“My mother-in-law showed up at our dacha with her relatives without even calling and unloaded their food into our fridge: ‘Take yours out, there’s no room.’ I threw them out.
My husband Andrey and I arrived at the dacha on Friday evening. The kids were with us. Our daughter is eight, our son is five. We had planned a quiet weekend. The garden, barbecue, a river nearby.
I immediately filled the refrigerator with groceries. I bought everything for three days. Meat for шашлык, vegetables, milk for the kids, fruit. I arranged everything neatly on the shelves. It all fit perfectly.
We went to bed peacefully. The children were tired from the trip. They fell asleep quickly. I was planning to make pancakes in the morning. Then take the kids to the river.
The morning started perfectly. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Birds were singing. I got up first. I went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
Andrey was still asleep. The kids were too. The house was quiet. I put the kettle on. Took out the frying pan for the pancakes.
At nine in the morning, a car pulled up to the gate. I looked out the window. My mother-in-law, Veronika Andreyevna, got out of the car. But she wasn’t alone.
Her daughter Vera was with her. Vera’s husband Oleg. Their two children—teenage boys. Four people plus my mother-in-law. Five of them had descended on us.
I went out to greet them. I smiled politely.
“Hello. Come in.”
Veronika Andreyevna kissed me on the cheek. Vera gave me a dry nod. Oleg held out his hand. The children rushed past me into the house.
“We’re staying overnight!” my mother-in-law announced. “We decided to come for the weekend. The weather is nice.”
I was stunned. They hadn’t even called. They had simply arrived. With the whole family. But I kept quiet. They were family, after all.
Oleg started dragging huge shopping bags out of the car. About five of them. Stuffed to the brim. Vera picked up two more. The children were carrying backpacks.
“We brought food with us,” Veronika Andreyevna announced. “So we wouldn’t be a burden to you.”
It sounded considerate. I was even glad. At least I wouldn’t have to cook for a crowd.
They carried the bags into the kitchen. Oleg headed straight for the refrigerator. He yanked open the door. Looked inside.
“Wow, it’s packed,” he said.
“That’s okay, we’ll make space,” Vera said, stepping up to him.
I was standing by the stove, turning the pancakes. At first, I didn’t understand what they were planning.
Vera started taking MY groceries out of the refrigerator. Just like that. She picked up the packages of meat, the milk, the vegetables, and set them on the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making room,” she replied calmly. “We need to put our food somewhere.”
“But those are my things. I bought all that for the weekend.”
Veronika Andreyevna cut in:
“Tanechka, don’t be stingy. Take your stuff out, there’s no room. Put it in the pantry. We need the fridge. We have a lot of food. It mustn’t spoil.”
I stared at the scene. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They were UNLOADING my food from MY refrigerator so they could stuff theirs in.
“Veronika Andreyevna, wait,” I tried to stop them. “Let’s work something out somehow. Maybe we can fit everything together?”
“It won’t fit,” she waved me off. “We’ve got three kilos of ground meat, chicken, sausage, cheese. Two cakes. Ready-made salads. Your greens and tomatoes can be kept outside. It’s not that hot.”
Vera was already arranging their containers on the shelves. Oleg was putting in the bags of meat.
“You’ll have to take your cake out,” Vera said to me. “We have two big cakes. There won’t be enough room.”
I stood there with a spatula in my hand. The pancakes were burning in the pan. I didn’t even notice.
My groceries were piled up on the table. Three kilos of meat for kebabs. Vegetables for salads. Milk, yogurt for the kids. Cheese, butter, eggs. Everything I had carefully chosen in the store the day before.
“Tanechka, why are you just standing there?” Veronika Andreyevna looked at me. “Take your groceries away. There’s a crate in the pantry. Put them there.”
“In the pantry? It’s hot in there! The meat will spoil!”
“Well then, cook it today,” she shrugged. “And put the rest in the cellar. It’s cool there.”
I froze. I was furious. They were taking over my house. Right in front of my eyes.
Andrey came out of the bedroom. Sleepy, disheveled. He saw the crowd in the kitchen.
“Oh, Mom! Vera!” he said happily.
“Andrey,” I called to him. “Can I talk to you?”
We stepped aside. I quietly explained the situation. I pointed to the table piled with my groceries.
