By the time my mother-in-law’s caravan pulled into our driveway, she was already expecting a weekend of effortless hospitality. She had announced the visit only three days earlier—not asked, announced—and the message had included an impressive menu she assumed I would prepare. Slow-smoked ribs. Homemade potato salad. Grilled hot dogs for the children. Fresh desserts. Breakfast both mornings. And, of course, enough food for everyone to take leftovers home. The estimated grocery bill alone was well over three hundred dollars. Not once had she asked whether we had plans. Not once had she offered to…
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