When my daughter-in-law Brittany asked me to babysit my grandson Noah for the weekend, I expected cuddles, cartoons, and cookies — not a handwritten invoice for eggs, water, and toilet paper. Despite our sometimes strained relationship and her well-known obsession with “boundaries,” I said yes without hesitation. I love Noah, and I was excited to spend uninterrupted time with him. But when I arrived, I was greeted by chaos: dishes piled in the sink, an empty fridge, no wipes or baby food in sight,
and barely enough diapers to last a day. So I rolled up my sleeves — because that’s what grandmothers do. I cleaned the kitchen, restocked the pantry, washed tiny clothes, and cooked meals from scratch. I gave Noah bubble baths, read him stories, and made him giggle until bedtime. By Sunday night, I was exhausted but happy. I’d done it all with love. Then Monday morning came. As I packed up to leave, I found a folded note on the counter: “Thanks again! Please Venmo $40 by Friday to cover food,
