PenPenWrites

parenting blog, memoir notes, family punchlines & more

© 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.

    Cezanne-still-life-basket-small

    It's a trend that's grounded in fiscal reality. Our kids–twenty-somethings and 30s–are living with us, nearly 25 percent of them, according to several surveys. The surveys also find that they've moved into their childhood bedrooms for monetary reasons.

    Although many of them are on the first rung of career jobs or are earning decent money in the gig economy, they see how much it costs to live in the world.  They may be carrying sizeable student debt, buying cars on credit or face a rental market that's unfriendly.  The national median for a one-bedroom apartment is currently around $1,500 a month, according to Zumper, but rents are significantly higher in cities like New York ($4,300), Boston ($2,990), San Francisco ($2,970) and  Miami ($2,600), cities where young adults are drawn to live.

    For many of our adult kids, living at home isn't a sign of social failure. It's a way to save for a future goal–whether it's to buy a place of their own, start a business or have a decent nest egg before plunging into marriage. Sometimes the move home is transitory. A friend of mine's 34-year-old son relocated from a city in the Midwest to his hometown where rents are high. He's living home while he searches for an affordable place. My friend would like him to speed up the search–she's finding the adjustment to his presence tricky–but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry. For him, the price is right and the refrigerator full.

    Whatever their reasons for living with us, we're party to a parallel trend: 65 percent of us (the parents) are providing some form of financial support to our adult children between the ages of 22 and 40. According to a USA Today survey, housing topped the list (either paying their rent or letting them live free at home), after that came help with the cell phone bill, then car payments and more personal stuff like clothing, their takeout bill and entertainment (Netflix and the like). Dead last: health insurance or medical bills.

    A good number of us–one in three–report that the support is a strain on our budgets. Nonetheless, we have not set limits. Nor have we let our kids–or ourselves– know for how long we’re willing to put them up and help out.

    painting: Cezanne

     

     

     

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

    Picasso still life

    Long-time readers know how I've ranted about an important part of the legacy we leave our children. That is, besides the assets and the sense of our values we leave our children, we should clean out the mess of papers and junk stored in our closets, basements, attics and crannies of our house. I have friends who don't want to touch the many storage places in their basement: "Let the kids take care of it," is what they tell me. For them, that's 45 years of accumulated stuff they're asking their kids to sort through and disburse.

    I won't rant on. I'll leave it to Carolyn Hax to back me up. A reader–the daughter of a "widowed, healthy, vibrant mom"–says her mom refuses to go through her belongings and pare down the massive amount of stuff and old furniture in her house. "She says that 'someone else' can take care of it," the reader writes. The 'someone else' is the daughter who feels saddled with the enormous chore that lies ahead. "I feel trapped, and I can't enjoy the present with my mom without feeling anger over the future."

    Here's Hax's answer:

    As long as you’re okay with handing over control of where the stuff ends up, you can hire a company to clean out the house: all the paper, all the clothes, all the toxic cleaning solutions, every stick of furniture. It’s not cheap but can be cheaper than you’d expect, especially if the projected sale of some contents can offset the final price. Get a few estimates — ask real estate agents for names — pull those treasured photos and letters out for yourself, then drop the proverbial match.

    The practical answer may help the daughter. But is this what we want to happen to our stuff? Are there treasures buried in a closet or photo album or old letters that should be kept ase part of family history? A lot of meaning can seep into small kindergarten drawings or a large old sofa. Do we really want it all dumped? And if we do, why not start dumping some of it–a bag a day–into the trash now. I have to admit I might not have gotten started on my "'piles of papers" and assorted belongings (from our parents as well as us) if I hadn't sold my house and moved to a smaller apartment with no storage space. That was an incentive to get the job done.

    Hax notes that, for our kids, sorting through our stuff after we've left this world–stuff that's suffused with memories of us–and "sending it on a dumpster ride is not for the faint of heart." It is, she writes, "a heavy emotional saddle." We can spare them that.

    painting: Picasso, Still Life

     

     

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

    Dinner table Rockwell

    All families have their holiday traditions. For those of us who plan for a full family get-together over an extravagant holiday feast, there may be a surprise in store when our grown kids head for home. They may bring a new love interest, someone who may be a possible new partner in their life. Or they may use the family setting to announce a commitment to someone you've already met.

    Amidst all the tumult of various family members pouring through the doors and taking up residence on the sofa, how do we deal with our child and their guest who may become an important person in our lives?

