Are my kids being mean to me — or am I a silly old woman?

DEAR BEL,

I’M SO unhappy after a rotten eight months. My husband (76) retired due to an eye problem so I’m still working at 73.

We didn’t book a holiday at the beginning of this year due to his eye problem, then Covid happened. Our two sons are married and I’d love us all to holiday together. The last time this happened was in 2000.

What’s upset me is that about six weeks ago my husband told me our elder son, his wife and two girls were planning a week in Devon, with my other son and his wife. It wasn’t mentioned to us. I asked my husband why they didn’t ask us. He just shrugged.

We’ve seen them all a few times since and not a word has been said about the holiday. We popped round to see the elder son last Sunday and a couple of suitcases were out, so it was holiday time. On the way there my husband told me not to mention it. When we left, he said: ‘Enjoy yourselves.’ I just said: ‘Bye, see ya.’

When my husband asked our youngest why they didn’t ask us, he said it was because lately I’ve been saying I haven’t got any money. But I’d never have expected them to pay for us — so assume they didn’t want us. What other reason?

For them to behave like this has really upset me. Today they’ve all gone to a place my husband and I used to go when we first met.

I know he’d have loved to be there — but won’t confront them over this. Am I just being a silly old woman? PEARL

OH DEAR, I can’t help it. The short sharp answer to your final question is, I’m afraid, yes. But you mustn’t stop reading this reply — in as much as a huff with me as you are with your sons.

Because if you don’t come to your senses and control these foolish feelings of being left out, you are in danger of souring family life. So listen up, as the Americans say.

First let me say: ‘Snap!’ I, too, am 73 and still working, with two adult children and grandchildren, all of whom went to Devon on a holiday recently, without asking us. In fact, the lucky things have had two fun-filled Devon holidays together, while my husband and I haven’t been away anywhere at all this year.

And you know, I can’t think of a single reason why they should feel obliged to invite us to join them.

They did ask a couple of friends down on one of the weeks, and why shouldn’t they?

oh, let the thirty and fortysomethings have a great time together, while they can. My lot partied hard, and I ‘liked’ every one of their jolly Facebook pictures and laughed my socks off when they confessed they got a bit tipsy one night and went skinny-dipping in the river. Brrrr — but good for them!

Come on, it’s not ageist to say that we oldies ought to let our children live their own lives without giving them guilt trips with no darn reason.

‘For them to behave like this’, you complain … but like what?

I bet you showed you were in a sulk at the sight of the suitcases, stayed ridiculously silent, and now expect your poor husband to ‘confront them’. But what about? I’m sorry you’re fed up, but I think it’s bonkers.

Do you want your sons to feel they can’t move without asking your permission? Do you want those daughters-in-law to resent grumpy, needy old you?

Your husband’s got a bad eye and I’ve got a painful hip, but neither

of us feel our offspring owe us a good time.

So you need to learn a vital lesson here. This fear of missing out might be something that you’ve had all your life, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come to your senses now.

If you’re an easy-going old bird (as I hope I am) you’ll find people want to spend time with you. If you’re a moaner, they won’t. It’s a simple as that.

So I suggest you ‘heart’ all their Facebook posts and let them know the thought of them being happy makes you happy, too.

If you’re jealous, you must make yourself hide it! It’s the only way forward.

I came to understand him to mean you couldstop at, not all, but most of the moments of your life… and, no matter what the state of your head or heart, say‘ This is happiness’ ,because of the simple truth that you were alive to say it. This Is Happiness by Niall Williams (Irish novelist, b 1958)