I love my grandchildren with all my heart. But when my daughter-in-law, Nancy, started dropping them off at my house during my special book club time—without asking me first—I knew something had to change. What I did next taught her a lesson about respect she’ll never forget.
These days, I live alone in the house where I raised my children. After 42 years of marriage, losing my husband three years ago left a big empty space in my life. It’s been hard to fill that space, but I’m learning. I keep busy and don’t sit around feeling sorry for myself.
I have two wonderful children: my son Michael and my daughter Sarah. Michael and his wife Nancy have two little toddlers, full of energy and curiosity. Sarah lives far away, across the country, with her husband and their two kids, so I don’t get to see them as much as I want.
Michael’s family lives only 20 minutes away, so I see those grandchildren all the time. I truly adore every one of them and always try to help whenever I’m needed. School pickups, sudden colds, surprise work meetings—if I’m available, I’m there. No complaints at all.
For example, when little Emma caught the flu last month, I spent three whole days at their house, making soup and reading stories to cheer her up. When Jake, who’s two years old, was going through a tough teething stage, I paced the floors with him for hours so Nancy could catch up on sleep.
That’s what grandmothers do—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
But recently, I decided to take back just one small thing for myself: a monthly book club. A few close friends from church and the neighborhood get together to read and talk about books. We don’t just gossip over cookies—we get serious. We pick challenging books, discuss characters and themes, argue about plot twists, and laugh when someone completely misses the point.
That book club is my little corner of joy now. For three hours once a month, I get to be Martha the reader—not just Martha the grandmother and helper.
Nancy, however, made it clear what she thought about my book club.
“A book club, seriously?” she laughed the first time I told her. “How absolutely adorable, Martha. Like something out of a movie.”
Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, like she thought I was silly for wanting a little time for myself. But I didn’t let it bother me. I wasn’t doing it for her approval anyway.
“We’re reading some fascinating books,” I told her. “This month, it’s a mystery novel with the most incredible plot twists.”
She just smiled that patronizing smile and changed the subject, probably to something more important in her mind—like needing me to pick up Jake from daycare again.
Looking back, I should have seen the signs. Nancy had always been the type to take advantage of kindness, but I’d shrugged it off, thinking she was just stressed out being a young mom. Now I realize she saw my book club as nothing more than a nuisance that got in the way of her free babysitting.
What happened next tested my patience and resolve in ways I never expected.
We had just started our first official book club meeting after weeks of planning. I was setting out teacups and arranging the coffee cake I baked that morning. The ladies were due to arrive in 30 minutes, and I was so excited to talk about our first novel when I heard Nancy’s car pull up.
Before I could even open the door, she was already unbuckling the kids from their car seats.
“Hi Martha!” she called cheerfully. “Perfect timing! I need you to watch Emma and Jake for a few hours.”
“Nancy, I have book club this afternoon,” I said gently. “Remember? I mentioned it several times.”
“Oh right, your little reading thing,” she laughed. “Well, this won’t take long. I’ll be back before dinner!”
And with that, she was already backing out of my driveway, waving goodbye through the window. She didn’t hand me the diaper bag, snacks, or even toys. She didn’t explain where she was going or when she’d return.
Of course, I love my grandchildren deeply. But Emma and Jake are busy toddlers. You can’t sip tea and debate complex plot twists when one child is drawing with crayons all over your carpet and the other is pouring apple juice into your houseplants.
When my book club friends arrived, they found me chasing Jake around the living room while Emma had emptied an entire box of tissues across the floor. The ladies were kind about it, but our carefully planned discussion turned into managing toddler chaos.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” my friend Helen said, dodging as Jake zipped by with a wooden spoon he’d grabbed.
Then Nancy did it again—dropping the kids off without any warning, right when I was trying to enjoy my book club. After the second time, my friends had officially had enough.
“Martha, you need to handle this,” my friend Dorothy said firmly after another chaotic afternoon. “If you don’t set boundaries now, she’ll keep steamrolling all over you.”
“She’s taking advantage of your kindness,” Helen agreed. “This isn’t fair to you or us.”
They were absolutely right. Nancy was treating me like her personal babysitter who was always on call, never respecting my time or commitments. The book club meant something important to me, and she was dismissing that on purpose.
That night, sitting alone in my quiet house, I made a plan.
If Nancy wanted to play games with respect and boundaries, then this old grandmother was going to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.
The next time Nancy dropped off the kids just before book club, I smiled sweetly and nodded as usual. But this time, I waited exactly ten minutes after she drove away.
Then, I bundled up Emma and Jake, loaded them into the car with their car seats, and drove straight to wherever Nancy had gone. This time, it was her yoga class at the community center downtown.
I walked right into the studio, carrying Jake on my hip with Emma holding my hand, and found Nancy in the middle of her downward dog pose.
“Nancy, dear!” I called out cheerfully, using the exact tone she always used with me.
She looked up, horrified, as the whole class turned to stare.
“I need you to watch the kids for a couple of hours,” I said, copying her exact words. “You don’t mind, right?”
Before she could say a word, I gently set Jake down next to her mat and guided Emma to sit beside him.
“Thanks so much, sweetie!” I said brightly, then walked out.
I did this every time she tried to drop the kids on me without warning. Hair appointment? I showed up with the kids. Brunch with friends downtown? There I was, diaper bag in hand.
Every time, I used her own cheerful words, “Just for a couple of hours. You don’t mind, right?”
Then I’d drive off, leaving her to figure out how to handle two toddlers in whatever inappropriate place she’d chosen.
After the third time—when I even interrupted her book club at a coffee shop—Nancy finally snapped.
“You can’t just drop the kids on me without warning!” she yelled when she came to pick them up. “I had important plans! That was so embarrassing!”
I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms calmly.
“Oh, you had plans?” I said quietly. “Important plans? Like I did during my book club meetings?”
Her face turned red with anger.
I leaned forward, voice steady.
“Nancy, if you want me to watch the kids, just ask nicely and give me some notice. I’m always happy to help my family. But if you keep treating me like your personal doormat, dropping kids off whenever it suits you, then I’ll keep doing exactly what you taught me. Drop and run.”
She opened her mouth to argue but didn’t have a comeback.
“The choice is yours,” I added with a sweet smile.
She didn’t say another word.
Since then, my book club meetings have been peaceful and uninterrupted. I think Nancy finally learned her lesson.