    Writing in Psychology Today, Jane Adams has some pertinent advice. It starts with this important point: By bringing someone home and incorporating them into the family tradition, they're not asking for your permission or even your blessing.

    Here's Adams' fuller expansion on that point:

    The holidays, which often reunite far-flung kith and kin under one roof for celebratory rituals, are a popular season for couples presenting a ring or otherwise committing to a relationship with a future, whether or not an engagement or marriage is formally announced….

    Although a blessing would be nice, it's not required. Young adults aren't really asking, they're telling. Their closed circle is opening up enough to admit you, unless you express your doubts, concerns, or misgivings. They don't want your judgments, they're not asking for your advice or opinion, and unless or until they do, keep it to yourself. Maybe you don't see what they see in him or her, but you don't have to, although there's nothing wrong with saying, "Tell me what you love about them," or even asking, "When did you know this was It?" not in a challenging tone but a gently curious one.

    Her final piece of holiday advice:

    Grab the newest member of your family, get them under the mistletoe, and plant one on them—after all, it's a blessed time to open your heart as wide as you can.

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

    Bonnard late interiors
    I do not have the complication in my life of a second marriage and stepchildren. That means my adult children do not have to worry about whether step brothers or sisters will complicate the inheritance of the worldly goods their father and I leave behind.

    I mention that because, experience-wise, I was unprepared for a complaint in a Philip Galanes Social Qs column from a reader whose stepchildren have stopped talking to their father (the reader's husband of two years but partner of 20). The husband's children asked for and were granted access to the terms of their father's will. They didn't like what they saw–their stepmother (the author of the letter to Galanes) stood to inherit a chunk of the father's property and money–and that's when the silent treatment began.

    Galanes answer is specific to the problem of the letter-writer and the tricky business over property. But most of his observations are general enough to hold wisdom for us all.

    You probably don’t need me to tell you that your husband’s children behaved atrociously — both by counting their father’s money as if it were their own and by disrespecting your relationship of two decades. I am not shocked by this story, though. Inheritance often brings out the very worst in people.

    The gist of the rest of his answer was a version of this basic truth: We love our children but what we do with our worldly goods is none of their business, until it is (and we're no longer here to hear the arguments). There's this caveat: If we are favoring one child over another (one, say, is more successful financially than the other), we would be wise to alert them to our reasoning, an issue that I discuss here  and here.

    credit: painting by Pierre Bonnard

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

    B chair

    Jhumpa Lahiri tells us how a father (the narrator of her short story "P's Parties") misses his son, a son described by the father as  "a grown man, a college graduate, a few months into his new life abroad, pursuing further studies at a foreign university."

    The father muses on his wife's joyful acceptance of their son moving successfully into his adult years. For his wife, the narrator says,

    the fact that he was getting by on his own for the most part, and now had a woman in his life, and was far from us, was a much deserved and happy ending to our long and exhausting road as parents. It meant that we’d done a good job, and this was a milestone worth celebrating.

    The father was not as sanguine. Lahiri has him say,

    …For me, not seeing him every day, not hearing his voice around the house, or even his mediocre violin playing, not knowing what he was up to, not adding his favorite juice to the grocery cart—it all came as a blow. I was proud of him, yes, I was excited about his prospects, but I still had a hole in my heart.

    painting: Rebecca Lemov

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

    Alice Neel pic Hartley

    We've all heard about the midlife crisis and how, midway through our lives, we question ourselves about the road we've taken, whether this is all there is to life and other existential questions. It's a period of transition where we may struggle with our identity and self-confidence.

    This is old news. The new deal I'm hearing about is the quarter-life crisis, a period of transition that can shake young adult children.

    A psychology website raises this alarm:

    "A quarter life crisis can be a real and challenging event for some. The population of people experiencing this crisis may feel like they are missing out on something. This can feel like a time when they are not sure where they belong and are wondering if they are going in the right direction. Some may question their purpose in life."

    There's even a Baby Queen song about it. (on YouTube) and, less surprisingly, a  book about it. “Quarterlife: The Search for Self in Early Adulthood.” The author,  psychotherapist Satya Doyle Byock, notes that in the past few years, she has noticed a shift in tone in her clients who are in their late teens, 20s and 30s. They are frenetic and frazzled, unnerved and unmoored, constantly feeling like something is wrong with them. In the intro to her book she wrote:

    “Crippling anxiety, depression, anguish, and disorientation are effectively the norm. Just like midlife, quarter-life can bring its own crisis — trying to separate from your parents or caregivers and forge a sense of self is a struggle. But the generation entering adulthood now faces novel, sometimes debilitating, challenges."

