My Husband and His Sister Made a Shocking Decision About Me and Her Kids
My Husband and His Sister Decided I Should Babysit Her Kids for Free While They Went on Vacation
I immediately accepted Mandy’s request to watch her children for a few hours. But within a few hours, I received a startling phone call informing me that my husband and his sister were already on their way to Mexico. No conversation. Not a warning. Two children, me, and a week-long treachery that I never consented to.
Around noon, a text message was sent. My phone rang as I was looking at some data on one of my spreadsheets. I stopped everything when my SIL’s name appeared with a message.
“Hey! An emergency. Are you able to pick up the children from school today? Until I get anything done. I’m grateful.
An emergency?
My stomach dropped, and I instantly started thinking about the worst-case scenarios: was one of the children ill? Had she been harmed?
I texted back right away. “Obviously! Is everything alright?
She responded quickly. “Just overloaded, yes. You’ve saved my life!”
I felt a wave of relief. Simply busy. Nothing significant.
Mandy’s two children, Jake, a hyperactive three-year-old, and Ellie, six, were adorable.
Sure, a pain, but sweet. I spent my afternoon working from home. After dinner, picking them up, getting some snacks, and waiting for Mandy to drop by? Not a huge deal.
I even thought it may be enjoyable, and initially it was. After settling the kids on the couch with their food and a cute Ghibli film, I wrapped up my work for the day.
The party was over by 7 p.m.
Jake was in the midst of what could only be characterized as a full-blown toddler meltdown, while Ellie was stretched out on the floor of the living room, coloring with a level of intensity that made me uneasy.
His little hands drummed on the ground. His fat cheeks were smeared with tears as he screamed, “I WANT THE BLUE CRAYON!”
The blue crayon was absent.
In any case, he had snapped it in thirty minutes prior.
I rubbed my temples and moaned. “It’s just a crayon, Jake, buddy. We have different hues.
He screamed, “NOOOOO!” and threw himself upon the carpet like a helpless Victorian kid. “I want the blue one!”
“Just give him the broken one,” Ellie mumbled, not raising her gaze. He is indifferent.
I glanced at her. “That’s not how tantrums work.”
Mandy, in the meantime? Radio silence.
Don’t text. No phone calls. Nothing.
I tried not to panic. Perhaps she had been enmeshed in whatever “emergency” had initially prompted her to ask me to pick up the children.
It’s possible that her phone died or that she lost track of time.
I wasn’t so sure by 8 p.m. With my phone tightly gripped in my palm, I paced the kitchen while gazing at the unanswered texts.
Me: Hello! I wanted to check in. Children are growing drowsy.
Me thirty minutes later: Hello, will you be here soon?
Nothing.
At last, I gave my husband, Ryan, a call.
Before I could say hello, he picked up on the third ring, and I heard the familiar sound of airport announcements booming in the background.
“Why are you at the airport, Ryan? Don’t worry, you can tell me afterwards. Has Mandy gotten back to you? She isn’t responding to my texts after asking me to pick up the kids earlier.
Ryan said, “Oh, hey,” as if I had just seen him at the grocery store getting milk. Indeed, so regarding that. I’m with Mandy. Our flight is about to take off.
“Pardon me? “Your flight?” I answered.
Yes, we are going to Mexico! Mandy truly needs a vacation, you know. We will return in a week. Thank you for keeping an eye on the children! You’re great. I adore you.
Then he abruptly hung up.
My jaw dropped open in shock as I stood there with the phone still held to my ear.
a week.
Not a couple of hours. An entire week! I wasn’t even asked. I wasn’t even informed!
When would they have informed me that they had tricked me into watching Mandy’s children if I hadn’t called? From Cancun, would they have mailed me a postcard? Or perhaps they posted a picture of them outside a Cozumel hotel on social media and tagged me?
The insolence of their behavior struck me hard, and I fell into a chair. Without informing me, they actually planned the vacation, packed their luggage, and departed the nation.
Ellie looked up from her sketchbook. “Where’s Mommy?”
“She’s… gone away for a few days with Uncle Ryan,” I said. “You two will be staying with me until she comes home.”
Ellie furrowed her brow. “But she didn’t say good-bye…”
Jake took a whiff. “I’d like Mommy.” I’m eager to return home.
Then he started crying in the most devastating, rage-filled way.
He thrashed at me with his tiny hands, so I groaned, lifted him up, and put him down again right away.
