably bought at the store, but she was nice. She smiled at Sage, complimented the table, and even said the turkey “smelled good,” which was as close to a compliment as I’d ever heard from her.
I thought maybe, just maybe, things were getting better.
Dinner went smoothly — no spilled wine, no mean comments, and no “accidental” damage. Sage sat between Jett and Ivy, giggling as she dropped green beans into her milk for fun.
Everyone was relaxed, full of food and warmth. It almost felt normal.
Then came dessert.
We had just served slices of pumpkin and pecan pie when Ivy quietly excused herself to use the bathroom. No big deal, right? She’d been drinking wine all night, and she was in her 60s, so fine.
But then 10 minutes passed.
Then 20.
Jett leaned over and whispered, “She’s been in there a while.”
I nodded, trying to stay calm, though I already felt that sick feeling in my stomach. After 30 minutes, Jett got up and said he was going to check on her, and that’s when Ivy suddenly came out.
She didn’t look at anyone or explain what took so long. Instead, she grabbed her coat, muttered something about “not feeling well,” and said she needed to go home. She walked right out the front door while Jett called after her.
No thank you, no goodbye hugs, not even a “Happy Thanksgiving.”
The second the door closed, I rushed to the bathroom.
What I saw nearly made me scream!
The toilet was clogged so bad it was overflowing! Water had spilled everywhere and soaked the bathroom rug. The smell hit me like a punch! I looked around for a plunger — gone! I had left it in there that morning, but it was nowhere to be found.
“Ivy!” I whispered to myself like I was in a scary movie. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Jett came up behind me and froze.
“Oh my God,” he muttered. “She didn’t even say anything?”
“She left this and just walked out,” I snapped, pointing to the floor that now looked like a swamp.
We had to spend the next hour cleaning up the mess. Jett unclogged the toilet with his bare hands — what a saint — while I wiped the floor and aired out the room with every candle and window we had.
Sage stayed in the living room with her cousins, thankfully not knowing about the disaster on the other side of the house.
I couldn’t believe that my MIL had just left us to deal with this while our guests were still sitting in the living room. The rest of Thanksgiving felt like walking through fog.
Our guests eventually left, and Jett and I sat on the couch in silence, tired and beat.
“I don’t even know what to say,” he said finally.
“I do,” I replied. “Christmas is still at her house this year, right?”
He nodded slowly.
“Good,” I said. “Because I have plans.”
The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas were a blur of peppermint drinks, shiny wrapping paper, and late nights with a sneaky plan forming in my head. I didn’t tell Jett every detail, but he could tell I was up to something.
“You’re not going to do anything crazy, right?” he asked one night while folding laundry.
“Depends on what you call crazy,” I said, shrugging with a smile.
He raised an eyebrow. “Wren…”
“Babe, your mom left a huge mess in our only bathroom and walked out without a word. I think it’s time someone paid her back — nicely, of course.”
He didn’t argue, just folded another towel and said, “As long as it’s legal.”
I smiled big. “Oh, it’s definitely legal. But also… unforgettable.”
When Christmas Day arrived, we got dressed up, packed Sage into the car with her sparkly red dress and gift bag, and drove to Ivy’s house. Jett drove quietly beside me, until we pulled into her driveway.
“Just promise me you won’t burn the house down,” he said under his breath.
“No fire,” I whispered. “Just fireworks.”
My MIL’s home was already full of family. There were cousins, aunts, uncles, and a few people I hadn’t seen in years. Her living room smelled like cinnamon and roast, and a golden dog named Baxter wandered around, licking up dropped food.
Ivy met us at the door wearing a shiny green blouse, hair teased up super high.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” she said, kissing Jett’s cheek and giving me a quick nod.
I handed her two boxes, one big and wrapped in sparkly gold paper, the other small and tied with a red ribbon.
“For you,” I said nicely.
She glanced at them with a fake smile. “You really didn’t have to.”