    So, what can trigger a quart-life crisis? In general, the research suggests that strong negative emotions can be set off by moving out of the parental home, living alone as well as creating deeper relationships with others and making long term decisions. So can adult obligations such as marriage, parenthood, buying a home, and stable full-time work.

    What to do? Here are two of Byock's suggestions for how we can help our adult children weather a quarter-life crisis:

    1. There are ways an overly dependent relationship between adult child and parents can evolve. That can involve talking about family history and past memories or asking questions about the parents’ upbringing. "The young adult is "transitioning the relationship from one of hierarchy to one of friendship. It isn’t just about moving away or getting physical distance.

    2. Every quarterlifer typically has a moment when they know they need to step away from their parents and to face obstacles on their own. That doesn’t mean a grown child can’t, or shouldn’t, still depend on their parents in moments of crisis. “I don’t think it’s just about never needing one’s parents again. But it’s about doing the subtle work within oneself to know: This is a time I need to stand on my own.”

    art: Alice Neel, "Painted Truths."

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

    Womanwriting at desk Lesser ury

    I came across a post from the past. It's nearly 10 years old but it's about one aspect of our legacy that may surpass all of them. As a reminder, the three parts of our legacy, as I see it, are the worldly goods we leave behind, a sense of our values and clean closets.

    Although the post stands the test of time (you can read it here), I did some editing and rewriting to update it. So here's the refreshed version of my post about Ethical Wills–what they are, why they're important, and easy ways to create them. (No legalese involved.)

    What is it: An ethical will isn't a legal document. It's a way to convey to one's children and loved ones the values, hopes, and life lessons we as a parent want to pass on.
     
    The case for one: Wills are scrubbed clean of any wording that might, as an estate lawyers' website put it, create "opportunities for court battles and hurt feelings." While those wills are legally adequate they don't, the estate lawyers point out, "sufficiently share the life of the person. … The real heart of the person, his or her values, beliefs and traditions….These treasures are so valuable and yet often overlooked and even inappropriate for the written legal estate plan."
     
    Forms it can take: It doesn't have to be a letter, essay or anything that formal. It can be a series of photos or sketches. It can be a PowerPoint slide show full of family photos, favorite sayings, books that have importance to you, poems that bear quoting, audio clips of favorite music. Apps provide programs that make it less formidable to compile. My family has been using Storyworth. A year's worth of answers to prompts (What were you like in high school? What was your favorite vacation? Are you more like your father or your mother?) and you end up with a bound book that includes photos if you've provided them. (I just completed a prompt on What's your favorite photo? I had two to talk about and included both.)
    According to a New York Times story, the technical tools people are using to “to put a human touch on their legacies” include videos, DVDs, digital scrapbooks, iPhone apps (such as StoryCatcher) and  Facebook pages.
     
    Impact: The Ethical Will in whatever form it takes can be shared and seen by all your heirs. There is an additional plus:  Estate lawyers, the Times reports, are suggesting their clients use such tech-savvy Ethical Wills as a means of delivering a strong personal message that can help avoid nasty family conflicts. One lawyer noted that messages are best heard when conveyed through tone of voice or posture. “Being appropriately emotional in a video adds more dimensions than just words on paper.”
     
    Caveat: Barry Baines, author of “Ethical Wills: Putting Your Values on Paper,” reminds us not to "reach out from the grave" and use our legacy link to blame or scold anyone "It should be a love letter from the heart so people can share who they are.”

    Bonus: There’s personal enrichment in the process of putting the north star of your life on paper or video. As Baines put it, “Putting together an ethical will early on helps you live life with more intention.”

    Extra bonus point: Who doesn’t like to tell their story–and tell it without interruption.

    painting: Woman writing at desk, by Lesser Ury

     

     

     

     

     

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

    Roald dufy beach at st adresseIn an interview with Laurence Steinberg, NPR reporter A Martinez asked the psychology professor about challenges we parents face in dealing with our 20-something adult children–children who should be more independent than they are or than we were at their age.  Here's Steinberg's observation.

