I don’t entertain people who confuse kindness with availability. So when my sister turned me into her unpaid childcare service, I knew it was time to draw a line.
I work from home. I’m single. Apparently, that meant my time belonged to my sister, Daphna. After her divorce, she started dropping my nephews at my door before sunrise—no texts, no warning, just “You’re a lifesaver!” as she drove away.
What started as “occasional help” became every single weekday. I rearranged meetings, bought groceries, cleaned yogurt off my keyboard, and lost a major client thanks to a toddler meltdown. My house turned into a daycare. My job and social life suffered. And somehow, she acted like she was doing me a favor.
When I finally told her it had to stop, she brushed it off. “Family helps family,” she said. Translation: my time didn’t matter.
The final straw came when she dumped the boys on me for an entire weekend getaway without even asking. That morning, instead of arguing, I did something different.
I calculated everything—food, damage, lost income—and made a clean, professional invoice. Then I posted a calendar labeled: “Booked. $50 per morning. Prepayment required.”
That night, she came home furious.
I stayed calm. “I didn’t change anything,” I told her. “You already made this transactional. I just clarified the terms.”
She stormed out screaming—only to find her white SUV decorated in washable crayon art by her kids.
I smiled.
Family helps family—but family also respects boundaries. And mine are no longer negotiable.