KellyM, my daughter, and I are planning to visit my mother and father soon. They have a dog. I have been allergic to dogs since I was little girl and sometimes they trigger my asthma. When my mother and her dog visited we found that all of us seem to react badly to the dog. KellyM had a headache, and sinus problems, and slept badly, and our daughter was itchy, stuffy, and coughed until we shampooed the carpet. My mother wants us to stay in her house. She has a bedroom that she says the dog hardly ever goes into and she can dust etc. before we get there. She is giving me major guilt for even mentioning that we might stay in a hotel rather than accept her kind offer of a room at her place.
Once while I visited her house as an adult she let a cat into my room while I slept knowing full well my allergy. She thinks Vernon over reacted by insisting that I go to the emergency room at 2 am when my asthma attack refused to get better and started to get worse. She has said repeatedly that “No one dies from asthma.”
Should I feel guilty for thinking of staying at a hotel rather than her house? Does anyone give you guilt trips for wanting to stay in a hotel istead of their house? What do you do?
Next time I go to a town here where friends of mine live, I’ll have to book into a motel or the equivalent, because one of my friends smokes. I can’t be in the same house with the smoke. I haven’t been back to that town yet – but I’m not looking forward to the fireworks when I do. And yes, I will still book into a motel there.
After a few trips to visit my ILs, I realized I was not really comfortable spending that much time in such close quarters and on our next visit, we stayed at the Holiday Inn. Major guilt trip resulted. Mr. Del and I had many reasonable conversations about it, we both had good points, and weighed the various pros/cons of both the uncomfortable house situation and the annoying guilt trip. He was leaning toward avoiding future guilt. When we were planning our recent trip, I caved and said ok whatever, I’ll suffer through the house visit.
WELL. Looking back it seems almost comic, but it was miserable at the time. One thing after another – weird food safety issues, lack of sleep, not enough bathrooms, scary dog, on and on. The killing blow came when the toilet exploded. On me. And when I say “on,” I don’t mean that I was sort of somewhat near the toilet. After I was somewhat recovered from the emotional shock and could speak again (hours later), Mr. Del and I were in the car, and I turned to him and said “Holiday Inn.” He said “Oh yes, the Holiday Inn.”
So yeah, never again. If you feel the guilt pressing in at you, try to imagine a toilet exploding on you. The guilt is really a walk in the park in comparison.
When Hubby and I can afford to, we stay in a hotel near his folks, because of their dog. I’ve stayed at there house, when I’ve gone over because someone was sick, but I’m always affected. They try to keep the dog outside, but the house is full of the dander. BTW, in case anyone didn’t already know, animal dander has nothing to do with animal hair, except for being carried on the shed hair. Dander is dried a combination of saliva & shed skin cells. No amount of vacuuming will eliminate it.
My mom lives only about 60 minutes from my house, but one of the reasons (there are several) I simply cannot go to her house is because of all the pet dander. Her dog’s dander (and guinea pig) drives my sinuses nuts, even when I take my allergy meds beforehand. Last time I was there, I was on antibiodics for a week as a result of the massive sinus infection I got because of the after effects. As a result, she either comes to my home (which is rare), or we met half way for the day.
If she was any further away, and during visits I was required to spend the night, I wouldn’t hesitate to stay in the nearest hotel.
And, I second the idea of getting your mom some literature about asthma. It DOES kill.
Gawd, stay at the hotel. At least you have a good medical excuse.
I have vowed never to sleep another night at my MILs house. For one thing, she gives up her bed and sleeps on the couch, which she insists she doesn’t mind, but I don’t feel good about it. For another, I cannot sleep on that fucking bed. The mattress is soft and lumpy and the box spring is beat all to hell, so with Mr. Fries in bed with me, I basically have to sleep on a 30 degree incline and every time he moves it’s like the Earth’s tectonic plates rearranging themselves. I’ve tried to make the best of it, seriously, I’m not just being a princess-and-the-pea, here, but I just cannot get a wink of sleep. For another thing, her house is filthy. And, seriously, I say all this as someone who does not keep a tidy home, m’kay? I’m not picky, she is filthy. I refuse to put my feet on the floor without shoes, because it is crunchy. I can barely stand to use her shower. Her sink is dirty, and all the available counter space is covered in stuff–toiletries, makeup, hair-styling appliances, etc. so there is no place to put down your things while you brush your teeth an wash your face—not that I would want to put anything down unless the sink had actually been cleaned in the last three months. She doesn’t put out guest towels; you have to take it upon yourself to find the linen closet root around for one, and all the towel racks are all full of towels in various states of dirtiness, so there’s no place to put yours. Far be it from me to look down on someone for not keeping a very clean house, but there are certain standards of hospitality that are being violated.
