You brought her to us yourself, didnt you? Chris, youre an absolute find! A man who can tinker with engines
Yesterday I Quit My “Job” as Grandma—No Notice, No Paperwork: I Simply Set Down the Birthday Cake, Grabbed My Bag, and Walked Out of My Daughter’s House
My “employer” was my own daughter—Charlotte. For years, I believed my pay was love.
But yesterday I realised: in our family economy, my love isn’t worth much next to brand-new tablets.
I’m Anne, I’m 64—retired nurse, living on a modest pension in the suburbs, but in reality I’m the driver, cook, cleaner, home tutor, counsellor, and on-call “ambulance” for two grandsons, Max (9) and Daniel (7).
I’m what you’d call the village—the community that’s meant to raise a child, except now the “community” is usually one exhausted grandma surviving on coffee, valerian, and painkillers.
Charlotte works in marketing; her husband, Andrew, in finance. Nice people—or so I kept telling myself. Nursery’s expensive, school is tricky, clubs are harder, so when Max was born, they looked at me like drowning people.
“Mum, we can’t afford a nanny,” Charlotte sobbed. “And we don’t trust strangers. Only you.”
So I agreed—not wanting to be a burden, I became the foundation. My days start at 5:45am: I make porridge (not the “quick” kind Denny refuses), get the kids ready, drive to school, clean floors I didn’t dirty, scrub toilets I didn’t use, ferry them to clubs—English, football, homework.
I’m Grandma Routine. Grandma “No”. Grandma Rules.
There’s also Susan—Andrew’s mum. She lives by the seaside in a new apartment with a facelift, a new car, endless holidays. She pops in twice a year; doesn’t know Max’s allergies, or how to calm Daniel when maths sends him into meltdown. She’s never scrubbed sick off a car seat.
Susan’s Fun Grandma.
Yesterday Max turned nine. I’d spent weeks preparing—little money, but I wanted my gift to be special. I’d spent three months knitting him a heavy blanket, his favourite colours, to help him sleep. I baked a real cake.
At 4:15pm, Susan swept in—a cloud of perfume and shopping bags.
“Where are my boys?!”
My grandsons pushed past me to greet her.
She perched on the sofa, pulled out the branded bag.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got the newest thing,” she declared—two top-of-the-range gaming tablets. “No limits today—my rules!”
The kids lost the plot. Cake and guests forgotten. Charlotte and Andrew beamed.
“Is it really necessary…” Andrew said as he poured her wine. “You spoil them.”
I stood there holding my blanket.
“Max, I brought you something too…and I baked a cake.”
He didn’t look up.
“Not now, Grandma, I’m beating a level.”
“I spent all winter knitting…”
He sighed.
“No one wants blankets anymore, Grandma. Susan brought tablets. Why are you always so boring—just food and clothes?”
I glanced at Charlotte, waiting for her to help.
She laughed awkwardly: “Mum, don’t be upset. He’s just a kid. Of course the tablet’s more fun. Susan’s the ‘fun grandma’. You’re…you know…you’re our everyday.”
Everyday Grandma. Like everyday dishes, everyday traffic. Needed, but invisible.
“I want Susan to live here,” Daniel announced. “She doesn’t make us do homework.”
That’s when something snapped.
I folded up the blanket, set it on the table, hung up my apron.
“Charlotte, I’m done.”
“What do you mean—cut the cake?”
“No. I’m done.”
I picked up my bag.
“I’m not a machine you just switch off. I’m your mother.”
“Mum, where are you going?” she cried. “My presentation’s tomorrow! Who’ll pick up the kids?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sell a tablet. Or let Fun Grandma stay.”
“But we need you!”
I paused at the door.
“That’s just it. You need me—but you don’t see me.”
I walked out.
This morning, I woke at 9. Made coffee. Sat on my porch.
And for the first time in years, my back didn’t ache.
I love my grandsons. But I refuse to live as free labour masquerading as “family”.
Love isn’t self-destruction, and a grandma isn’t just a resource.
If they want Grandma Routine, they better respect the routine.
For now… maybe I’ll join a dance class. Isn’t that what “fun grandmas” do? Yesterday, I quit my job. No resignation letter, no obligatory two weeks notice. I simply placed a plate
I still recall the way it went, as if it were a scene from a longago summer in our little Yorkshire village.
Im 69 now, and its been six months since my husband passed away. Forty-two years we spent side by side.
The bride was left completely gobsmacked when she saw whod just turned up at her wedding. It cant be you!
Dear Diary, Yesterday my brother, John Smith, rang me out of the blue and asked if I could surrender
I am thirty-eight, and two days ago, my wife decided to forgive me for an affair that had carried on
I have married a poor bloke and my whole family laughs at me. Seven years ago I wed a man who owned nothing
Im Sarah Thompson, and Ive actually been a surrogate twice its the only thing thats ever really turned
You lied to me! Nicholas bellowed, standing in the middle of the sitting room, his face an alarming shade