“They unloaded all our food. They told me to put it in the pantry. The meat will spoil there in a day.”
Andrey looked at the fridge. Their containers, bags, and cakes were indeed already inside.
“Well, Mom brought a lot of food,” he said uncertainly. “Maybe we really should take ours down to the cellar? It’s cool there. It won’t spoil.”
“Andrey, it’s our refrigerator! At our dacha!”
“Tanya, let’s not fight over a refrigerator,” he tried to hug me. “We’ll put up with it for the weekend. They’ll leave soon enough.”
“Your mother said they’re staying for the WHOLE weekend.”
He fell silent. He looked guilty.
“I didn’t know they were coming like this. Mom didn’t warn me at all.”
I turned around. Went back to the kitchen. Took my groceries and started packing them back into the bags. I carried everything down to the cellar.
Veronika Andreyevna was smiling smugly. Vera was already putting the kettle on. Oleg went out onto the porch. Their children were running around the house.
“Tanechka, Vera and I will sleep in one room. Oleg and the boys in another. And you, Andrey, and your children can stay in the third one. Or the kids can sleep on the sofa in the living room.”
I stopped. Looked at her.
“Veronika Andreyevna, my daughter sleeps in her room. My son in his. And Andrey and I sleep in ours.”
“Oh, come on,” she waved her hand dismissively. “The kids will like the sofa even more. Like camping. But we’re adults, we need beds.”
“No,” I said firmly. “The children will sleep in their own rooms.”
Vera cut in:
“Tanya, don’t be selfish. We only came for two days. Just put up with it a little.”
Veronika Andreyevna moved closer. Took my hand.
“Tanyusha, dear. You understand, don’t you? We’re family. We have to share. You have a dacha, we don’t. You relax here every weekend, while we’re suffocating in the city.”
I pulled my hand away. Walked over to the window. Looked at the garden. Yesterday I had watered the beds. Today I had planned to weed the carrots with the children.
Vera’s nephews were already running around in the yard. They were trampling my flower beds. They knocked the heads off my poppies with a stick. My son ran out to them. He wanted to play with them.
They shoved him away. Yelled something rude. The boy burst into tears. Ran back into the house.
I went out into the yard. Called the nephews over.
“Boys, there are flower beds here. Please don’t trample them.”
“We didn’t do it on purpose,” the older one snapped.
“All right, but now you know. Play more carefully.”
They ran off to the swing set. I went back into the house. My son was sitting on the couch, sniffling in hurt. My daughter was hugging him.
“Mom, they pushed me,” he complained.
“I know. Just hold on a little.”
I went back to the kitchen. Vera was already putting their food on plates. Sausage sandwiches. She was slicing cheese. Brewing coffee.
“Tanechka, bring your plates,” she ordered. “Let’s have breakfast. Your children must be hungry.”
I looked at the frying pan. The pancakes had gone cold long ago. Half of them were burnt. I hadn’t even finished making them. I had turned off the stove back then.
“I already had my own breakfast planned,” I said. “I was making pancakes.”
“Oh, forget those pancakes,” Vera waved her hand. “Here, we have expensive sausage. Better eat that.”
Andrey sat down at the table. Took a sandwich. My children looked confused. They wanted pancakes with jam. I had promised them in the morning.
I sat down beside them. Put my arms around their shoulders.
“Come on, I’ll quickly fry you some fresh ones.”
“How are you going to fry them?” Vera looked at me in surprise. “The stove is occupied. I’m about to start soup. For everyone. Then potatoes and porridge for tomorrow, and fry the meat.”
I stood up. Went over to the stove. Put my frying pan down.
“I need space.”
Vera frowned. Veronika Andreyevna did too.
“Tanya, stop being difficult,” my mother-in-law said sternly. “Vera is cooking for everyone.”
“I’m going to finish breakfast for my children. They’re waiting for pancakes.”
“Let them eat sandwiches!” Vera started getting irritated. “There’s cheese and sausage right there. What kind of nonsense is this?”
Andrey said nothing. He chewed his sandwich. Stared at his plate.