So far, since my parents are close, we’ve managed to just arrange it so that we always stay with them, and just come down to spend a day with her, but my folks just moved and I don’t think we’ll be able swing that anymore, and surely there will be an assload of guilt, mostly shouldered by poor Mr. Fries, but, seriously, I hate spending all my time with her resenting her for not lifting a finger to clean the house for guests and pretending that I’m not about to fall down due to exhaustion.
Lady Chance and I stay at hotels when we visit family. It’s nothing to feel guilty about at all. It’s convenient, doesn’t displace anyone and with luck and good planning the family gets access to a pool and such. Woot!
I started insisting about fifteen years or so ago. I just didn’t like staying on fold out couches or spare rooms. And it lets us control the amount of togetherness we have to participate in.
Hell, my grandparents do it. If they can you sure can.
I fel your pain as I was in a similar situation. My parents don’t have a guest room suitable for both me and my SO to stay together comfortably (my parents don’t object to it – they jus have our old bunk beds in the guest room!). There are no nearby hotels to where my parents live and besides which, hotels in NYC are $$$. The final nail in the coffin is that I get agite as Tony Soprano says from being in close proximity to my parents for too many continuous hours. I was stumped on what to do.
Then inspiration struck. My parents have a very close friend just one block over with lots of spare space who has known me since I was 5. I asked if I could stay with her. It was the perfect solution: the friend is “amost family” and close enough that I can come by my parents’ for breakfast. Far enough away that the fantasies of strangulation don’t start up.
Perhaps there is a creative solution to your problem along these lines. I was stressed out about proposing this plan but Oh So Relieved when it was implemented!
Have you ever seen that spoof sketch that touts a painkiller that has no scientific proof as somehow better than scientifically better than those that had scientific proof. That sketch would work on my mother, the smoker.
Last Christmas was the first time we stayed at a hotel when visiting my in-laws. It was so much better. Both his dad and his mom’s boyfriend smoke inside (except when the grandbaby is visiting), so sleeping was just plain uncomfortable for both of us (even though we’re not allergic). My MIL was offended at first, but my husband was able to convince her it was the best thing.
My mom’s kitchen hygiene is a disaster. It is literally unsafe to eat or drink anything in her house. My uncle once came down with nasty food poisoning when he stayed at her place and ate a shrimp salad prepared by her. Knowing the state of her fridge, and knowing what would happen to shrimp who would even lay a day in there, I was amazed how she belittled the whole thing. She refused to even admit it might have something to do with her cooking. " I didn’t get sick, did I?" she said. :rolleyes: No mom, by now, you’d either ought to be dead or have an immune system fit for a Medieval inner-city dweller.
I think it is because taking care of kids and guests is so central to Womanhood and Momhood. A mom just can’t admit she can’t live up to the necessary standards.
Anyway, I’ve made a point of not eating anything she serves me apart form chocolates. Chocolates are safe, as they have a high turnover-rate and can’t really go bad. When I go to my moms house, we either eat out or I take all ingredients for cooking with me and cook at her house. I sell this as: “Oh Mom, I know how you love cooking, but here, let me spoil you, and let me play cateringservice” .
I’m not kidding. I was there last week and wanted a bit of milk in my tea. I got an unopened carton of milk from the fridge. It had expired last Christmas.
I’d say this earns you a Get Out Of Guilt Free card for pretty much anything you do with respect to her.
And yes, I’ll agree with everyone else here that you can die from asthma. Odd as it may seem, not being able to breathe can do that to ya. My dad has had asthma attacks that he would have died from if he hadn’t gotten to the hospital in time.
More generally, I don’t think anyone need ever feel guilty for staying at a hotel instead of at someone’s house. If you stayed at their house when they didn’t want you to, that would be worth some guilt—but the other way around? No.
Well, at least my mother’s place is clean. Me cooking dinner in her kitchen might just make her never speak to me again. Hmm. I was not allowed to cook a meal there when I lived in her house. I could bake, provided I cleaned up after, but not cook a meal. It was her kitchen, not mine and I best never forget that. Mind you she will ignore what ever dietary restrictions we have. When I was pregnant and told her I was avoiding nitrates and allergens, and uncooked foods, she serves me homemade raw tomato salsa with summer sausage. I am allergic to tomatoes. But then she gets that honestly, her mother served fake salt (claiming that it was not fake and did not have potassium) to KellyM despite the warning it could make her ill as she needs to avoid potassium.
There is no way I know of to stop feeling guilty. I still feel a bit guilty for inconvencing her by forcing the ER trip. The doc said that I would likely have died if I had not gone. The only reason I can think about defying her is that my daughter is affected.