…look at houses. They’re planning to move there in the spring. And they listed you as the children’s legal guardian while they ‘get settled.'”
My son’s mother-in-law, Patricia, sent me the documents. A temporary guardianship form, with my name already filled in. A letter to the children’s school saying they’d be “transitioning to their grandmother’s care for an undetermined period.” The flights to Italy were one-way.
“They told me they were taking the children with them,” Patricia said. “I was helping them find a school in Florence.”
I sat in my kitchen and cried. Not because I didn’t love my grandchildren. Because I did, and they’d planned to leave them with me without asking, just as they’d done with everything else.
I called my son, Eric, and asked him to come over with his wife, Holly. I put the guardianship form on the table.
Holly said I was being dramatic. Eric didn’t say anything. Then I told them what my doctor had said about my heart and my stress levels. I told them I’d already said no to more babysitting and they’d ignored me.
“I love those children more than my own life,” I said. “But I’m their grandmother, not their parent. I won’t sign this.”
Patricia backed me up. She refused to help with the move. Without anyone to take the children, the trip fell apart.
They didn’t move to Italy. Holly went back to work part-time. They found a real childcare center. I now watch my grandchildren two afternoons a week, on my terms.
I booked a trip of my own: ten days in Italy with Patricia, of all people. We had a wonderful time. We sent the kids postcards from every city.