I moved one of the pots aside. Turned on the burner. Poured in oil. Started frying pancakes. Vera stood next to me, nervously tapping a spoon against the table.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” she hissed. “Just to spite us? … My husband Andrey and I arrived at the dacha on Friday evening. The children were with us too. Our daughter is eight, our son is five. We had planned a quiet weekend: the garden, barbecue, and the river nearby.
I immediately stocked the refrigerator with groceries. I bought everything for three days: meat for шашлык, vegetables, milk for the children, fruit. I arranged everything neatly on the shelves. Everything fit perfectly.
We went to bed peacefully. The children were tired from the trip and fell asleep quickly. I was planning to make pancakes in the morning, then take the kids to the river.
The morning started perfectly. The sun was shining through the windows. The birds were singing. I got up first and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
Andrey was still asleep. The children were too. The house was quiet. I put the kettle on and took out the frying pan for the pancakes.
At nine in the morning, a car pulled up to the gate. I looked out the window. My mother-in-law, Veronika Andreyevna, got out of the car. But she was not alone.
With her were her daughter Vera, Vera’s husband Oleg, and their two teenage sons. Four people plus my mother-in-law. Five of them had shown up all at once.
I went out to greet them and smiled politely.
“Hello. Come in.”
Veronika Andreyevna kissed me on the cheek. Vera gave me a dry nod. Oleg held out his hand. The boys ran past me into the house.
“We’re staying overnight!” my mother-in-law announced. “We decided to come for the weekend. The weather is nice.”
I was stunned. They had not even called. They had simply arrived with the whole family. But I kept quiet. They were family, after all.
Oleg started hauling huge shopping bags out of the car, about five of them, stuffed to the brim. Vera picked up two more. The boys were carrying backpacks.
“We brought food with us,” Veronika Andreyevna announced. “So we wouldn’t burden you.”
It sounded thoughtful. I was even pleased for a moment. It meant I would not have to cook for a crowd.
They carried the bags into the kitchen. Oleg went straight to the fridge, pulled the door open, and looked inside.
“Wow, it’s packed,” he said.
“That’s fine, we’ll make room,” Vera said, coming up beside him.
I was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. At first I did not understand what they were about to do.
Vera started taking my food out of the refrigerator. Just like that. She picked up the packages of meat, the milk, the vegetables, and set them on the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making space,” she answered calmly. “We need to put our food in.”
“But those are my groceries. I bought everything for the weekend.”
Veronika Andreyevna stepped in.
“Tanechka, don’t be stingy. Put yours away, there’s no room. Put it in the pantry. We need the refrigerator. We brought a lot of things, and they mustn’t spoil.”
I stared at the scene in disbelief. They were unloading my food from my refrigerator so they could stuff theirs inside.
“Veronika Andreyevna, wait,” I tried to stop them. “Let’s work something out. Maybe we can fit everything together?”
“It won’t all fit,” she waved me off. “We have three kilos of ground meat, chicken, sausage, cheese, two cakes, ready-made salads. Your greens and tomatoes can be kept outside. It’s not that hot.”
Vera was already arranging their containers on the shelves. Oleg was putting in the bags of meat.
“Your cake will have to come out,” Vera told me. “We have two big cakes. There won’t be enough room.”
I stood there with the spatula in my hand. The pancakes were burning in the pan, and I did not even notice.
My groceries were piled up on the table: three kilos of meat for kebabs, vegetables for salads, milk and yogurt for the children, cheese, butter, eggs, everything I had carefully chosen at the store the day before.
“Tanechka, why are you just standing there?” Veronika Andreyevna looked at me. “Take your groceries away. There’s a crate in the pantry. Put them there.”
“Well, cook with them today then,” she shrugged. “And put the rest in the cellar. It’s cool there.”
I froze. I was furious. Right before my eyes, they were taking over my home.
Andrey came out of the bedroom, sleepy and disheveled. He saw the crowd in the kitchen.
“Oh, Mom! Vera!” he said happily.
“Andrey,” I called to him. “Can I talk to you?”
We stepped aside. I quietly explained the situation and pointed to the table piled with my groceries.
“They took all our food out. They said to put it in the pantry. The meat will spoil there in a day.”
Andrey looked at the refrigerator. Their containers, bags, and cakes were already inside.
“Well, Mom brought a lot of food,” he said uncertainly. “Maybe we really can take ours down to the cellar? It’s cool there. It won’t spoil.”
