When my children were very young, I had an uneasy relationship with time. My days dragged but the baby years passed with breathtaking rapidity. I longed to capture each moment; to experience it fully despite the everyday monotony of parenting.
Now, in my retirement, I feel much the same. Time is a chinook wind; it may bring portents of positive change, but I can’t stop it from blowing by. I want to make retirement the best chapter of my life, but I face many everyday distractions as I try to focus on my favourite f-words: family, friends, fitness, faith, food, freelance writing, and fun.
And those precious babies are one of the biggest distractions. Except now they are in their early 20s—still precious and still living in my house.
Both of them left home to pursue degrees, but both have returned to live in the house where they grew up. We have lots of room for them and it’s great having them around—they certainly liven things up—but (and you knew there was a “but” coming, didn’t you?) they tend to eat up more than just the food in the fridge.
Parental guilt is a common experience. I feel guilty when I spend an evening listening to my kids talk about their school, job, and relational issues when half of my attention is on the short story I’m trying to write. I feel torn between doing something I love—perhaps a photography outing—and hanging out with the kids, because even though we live under the same roof, quality time together is rare. That brisk wind just keeps blowing while I smile and nod and feel guilty that these thoughts even cross my mind.
My husband and I often reflect on how different things were in our day. When we turned 18, we moved out of the house. It wasn’t that our family life was unpleasant; everyone just agreed it was time. Statistics support that observation. In 2016, 62.6 per cent of Canadians aged 20 to 24 lived in their parents’ home. In 1981, only 41 per cent of people in that age group were still at home.
Obviously, our family’s arrangement is perfectly normal and even desirable. An Asian colleague of mine once said that the Canadian trend for young unmarried adults to move out and elders to live in care homes just doesn’t happen in his culture. I love the concept of mutually-supportive multi-generational households, and with today’s economy and job prospects being what they are, I’m sure more and more Canadians will embrace it.
I am very privileged to be able to offer my kids the financial and emotional support they need right now. They give me plenty in return: they show an interest in what I am doing and feeling, they are respectful and kind, they help out around the house and share expenses. I just have to learn to say no once in a while. Saying no to them now won’t leave them hungry or sitting in wet diapers. It won’t leave them emotionally damaged or afraid.
After all, family is number one on my f-word list. It’s up to me to strike that elusive balance between perceived obligation and self-actualization; between self-discipline and living in the moment; between the fear of life passing me by and the pure joy of having adult children who want to hang out with me—from time to time.
