When my brother asked me to watch his two teenage sons for two weeks, I expected noise, mess, and maybe a few late nights. What I didn’t expect was two entitled little princes who treated my home — and my son — like they were beneath them.
From the minute Tyler and Jaden strutted in with their designer luggage and smug smirks, I knew I was in for it. They scoffed at my cooking, mocked my furniture, and sneered at my son’s gaming laptop like it was a relic from a museum.
My 14-year-old, Adrian, tried hard to connect with them. He offered cookies, games, and patience that would’ve made a saint proud. But his cousins only responded with ridicule. Every kindness he showed, they turned into a punchline.
Dinner the first night set the tone. I served spaghetti bolognese — simple, homemade, hearty. Tyler wrinkled his nose like I’d served roadkill. “Is this from a can?” he asked. Jaden chimed in, “Our chef does a garlic confit sauce.”
Their chef. Of course.
I laughed it off, trying to keep peace, but inside, my patience was cracking. They mocked my food, my TV, even my refrigerator because it didn’t respond to voice commands. And every time I asked for help — dishes, setting the table, cleaning up — they acted like I’d asked them to scrub a castle floor with a toothbrush.
Two weeks, I kept telling myself. Just two weeks.
But the breaking point came on the final day, when I loaded them into the car to take them to the airport.
“Seatbelts, please,” I said, glancing in the mirror.
Tyler smirked. “We don’t wear them. Dad doesn’t care.”
“Well, I do,” I said. “No belts, no ride.”
They rolled their eyes. “You’re not serious,” Jaden sneered.
Oh, I was.
They thought they could wait me out. I turned off the ignition, stepped out of the car, and leaned against the hood. “Then I guess you’re not going anywhere.”
Forty-five minutes of whining, eye-rolling, and sulking later, they finally buckled up — but by then, it was too late. Traffic had built up. By the time we got to the airport, their flight had already closed boarding.
The looks on their faces when they realized they’d missed it? Priceless.
Minutes later, my brother called, his voice already raised. “You made them miss their flight! You should’ve just driven!”
That’s when I dropped the truth like a hammer.
“Oh, so I should’ve broken the law because your kids think safety rules don’t apply to them? Maybe if you taught them some basic respect, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Click. Call ended.
The next morning, Adrian showed me a text from Tyler: “Your mom’s insane.”
I smiled. “No, honey. I’m just done raising someone else’s spoiled kids.”
And I don’t regret a single thing.
Those boys learned something they weren’t getting at home — that entitlement has limits, and the real world doesn’t care about your family’s bank account.
They missed a flight. I gained peace of mind.
Sometimes, that’s what it takes to teach a little humility.
