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© Penelope Lemov and Parenting Grown Children, 2025. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given.

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Six ways to insure the family vacation is fun for everyone–most of the time.

    On Huffington Post 50

    On NextAvenue

    This April we spent part of a week in London with my daughter and her family. She flew over from Berlin, where she was living and working; we crossed the Atlantic. it was Spring break. Our vacation-ette had its high points (we all loved Wicked and the Egyptian exhibit at the British Museum). There were also lows, when all five of us–daughter, son-in-law, Grand and the two of us–were miserable about where we were or why we had decided to be there.

    That's how it goes with family vacations: You have your big smiles, belly laughs and joy-filled photo ops. Then you do not.

    Next month we are heading to Vermont. This time we will be vacationing with both our children and their families. (That puts us in the 15 percent of vacationing Boomers who say their grown kids will be going with them this summer, according to AARP research surveys.) It will be a reunion of sorts–our daughter back from Berlin after a year of living there;  my son and his family seeing their sis and cousins after a year's hiatus. We've done the Vermont-togetherness before, and we have learned–the hard way, naturally–where the little worms lie in our happiness apple. Whether a family is traveling around (as we were in London) our settling into a resort area (as we will be in Vermont), there are ways to avoid some of the miseries that can accompany a multi-generational family vacation.

    Here are my top six rules for avoiding meltdown moments:

    1. Be prepared: Make a list of things to do, in rainy weather and when it's fair. Sitting around with no plan can bring on the crankies. A friend who rents a house in Italy every summer gives her visiting sons and their families a calendar of events she's planned for their week with her. They don't have to opt in, but the daily list gives everyone a sense of purpose and  direction.

    2. Be independent. There is such a thing as too much togetherness. It helps to go your separate ways for at least part of a day. The hikers can climb the mountain trail; the swimmers can head for the lake. The Egyptologist can take in the museum; the musicians can go to a concert. Sharing tales of your little adventure when you get back together injects positive energy into family dynamics.

    3. Be generous. Pay for as much space as you can afford–whether it's hotel rooms, tents, condos or the number of bedrooms in a rented house. There's nothing more wearing on everyone's nerves than being crowded in on each other. Which leads to rule 4…

    4. Be absent. Take time for down time–to rest, to read, to put your feet up. Everyone needs "quiet time"–not just the toddlers. Find a quiet place and park yourself there. It may be especially soothing to remove yourself from the multi-generational family scene in the late afternoon, when a small child's day tends to unravel. You know you're supposed to leave the parenting to the parents; if you're not there, you'll be sure to.

    5. Be flexible. Don't nag because yours kids or their kids have their eyes, ears and thumbs busy busy busy with iPads, iPods, iPhones or Gameboys. It's their vacation, too. It may be annoying that they're otherwise preoccupied but you can always take an interest in what they're doing. Fruit Lines, anyone?

    6. Be realistic. There's such a thing as being too ambitious–whether it's the number of sights you want to see in a given day, the dinners you want to cook for everyone or the inter-family tennis tournament you want to run. Don't make it complicated. Don't cram everything in. Yes, rule number 1–a list of things to do–is important. But too much is tiring, and tired people are not at their socializing best.

     

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Vacations with Grownkids: The short road from tourist misery to traveler bliss

    We are in London. It's April. Spring break. We have just taken my daughter (who is living in Berlin with her family) and her daughter (my 11-year-old Grand) to see a matinee of Matilda, the super-popular  musical. After the show, it is dinner time. My daughter and Grand are both vegetarians–no meat, no fish, no fowl. Chinese food is a good bet for pleasing everyone's dietary needs and taste buds.

    So we are on our way to a highly, highly recommended Chinese restaurant. In London's Chinatown. It is, we have been told, walking distance from the theater. We find Chinatown but are struggling to locate the street we seek. It is drizzling and grey; the streets are overcrowded with fellow tourists. We are wandering around. Our smart phones are of no use. We are asking every person we can reasonably hail about directions to what is apparently a side street off a side alley. At last. There it is. The street we want and the restaurant we're seeking. I am anticipating the comfort of sitting down and sipping a glass of something refreshing. As we approach the restaurant, there is a small shriek from within our foursome. In the plate glass window that fronts the restaurant hang several whole cooked ducks and dead chickens. Strung up by their teeny tiny feet.

