Yesterday, I quit my job.
No resignation letter. No notice period.
I simply placed the cake on the kitchen table, picked up my handbag, and stepped out of my daughters house.
My boss was my own daughterCharlotte.
And for years, I thought my salary was love.
But yesterday I understood: in my familys economy, my love was worth nothing compared to a shiny new tablet.
My name is Edith. Im 64.
Officially, Im a pensioner, a retired nurse, living modestly in a village not far from Oxford.
Realistically, I am a driver, chef, cleaner, home tutor, therapist, and on-call paramedic for my two grandsons: Henry (9) and Thomas (7).
I am what youd call rural or, perhaps, the village. You know the saying: it takes a village to raise a child? In modern England, the village is usually just one exhausted grandmother, running on tea, paracetamol, and Rescue Remedy.
Charlotte works in advertising.
Her husband, Edward, works in finance.
Theyre good peopleor so I kept telling myself.
Theyre always tired. Always rushing. Nursery is expensive. School is complicated. Clubs are even worse. When Henry was born, they looked at me like drowning people look at a lifeboat.
Mum, we cant afford a nanny, Charlotte cried at the time. And we dont trust strangers. Only you.
I agreed.
Because I didnt want to be a burden.
So I became their pillar.
My day starts at 5:45.
I drive to theirs, make porridgenot just any, but proper porridge, because Thomas refuses instant. I get the boys ready. I drive them to school. I come back and mop floors I never dirtied and scrub toilets I didnt use. Then its back to school, then clubs, football, homework, English lessons.
I am the grandmother of routine. Grandmother of no. Grandmother of rules.
And theres Elizabeth.
Elizabeth is Edwards mother. She lives in a modern flat by the seaside. Facelifts, sleek car, holidays abroad.
She sees her grandsons twice a year.
Elizabeth doesnt know Henry has allergies. She has no idea how to calm Thomas when he sobs over times tables. Shes never cleaned sick from the backseat.
Elizabeth is the yes grandmother.
Yesterday Henry turned nine.
Id been planning for weeks. My moneys tight, but I wanted to give something real. For three months I knitted him a heavy blankethe struggles to sleep. I chose his favourite colours. I poured into it everything I had.
And I baked a proper cakeno packet mix.
At 16:15, the doorbell rang.
Elizabeth swept ina scented breeze, perfect hair, shopping bags.
Where are my boys?!
The kids practically shoved me aside, racing to her.
Granny!
She perched theatrically and pulled out branded bags.
I didnt know what you like, so I bought whatevers new, she trilled.
Two gaming tablets. The most expensive.
No restrictions. She winked. Today, my rules!
The boys lost their minds. They forgot the cake. Forgot the guests.
Charlotte and Edward beamed.
Elizabeth, really Edward said, pouring her wine. You spoil them rotten.
I stood there, clutching the blanket.
Henry Ive got a present too and the cakes ready
He didnt look up.
Not now, Gran. Im passing a level.
I spent all winter knitting
He sighed.
Gran, no one wants blankets. Elizabeth brought tablets. Youre always so boring. All you bring is food and jumpers.
I turned to Charlotte.
I waited, expecting her to step in.
Charlotte laughed awkwardly.
Mum, dont take it personally. Hes a kid. Of course the tablets exciting. Elizabeths the fun granny. And you well youre everyday.
Everyday granny.
Like the everyday dishes. Like the everyday traffic jam. Needed but invisible.
I wish Elizabeth lived here, added Thomas. She doesnt make us do homework.
And something in me snapped.
I folded the blanket. Laid it on the table. Untied my apron.
Charlotte, Im done.
She blinked. You mean, with the cake?
No. With everything.
I picked up my bag.
Im not an appliance you can switch off. Im your mother.
Mum, where are you going?! Ive got a big pitch tomorrow! Wholl pick up the boys?
I dont know, I said. Maybe sell a tablet. Or ask the fun granny to help.
Mum, we need you!
I paused.
Thats the troubleyou need me. You just never see me.
I walked out.
This morning, I woke at nine.
Made a decent cup of tea. Sat on my porch.
Andfor the first time in yearsmy back didnt ache.
I love my grandsons.
But I wont be a free maid disguised as family anymore.
Love should not be self-erasing.
And grannies are not a resource.
If you want the routine granny, you respect her routine.
Meanwhile
I reckon Ill sign up for dancing lessons. Ive heard thats what fun grannies do.
