My sister Daphna kept dropping her kids on me before dawn without asking, assuming I’d always be available because I’m single. At first, I helped “occasionally,” but within weeks, my mornings became chaos—Zoom calls interrupted by screaming toddlers, yogurt on my laptop, markers on my walls. My work suffered, my apartment was a mess, and Daphna acted like she was doing me a favor.
I tried setting boundaries, but she ignored them. One morning, after yet another unannounced drop-off, I decided enough was enough. I calculated every cost and lost income over the past three months—groceries, rides, laptop repairs—and created a professional invoice for her, posting it on the fridge. I also marked the next month’s mornings as booked at $50 per session.
When she returned from a weekend getaway and saw it, she was furious. And to drive the point home, I let the boys “decorate” her SUV with crayons, adding that cost to the invoice.
Family helps family—but it isn’t free labor. Setting limits doesn’t make you mean. It makes you respected. After months of being taken for granted, I finally made that clear—and I don’t regret a single thing.