    My Grand will not enter the restaurant. The sight of the dead ducks and chickens is deeply upsetting for her. We look for another restaurant but it seems like almost all of them have the same hanging duck decor. My Grand now says she will not eat anywhere within sight of these restaurants. We retreat.  My daughter is tired. We all are. She suggests that she and her child go back to the hotel to eat while Paterfamilias and I have dinner in Chinatown. "We flew across the Atlantic to be together," PF insists. "We'll find a place to eat." He is wishing, of course, that our daughter would "control" her daughter and insist she go along with his original plan. But it is not as though my Grand doesn't want to eat somewhere because it has pink tablecloths or a clown face in the window. Her animus is rooted in a deeply-felt philosophy about the killing of animals.

    Our increasingly drizzle-damp and miserable foursome trudge on. In the distance, I spy a neon sign, "Spaghetti House." Now, no one comes to London to eat in a place called Spaghetti House–at least no one in my family or among my friends. But any port in a storm. We head thither with resolute step. Just before we get there, an expanse of fogged-up plate glass windows reveals a tiny Japanese restaurant. Not a sushi place. Not a Japanese steak house. But a Japanese restaurant–Abeno is the name–that appears to be serving individual, cooked-at-your-table dishes. We enter and inquire about a table for four and the availability of vegetarian dishes. We're good to stay.

    We're taken to a table with boxlike benches for seating. As other customers do, we open the benches to put our coats and umbrellas inside, and then sit down on them. Among the specialities of Abeno is Okonomi Yaki, a Japanese pancake-like dish. We can pick our fillings–combinations of vegetables, cheeses, meats and other delicacies. Our waitress advises my daughter and Grand on the best choices for vegetarians (the Okonomi, she reports, has a smidgen of non-veggie broth in it) and cooks each meal separately on the hot grill at our table. 

    We are riding high. We are in the midst of an unexpected discovery. Everyone is happy. This is an adventure. This is why we travel. We have gone from a woeful group (not why we travel but a part of it) to giddy travelers. We eat well. We return to our hotel sated and excited. L'aventure.

     

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Parenting Adult Children: A change in attitude about Mother’s and Father’s Days

     

      Years ago, when my children were pre-teens and still assumably under my control, we had a chat while driving home from the beach on Mother's Day. I told them they didn't have to concern themselves with Mother's Day. It a day for older moms and grandmothers. My rationale: I didn't see Mother's Day as applying to me, someone who saw her children every day and was a vital part of their everyday existence. As I looked in the rear view mirror, there was a somewhat surprised look on their faces but not much of a concern. Our family had never gone in for big Mother's Day celebrations–gifts, special meals, flowers or cakes. It was a day to call grandmas; to remember to call my mother who lived far away and send her flowers.

    I'm the older mother/grammie now. I live far from my grown children; ditto Paterfamilias as father and gramps. We no longer see our children regularly or talk to them every day. One lives in a city 400 miles due North; the other 400 miles Northeast–when she isn't taking a sabbatical year in Berlin (4,000 miles East). They live busy, busy lives–bringing up children, moving ahead in their careers, being attentive spouses. We are no longer a central part of their lives.

    I thought about this yesterday on Father's Day. Both PF and I agree that the days–Mother's Day, Father's Day–are just another Hallmark moment, that the advertising and brouhaha surrounding the day are more a spur for retail growth than a meaningful holiday. And yet. And yet. Come the Day, we now wait for the call, the sweet chat, the expressed or implied note of appreciation that we are their mother or father, the acknowledgement that we are important enough to them to take a moment out of their hectic lives to connect via cell phone, Skype and email.

    There's another emotional part to it. Our best friends died a few years ago–friends with whom we celebrated holidays and special occasions as a family. Now, when their children post a photo of one of their parents on Mother's or Father's Day, it reminds us of how difficult a day it must be for them, of how much we miss our friends and how lucky we–and our children–are to be around to acknowledge yet another Mother's or Father's day.

    Mother and Father Days are not like a birthday where you kind of hope your grown children remember which one is yours–and maybe you send a reminder when the other parent's birthday is looming. Given the barrage of ads, it's hard for anyone not to notice That Special Day to Honor Your Parent. So while PF and I have to acknowledge that there are societal pressures that may move our children to give us a call on this particular day, it's still wonderfully comforting and emotionally rewarding when we hear from them–even if it takes an annual Hallmark moment to make sure it happens.

     

     

     

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Parenting Millennials: How are they doing? See the stats on their work, school and love lives.

    Got a 27-year-old in the family? Wondering how this millennial-in-the-middle compares to his and her peers in terms of work, school and marriage? The Bureau of Labor Statistics has run the numbers and has data for you.

    Its long-running survey (thank you, Census Bureau) of a group of Americans born in the early 1980s finds today's 27-year-old to be more educated than adults as a whole. A lot more of them have some college experience, more have earned at least a bachelor's degree, and fewer have dropped out of high school.

