**Diary Entry 12th November**
My daughter and son-in-law dumped the grandchildren on me for the entire half-term break. Here I am, on my pension, expected to feed and entertain them.
Modern childrenand grandchildrenhave turned into little selfish creatures. They demand attention, care, and time, yet give nothing in return but indifference and complaints. What is this entitled attitude towards the elderly? As if we retirees have no lives of our own, no wishesjust endless babysitting, like unpaid help. But the moment I ask for assistance? Suddenly, everyones too busy, as if Im some stranger.
My daughter, Emily, has two boysthe eldest is twelve, the youngest four. I live in a quiet village near York, where my pension and the peace I treasure are all I have. I dont know how Emily and her husband, James, raise them, or what goes on at school, but those lads are downright lazy. They leave everything in a messclothes strewn about, beds unmadelike a hurricanes swept through. And the food! They turn up their noses at my cooking, demanding takeaway instead. Absolute torture!
When they were little, I helped Emily endlesslylooked after them, ran errands, did everything. But these last five years, since retiring, Ive tried stepping back from the role of permanent nanny. This autumn, I sighed with relief checking the calendar: no half-term in early November, so surely they wouldnt go anywhere. I was wrong.
Last Sunday, just before half-term, the doorbell rang. There stood Emily with the boys. Before I could even say hello, she blurted out:
“Mum, hi! Boys are stayinghalf-term starts today!”
I froze.
“Emily, why didnt you warn me? What sort of surprise is this?”
“If I warned you, youd invent a hundred excuses!” she snapped, yanking off their coats. “James and I are off to a spa for the weekIm exhausted!”
“Wait, what about work? Theres no extra holiday this year!”
“Were using leave daysJames took unpaid time. Mum, no time to explain, were late!” She pecked my cheek and bolted, leaving me with two suitcases and the boys.
Within minutes, the house was chaos. The telly blared, shoes and jackets littered the hall, and the boys rampaged like wild things. I begged them to tidy upignored, as if I were invisible. They refused my stew, whining that Mum had promised pizza. That was it.
I rang Emily:
“Your children demand pizza! I wont buy them that rubbish!”
“Already ordered delivery,” she huffed. “Mum, they wont eat your stodgy mealsits always a row. Take them somewhere, entertain them properly! You complain they drive you mad at home!”
“And with what money? My pension?”
“What else do you spend it on? Theyre your grandsons!” She hung up.
There it wasleft alone with this nightmare. I worked myself to the bone for Emilytwo jobs, every penny savedand now, in my old age, this is my thanks? Shaking with hurt, with helplessness, at the sheer unfairness.
I love my grandsons, truly. But they tire of me, and I of themthe gap in age is vast. Im too old for this. Yet Emily treats me like free labour, as if my pension and time belong to her and her children. Their rights, my duties. Selfish, utterly selfish.
Now I sit here, staring at the wreckage, listening to their shrieks, and wonderis this my golden years? Is this all Ive earned?
**Lesson:** Love should never be mistaken for obligation. Respect goes both ways, or it goes nowhere at all.
