I’m 17 and counting down the days until college—not because I hate home, but because I’ve been the default babysitter for my sister’s kids for years.
My sister Rachel and husband Matt (who always “fixes things” in the garage) dump their whirlwind kids, Noah (5) and Allan (3), on me for full weeks. It’s never asked—it’s expected. My mom cheers them on whenever I protest, insisting I don’t understand what being a mom is like, even though I’m juggling summer classes and a coffee-shop job.
This summer, after high school graduation, Dad suggested a Disneyland trip just for me—with Mom, as a proper celebration. I felt seen.
But on the way to the airport, they surprise me: Rachel, Matt, and the kids are tagging along. Supposedly I wouldn’t mind helping out—“don’t be selfish,” Mom said—and I snapped.
At security, I mysteriously “lost” my passport. Without it, I couldn’t board. So I stayed. For once, I had the house to myself: late breakfasts, long showers, books, music. Pure bliss.
Meanwhile, Rachel’s Instagram overflowed with memes—“Disney is magical but so hard” and “Some people ruined our trip.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
Dad called me later: he had figured it out. He said he’d have backed me up—next time just give him a heads-up.
That evening, Rachel came to grab a suitcase and sneered, “Thanks for nothing.” I smiled: “Anytime.”
I’m heading to college soon, and while family expectations won’t vanish overnight, I finally stood up for myself—and made my own magic.