My daughter and her husband dropped off my grandchildren for the entire holiday. Now I have to feed and entertain them on my pension.
Modern children and grandchildren have turned so selfish—they demand attention, care, and time, but give nothing back except indifference and complaints. What kind of consumer attitude is this towards the elderly? It’s as if we older folks don’t have our own lives or desires—we’re just expected to babysit the grandchildren like servants. The moment I ask for help, suddenly everyone is busy, as if I’m a stranger.
My daughter has two sons—one is 12, and the other is 4. I live in a small village near Plymouth, and all I have is a modest pension and the quiet I so treasure. I don’t know how my daughter and her husband are raising them or what’s happening at school, but these boys are growing up to be real layabouts. They leave everything messy, not even bothering to make their beds—everything’s scattered like after a storm. They turn up their noses at my food and demand all sorts of junk. It’s pure punishment!
When they were younger, I helped my daughter as much as I could—babysitting, running errands. But I’ve been retired for five years now, and I really want to step back from the role of permanent nanny. This year, before the autumn holidays, I sighed with relief. I checked the calendar and realized there wouldn’t be any long weekends at the beginning of November. I thought that meant my daughter and her husband wouldn’t be going anywhere, and I’d get some peace. How wrong I was!
On Sunday, just before the last week of October, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find my daughter, Hannah, with her two sons. Without even a proper greeting, she blurted:
“Mum, hi! Take the kids; the holidays have started!”
I was stunned.
“Hannah, why didn’t you give me any warning? What kind of surprise is this?”
“If I’d given you notice, you’d come up with a thousand excuses not to take them!” she snapped while helping the boys out of their jackets. “We’re off to a spa for a week; I’m at my wit’s end, I’m exhausted!”
“Wait a minute, what about work? There aren’t any extra holidays this year!” I tried to reason, feeling the panic build up inside me.
“We’ve taken some leave; Daniel took three days unpaid. Mum, no time to explain, we’re running late!” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and dashed out, leaving me with two suitcases and the kids.
In less than five minutes, the house was a wreck. The TV was blaring, jackets and boots scattered across the hallway, and the boys were running around like a whirlwind. I tried to get them to clean up, at least sort out their clothes, but they ignored me like I was invisible. They refused to eat my soup, making faces and declaring that their mum had promised them pizza. That’s when my patience snapped.
I grabbed the phone and dialed Hannah:
“Your kids are demanding pizza! I’m not buying them that!”
“I’ve already ordered delivery,” she brushed off, clearly irritated. “Mum, they won’t eat your porridge; it always causes tantrums. Take them somewhere, entertain them, have a proper meal! You always complain that they wear you out at home!”
“And how am I supposed to entertain them? On my pension, you mean?” I retorted, feeling my face flush with anger.
“What else are you spending it on? They’re your grandchildren, not someone else’s! I can’t believe you’d say such a thing!” she huffed and hung up.
And that was that. I was left to deal with this chaos alone. My whole life I’ve worked hard for my only daughter—working two jobs, saving every penny to give her a good life. And now, in my old age, this is the ‘thank you’ I get! I’m shaking from the injustice, the helplessness.
I love my grandchildren, I truly do. But they exhaust me, and I tire them—there’s a vast age gap. I’m not young anymore to be dashing around with them all day. Yet my daughter assumes I’m still the unpaid help, thinking my pension and time are at her and her children’s disposal. It’s their right, and my only role is to serve. Pure selfishness! And I sit here, staring at this mess, listening to their yells, wondering: is this what my golden years are meant to be? Is this all I deserve?
