My husband thought paying my mom to babysit our two children was a waste of money. “She should be grateful just to spend time with her grandkids,” he said. But when he fired her to “save money,” I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
A Dream Turns into a Nightmare
Money has a way of revealing a person’s true character. I learned this the hard way when my husband, Miles, showed me exactly who he was—not through his words, but through his actions toward my mother. When he fired her from watching our kids, he didn’t just break her heart—he shattered my trust in him.
But some lessons can only be learned the hard way. And I was about to teach him one he’d never forget.
“We need another baby,” Miles said one evening as he helped me load the dishwasher. His eyes gleamed with excitement. “Just imagine Evie with a little sister or brother. Don’t you want that for her?”
I placed the last plate in the rack, trying to ignore the tight feeling in my stomach. “I’m happy with just Evie. She’s perfect as she is.”
“Come on, Jenny.” He dried his hands and hugged me from behind. “I always dreamed of having a big family. Remember how lonely I was as an only child?” He reached for my hand. “I promise I’ll help more. You won’t have to do it alone.”
“You say that now, but—”
“I mean it. Every diaper change, every late-night feeding… I’ll be there. Trust me.”
“Like you were there last night when Evie had a fever?”
His face fell. “That was different. I had the quarterly report due.”
“There’s always something, Miles.”
“This time will be different,” he insisted, pulling me close. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together. I want us to give Evie the gift of a sibling. Please?”
I should have known better than to believe him.
Reality Hits Hard
Nine months later, Amber arrived, all pink cheeks and sleepless nights. Miles’s promises disappeared faster than morning dew, leaving me drowning in exhaustion.
“I have an early meeting,” he often mumbled, rolling over as Amber wailed at 3 a.m.
“The presentation’s tomorrow… I really need to focus,” he’d say, while I juggled a fussy baby and a toddler demanding attention.
“Mommy, up!” Evie would plead, while I tried to breastfeed Amber and make dinner at the same time.
“Just a minute, sweetie,” I’d say, guilt gnawing at me as I watched my firstborn’s face fall.
My mother, Wendy, saw me struggling. Sometimes, she’d stop by after her nursing shifts, still in her scrubs, just to give me a break.
“Jennifer, honey, let me help,” she said one day, watching me try to feed Amber while Evie tugged at my shirt. “I could take early retirement and watch the girls while you two work.”
“Mom, I can’t ask you to quit your nursing job. You love it.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” She scooped up Evie, who immediately snuggled into her embrace. “Besides, what’s more important than family? And frankly, honey, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“We’d have to pay you,” I insisted. “It’s only fair.”
“Three thousand a month would work,” she said. “Less than you’d pay for daycare, and I’ll cook and clean too.”
When I told Miles that night, his reaction was immediate. “Three thousand? Just to watch her own grandkids?”
“She’s giving up her career for us, Miles.”
“It’s called retirement. People do it all the time, Jenny.”
The comments started small but grew more frequent, like poison ivy creeping through our home.
“Must be nice getting paid to play with your grandkids all day,” Miles would mutter when Mom wasn’t looking.
“The house could be cleaner for what we’re paying,” he grumbled, even though Mom kept our home spotless while managing two small children.
Then one day, I overheard a conversation that changed everything.
A Shocking Betrayal
I was at work when I heard Miles talking in the background before hanging up. He thought I was off the call, but his words sent a chill down my spine.
“It’s ridiculous,” he muttered. “Three grand a month for what? She should be grateful we’re letting her spend time with her grandkids.”
I froze, my blood turning to ice.
“We appreciate everything you’ve done, Wendy,” Miles continued, “but we’ve decided it’s best for you to, uh, move on.”
“Move on?” Mom’s voice wavered slightly.
“Daycare is a more cost-effective solution.”
Silence. Then Mom quietly said, “If that’s what you both want.”
I raced home to find Mom gone and Miles unrepentant.
“Where is she?” I demanded. “How could you tell her to leave?”
He shrugged. “It’s for the best. We’ll save money.”
“Save money? Let’s see how much we save.”
Daycare cost more than we’d paid Mom, and the kids were constantly sick. No more home-cooked meals, no flexible pickup times, and no grandmother’s love woven into every moment.
Then came the final straw.
“Seventy-five dollars for a late pickup fee?” Miles exploded. “This is highway robbery!”
“Maybe we should call Mom,” I suggested sweetly.
“Fine,” he growled. “Tell her she can come back. Same pay.”
I smiled. “She’s making $4,300 now, Miles. And they appreciate her.”
His face turned red. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Time to put your money where your mouth is,” I said. “I have a business trip next week. You’re taking care of the kids.”
“What? But I can’t—”
“Sure you can. It’s just watching kids all day. After all, it’s a privilege, right?”
The Lesson Hits Home
By day two, his messages flooded my phone:
“How do you get Amber to eat her vegetables?”
“Evie won’t stop crying about her pink cup.”
“Please call me back. I haven’t slept in 48 hours.”
When I returned, the house looked like a tornado hit it. Miles sat on the couch, unshaven, hollow-eyed, with the girls eating cereal straight from the box.
“Your mother,” he said hoarsely, “is a saint.”
I set down my bags. “Oh?”
“I was wrong. So wrong. I’ll apologize. Whatever she wants to be paid, it’s worth it. More than worth it. Please, just ask her to come back.”
“Not my call anymore,” I said. “You’ll have to convince her yourself.”
Miles begged Mom to return. “I’ll match their pay, I swear. And I’ll treat you with respect.”
Mom stirred her coffee. “I’ll need that in writing. Including sick days and vacation time.”
“Absolutely.”
As I watched them work out details, I smiled. Some people learn by being told. Others need to live the lesson. And sometimes, losing something precious is the only way to realize its true value.
