Yesterday I Quit My Job—No Notice, No Formalities. I Just Set the Cake on the Table, Grabbed My Purs…

Yesterday, I quit my job.
No letter of resignation. No two-week notice.
I simply set the cake on the kitchen table, picked up my handbag, and walked out of my daughter’s house.

My boss was my own daughterElizabeth.
For years, I thought my salary was love.
But yesterday, it hit me: in the economy of our family, my love pales next to a brand new tablet.

My name is Margaret. Im 64.
On paper, Im a retired nurse living on a modest pension outside Oxford.
In reality, Im a chauffeur, cook, cleaner, tutor, counsellor, and the on-call paramedic for my two grandsons: Jacob (9) and Samuel (7).

I am, as they say, the village.
You know the phrase it takes a village to raise a child?
Nowadays, that village is usually one tired grandmother living on tea, paracetamol, and the odd digestive biscuit.

Elizabeth works in marketing.
Her husband, Phillip, is in finance.
Theyre good peopleor at least, so I kept reassuring myself.
Always exhausted, always rushing. Nursery is expensive. School is complicated. Clubs are a headache.

When Jacob was born, they looked to me like drowning people grabbing for a lifeline.
Mum, we cant afford a nanny, Elizabeth said, her eyes shiny with tears. And we dont trust anyone else. Only you.
I agreed.
Because I didnt want to be a burden.
So I became the backbone.

My day begins at 5:45.
I drive across town. Make porridgethe proper kind, since Samuel wont eat instant. Get the boys ready. Drop them at school. Then I go back, mop the floors I didnt dirty, clean the loo I never used. Back to school, off to clubsfootball, English lessons, homework.

Im the grandmother of rules.
The no grandmother.
The schedule keeper.
And then, theres Patricia.
Patricia is Phillips mum.
She lives in a new flat by Brighton seafront. Face-lifts, new cars, holidays abroad.
She sees her grandsons twice a year.
Patricia doesnt know Jacob has allergies.
Shes clueless about how to calm Samuel when he melts down over maths.
Shes never washed sick from a booster seat.
Patricia is the yes grandmother.

Yesterday was Jacobs ninth birthday.
Id been preparing for weeks. Moneys tight, but I wanted to give him something real. I spent three months knitting a heavy blanket, because he sleeps badly. I chose his favourite colours, poured in all I had.
And I baked a cakeproper, from scratch.

At 4:15, the doorbell rang.
Patricia swept in, all perfume, styled hair, armfuls of shopping bags.
Where are my darlings?
The boys ran past me just to reach her.
Grandma!

She plonked herself on the sofa and handed out branded gift bags.
I wasnt sure what you liked, so I bought the latest, she smiled.
Two gaming tablets. Top of the range.
No limits this time, she winked. Today, my rules!

The boys lost their heads. The cake was forgotten. So were the guests.
Elizabeth and Phillip beamed.
Mum, why do you go so over the top? Phillip said, pouring her a glass of wine. You spoil them.
I stood there, still holding the blanket.
Jacob Ive got a present for you, too and the cakes ready
He didnt look up.
Not now, Grandma. Im trying to beat this level.
But I made this all winter
He sighed.
Grandma, nobody wants blankets. Patricia gave us tablets. Why are you always so boring? You just bring food and clothes.

I turned to my daughter.
Waited for her to step in.
Elizabeth gave a nervous laugh.
Mum, dont take it to heart. Hes a kid. Of course the tablet is more exciting. Patricias the fun grandmother. Youre well youre the everyday one.

The everyday grandmother.
Like everyday dishes. Everyday traffic. Needed, but unnoticed.

I wish Patricia lived here, Samuel piped up. She doesnt make me do my homework.
Something inside me snapped.
I folded the blanket. Laid it on the table. Took off my apron.
Elizabeth. Im done.
What do you mean? Shall I cut the cake?
No. I mean, Im done.
I grabbed my bag.
Im not a gadget you switch off. Im your mother.
Mum, where are you going? she called. Ive got a big presentation tomorrow! Wholl get the boys?
I dont know, I replied. Maybe you could sell a tablet. Or let the fun grandmother move in.
Mum, we need you!
I paused.
Thats just it. You need me. But you dont see me.
And I walked out.

Today, I woke up at nine.
Made myself a cup of tea. Sat on the porch.
For the first time in years, my back didnt ache.

I love my grandsons.
But I wont live life as unpaid help masked as family.
Love doesnt mean erasing yourself.
And grandmothers arent a resource.
If you want an everyday grandmother, then respect the routine.

For now
I think Ill sign up for dance classes.
They say thats what fun grandmothers do.