I’ve always been the “cool grandma”—never slowing down, full of ideas. You’d find me at puppy yoga, skating with college kids, or learning Japanese to read my grandson’s T-shirt. Young friends thought I was fascinating, and weekly invites to pizza nights or surf contests kept me busy.
But my real pride? My grandson, Jason. No matter how packed my schedule, I made time for him. My daughter-in-law, Kelly, leaned on me daily for childcare and praised my cooking—and I never complained.
As Jason spent more time with me, Jack, my son, started sending extra money. Kelly grumbled—saying we were careless with cash—but I brushed it off. Then, at my 80th birthday picnic (with guests, balloons, ice cream), Jason got distracted, and I panicked—he’d run off playing “hide-and-seek” with Kelly’s prompt. Kelly seized the moment, declaring I was too old, hired a nanny, and plotted to push me aside.
Heartbroken, I quietly met the nanny, Nina, and paid her month’s salary to walk away. On my son’s departure for his honeymoon, Kelly sputtered—my plan worked. Summers of pies, museum trips, and Scooter Rodeo followed. When they returned, Jack saw it was always me—the one doing everything. He thanked me properly, and Jason and I finished a tub of rocky road ice cream, just us.