    STEINBERG: Parents don't fully understand how hard it is to be in your 20s or 30s today. And so in some senses, a lot of the issues that parents confronted when their kids were teenagers are still surfacing during the young adult years. And I think that that's very surprising for parents.

    MARTÍNEZ: But we were in our 20s and 30s once, Laurence. What's so different?

    STEINBERG: Well, the economy is very different. The labor force is very different. I mean, the challenges are huge, and it just takes so much more time and money to make the full transition into adulthood. And people nowadays are making that transition at later and later ages. And so a lot of the things that people in our generation did when they were in their mid-20s, let's say, have been pushed into the 30s. And I think this takes parents by surprise.

    painting: Roald Dufy

    ..

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

    Talking berthe morisot
    Nine out of ten of our adult children think we the parents ought to discuss our finances with them. We the parents think so too–to a slightly lesser degree of 3 out of 4 of us.  And yet, the 40/70 talk doesn't happen–at 50/80 or 60/90 or any other age pairing.

    In part, it's because money is an emotionally charged topic. For those of us at the older end of the parenting cycle, we may see our portfolio as a measure of how we've done in life. If the nest egg is not as munificent as we hoped, we might not want our kids to see us as smaller than we've lived. Or we may see talking about how we'll finance retirement and long-term care as an uncomfortable reminder of our mortality and vulnerability. Or we may think we've got plenty of time to do it.

    As someone who's going down that road right now, I'm finding it's not as painful or difficult as I thought it might be. Just the opposite. Adult children may come to the conversation with new ideas, technological efficiencies, fresher ways to manage things. In our family, we aren't having the conversation with an eye toward their taking over our finances but rather to their being prepared should such a time come. We are, after all, no longer in the flush of our youth or even in the stability of middle age. My operating principle: if they know what there is and where it is, it will be easier for them to handle the material side of our legacy–or pay our bills if we're temporarily unable to do so ourselves.

    Here are some tips we've come up with on this first leg of our money-talk journey.

    Passwords: I'm still stuck in the dark ages. I have my passwords listed alphabetically in a little notebook. Nothing wrong with that. But a digital form might be a good backup. The bottom line is that my kids need to know how to access my phone, my computer and my savings/checking accounts. Access to the phone is key. It's where accounts of all kinds send verification codes. Our kids won't be able to take care of business unless they are able to verify via our phone.

    Estate Plan: They don't have to know the details of our will–who's getting what or whether it's all going to a favorite charity. They do need to know the processes we've put in place. Are investment accounts, checking accounts. saving accounts in joint names. Are there pension plans, powers of attorney, and health care directives that cede them decision-making powers–or name other parties to take over.

    Largesse: If we're helping our kids out financially–sending them, say, $500 a month to pay down their mortgage–they need to know how solid that financing will be if something happens to us that puts that payment in jeopardy. If we fall ill and, say, need extended care, they may need to have contingency plans, as do we.

    painting: Berthe Morisot

     

     

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

    Fraulein Heck by Lovis Corinth

    The college dropoff (freshman year version in particular) is a rite of passage as tearful as sending our firstborn to kindergarten and laden with plenty of meaning. Our kids are transitioning from the cosseted safety of home to the independence of young adult life. We're transitioning from controlling parents to advisory ones. In the moment of that dropoff, it's all about luggage and towels and how to find the dorm.  Once we leave the campus it's all about their new life and ours.

    In 2013, Michael Gerson, a writer for the Washington Post who passed away a few years ago, penned the feelings that coursed through him as he anticipated dropping off his son at college. Here's an excerpt but you can tear up through the whole thing here.

    An education expert once told me that among the greatest fears of college students is they won’t have a room at home to return to. They want to keep a beachhead in their former life.

    But with due respect to my son’s feelings, I have the worse of it. I know something he doesn’t — not quite a secret, but incomprehensible to the young. He is experiencing the adjustments that come with beginnings. His life is starting for real. I have begun the long letting go. Put another way: He has a wonderful future in which my part naturally diminishes. I have no possible future that is better without him close.

    There is no use brooding about it. I’m sure my father realized it at a similar moment. And I certainly didn’t notice or empathize. At first, he was a giant who held my hand and filled my sky. Then a middle-aged man who paid my bills. Now, decades after his passing, a much-loved shadow. But I can remember the last time I hugged him in the front hallway of his home, where I always had a room. It is a memory of warmth. I can only hope to leave my son the same.

    painting: Lovis Corinth