“Andrey, this is our refrigerator. At our dacha.”
“Tanya, let’s not start a fight over a refrigerator,” he tried to hug me. “We’ll put up with it for the weekend. They’ll be leaving soon.”
“Your mother said they’re staying the whole weekend.”
He fell silent and looked guilty.
“I didn’t know they were coming like this. Mom didn’t warn me either.”
I turned around and went back into the kitchen. I took my groceries and started packing them back into bags. Then I carried everything down to the cellar.
Veronika Andreyevna was smiling with satisfaction. Vera was already putting the kettle on. Oleg had gone out to the porch. Their boys were racing through the house.
“Tanechka, Vera and I will sleep in one room. Oleg and the boys in another. And you, Andrey, and your children can stay in the third. Or the children can sleep on the sofa in the living room.”
I stopped and looked at her.
“Veronika Andreyevna, my daughter sleeps in her room. My son sleeps in his. And Andrey and I sleep in ours.”
“Oh, come on,” she waved it away. “The children will have more fun on the sofa. Like camping. We adults need proper beds.”
“No,” I said firmly. “The children will sleep in their own rooms.”
Vera cut in.
“Tanya, don’t be stingy. We only came for two days. Just put up with it a little.”
Veronika Andreyevna stepped closer and took me by the hand.
“Tanyusha, dear, you understand. We’re family. You have to share. You have a dacha, we don’t. You come here every weekend, and we’re suffocating in the city.”
I pulled my hand away and stepped toward the window. I looked out at the garden. Yesterday I had watered the beds. I had planned to weed the carrots with the children today.
Outside, Vera’s boys were already running around the yard. They were trampling my flowerbeds and knocking the heads off my poppies with sticks. My son ran out to join them.
They shoved him away and yelled something rude. My little boy burst into tears and ran back into the house.
I went outside and called the boys over.
“Boys, there are flowerbeds here. Please don’t trample them.”
“We didn’t do it on purpose,” the older one snapped.
“All right, but now you know. Play more carefully.”
They ran off toward the swing. I went back into the house. My son was sitting on the sofa, sniffling with hurt feelings. My daughter was hugging him.
“Mom, they pushed me,” he complained.
“I know. Just bear with it a little.”
I returned to the kitchen. Vera was already putting their food on plates, sausage sandwiches, sliced cheese, brewing coffee.
“Tanechka, bring your plates,” she ordered. “We’re having breakfast. Your children must be hungry.”
I looked at the frying pan. The pancakes had long gone cold. Half of them were burned. I had not even finished making them. I had switched the stove off earlier.
“I already had breakfast planned,” I said. “I was making pancakes.”
“Oh, forget those pancakes,” Vera waved her hand. “Here, this is expensive sausage. Eat that instead.”
Andrey sat down at the table and took a sandwich. My children looked confused. They had wanted pancakes with jam. I had promised them.
I sat down beside them and put my arms around their shoulders.
“Come on, I’ll quickly make you some fresh ones.”
“How are you going to do that?” Vera looked surprised. “The stove is busy. I’m about to make soup for everyone, then potatoes and porridge for tomorrow, and fry the meat.”
I stood up, walked to the stove, and put my pan down.
“I need some space.”
Vera frowned. Veronika Andreyevna did too.
“Tanya, stop being difficult,” my mother-in-law said sternly. “Vera is cooking for everyone.”
“I’m going to finish breakfast for my children. They’re waiting for pancakes.”
“Let them eat sandwiches!” Vera snapped. “There’s cheese, sausage. What kind of nonsense is this?”
Andrey said nothing. He chewed his sandwich and stared at his plate.
I moved one of the pots aside, turned on a burner, added oil, and started frying the pancakes. Vera stood beside me, nervously tapping a spoon on the table.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” she hissed. “Just to spite me?”
I did not answer. I made pancakes in silence. The children waited at the table. I gave each of them a pancake with jam. They ate quietly.
By noon things got even worse. Vera was cooking, and the kitchen filled with steam. The windows fogged up. She did not even open them. The heat was unbearable.
Veronika Andreyevna had settled into the living room and turned the television up to full volume. She was watching some talk show. The host was shouting, the guests were shouting over one another.
