My husband, Miles, thought paying my mom to babysit our two kids was a waste of money. “She should be grateful just to spend time with her grandkids,” he scoffed. But when he fired her to “save money,” I decided to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
The Beginning of the Problem
Money reveals a person’s true nature, and Miles unknowingly showed me his when he fired my mom. He didn’t just hurt her—he shattered my trust in him. But sometimes, the best way to teach someone value is by making them experience loss firsthand.
It all started one evening after dinner.
“We need another baby,” Miles said, his eyes twinkling as he loaded the dishwasher. “Just imagine Evie with a little sister or brother. Don’t you want that for her?”
I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “Evie is perfect just as she is. I don’t know if I can handle another baby.”
“Come on, Jenny.” He wiped his hands and hugged me from behind. “I always dreamed of having a big family. I was so lonely as an only child. Please?”
“You say that now, but—”
“I promise, I’ll help. Every diaper change, every late-night feeding—I’ll be there. Trust me.”
“Like you were last night when Evie had a fever?”
His face fell. “That was different. I had a quarterly report due.”
“There’s always something, Miles.”
“This time will be different,” he said, holding me close. “We’re in this together.”
I should’ve known better.
The Reality of Parenthood
Nine months later, Amber was born—pink-cheeked, adorable, and completely sleepless. Miles’s promises disappeared like steam from a morning coffee.
“I have an early meeting,” he’d mumble at 3 a.m. while Amber cried.
“Big presentation tomorrow,” he’d say while I juggled a wailing baby and a clingy toddler.
“Mommy, up!” Evie would beg, but I only had two hands.
My mom, Wendy, saw me struggling and started stopping by after her nursing shifts.
“Jennifer, honey, let me help,” she said one day as I tried to feed Amber with Evie tugging at my shirt. “I could take early retirement and watch the girls.”
“Mom, I can’t ask you to give up your job.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” she said, scooping Evie into her arms. “Besides, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“We’ll pay you,” I insisted.
“Three thousand a month would work,” she said. “Less than daycare, and I’ll cook and clean too.”
When I brought it up to Miles, his reaction was immediate.
“Three grand? Just to watch her own grandkids?”
“She’s giving up her career for us.”
“It’s called retirement, Jenny. People do it all the time.”
The complaints started small but grew, like weeds creeping into our home.
“Must be nice getting paid to play all day,” Miles muttered when Mom wasn’t looking.
“The house could be cleaner for what we’re paying,” he grumbled, even though it was spotless.
The Breaking Point
One day at work, I heard a conversation I wasn’t supposed to. Miles hadn’t hung up the phone properly, and I overheard him talking to someone.
“Three grand a month for what? She should be grateful we’re letting her spend time with her grandkids.”
I froze, my blood turning to ice.
“We appreciate everything, Wendy,” Miles continued, his voice cold. “But we’ve decided to move on.”
Mom’s voice wavered. “Move on?”
“Daycare is a more cost-effective solution.”
Silence. Then, softly, “If that’s what you both want.”
“It is,” Miles said, far too quickly.
My heart pounded. I called Mom, but she didn’t answer. When I got home, she was gone, and Miles was smug.
“Where is she?” I demanded.
“Jenny, it’s for the best. We’ll save money.”
I laughed bitterly. “Let’s see how much we save.”
The Fallout
Mom refused to return. “I found a job,” she told me the next day. “The Andersons needed a nanny for their twins. They appreciate me—and they’re paying $4,300 a month.”
The next weeks were chaos. Daycare cost more than Mom’s pay, and the kids were constantly sick. No more home-cooked meals, no flexible pickups, no Grandma’s love.
“Another ear infection?” Miles groaned. “That’s the third this month!”
“Daycare germs,” I said, rocking Amber as Evie whined.
“One of us has to stay home,” Miles sighed. “I have a big meeting.”
“Of course you do.”
The final straw? A late pickup fee of $75.
“This is robbery!” Miles exploded.
Meanwhile, I ran into Mom at the store. She looked happier than ever.
“The Andersons are wonderful,” she said. “They even thanked me for making dinner.”
That night, I made a suggestion.
“Maybe we should call Mom?”
“Fine,” Miles grumbled. “Same pay.”
I smiled. “She makes $4,300 now. And they appreciate her.”
His face turned red. “That’s ridiculous!”
“No, that’s value.”
The Lesson
“I have a business trip next week,” I announced. “You’ll be home with the kids.”
“What? I can’t—”
“It’s just watching kids. How hard could it be?”
By Day 2, his texts rolled in:
“How do you get Amber to eat her veggies?”
“Evie won’t stop crying about her pink cup.”
“I haven’t slept.”
“PLEASE COME BACK.”
I turned off my phone and ordered another massage.
When I returned, the house was a disaster. Miles looked hollow-eyed.
“Your mother,” he croaked, “is a saint.”
“Oh?”
“I was wrong. So wrong. I’ll apologize. We’ll pay her whatever she wants.”
“That’s up to her.”
At coffee that Sunday, Miles was humbled.
“Wendy, I was wrong. The way I treated you—there’s no excuse.”
Mom stirred her coffee. “No, there isn’t.”
“Please come back. I understand now. I respect what you do. And I’ll prove it.”
She considered. “I’ll need a contract. Sick days. Vacation. Respect.”
“Done.”
As they worked out the details, I smiled. Some lessons can’t be taught with words. Some need to be lived. And Miles? He finally understood the true value of what he had taken for granted.
