Ah my mother belongs in this tread. She helps in the way she thinks is best.
After my ex left, I cleaned out the entire house and separated stuff into rubbish, ex's stuff, my stuff, DS's stuff and stuff for storage (documents, stuff from my chhildhood, select of DS's baby clothes, some of DS's old baby toys that he still wanted and so on). I mentioned to my mother how much rubbish there was and that I was going to hire someone to take it away. She suggested that I get her gardener to do it and I foolishly agreed. All the rubbish had been put outside the back door as the gardener was coming when I was at work. For some reason my mother came with him. When the trailer wasn't full after all the garbage was taken, she let herself into the house with the spare key (she knew where it was kept) took the half filled kitchen garbage bin (that was OK) and then went into the spare room. Seeing bags full of stuff that happened to be in garbage bags, she took these out to the trailer. You guessed it, these were the stuff for storage and quite a bit of the ex's stuff that wasn't really right for boxes. By the time I got home that night it was all gone to the garbage tip and unretrievable. She is still upset with me that I was upset with her and that wasn't thankful for all her hard work that day. After all, she meant well and how was she to know it wasn't garbage? Grrrr.
The other major one was when I was very ill. I was sleeping 21 hours a day and was too tired even to watch TV or read when I was awake. This went on for about 6 months. I will admit she was helpful in taking me to doctors appointments, etc. One day after we had gotten back to my place from an appointment, I lay down on the couch too exhausted to go upstairs. She decided that my house needed a clean. I will admit that it did and does as I am a really bad housekeeper. I tried to beg her not too but she just started, all the time giving me a running commentary of how disgusting my house is and how I should be ashamed of myself (Note: this was dirty dishes and undusted window sills, not a hoarder type thing). I just wanted to sleep, but couldn't relax at all with her there, while at the same time being physically incapable of walking or even raising my voice above a whisper. I ended up crawling crying to the kitchen attempting to beg her to just leave. Eventually she did in a huff about how ungrateful I am and I collapsed to sleep on my kitchen floor for 5 hours until my son got home. I have never allowed her into my house again.