School pickups, surprise colds, last-minute work meetings—I was there. No complaints.
But recently, I carved out one small thing just for me: a monthly book club with a few close friends. We’re not talking about gossip and cookies—we take it seriously. We read, we discuss, we argue, we laugh. It’s my little corner of joy.

My DIL?
“A book club, seriously?” She laughed. “How adorable. Just perfect for your age.”
Still, I didn’t mind. I wasn’t doing it for her.

But just as we finally launched our first session—after weeks of preparation—she dropped the kids off. Unannounced.
“Be back in a few hours,” she said, already reversing out of the driveway.

No bag, no toys, no explanation.

Of course, I love my grandkids. But they’re toddlers. You can’t exactly sip tea and debate a plot twist when one’s drawing on the carpet and the other’s pouring juice into a plant.

The second time she did it—again, without notice—my book club friends had had enough.
“You’re going to have to handle this,” one of them said. “Or she’ll keep steamrolling you.”

And so, we came up with an idea to bring her back down to Earth.

Now, I’m not a petty woman. But I do believe in gently teaching people lessons they need to learn. Especially when they’re family.

So, the next book club night, we planned it differently.

Instead of hosting it at my house like usual, we decided to hold it at Sandra’s place—just two doors down. We even parked our cars a few streets away so it wouldn’t look like anyone was home.

Sure enough, 6:01 p.m. rolls around, and I hear the unmistakable squeal of her brakes.
Knock-knock.

I opened the door with a smile.

“Oh, hey!” she chirped, clearly in a rush. “Here they are. Thanks again. I’ll be back later!”

Before I could respond, she turned, shouted “Bye-bye, be good!” over her shoulder, and sprinted off.

This time, I did not take the kids inside.

Instead, I texted her.

“Hey, I’m not home tonight. Had plans. Kids are sitting on the front porch. Thought you’d be back quickly?”

I’ll admit, I hovered nearby in the bushes like a suburban ninja. Don’t worry—they were bundled up and completely safe. But I wanted her to feel the weight of what she was doing.

Six minutes later, a car came screeching back into the driveway. She jumped out, looking around in panic. The guilt on her face when she saw them sitting there with their little backpacks (I packed snacks just in case) was real.

She picked them up like they were newborns again.

Later that night, I got a long, apologetic text.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was taking advantage. I guess I just assumed you’d always be available. It won’t happen again.”

And for a little while… it didn’t.

Until three months later.

Not during book club this time—just a random Tuesday. She showed up with the same bright smile and said, “I’m so overwhelmed. Could you please keep them for the day? I’ll owe you.”

Of course, I said yes.

But then… I got a text from my friend Nora about an hour later.

“Your DIL just posted on her stories. She’s at a spa day with her friends lol.”

And wouldn’t you know it—there she was, soaking in a mud bath, sipping champagne, while I was trying to stop one toddler from flushing a stuffed giraffe and the other from tasting Windex.

That night, I didn’t text her.

I called her. She answered, laughing in the background with someone.

“Hey,” I said, my voice calm. “Next time you need a babysitter, could you be honest about it? I’d love to help—but not if I’m being misled.”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were overwhelmed. But you were just at the spa.”

There was a long silence on the line.

Then: “I… I’m really sorry.”

That conversation changed things.

Slowly but surely, she started treating me with more respect. She’d ask before making plans, give notice, pack proper supplies. She even offered to take me out for coffee on a Saturday morning—something that had never happened before.

But the real shift came one evening a few months later.

I was sitting outside, watering my little herb garden, when she came over with the kids.

“Hey,” she said gently. “I wanted to tell you something.”

She looked nervous. The kids were playing with a soccer ball in the driveway.

“I’ve started therapy,” she said. “I’ve been feeling overwhelmed for a while, but instead of facing it, I dumped everything on you. And that wasn’t fair.”

I was surprised. She wasn’t the type to talk about feelings, let alone therapy.

She sat down beside me on the garden bench.

“I guess… I just assumed you’d always be there. Like magic. And I didn’t think about how much you were giving up. You have a life too.”

I reached over and gave her hand a little squeeze.

“I want to be there,” I said. “But I need to be respected too. That’s all.”

From that day on, things genuinely improved. Not perfectly—no one changes overnight. But she tried. And I noticed.

She even joined our book club once. Read the first three chapters of Where the Crawdads Sing and had surprisingly sharp thoughts on it. We had wine. She laughed with my friends. It was… nice.

One evening, after we wrapped up our latest read, she sent me a text:

“I get it now. It’s not just a book club. It’s your thing. And that matters. I’m proud of you for sticking to it.”

Now, we’ve found our rhythm. I still help out with the grandkids—gladly. But she gives notice. She packs snacks. And sometimes, she even joins me on the couch with a book of her own, coffee in hand, while the kids nap.

You know what I’ve learned?

Setting boundaries doesn’t push people away. Done right, it invites them to respect you more. Sometimes we think we’re being “nice” by saying yes to everything—but really, we’re teaching people that our time doesn’t matter.

And the truth is: it does matter.

So, if you’re reading this and you’re someone who gives and gives and gives—make sure you carve out something that’s just for you. Whether it’s a book club, a walk in the park, a Sunday nap—claim your space. It teaches the people around you to value your time the way you value theirs.

And if you’re on the other side—maybe taking someone for granted—pause for a moment. Say thank you. Offer to help. Listen better.

Because family? It goes both ways.

❤️

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