My daughter and son-in-law have left me with their kids for the entire holiday. Now, on my pension, I’m expected to feed and entertain them.
These days, children and grandchildren seem so selfish—they demand attention, care, and time while giving nothing but indifference and complaints in return. What is this entitled attitude towards the elderly? It’s as if we, the older generation, don’t have our own lives or desires—we’re just expected to look after grandchildren like servants. But if I ask for help, they’re all suddenly too busy, as if I’m a stranger.
My daughter has two sons—the eldest is 12, and the youngest is 4. I live in a small village near York, and all I have is a modest pension and the peace and quiet that I so value. I’m not sure how my daughter and her husband are raising them or what’s happening at school, but those boys are turning into little slackers. They leave everything lying around, don’t even make their beds—it looks like a hurricane has swept through. They’re fussy eaters too—they turn up their noses at my food and demand junk. It’s downright punishing!
When my grandsons were little, I helped my daughter as much as I could—looking after them, babysitting, going to the shops. But I’ve been retired for five years now, and ever since, I’ve tried to step back from the role of perpetual nanny. This year, before the autumn school holiday, I breathed a sigh of relief: I checked the calendar and realized there were no extended weekends coming up in early November. So, I thought, my daughter and her husband won’t go anywhere, and I’ll be able to relax. How wrong I was!
On Sunday, right before the last week of October, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find my daughter, Sarah, with her two sons. She hardly said hello before blurting out:
“Mum, hi! Take the boys, the holiday has started!”
I was taken aback.
“Sarah, why didn’t you tell me beforehand? What’s with the surprise?”
“If I did, you’d come up with a thousand excuses not to take them!” she cut me off, pulling the boys’ jackets off. “Tom and I are headed to a spa for a week, we’re exhausted, and I’m at my wit’s end!”
“Wait, and what about work? There aren’t any extra days off this year!” I tried to comprehend, feeling panic rising inside me.
“We’re using our holiday days; Tom took three unpaid days off. Mum, no time to explain, we’re running late!” she said, pecked me on the cheek, and dashed out, leaving me with two suitcases and the children.
Within five minutes, the house was in chaos. The TV was blaring, coats and shoes were strewn across the hallway, while the boys ran around like a whirlwind. I tried to get them to tidy up, at least put their clothes away, but they ignored me as if I were invisible. They turned their noses up at my soup, saying their mum promised them pizza. That’s when my patience snapped.
I grabbed the phone and called Sarah:
“Your kids are demanding pizza! I’m not buying that for them!”
“I already ordered you a delivery,” she waved me off, obviously frustrated. “Mum, they won’t eat your porridge, and it always ends in arguments. Take them out somewhere, entertain them, eat something decent! You’re the one who complains about being worn out by them at home!”
“With what money am I supposed to entertain them? My pension?” I protested, feeling my face flush.
“What else are you spending it on? They’re your grandchildren, not strangers! I can’t believe you’re saying this!” she scoffed and hung up.
Well, that’s that! Here I am alone with this nightmare. I’ve spent my life working for my only daughter—holding two jobs, saving every penny so she’d be alright. And now, in my old age, I get this kind of “thank you!” I’m shaken with hurt, helplessness, and the injustice of it all.
I love my grandsons, truly, with all my heart. But they exhaust me, just as I exhaust them—the age gap is enormous, and I’m not young enough to keep up with them all day. Yet my daughter seems to think I’m now just free help, that my pension and my time belong to her and her children. Their entitlement, my burdens. They’re selfish, plain and simple! And here I sit, watching the mess, listening to their shouts, and I wonder: is this really my old age? Have I only earned this?”
