I can appreciate that for many centuries, several generations of families lived under the same roof, and that could lead to a few (cough, cough, wink, wink, nudge, nudge) conflicts.

My own mother lived in our house for over five years, and I think the only reason my marriage survived was 1) my husband was the one who brought up the concept of her moving in with us after her first bout of breast cancer, 2) her already loose grip of reality was rapidly weakened by Alzheimer's, and 3) he was raised with an extremely high level of respect for his own mom.

And I may have been concerned about becoming the evil mother-in-law (and I still may, I have one eligible child), but I was lucky enough to gain a wonderful son-in-law.

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