MY MOTHER-IN-LAW EXCLUDED ME AND MY CHILD FROM THE THANKSGIVING DINNER BECAUSE MY PIE WAS STORE-BOUGHT
I’m 40 years old, and a few months ago I had my first child. Motherhood at my age turned out to be exhausting—sleepless nights, body aches, and a constant feeling that I’m barely managing. My husband, James, was wonderful, but on Thanksgiving he went on a business trip, so I had to attend dinner at his mother Brenda’s house alone—with the baby.
Every year, Brenda hosts a home feast for Thanksgiving, and everyone is expected to contribute something. Normally, I would have baked something, but between feedings, diaper changes, and sheer exhaustion, I simply didn’t have the energy. So, on the way, I bought a pumpkin pie from the store.
When I arrived—with the baby in a sling and the pie in my hand—Brenda’s smile vanished the moment she saw the dessert.
“What is this?” she snapped.
“Pumpkin pie. I didn’t have time to bake something myself…”
She cut me off.
“That’s just laziness. You need to learn to handle your responsibilities. James deserves better. Maybe you should go home and reassess your priorities.”
Her words wounded me. I felt humiliated and enraged, but as the baby began to fuss, I headed for the door, fighting back tears.
But karma acted faster than I could have imagined. At that very moment, the front door swung open…
Exhausted by Motherhood at Forty
Exhausted by motherhood at forty, Clem managed to bring only a store-bought pie to what was supposed to be the “perfect” Thanksgiving dinner at her mother-in-law Brenda’s house. Brenda was far from pleased—she humiliated Clem in front of the guests and kicked her out. But when Clem’s husband, James, unexpectedly returned home, karma took its course. What began as a Thanksgiving catastrophe turned into retribution for Brenda—and the unexpected beginning of stronger family bonds.
Motherhood at forty is no joke.
People love to romanticize the “radiant joy” of late motherhood, but the reality is far different…
My “radiance” mostly consisted of sweat from trying to survive on three hours of sleep and coffee that I could barely finish. Midnight cries, endless diaper changes, and the constant struggle to keep my baby safe left me completely drained. I hadn’t felt like myself for weeks.
So when Thanksgiving arrived, I had neither the energy nor the desire to meet the Martha Stewart standards that my mother-in-law Brenda demanded.
For Brenda, Thanksgiving isn’t just a dinner—it’s an event. She is the type who spends hours setting the table, demands elaborate dishes from everyone, and somehow manages to remain the “graceful” hostess.
Normally, I would try to contribute something: I’d bake pies, casseroles, cheesecakes—anything. But this year? This year, I simply bought a pumpkin pie on the way to her house and considered it a victory.
I knew she wouldn’t like it. But honestly, I didn’t care. After a year of IVF, a complicated pregnancy, and a baby who drained every ounce of my energy, I was completely spent. Brenda would survive.
Right?
I entered the house, balancing my baby in a sling, a bag of diapers draped over my shoulder, and the pie in my hand—I felt like a circus acrobat.
Brenda opened the door, and her forced smile quickly faded when she saw the pie.
“Clem, what is this?” she asked brusquely.
“Pumpkin pie, Brenda,” I said in a cheerful tone. “I bought it at the bakery. I didn’t have time to bake something myself…”
She sighed sharply.
“Couldn’t you even bake a simple dessert, Clem? Everyone else managed it—even though they all have jobs and kids.”
I swallowed, trying to explain how hard it was for me to manage alone while James was away. Besides, everyone else’s children are older—my baby, Iv, is only four months old.
“The last few weeks have been… chaotic, Brenda. Night feedings, constant exhaustion… I just didn’t have the strength.”
She raised her hand to silence me.
“That’s laziness, Clementina,” she declared loudly, so that everyone could hear. “You’re a mother now. You need to learn to handle your responsibilities. James deserves better. Frankly, this child deserves better.”
My cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. Where was that caring grandmother who loved nothing but her grandchild? Where was the mother-in-law who was supposed to support me?
A heavy silence fell over the room. No one intervened. No one even offered to hold Iv.
And then Brenda delivered the final blow.
“Maybe you should go home and rethink your priorities, Clem. Besides, James isn’t here.”
She was kicking me out. All because of a pie.
What is wrong with this woman?
Iv immediately burst into tears, as if sensing my pain. I adjusted my sling with trembling hands and began to gather my things, telling myself I didn’t need her approval.
But the tears still came.
And then the door opened.
At the doorstep stood James with a suitcase and his father, Frank, holding a bag of groceries.
“I couldn’t miss Thanksgiving with my favorite girls,” James said with a smile. “Especially Iv’s first holiday.”
He looked at me… and finally saw me.
“What happened?” he asked, frowning as he shifted his gaze from my tear-stained face to Brenda.
Brenda straightened up, clearly flustered.
“Your wife brought a store-bought pie,” she began, her voice trembling with indignation. “That’s disrespectful.”
Frank smirked quietly.
“Disrespectful? Brenda, half of these dishes were ordered because you didn’t know what to make for vegetarian Sarah.”
Brenda blushed.
“That’s… something else,” she mumbled.
“No, nothing else,” James said firmly. “You kicked my wife out because of a pie? She’s been managing perfectly on her own while I was away, and this is how you treat her? This isn’t just disrespectful—it’s a disgrace.”
Brenda opened her mouth, but for once she had no words.
Finally, she mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at James. He squeezed my hand.
“Let me feed Iv upstairs and then leave,” I said.
“Stay, please,” he whispered. “For me.”
So I stayed.
The dinner passed in awkward silence. Brenda avoided me, Sarah discreetly poured me some juice, and Frank desperately tried to change the subject. James lovingly served me food, and for the first time in a long while, I felt noticed.
Later, when everyone had left, Brenda approached me.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” she said hesitantly. “I was stressed and took it out on you.”
I nodded, accepting her apology more for James’s sake than my own.
A few days later, though, Frank unexpectedly visited me, and then Brenda joined him. She brought coffee and a box of cookies.
“I bet you need a break,” she said as she entered my home. “From now on, taking care of Iv will be my grandmother’s responsibility.”
From that day forward, she came by every week.
Karma not only humiliated Brenda, but it also brought us closer together. Now, every time I see a store-bought pie, I simply smile.
What would you have done?
