I absolutely adore my grandkids, but when my daughter-in-law Tina started dropping them off during my precious book club time without even asking, I knew something had to change. What I did next taught her a lesson in respect—grandma style. I live alone now, in the house where I raised my kids.

\After 42 years of marriage, losing my husband three years ago left a big hole in my routine, and I’ve been figuring out how to fill it. I’m not one to sit around feeling sorry for myself; I’ve had a wonderful life surrounded by family. I have two amazing children: my son Michael and my daughter Sarah. They’ve blessed me with four beautiful grandchildren. Michael and his wife Tina have two lively little ones who keep everyone on their toes. Sarah lives out of state with her husband and their two kids, so I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like, but Michael’s family lives just a short drive away, so I see those grandkids regularly.

I love all my grandchildren deeply and have always been willing to help out. Whether it’s an emergency school pickup, a sudden fever, or work conflicts, I’ve been there—no complaints. When little Emma caught the flu last month, I stayed over for three days, making soup and reading her favorite stories. When two-year-old Jake was teething and miserable, I paced the halls with him for hours so Tina could rest. That’s just what grandmothers do, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. But recently, I carved out something special just for me: a monthly book club with friends from church and my neighborhood. We’re not there for tea and chit-chat. We pick thought-provoking books, dive into character development, debate endings, and laugh a lot when someone wildly misinterprets a plot twist. It’s become my sacred space. For three hours once a month, I get to be Martha the reader—not just grandma or caregiver.

Tina, however, didn’t seem to respect this at all. When I told her about the club, she smirked and said, “A book club? Really? That’s so cute, Martha. Like something out of a sitcom.” Her tone was dismissive, but I brushed it off—I wasn’t doing this for her approval. “We’re reading a brilliant mystery this month,” I told her. “It’s full of surprises.” She gave me a condescending grin and quickly steered the conversation to asking for help picking up Jake from daycare. Looking back, that was a red flag. Tina has always pushed boundaries, but I thought maybe she was just stressed as a new mom. Now I realize she didn’t see my book club as real—it was just a silly obstacle to her childcare plans. Then it happened. Just as our first official book club meeting was about to start after weeks of planning, Tina showed up at my door with both kids. It was a Thursday afternoon; I was setting out teacups and slicing a cake I baked, ready to welcome my friends. Before I could say hello, she was already unbuckling the car seats. “Hi, Martha!” she chirped. “Perfect timing!

Need you to watch Emma and Jake for a few hours.” “Tina, it’s book club day,” I reminded her. “I told you more than once.” “Oh right, your book thing,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll be quick—back before dinner!” And just like that, she was gone—no bag, no snacks, not even a note about nap times. Of course, I love my grandkids, but toddlers are toddlers. It’s impossible to discuss symbolism in a novel while Jake feeds applesauce to the ferns and Emma tears tissues into confetti. When my friends arrived, they found me trying to contain chaos. Emma had spread crayons all over the couch, and Jake was waving a spatula like a sword. “Maybe we should postpone,” Helen said, dodging a flying Lego. When Tina repeated this stunt a second time—again, with no warning—my book club friends had had enough. “Martha, you’ve got to put your foot down,” Dorothy said. “If you don’t, she’ll just keep doing this.” “She’s taking advantage of your kindness,” Helen added. “This isn’t fair to any of us.” They were absolutely right. Tina saw me as a convenient babysitter, not someone with her own life and plans. She was ignoring my time and commitments. That evening, I sat quietly, thinking it over. If she wanted to play the drop-off game, I’d teach her the rules—my way. The next time Tina showed up just before book club, I smiled sweetly and waited ten minutes after she left. Then I packed the kids into my car and drove straight to her yoga class downtown. I walked into the studio, Jake on my hip and Emma by the hand, and spotted her mid downward dog. “Tina, honey!” I called brightly. She turned, horrified. “Can you watch the kids for a bit? Won’t take long!” I said, copying her exact words. Before she could say no, I gently placed Jake by her mat and nudged Emma to sit nearby. “Thanks a million!” I smiled, and walked out. I kept doing this. Hair appointment? I showed up with the kids. Brunch with friends? Same thing. Each time I grinned and said, “Just a couple of hours—you don’t mind, right?” The third time, after I dropped the kids off at a café, she exploded. “You can’t just dump the kids on me without warning!” she fumed later. “I had plans! That was humiliating!” I crossed my arms and replied, “Oh? Plans? Like I had for my book group?” Her face turned red, but I stayed calm. “Tina, I’m happy to help, but you need to ask with respect and give me notice. Otherwise, I’ll keep doing exactly what you taught me—drop and go.” She wanted to argue but thought better of it. “Your move, dear,” I said with a smile. She said nothing more. Since then, my book club has been peaceful. I think the message finally got through.