When my daughter-in-law asked me to babysit my grandson for the weekend, I thought I was in for hugs, crumbs on the floor, and maybe a sweet thank-you text. What I didn’t expect was to find a handwritten bill on the kitchen counter — a bill for things I had used while babysitting! I was shocked. And yes, I got mad. But instead of yelling, I came up with the perfect revenge.
It all started with a text from Brittany, my daughter-in-law. I was outside refilling the hummingbird feeder when my phone buzzed. My hands were sticky with sugar water as I picked it up.
“Hey, would you mind staying with Noah for the weekend? Ethan has a work retreat and I have a spa trip planned with my sister.”
Honestly, I was a little surprised.
Brittany and I had never really gotten along. Since Noah was born, she’d been talking a lot about “setting boundaries” and how she didn’t want “over-involved grandparents.” Her idea of boundaries reminded me of the Berlin Wall — cold, serious, and meant to keep people out.
Still, I didn’t hesitate. I adore my grandson. His sticky fingers, the way he says “Grahma” with a squeal — he lights up my world.
“Of course,” I texted back.
“Everything you need will be ready. Just relax and enjoy time with him!” she replied.
I smiled and started planning. I thought about what kind of cookies we could bake — Noah loved using sprinkles, even if most of them ended up on the floor instead of the cookies.
But when I arrived Friday afternoon, it looked like a toddler tornado had hit the house.
Toys were everywhere — the living room floor was a maze of plastic trucks, blocks, and stuffed animals. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and a greasy frying pan sat in cold, smelly water on the stove.
“Grahma!” Noah screamed happily, running toward me with open arms. His diaper was sagging and lopsided, but the second he kissed my cheek, all my annoyance disappeared.
“Hey, Abby! Thanks so much for coming,” Brittany said as she came down the hall, wheeling her suitcase behind her. “There’s food in the fridge, Noah’s stuff is in his room, and… well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
She leaned down to kiss Noah, then turned to leave.
“Be good for Grandma, sweetie! Mommy will be back soon.”
“Mommy go bye-bye?” Noah asked, his big blue eyes looking up at me.
“She’s going on a trip, honey. But we get a special weekend together!” I smiled.
He nodded, then wiggled out of my arms and started showing me his toy car.
While he played, I walked into the kitchen to make some coffee — and that’s when I saw what “everything you need” really meant.
There were barely any groceries. Just half a carton of eggs, no bread, and not one full meal. I sniffed the milk. Barely passable.
“What on earth…” I muttered.
And the house? It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned all week.
Then I noticed Noah’s diaper again. It was really sagging now. I brought him to his room to change him — and nearly gasped out loud.
Only five diapers left. Five. And not a single baby wipe.
That’s when my frustration turned into real anger.
But instead of blowing up, I stayed calm. I gave Noah a toy to hold and told him, “Wait right here, buddy.”
Then I rushed to the bathroom, grabbed a purple washcloth (I’m sure it was Brittany’s), and used it instead of wipes.
“Looks like we’ll need to do some laundry,” I told Noah as I cleaned him up. “But first, we’re going to the store!”
“Store!” he shouted, already excited.
I grabbed my purse, buckled him into his car seat, and off we went.
Sixty-eight dollars later, I had diapers, wipes, snacks, groceries, and a soft little stuffed elephant that Noah hugged so tight I couldn’t say no.
When we got back and unpacked everything, Noah looked at me with a big smile.
“We make cookies?”
“Tomorrow, sweetheart. First, dinner. Then we clean up this place.”
And that weekend? It turned into magic.
We went to the park, where the wind made our cheeks pink and Noah giggled like crazy every time I pushed him on the swing.
“Higher, Grahma!”
“Not too high,” I said — and gave him a big push anyway, just for fun.
We baked sugar cookies, and I let him crack the eggs. He completely missed the bowl and egg yolk spilled everywhere.
“Oopsie,” he said, eyes wide.
“That’s why we bought extras,” I told him with a wink. “Try again, sweetheart. Practice makes perfect.”
We watched Finding Nemo under a blanket, and he mouthed the words to every line he remembered.
Every night, I tucked him into bed with a kiss, a story, and a smile. Then, while he slept, I did the dishes. I cleaned the kitchen. I folded laundry.
My back ached, but my heart was happy. Noah deserved a calm, clean space. I even made a casserole for Brittany so she’d have a ready dinner when she got back.
By Sunday night, after three bedtime stories and five kisses, I collapsed onto the couch. My feet were sore, but I was glowing with love.
Then Monday morning came. I was standing in the kitchen when I noticed a folded piece of paper under a mug.
It had my name on it. Pink pen. Loopy handwriting.
I smiled, thinking it might be a thank-you note.
But when I unfolded it, my jaw dropped.
It was a bill. Yes, a bill — with an itemized list of things I had used during my stay:
- Eggs: $8
- Water (3 bottles): $3
- Electricity: $12
- Toilet paper: $3
- Laundry detergent: $5
- Toothpaste: $4
TOTAL: $40
At the bottom, in bubbly handwriting:
“Please Venmo by Friday. Thanks!! ❤️”
I stared. Then I laughed. Then I got furious.
Right then, the front door opened.
“Abby? I’m home,” Brittany called out.
I could’ve confronted her right there. But I knew I was too angry — I’d say something I’d regret. So instead, I crushed the note in my hand and forced a smile.
“Hi, Brittany. Didn’t expect you back so early.”
She shrugged.
“How was everything?”
“Wonderful,” I said honestly. “Noah’s a joy.”
“Thanks for helping out,” she said, barely glancing up from her phone. “Ethan should be home around noon.”
I kissed Noah goodbye, gathered my things, and drove home.
But by the time I walked through my front door, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
I sat down at my laptop and started typing. All those years of parenting — every meal, every drive, every night up with a sick kid — it all poured out.
I created a professional invoice. Fancy header and everything.
Grandmother Services — Est. 1993
Raising One Fine Husband for You Since Day One
SERVICES RENDERED:
- 19,710 meals: $98,550
- 18 years of laundry: $14,040
- 12 years of medical co-pays: $3,600
- 9,000 miles of driving: $5,220
- Breakup counseling: $1,125
- Tutoring & advice: $15,000
- Emotional support: $65,700
Subtotal: $203,235
Family Discount: -$203,195
TOTAL DUE: $40
At the bottom, I added:
“Please deduct your original ‘invoice’ from this amount. ❤️ Thanks for understanding!!”
I printed it on thick linen paper, slid it into a gold envelope like it was a wedding invite, and dropped it in their mailbox the next morning.
An hour later, my phone rang.
“Mom?” It was Ethan. His voice was shaking, like he was holding in laughter.
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Brittany’s upset. She said you’re mocking her. She showed me the invoice.”
I waited.
Then he added softly,
“I told her she deserved it. I had no idea she actually left you a bill.”
I felt relief.
“I’m sorry if it caused trouble between you two,” I said.
“Don’t be. We’ve had… talks about family roles. This kind of forced the conversation. But Mom?”
“Yes?”
“That was some invoice. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I chuckled.
“I raised you, didn’t I? I know how to hold my ground.”
A week passed. I moved on with life. Then one day, I was in the garden, elbows deep in dirt, when my phone buzzed.
It was a Venmo alert.
$40 from Brittany.
Caption:
To settle my debt. Please don’t charge me interest 😂
I laughed so hard the neighbor’s cat jumped off the fence.
Later that night, I donated the $40 to the local children’s hospital in Noah’s name.
Because real grandmas don’t get even with petty.
They get even with grace, glitter, and a perfectly organized spreadsheet.