We all sat in the living room for a while, feeling sorry for ourselves, until Ellie began weeping as well.
The days that followed were chaotic.
Although Ellie and Jake were wonderful children, they were still children and were just as taken aback by this circumstance as I was.
Full-time, unpaid, and without notice daycare while working a job? Not precisely the job of a dreams.
The toughest times were in the morning. It was like trying to herd coffee-fueled squirrels to get Ellie and Jake out the door for school.
Every morning, when I strapped Jake into his car seat, he resisted me like I was fastening him into a medieval torture device, kicking, screaming, and twisting.
Ellie, however, insisted on going to school in her princess dress covered in glitter.
When I rejected her? So dramatic was the meltdown that I thought it would win an Oscar.
The noise was constant at home.
Disputes between siblings over who won the blue cup. Who touched whose toy is the subject of screaming battles. I once saw Jake attempting to flush Ellie’s Barbie down the toilet as she screamed, “YOU’RE A VILLAIN!” and leaped into the hallway.
And the mess! The cereal fell to the ground like confetti. Handprints are sticky everywhere. Inexplicably, a couch cushion is gone.
The clothes? It was engulfing me. It taunted me every time I passed it, heaped like a mountain range, overflowing out of baskets.
Mandy and Ryan, meantime, were showing off their best lives on the internet.
Their Instagram feed was a never-ending luxury highlight reel.
Ryan, smiling at the camera while holding a dish of fine dining, or Mandy, relaxing by the pool, sipping a drink. Every time I opened the app, I was made fun of by trendy pictures of spa days, beach selfies, and margaritas.
What about the captions? Those irritated my already exposed sores.
“Finally relaxing! ☀️🍹”
“Much-needed escape! 😍🌴”
“Zero stress!!!”
It must be pleasant to have no stress.
My resentment grew with each subsequent post. On the second day, I lost it.
I was barely hanging on at lunchtime when I thought of my strategy.
Screaming at the top of his lungs, Jake was in his high chair, launching mac and cheese across the room like a little angry catapult. Ellie was at the table, her face contorted in rage as she screamed out at him.
“STOP THROWING FOOD!” My voice cracked as I yelled.
In response, Jake grabbed a handful of macaroni and threw it directly at me.
Noodles adhered to me like sloppy painting, and cheese sauce spilled on my sweatshirt as I gazed down at myself.
It was a disaster in the kitchen. Plates fell on the ground. Juice spills collecting on the counter. There are crumbs all over.
Then something cracked inside of me.
I thought, “I can’t do this,” as I stood there feeling sticky, worn out, and with my ears ringing from the loudness.
And then I had an idea. A lovely, petty thought.
I grabbed my phone and pressed the record button.
When Ryan and Mandy FaceTimed me from the beach on the fourth day, they were enraged.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Ryan shouted. “REMOVE IT! “NOW!”
Mandy was on the verge of tears. “Really! Everybody is leaving comments on our posts! I’m being called a bad mother! Make it right! “Delete it immediately!”
I grinned and inhaled deeply.
Following the mac and cheese episode, I had captured every dreadful moment of my spontaneous babysitting. After that, I turned it into a montage with stories about Ryan and Mandy’s vacations woven throughout.
Then, exclusively for friends and family, I shared it on my private Instagram with the following caption: When your husband and his sister go abroad and don’t remember to mention that you’re now her free babysitter. It was the worst surprise ever.
It blew up.
Comments were flooding in:
“Wait—they abandoned YOU and the children? For a week? “Without asking?”
“Why didn’t they hire a sitter?”
“Why are they vacationing without you?”
And now, friends and family who had watched the video were criticizing Ryan and Mandy on their Facebook.
“Oh, you mean the video?” “I said.” “No issue. As soon as you arrange for a flight home to relieve me, I’ll take it down. Otherwise, I’m only beginning.”
They sputtered and stammered, then hung up. Now they were forced to return home early.
Upon their arrival, I packed my belongings, gave Mandy her children, and moved out to live with a friend.
Ryan attempted to turn around. “Come on, sweetheart. It was only a miscommunication.
I struck the last blow. “No. A misunderstanding is when someone forgets to fetch milk. This? This betrayal occurred.
Is the video still available? The comments are still coming in. Me? With no unexpected babysitting shifts in sight, I’m sleeping better than I have in years.
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