I was trying to put my son down for a nap. His daytime sleep is essential; otherwise he gets cranky by evening. But with that noise it was impossible for him to fall asleep.
“Veronika Andreyevna, could you turn it down a little?” I asked. “The boy is trying to sleep.”
“In the daytime?” she said in surprise. “What nonsense. Let him play. Fresh air is better than sleep.”
“He’s five years old. He needs a routine.”
“That’s why children today are so weak,” my mother-in-law lectured. “Everything by routine, by schedule. We raised children without all that foolishness, and they grew up healthy.”
Oleg came in from outside, walking across the floor in dirty shoes. I had washed it only yesterday. Black marks remained on the light linoleum.
“Oleg, could you please take your shoes off?” I asked.
“Oh, right, sorry,” he waved a hand. “Forgot.”
But he did not take them off. He went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, took out some juice, opened it right there, spilled it on the floor, and did not wipe it up.
I wiped up the puddle and said nothing.
Vera called everyone to the table. The soup was ready. She ladled it into bowls and set bread on the table, along with their lard and their herbs.
“Eat while it’s hot,” she commanded.
My children sat there quietly. They do not like pea soup. I usually make noodle soup for them, or potato soup, light soups.
“Liza, eat,” I told my daughter softly. “At least a little.”
“Mom, I don’t want to,” she whispered.
Vera heard her.
“What do you mean, you don’t want it? The soup is delicious! I cooked for three hours!”
“She doesn’t like pea soup,” I explained.
“Then teach her to eat it!” Vera snapped. “You’ve spoiled the girl. You eat what you’re given. This isn’t a restaurant.”
I stood up from the table and took my children by the hand.
“Come on, I’ll boil you some pasta.”
“Sit down!” Veronika Andreyevna barked. “Where do you think you’re going? Vera worked hard! You’ll eat the soup!”
My daughter got frightened and started trembling. Her hand tightened in mine.
“Veronika Andreyevna, do not shout at my children,” I said firmly.
“I’m not shouting. I’m teaching them!”
Andrey put down his spoon and looked at his mother.
“Mom, don’t.”
“What do you mean, don’t? You sit there in silence! Your wife is walking all over you! The children are out of control! As their grandmother, I have every right to speak my mind!”
After lunch, Vera started unpacking her things into the rooms. Veronika Andreyevna went to inspect the bedrooms. She walked into my daughter’s room.
“This one will suit me,” she announced. “The bed is big. Will you give me fresh bedding?”
“That is Liza’s room,” I said. “My daughter’s.”
“So what? She can make room for the weekend. Let her sleep on the sofa.”
My daughter was standing in the doorway, watching us with wide, frightened eyes.
“Liza will sleep in her own room,” I repeated.
“Oh, what a princess you’ve raised!” Vera came up beside us. “In our day, children were taught to share, to give way to their elders. And now what? Nothing but selfishness.”
I took my daughter by the hand, led her out of the room, and shut the door.
“Mom, are they going to kick me out?” she whispered.
“No. They are not.”
I went to Andrey. He was sitting on the porch, staring at his phone.
“Andrey, your mother wants to throw Liza out of her room.”
“Tanya, it’s only for two days,” he put the phone down. “Liza can put up with it.”
“No. It’s her room. She lives here every weekend. This is her place.”
“Mom will be uncomfortable on the sofa.”
“Then let them go home. Or stay at the hotel in the village.”
He looked at me as if I were crazy.
“What hotel? This is family. My mother!”
“The same mother who came without warning, took over our refrigerator, is pushing the children out of their rooms, and is bossing people around in my kitchen.”
Veronika Andreyevna came out onto the porch and sat down next to her son.
“Andryusha, you see? Your wife is making a scandal. Over what? Over a room for a spoiled little girl. Over a refrigerator. Such pettiness.”
“Mom, Tanya is just tired,” he defended me weakly.
“Tired of what? We brought everything. We’re cooking ourselves. We’ll clean up. She could lie around all day and rest if she wants. But instead she turns up her nose.”
I turned around, went into the house, took a bag, and started packing. My things. The children’s things. Andrey’s things.
The children watched me in fear.
“Mom, are we leaving?” Liza asked.
“Yes. Pack your toys.”
They quickly packed their backpacks. I packed the clothes, took the documents, and grabbed the cooler bag with the groceries from the pantry.