“I know,” I said. “But I wanted to.”
I kept a straight face the whole time.
Dinner was mostly fine, I’ll give her that. She had the house decorated like a holiday magazine with twinkly lights everywhere, a huge tree with white and gold ornaments, and her best plates out for the occasion.
Everyone seemed relaxed. Sage played with her cousins while the adults passed around wine and told stories.
Just like Ivy did at my house for Thanksgiving, I waited until dessert to make my move.
Ivy had just brought out a tray of peppermint brownies when I said it, casually, with a laugh in my voice.
“Remember Thanksgiving? Someone clogged our only toilet and didn’t say a word. The whole house smelled like a swamp! Good times.”
The room went quiet for a second. You could hear a fork drop.
Aunt Lisa, always the nosy one, leaned in. “Wait, you know who did it?”
I looked around, smiled sweetly, and said, “Oh yes, that was Ivy.”
Her eyes shot to me, her jaw tight. “Excuse me?”
“You were the only one who went in. About 30 minutes later, we found the bathroom flooded. And the plunger — gone. Thought it was weird you left so fast.”
Laughter started across the table. Cousin Marcus coughed to hide his laugh. Even Jett looked down at his plate, trying not to smile.
“Well, that’s not very nice,” Ivy snapped, turning red, her voice sharp.
“Oh, it’s just a joke,” I said, waving my hand. “You know, the kind people remember forever.”
When it was time for gifts, I was buzzing with excitement.
Ivy opened the big one first. She tore off the gold wrapping and lifted the flaps of the box.
Out fell eight huge rolls of toilet paper, a big bottle of air freshener, bright yellow rubber gloves, and a shiny plunger with a red bow tied around the handle!
The room exploded in laughter! Even Aunt Lisa had to put her wine down to wipe her eyes.
Ivy looked horrified!
“I just wanted to make sure no one else has to deal with surprises like last Thanksgiving!” I said brightly, clapping my hands. The room laughed even harder!
Before she could say anything, I handed her the smaller box.
“This one’s my favorite,” I said, softening my voice.
Inside was a little kit with a tiny plunger keychain, a small bottle of bathroom spray, and a mini roll of toilet paper!
On the inside of the lid, I had written in shiny ink: “Emergency Toilet Kit — for when you absolutely can’t hold it or your pride.”
People were cracking up! One of the cousins pulled out their phone to take a picture. Even Sage, who didn’t really get it, laughed just because everyone else was!
“I thought of you right away when I saw this,” I told her.
My MIL didn’t laugh. She sat frozen, red in the face, holding the tiny plunger in her lap like it had insulted her whole family.
“I want you to leave,” she said quietly, then louder as she stood up. “Get out of my house!”
The room went quiet again.
Jett didn’t hesitate. He stood up, grabbed his coat, and said to me, “You ready?”
“Always,” I said.
We walked out to the car with Sage in silence. Snow had started to fall, lightly covering the windshield. Jett started the engine and sat back for a moment before turning to me.
“You know,” he said slowly, “that was… actually kind of awesome.”
I turned to him, surprised.
“You’re not mad?”
He shook his head. “She needed to be called out. I mean, the plunger bow? Genius!”
I laughed and leaned back in my seat, finally relaxing.
Ivy, of course, told the entire family that I ruined Christmas. She called Jett the next day, crying, saying I had embarrassed her in front of everyone.
He calmly said, “You embarrassed yourself when you wrecked our bathroom and didn’t say a word.”
She hung up.
A week later, a card arrived in the mail. It was from Ivy, but it wasn’t sorry, just one sentence written in tight handwriting:
“Next time I’ll use the gas station.”
Inside was a 20-dollar bill and a coupon for carpet cleaner.
I stuck it to our fridge like a trophy.
Jett and I still hosted Thanksgiving the following year, and guess what — Ivy used the bathroom at the start of the night, in and out in under three minutes.
She left the door wide open behind her!
