Ive looked after my grandchildren for eight years without so much as a penny and yesterday, they told me theyd rather stay with the other granny because she doesnt tell them off and brings them tablets.
I suppose Im the granny of warm soup.
The grandmother who ties shoelaces, wipes noses, cooks dinner, washes and irons, lugs heavy school bags, turns off the lights they leave on, and sits beside them at night if their parents are late coming home.
The other granny is the glamorous one.
She breezes in occasionallybearing bouquets, draped in expensive scent, with shiny gifts and big surprises.
Shes never cradled a feverish child through the night.
But she knows how to buy the latest gadget.
Yesterday, my grandchildren told me they wished I was more like her.
And for the first time in my life, I realised just how invisible my work has become.
Im Mary Goodwin, 62.
I have a daughterAnna
and two little ones: Martin, aged 8, and Sophie, aged 6.
Anna works. So does her husband, George.
And, because theres no money for a nanny and they dont trust after-school clubs, it just seemed to fall to me, the pensioner, to devote the rest of my days to caring for someone elses children.
And I did it.
Deliberately.
With love.
With commitment.
Up every morning at 5:30.
By 6:30, Im in their house.
I make breakfast.
Wrestle with a mountain of socks, hunt for missing t-shirts, get them dressed and tied up, hoist rucksacks onto backs, and walk them to school.
Thencleaning, tidying, cooking, laundry.
In the afternoon, collect them again.
Homework, naps, soup discipline.
Im the granny of rules.
The one who says:
No sweets before tea,
Go and wash your hands,
Thats enough time on the tablet,
Do your homework first.
In other words: the boring granny.
And on the other side, theres LindaGeorges mum.
Linda hasnt worked for years.
She has plenty of money.
Shes got her nails done, her hair done, chic clothes for going out, and stories of holidays to Spain and Greece.
Linda has never been up making tea at 3am because someones coughing.
Never searched the house for a lost sock.
Never scrubbed sick out of the carpet.
Never chased a stubborn child round the table with a spoon.
Linda is the guest star.
She appears twice a yearChristmas and birthdays
with gifts, sweets, and the newest bit of tech.
The children idolise her,
as all children do with someone who sets no boundaries.
It was Martins birthday yesterday.
I was up at five to make his favourite homemade cake
with proper ingredients, the way he likes it.
Bought him a lovely storybook and a warm jumperabout all my pension could stretch to.
Around 4pm, Linda swept in.
Hair perfectly set, perfume wafting, a designer handbag swinging on her arm.
She made her entrance like a TV presenter.
Darlings! she exclaimed.
Martin and Sophie ran to greet her as if she was a pop star.
They brushed past me, as if I were a houseplant in the corner.
Linda pulled out two big white boxes.
Two new tablets.
To keep things fun for you both! she said. And today, no one is allowed to say how long you can play for!
The children shrieked with delight.
Anna and George beamed:
Well done, Mum! Youre amazing! Thank you!
I stood in the kitchen, slicing the cake
the one I got up at dawn to make,
the one nobody noticed.
I went over to Martin.
Martin, sweetheart, heres my present. And look, I made your cake too
He didnt look up.
Not now, Gran. Im setting up my game character.
But, love
Gran! You always give boring stuff! Other granny gets us real presents! You just buy books and clothes. Boring.
What a blow.
I wouldnt wish it on anyone.
I glanced at Anna, hoping at least shed say, Dont talk to Gran like that.
Did she?
She just laughed.
Oh Mum, let it go. The kids love new things. Lindas just the fun gran. Youre well, youre the routine one.
Routine gran.
Thats what care is now called?
Sophie finished the thought:
I wish Granny Linda lived here. She never tells us off. Youre always tired.
I looked down at my handschapped from the washing up, the laundry, the scrubbing.
I looked at Lindafresh as a daisy, with two tablets in her handbag, goddess for the day.
Then I looked at my daughterrelaxed on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, because Im there to do everything.
I took off my apron.
Folded it neatly.
Laid it on the counter.
I stepped into the living room.
Anna, Im leaving now.
What do you mean?! And the cake? Whos going to tidy up?
Isnt the fun granny going to help?
Linda gave a false little smile:
Oh Mary, I cant really cope with this. My backs playing up
Dont worry, Linda. I wouldnt dream of asking you to mess up your nice outfit.
I looked Anna in the eye:
The children are right. I am boring. Im strict. Im the one who tells them to eat properly and keeps routines. And maybe they do need a bit more freedom.
So as of tomorrow, Im stepping down.
Mum, you cant! Wholl take them to school tomorrow?!
I dont know. Maybe Linda. Or sell one of those tablets and get a childminder in.
We need you!
No. You need a servant. But Im not one.
I looked over at Martin.
Gran, arent you coming back?
No, darling. Tomorrow will be fun. No one to tell you to eat your veg, do your reading, go to bed on time.
Freedom.
And I left.
My phone hasnt stopped ringing.
Annacrying.
Georgesaying Im making a drama out of nothing.
But Im not going back.
Tomorrow Ill get up at 9.
Make myself a coffee.
Have a slice of cake.
Watch my programme on the telly.
For the first time in years, Ill be the main character in my own life.
Are grandmothers obligated to be unpaid babysitters,
or are we simply exploited by our own children to save them money?
