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 realized something had to change. What I did next taught her a lasting lesson about respect. These days, I live alone in the home where I raised my kids, and I’ve made it a point to stay active.

After 42 years of marriage, losing my husband three years ago left a gap in my routine I’m still learning to fill. But I’ve lived a full life with my family and don’t like to dwell on sadness. I have two wonderful children—my son Michael and my daughter Sarah. They’ve given me four beautiful grandchildren. Michael and his wife Tina have two energetic little ones, while Sarah lives out of state with her husband and their two kids, so I don’t get to visit them as often as I’d like. Michael’s family lives just a short drive away, so I see those grandkids quite regularly. I love all my grandchildren deeply and have always been happy to lend a hand. Emergency school pickups, sudden fevers, work conflicts—I’ve always stepped in without complaint. When little Emma caught the flu last month, I stayed over for three days, making soup and reading her favorite books. When two-year-old Jake was teething and miserable, I paced the halls with him for hours so Tina could rest.

That’s what grandmothers do, and I wouldn’t change it. But recently, I carved out something just for me: a monthly book club with friends from church and the neighborhood. We’re not there for tea and idle chatter. We pick thought-provoking books, dig into character development, debate endings, and laugh a lot when someone totally misreads 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 even pretend to respect it. “A book club? Really?” she said with a smirk when I told her. “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 actually reading a brilliant mystery this month,” I said. “It’s full of surprises.” She gave me a condescending grin and quickly steered the conversation toward needing help picking Jake up from daycare. Looking back, that was a red flag. Tina had always pushed limits, but I assumed it was just new-mom stress. Now I see she didn’t take my book club seriously—just saw it as a silly obstacle to her childcare plans.

Then it happened. Just as we kicked off our first official book club meeting after weeks of planning, Tina showed up at my door with both kids. It was a Thursday. I was setting out teacups and cutting a cake I’d baked. The ladies were due soon when I heard her car pull up. Before I even greeted her, 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 adore my grandkids, but they’re toddlers. And it’s impossible to discuss symbolism in a novel while Jake’s feeding applesauce to your ferns and Emma is tearing tissues like confetti. When my friends arrived, they found me scrambling to contain the chaos. Emma had spread crayons all over the couch, and Jake was wielding a spatula like a sword.

“Maybe we should postpone,” Helen said as she dodged a flying Lego. When Tina did the same thing a second time—again without 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 as someone with her own plans. She was ignoring my time and commitments. That evening, I sat quietly and thought it through. 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 greeted her sweetly, waited ten minutes after she left, then packed the kids into my car. I drove straight to her yoga class downtown. I stepped into the studio, Jake on my hip and Emma by the hand, and spotted her in downward dog. “Tina, honey!” I called cheerfully. She turned mid-pose, horrified. “Can you watch the kids for a bit? Won’t take long!” I said, mimicking her exact words. Before she could argue, I gently placed Jake by her mat and nudged Emma to sit nearby. “Thanks a million!” I smiled and walked out. And I kept doing it. Hair appointment? I arrived, kids in tow. Brunch with friends? I dropped by with diapers. Each time, I smiled and said, “Just a couple of hours—you don’t mind, right?” The third time, after I left the kids with her 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 did for my book group?” Her face flushed with anger, but I stayed calm. “Tina, I’m happy to help. But you need to ask with respect and give me notice. Otherwise, I’ll just keep doing exactly what you taught me—drop and go.” She opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. “Your move, dear,” I said with a smile. She didn’t say a word. But ever since, book club has been peaceful. I think the message finally got through.