    Source: Bureau Of Labor Statistics / The Census Bureau  chart: Credit: Quoctrung Bui/NPR

    Regardless of education, most Americans in this group have lots of work experience. By the time they are 27, they have held about six jobs.

    How Many Jobs Did They Have?

    Source: Bureau Of Labor Statistics  chart: Credit: Quoctrung Bui/NPR

    In terms of hooking up, marriage style, women are more likely than men (by a large margin) to be married at age 27. Generally, people with more education are more likely to be married than those with less.

    Source: Bureau Of Labor Statistics  chart: credit Quoctrung Bui/NPR

    Related articles

    Our Millennials: Living at home is no fun for anyone, even if so many of our kids are doing it.
    Paying for College: Congrats on graduation. Now here's an update on whether the degree is worth it.
    Millennials go through 6 jobs by the time they're 27-years-old
    Marriage matters to millennials – even though they can't afford it
    Understanding The "Millennial Generation"

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Grandparenting: Steering clear of advising our kids about bringing up their kids

    We have just spent a weekend in New York City with our son and his family of five. We have been celebrating a big event in our family and spent Saturday doing some touristy stuff (Empire State Building) and some city-native stuff (Bryant Park to watch the jugglers practice and to play board games [available free of charge]). We had a wonderful celebratory dinner together and now it is Sunday morning. We are heading to New Jersey's Red Bull Arena in Newark. Our son has gotten the seven of us tickets to the U.S. mens team vs Turkey soccer game–a warm up to the World Cup.

     

    It's there that we are witness to a transition in our grandson's life and the life of my son's family. Our tickets are part of a big block of tickets that our grandon's soccer team had access to. We are standing near one of the entry gates to the stadium, waiting for it to open so we can go in–we arrived early to avoid the worst of the crowds. Our grandson spies his teammates arriving en masse right in front of us. He runs over to join them. He is no longer the little boy in the nuclear family [he just turned 13]; now he's one of the "guys." We can see how happy he is to be part of the group, how he is learning how to maneuver within the group, testing his social skills. As the gates open, he moves forward with his team members to enter the stadium. But his dad has his ticket.

    He runs back to get a ticket, but our son says no. Actually, we don't hear the conversation but it is clear our son told his son that he should stick with his family to go into the stadium. Our grandson is fighting back tears. He so wants to join his friends. And we, his grandparents, so want him to. We feel for him. We don't know why our son has said no. Maybe he wants to be sure he knows where everyone is once we're inside–the crowd is huge, the seating arrangements unknown. Maybe he tells his son that he can rejoin his friends when he gets in and he has assessed the seating situation. Or maybe, as my daughter-in-law told me earlier, her husband and my son believes his children will always prefer to be with their parents. (She has suggested to him that, come adolescence, he is in for a big surprise.)

    As we trudge into the stadium and up the long flight of stairs to our seats, I tell Paterfamilias how I wish our son had let our grandson go into the stadium with his teammates. PF agrees but reminds me of my own words of wisdom: "We can't tell them how to raise their kids."

    All's well that ends well. We are seated in a huge block of three rows. No one in the group sits in their assigned seats. The boys, including our grandson, take over one row. Our family–now six of us–grab seats behind them along with other parents and siblings. I watch as our grandson toggles back and forth between friends and family. He goes out to buy a hot dog with his friends. Later, he takes his 6-year-old sister with him to buy a bottle of water. He is working both sides, with grace. We are there to witness his transition from family as the center of his world to friends as the social core of the next phase of his life. We keep mum as we watch his parents–our children–maneuver the minefield.

     

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Telling it like it was about the workplace when we started our careers.

     

    artist: Raphael Kirchner

     I've started to write a memoirist take on My Brilliant Career, Part One: The Mad Men Years.

    My first job out of college was with Time Inc. This was back in the day when women could not be–were not allowed to be–writers or editors for the magazine. They could be fact checker/researchers or letters correspondents (which I was; I answered a chunk of the thousands of letters a week written to Time by its readers). Researcher was the premium job for ambitious women–one could rise to be chief assistant to and then chief of researchers. Until that happy day, researchers were allotted offices that backed onto the elevator shaft and fronted a dark hallway. The editors and writers had offices with big picture windows that wrapped around the building and took in New York City's Sixth Avenue and the skyline beyond. Each section of the magazine held weekly story meetings to which researchers and letters correspondents were invited. The writers and editors in that section would hash over which news developments deserved Time's fuller (and possibly snarkier) coverage while some of the bigger brains in the room had to sit there mute.

