After years of babysitting without complaint, my son sent me home hungry. I decided to find out what would happen when I was the one who needed help.
I said yes every time my son Joel asked me to babysit.
School pickups.
Sick days.
Half of every weekend.
I loved my grandchildren, Zoe and Oliver.
But somewhere along the way, favors became expectations.
Last Saturday, I arrived at five.
Fed the children.
Bathed them.
Had them asleep by eight.
Joel and his wife, Stephanie, returned at nine.
I hadn’t eaten.
Stephanie started cooking, whispered something to Joel, and he turned toward me.
“Mom, we’re starving. You should probably get going. Dad’ll be wanting his dinner.”
No “thank you.”
No invitation to eat.
Not even an offer to drive me.
I’m 64.
I live an hour away by bus.
I said, “Of course.”
He didn’t walk me out.