I went out into the yard and started loading everything into the car. Andrey came out after me.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing. We’re leaving.”
“Where?”
“Home. To the city. Or maybe to the hotel by the river. I haven’t decided yet.”
Veronika Andreyevna and Vera rushed out onto the porch.
“Tanya, what kind of performance is this?” Vera shouted.
“No performance at all. I’m simply freeing up the dacha. You wanted to отдыхать here? Fine. Enjoy yourselves.”
“What do you mean, enjoy ourselves?” my mother-in-law said, confused. “And where are you going?”
“I told you. We’re leaving. You’ll stay here alone. All the rooms are yours. The refrigerator is yours. The kitchen is yours. Use them.”
I put the children in the car. They were silent. Andrey stood by the gate.
“Tanya, don’t be hysterical. Stay. We’ll talk this through.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m not going to live as a guest in my own home.”
I got behind the wheel and started the engine. Veronika Andreyevna ran up to the window.
“Where are you dragging the children off to? In this heat? In traffic? That’s irresponsible!”
“That is my responsibility,” I answered calmly.
“Andrey! Stop her!” his mother shouted.
He looked at me in confusion, then at his mother. He stood there between us.
I started moving. Slowly I drove toward the gate. Andrey opened it and looked me in the eyes.
“Tanya…”
“Choose,” I said. “Either with us, or stay with them.”
He stood there for a moment. He looked at his mother, who was waiting with her arms crossed over her chest. Then he got into the car beside me.
“Let’s go,” he said quietly.
I drove out through the gate. In the mirror I saw Veronika Andreyevna running after the car, shouting something. Vera was standing on the porch. Oleg was watching, not understanding what was happening.
We drove in silence. The children in the back seat were silent too. About twenty minutes later, Andrey’s phone rang. It was his mother.
He did not answer. She called five more times. Then she sent a message. He read it out loud:
“Turn the water and electricity back on! We’re here without any utilities! This is outrageous!”
I smirked. Before leaving, I had switched off the electricity at the breaker, shut off the water, and taken the keys to the shed where the generator was.
“Let them sit there for an hour and think,” I said.
Andrey looked at me with respect.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
We went to the hotel by the river and booked a room for two days, with a view of the water. The children were delighted. They ran off to swim.
That evening Veronika Andreyevna called another ten times. She demanded that we come back and turn the power on. Their food was spoiling in the refrigerator without electricity.
I did not answer. Neither did Andrey.
The next morning, he called his mother.
“Mom, we’ll come back tomorrow evening. By then you need to be gone.”
I could hear her shouting through the phone. Accusations. Hysterics.
We returned to the dacha on Sunday evening. The relatives had already left. The house was a mess. Dirty dishes piled high. Leftovers on the table. The trash had not been taken out.
But the refrigerator was empty. They had taken all their food with them, even what they had not finished.
There was a note from Veronika Andreyevna on the table:
“You are heartless egoists. I will never set foot in your place again. Andrey, I gave birth to you, raised you, and you chose this…”
The rest was insults directed at me.
I crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash. I turned the water back on, turned the electricity back on, and started cleaning.
Andrey helped in silence. The children played outside. Finally, there was peace. No other children shoving them around.
By evening the house was clean. I put the kettle on. We sat on the porch, drinking tea with jam.
Veronika Andreyevna did not call for two weeks. Then Vera called, her voice cold.
“Mother is offended. She says she won’t call first.”
“Vera, tell her this: when she is ready to apologize, I’ll invite her to the dacha. On my terms.”
“You’re so stubborn!” she snapped, and hung up.
Three months passed. Vera sent angry messages. The relatives whispered behind my back. They said I was cruel.
Sometimes Andrey hinted that maybe we should invite his mother for the holidays.
“When she apologizes, I’ll invite her.”
“She doesn’t understand what for.”
“How can she not understand? She took over the refrigerator. She called our daughter spoiled. Let her remember.”
He stayed silent. He never asked again.
And every weekend I come to the dacha, put groceries in the refrigerator, and the children sleep in their own rooms. No one shouts at them. No one pushes them around.
Peace and quiet. My children are happy.
Do I regret it? Not for a second. My dacha. My children.