    At a time when Jill Abramson's sudden firing as editor of the New York Times reminds us of how far we in journalism still have to go, I feel compelled to share with my Grands and adult children how far we've come, even if we're not there yet.

    I spent five years at Time and was no longer around when women were finally promoted to be or hired as writers. I had lunch the other day with a friend who also worked a stint at Time early in her career. What times we lived through–and managed to survive and go forth to prosper. How important it is to share this with our very own up-and-comers.

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Emerging Adults: To help or not to helicopter-help their job search

    A friend's frustration at her son's job search boiled over one day. He had graduated from college six months ago–good grades, outstanding language skills–but still had no interview nibbles. She had been pushing him to apply for this, apply for that–even called friends for leads. He didn't seem to appreciate her "helicopter" style help. Nor had it produced anything. "I wish," she said, "I could just pay someone to hire him for the year."

    That was three years ago, in the heat of the Great Recession. (As this NextAve story suggests, others wanted to go or went further than my friend's wishful thinking.) Are things better in the job market now? Are we better at keeping our distance? Do our kids want our help or not?

    A recent survey by Adecco suggests that job-hunt-wise, things are looking up: 65 percent of employed youths (18-24) found jobs within six months; of those unemployed and still looking, only 6 percent said the search had been going on for a year or more. That's progress.

    As to whether they want our help (helicopter-style or otherwise), 62 percent say they keep their parents at arms length during the job search. The 38 percent who do welcome a little help from home want us to use our network to find them job opportunities. Also on the list of the kinds of help they like from their parents: rehearsing them for interviews (12 percent) and checking over their resumes (9 percent). There were even a few–4 percent–who wanted their parents to go to their job interviews with them, but to wait outside. One can only wonder at the job prospects of job applicants (1 percent) who want their parents to be part of the live interview. 

    On her blog Grown and Flown, Lisa Heffernan looks at some of the same stats and comes up with an 8-point list of "acceptable" things a parent can do to help a child during this first big job search–things like proofreading resumes and correspondence, brainstorming, researching opportunities and passing on to them connections they might use.

    As for my friend's son, a neighbor and friend finally produced a lead for a one-year contract for a data-entry job. He got the job (in the neighbor's agency) and performed so well that the contract was extended and his duties expanded, until he eventually left for graduate school. Job well done–by both of them.

     Related articles

    Emerging Adults: Calling a halt to the helicopter parenting
    Why You Should Help Your Kid Get a Job
    Dads: The Antidote to Helicopter Parenting
    Emerging Adults: When is it time to cut the cord on financial support?

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Money Matters: The burden of student debt takes its toll

    A friend's son has gotten into the grad school program of his choice. He's not only heading for Budapest to study international economics, he's been offered an 80 percent discount on tuition. He's asked his parents to pay for that remaining 20 percent. They've said no. "We can't afford it right now," says my friend, who told her son to borrow the money. "He doesn't want to," she adds. "He's really scared about going into debt."

    He may have to borrow but who can blame him about wanting to avoid student loans. A recent Pew Research Center report finds  student debt burdens "weighing on the economic fortunes of younger Americans, as households headed by young adults owing student debt lag far behind their peers in terms of wealth accumulation."

    Here are some stats that my friend might not want her son to dwell on: Four out of every ten U.S. households headed by an adult younger than 40 currently have some student debt—the highest share on record, with the median outstanding student debt load standing at about $13,000. The median loan is equal to about two years’ worth of household income.

    Meanwhile, households headed by a young, college-educated adult without any student debt obligations have about seven times the typical net worth ($64,700) of households headed by a young, college-educated adult with student debt ($8,700).

    Then there's a new report from the Brookings Institution with some variations on the same theme: between 1989 and 2010, the share of households with student loans jumped from 9 to 19 percent, and inflation-adjusted median student debt rose by more than 50 percent. Put in another perspective, by the end of 2009, student debt eclipsed credit card debt as the second-largest type of debt owed by American households, after mortgages.

    As to my friend and her son, she hasn't told him yet, but she and his father plan to help him out with repayments when that part of the loan contract clicks in. He's on his own in paying for grad school, but not completely.

