You know that feeling when you agree to something and your gut immediately starts screaming at you? That’s exactly what happened when my brother called with his “little favor.”

“Hey, sis,” he said, voice dripping with that tone he used when he wanted something.

Fresh off his latest promotion, he was riding high on success and apparently thought the world owed him a break.

“Could Tyler and Jaden stay with you for two weeks? Amy and I are going on a well-earned luxury break for three weeks.”
“We really need this vacation,” he added. “And it will just be for two weeks. Amy’s mom already agreed to take the boys for the last week. You’re so amazing with kids and it will be good for our kids to spend more time together.”

I should’ve listened to that twist in my stomach. Should’ve heard the warning bells.

But family is family, right?

Two days later, they showed up at my door.

Picture this: two teenagers dragging designer luggage like they were checking into the Four Seasons, sunglasses perched on their heads.

I hadn’t seen my nephews for a while, and boy, had they changed. They radiated the kind of practiced disdain that made me feel like I’d agreed to house royalty in a hovel.

Tyler, 13, seemed to have mastered the art of superiority, while 15-year-old Jaden had an attitude that could cut glass.

My son Adrian, bless his heart, bounced over with that nervous smile he gets when he’s trying too hard.

“Hey guys! Want some snacks? Mom made cookies yesterday.”

Tyler curled his lip and sniffed the air like he was expecting catered hors d’oeuvres instead of my modest, homemade chocolate chip cookies.

“This place smells like… spaghetti?” he said, voice thick with disgust.

I was cooking dinner. You know, that thing normal people do to feed their families.

“That’s because I’m making spaghetti,” I said, forcing a smile. “Hope you guys are hungry.”

The dinner that followed should’ve been my first real clue about what I was in for. I served spaghetti bolognese, thinking it was safe territory. Warm, familiar, the kind of meal that brings families together.

Instead, I got a performance worthy of Broadway.

Tyler poked at the sauce like it might attack him. “Ew, is this, like… meat from a can?”

Jaden, not to be outdone, chimed in with his nose in the air: “Our chef does a garlic confit blend at home.”

Their chef. Of course, they had a chef.

I swallowed my pride along with my annoyance, trying to laugh it off. “Well, our chef — that’s me — does her best on a teacher’s budget.”

But they weren’t done. Oh no, they were just getting started.

Adrian, sweet kid that he is, tried to bridge the gap. He brought out his gaming laptop, eager to share something fun.

“Want to play something together? I’ve got some cool games.”

Jaden’s response was a cackle that could’ve shattered windows. “What is this? Windows 98?”

Tyler piled on: “Can it even run Fortnite, or just Solitaire?”

And that’s when I realized this wasn’t going to be about different standards or adjusting to a new place.

This was about my nephews treating my home like a prison sentence and my son like he was beneath them.

The complaints kept coming.

The guest beds were too soft compared to their adjustable spine-shaping mattresses at home.

My fridge was apparently ancient because it had buttons instead of voice commands.

They sneered at my 55-inch TV like it was a black-and-white relic.

But the worst part?

Watching Adrian try so hard to be kind while they mocked everything he offered.

“Why don’t we play outside?” he’d suggest, and they’d roll their eyes.

“Want to see my Lego collection?” he’d ask, and they’d exchange looks like he’d suggested touring a garbage dump.

Every day was the same.

They’d eat their food like I dug it out of a dumpster and acted like basic chores were beneath them, like helping with dishes might actually cause their hands to fall off.

And through it all, I bit my tongue.

I reminded myself over and over: It’s just two weeks. You can survive for two weeks.

But patience isn’t infinite, and mine was wearing thin.

I counted down the days. My brother had already booked their flight to visit their grandparents. All I had to do was drop them off at the airport, and I’d be free.

The finish line was in sight.