My daughter and her husband left me with the grandkids for the entire school holiday. And here I am, on my pension, expected to feed and entertain them.
Modern children and grandchildrenwhat selfish creatures theyve become! They demand attention, care, time, and in return, they offer nothing but indifference and complaints. What is this entitled attitude toward the elderly? As if we seniors have no lives, no desires of our ownjust sit with the grandchildren like hired help. The moment I ask for assistance? Suddenly, everyones too busy, as if Im a stranger.
My daughter, Emily, has two boysGeorge, twelve, and Oliver, four. I live in a quiet village near York, and all I have is my modest pension and the peace I treasure. I dont know how Emily and her husband, James, are raising them or what goes on at school, but those boys are downright lazy. They dont tidy up after themselvesnot even their beds. Its like a tornados blown through. And food? They turn their noses up at my cooking, demanding junk instead. Absolute punishment!
When the boys were little, I helped Emily tirelesslybabysitting, running errands, doing everything. But Ive been retired five years now, and Id hoped to step back from being the eternal nanny. This autumn, I checked the calendar and breathed a sigh of reliefno half-term break in early November. I thought, *Good, no surprise visits from Emily and James*. How wrong I was.
Last Sunday, just before October half-term, the doorbell rang. I opened itEmily, standing there with the boys. Before I could even say hello, she blurted:
“Mum, hi! Take the kidshalf-term started!”
I froze.
“Emily, why didnt you warn me? Whats this sudden nonsense?”
“If I warned you, youd make a hundred excuses not to take them!” she snapped, yanking coats off the boys. “James and I are off to a spa breakIm exhausted!”
“Waitwork? Theres no extra holiday this year!” My heart pounded.
“We used leave days; James took unpaid time. Mum, no time to explainwere late!” With that, she pecked my cheek and bolted, leaving me with two suitcases and the boys.
Within minutes, the house was chaos. The telly blared, jackets and trainers littered the hallway, and the boys stampeded like wild horses. I tried to rein them in*at least hang up your coats!*but they ignored me like I was furniture. They scowled at my stew, declaring, “Mum promised us takeaway!” Thats when I snapped.
I grabbed the phone and called Emily:
“Your children want takeaway! Im not buying that rubbish!”
“Already ordered delivery,” she dismissed, irritated. “Mum, they wont eat your stodgy foodit always causes rows. Take them out somewhere, treat them properly! You complain they wear you out at home!”
“And with what money? My pension?” My face burned.
“What else do you spend it on? Theyre your grandkids, not strangers! I cant believe youd say that!” She hung up.
That was it. Alone with this nightmare. My whole life, I slaved for my only daughterworked two jobs, saved every pennyand this is my thanks in old age? Shaking with hurt, with helplessness, with the sheer unfairness of it.
I love my grandboys, dearly. But they tire of me, and I of themIm not young enough to keep up. And Emily? She treats me like free childcare, like my pension and time belong to her. Their *rights*, my *duties*. Selfishutterly selfish.
Now I sit here, staring at the wreckage, listening to their shrieks, and think: *Is this what my golden years amount to? Did I really deserve only this?*