     

    Related articles

    Emerging Adults: Putting the burden of student loans in perspective
    Emerging Adults: Their burdens are bigger than ours were at their age
    Young Adults, Student Debt and Economic Well-Being
    Student Debt Is Creating A Wealth Gap Among Young Adults (CHARTS)
    College grads in deeper debt than nongrads
    College debt is still keeping grads from buying homes
    Pew: Student loans often mean more overall debt

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Leaving a Legacy: Cleaning out our closets before our kids have to do it for us

     

    When I think about leaving a legacy for my children, it usually deals with two steps. One is the material–who'll get what treasure; how much of our "nest egg" will be left for them to share and how will we dole out the shares among our grandchildren. The second step is the ways or means for leaving our children and grandchildren a sense of the life we led: what we did of significance or interest; how we want them to remember us.

    My thoughts don't usually run to what I now think of as the third step: Downsizing or what is also known as clearing out the closets, garage, attic, basement or any other place we've stored memories and trinkets and other items that are not likely to be of any use to our children. I've got glassware from my mother-in-law that I've never used and my children are not likely to set on their tables. Nor will either of my children want the lovely gold-rimmed 18-place settings of china that were my mother's pride and joy. Or the silver trays or hand-painted tea cups lovingly collected by my parent's generation and anathema to my children's. E-Bay is overrun with the stuff. So are my closets.

    There are also drawers full of mementos, from my brother's grade-school report card to my daughter's first illustrated story [grade 3] to charming notes my mother-in-law wrote to me on various occasions. Some of these perishable items need to be digitized into a family memory bank, but some need to be tossed.

    The clearing out of closets has been on my mind–well, more on a list of 'things to do someday.' But a recent post on Dr. Kathy McCoy's blog reminded me that acting on this third step is as much a gift to my grown children as the hand-crafted Tuscan bowl or my mother's silver urn. For my children, it would be an exhausting and sad business to clear out my home when Paterfamilias and I have passed on. They may wonder why we kept those old ski boots (circa 1990) or the mold-encrusted tennis rackets.) It will be equally exhausting for us to do our storage places ourselves–but we can pace ourselves (it doesn't have to be done in one day; Kathy McCoy has been doing one space per Saturday) and make rational decisions about what to keep and what to heave; what to save in its paper form and what to scan into our computer–or at least collect in an orderly way for others to scan. A job that would be a sad business for our grown children could be an upbeat trip down memory lane for us. At least that's the attitude-adjustment I'm acting on.

    Related articles

    Reader's Report: Ray Bradbury's insight on legacies applies to what we leave behind for our grown children.
    Money Matters: Slicing and dicing the financial legacy for your grown children

  • PARENTING GROWN CHILDREN: The children may be grown but we still have our issues.

    Money Matters: When to shut–or open–the Bank of Dad

       

    A friend, whose children are nearing the 30-years-old mark, writes:

      "I just had an interesting conversation with a smart guy who was talking about the 'Bank of Dad.' His kids are "self-supporting," in their mid-30s, making (his words) 'in six figures,' and yet come to him for help on a regular basis. For example, they go to Japan a couple of times a year, a trip that necessitates a visit to DaddyBank. 

    My question is this: When does it stop? Unless the parents are seriously wealthy, doesn't there come a time when the parent's ability to fly first class or have the foolishly expensive appetizer outweigh the childrens' ability to take an extra trip or buy a nicer house or a better car, or even to send their kids to the swankiest private school (which, I think falls into a different category–education, in general does, in my mind).
     
    What expense do adult children incur that is clearly worth parents making sacrifices, even major ones. I'm thinking of a spectrum. There's no amount I wouldn't spend if it was of benefit to my kids' health (or their kids, etc.). And if they asked for it (so far they have not), education would be something I'd make a reach for. But a trip to DisneyWorld (unless we were there, and hosting) is somewhere further along the spectrum. And dinners out, nicer than the ones I feel we can afford, are at the other extreme.
     
    This is just musing. Our children have used us only for trips back and forth from L.A. [where the writer's son lives] to NYC [where the writer lives], which I placidly identify as money spent for my own pleasure–a visit that couldn't happen otherwise. Our daughter hasn't come to us for anything, including her plans for a master's degree, which she calculates she can self-support."
     
    So where is the line? Clearly, it's different for each of us, depending not only on what we can afford but our own personal calculus or spectrum. It may be based on the importance or value we attach to the item our grown child wants: Education, yes; a deluxe vacation, no. I tend to be judgmental about "gifts" to grown kids who suffer from a sense of entitlement. One friend is more likely to indulge his son, who pays back whatever money he borrows from his dad, than his daughter, who treats every loan as a gift–even if the son's request is for a high-luxury item and his daughter's is for something more reasonable. Credit rating matters, even at some DaddyBanks.
     
     
     

    Related articles

    The Bank of Mom & Dad: Rules for Borrowing Money From Family or Friends
    Fee Creep and High Interest Rates At the Bank of Dad