I cherish my grandkids, but when my daughter-in-law Lena started casually leaving them at my house during my treasured book club time without asking, I knew things had to change. What I did next taught her a lasting lesson in respect.
These days, I live alone in the house where I raised my kids, and I’ve learned to keep busy. After 42 years of marriage, losing my husband three years ago left a gap in my routine I’m still learning to fill.
But I’ve lived a rich life with my family, and I’m not one to linger in sorrow.
I have two wonderful children—my son, Nathan, and my daughter, Elise.
They’ve given me four lovely grandkids. Nathan and his wife Lena have two little ones—both bursting with energy. Elise lives out of state with her husband and their two children, so I don’t see them as often as I’d like.
Nathan’s family lives just a short drive away, so I see those grandkids quite often.
I deeply adore all my grandchildren and have always been happy to help out. Emergency school pickups, sudden illnesses, work conflicts—I’ve always stepped up. No complaints from me.
When little Ivy caught a cold last month, I stayed over for three days, making broth and reading her favorite stories. When two-year-old Milo was teething and cranky, I walked the halls with him for hours so Lena could rest.
That’s what grandmothers do, and I wouldn’t change it.
But recently, I carved out something just for myself: a monthly book group with friends from church and the neighborhood.
We’re not there for snacks and small talk. We pick meaningful books, dive into character motives, debate endings, and share plenty of laughs when someone sees a plot twist in a whole new way.
It’s become my special time. For three hours once a month, I get to be Sylvia the reader, not just grandma or caregiver.
Lena, however, didn’t bother to act like she valued it.
“A book club? Really?” she said with a smirk when I told her. “That’s so quaint, Sylvia. Like something from a TV show.”
Her tone was dismissive. Still, I let it slide—I wasn’t doing this for her approval.
“We’re actually reading a gripping mystery this month,” I told her. “It’s full of twists.”
She gave me that patronizing grin and shifted the conversation to needing help picking Milo up from daycare.
Looking back, that was a warning sign. Lena had always been one to test boundaries, but I thought it was just new-mom stress.
Now I see she didn’t view my book club as important—just a silly hurdle to her childcare plans.
And then it happened.
Just as we started our very first official book club meeting, after weeks of planning, Lena showed up at my front door with both kids in tow.
It was a Thursday. I was setting out teacups and slicing a cake I’d baked. The ladies were due soon when I heard her car outside.
Before I even greeted her, she was already unbuckling the car seats.
“Hi, Sylvia!” she chirped. “Great timing! Need you to watch Ivy and Milo for a few hours.”
“Lena, it’s book club day,” I reminded her. “I told you several times.”
“Oh right, your book thing,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll be quick. Back before supper!”
And just like that, she was gone—no bag, no snacks, not even a note about nap times.
Of course, I love my grandkids, but they’re toddlers. And it’s impossible to discuss a novel’s themes while Milo’s smearing applesauce on your plants and Ivy is shredding tissues like party streamers.
My friends arrived to find me scrambling to manage chaos. Ivy had scattered crayons all over the sofa, and Milo was swinging a spoon like a weapon.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” Vera said as she dodged a flying block.
When Lena did the same thing a second time—again, no heads-up—my book club friends had had enough.
“Sylvia, you’ve got to set boundaries,” said Ruth. “If you don’t, she’ll just keep doing this.”
“She’s taking advantage of your generosity,” Vera added. “This isn’t fair to any of us.”
They were absolutely right.
Lena saw me as a free babysitter, not as someone with her own plans. She was disregarding my time and commitments.
That evening, I sat quietly and thought things over.
If she wanted to play the drop-off game, I’d show her the rules—my way.
The next time Lena showed up just before book club, I greeted her warmly, waited ten minutes after she left, and packed the kids into my car.
Then I drove straight to her fitness class downtown.
I stepped into the studio, Milo on my hip and Ivy by the hand, and spotted her in a yoga pose.
“Lena, honey!” I called in my cheeriest voice.
She turned mid-pose, shocked.
“Can you watch the kids for a bit? Won’t take long!” I said, echoing her exact words.
Before she could protest, I set Milo gently by her mat and guided Ivy to sit nearby.
“Thanks a ton!” I smiled, and walked out.
And I kept doing it.
Spa appointment? I showed up, kids in tow. Lunch with friends? I dropped by with diapers.
Each time, I smiled and said, “Just a couple of hours—you don’t mind, right?”
The third time, after I left the kids with her at a coffee shop, she lost it.
“You can’t just leave the kids with me without notice!” she snapped later that evening. “I had plans! That was embarrassing!”
I crossed my arms and replied, “Oh? Plans? Like I had for my book group?”
Her face reddened with frustration, but I stayed calm.
“Lena, I’m happy to help. But you need to ask with respect and give me notice. Otherwise, I’ll just keep doing exactly what you showed me—drop and go.”
She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself.
“Your move, dear,” I said with a smile.
She didn’t respond.
But ever since? Book club has been peaceful. I think the lesson finally sank in.
