Parenting Grown Children: What Dr. Spock Forgot to Tell Us

We're desperate to see our grown children--and to get away. What are the travel risks?

August days are tick-tocking down toward Fall with its school openings and flu season. Now is the supposedly "safe" time to travel--to visit children who live far away and to just plain get away. But is it safe? Some economists have suggested that we older folk should be part of a “targeted lockdown," and stay home since our age puts us in a high risk group for contracting Covid-19.

Some of us are in the no-go age group but our health is otherwise robust. We're physically active and have no life-threatening underlying disease.  Does that give us a pass to go forth and travel to see our children? I raise this question now since when I wrote a  June post  I looked at safety measures we should take if/when we traveled. But the spread of the coronavirus has accelerated since them. So I'm backing up one step and looking at what the experts have to say about evaluating travel risk. 

To that point, the Cleveland Clinic has developed a risk calculator to fine tune individual risks. Check it out but with this caveat. Cleveland Clinic doctors say the calculator was designed for healthcare professionals so that they could prioritize who to test. It is not, they say, "for use by individuals who are ‘curious’ about their risk....It is important to caution against consumers interpreting a low risk score as license to ease up on infection prevention measures such as social distancing and masking, as those decisions have public health implications beyond individual risk.”

Okay. Understood. But what about specific travel risks.

Some of us may be prevented from traveling because we live in an area where infection rates are high (above 5 percent) and we are unwelcome in states where the rates are low. If we are from a "safe," low-rate state, it might be an additional risk to visit with relatives from infection-surging states. The latest on how some states are adjusting to incoming travelers is in this article.

If we can make our way around these realities, there are other hazards to evaluate--which is what Paterfamilias and I were forced to do as we planned a trip to see our children. We bought airplane tickets to fly to the city where our son and his family live, made reservations to stay at a nearby hotel for a few days then drive a rental car three hours to another state to see our other child and her family. We haven't been able to hug our children or grandchildren since Thanksgiving. We were feeling hemmed in and in need of a change of scene. We were willing to take some reasonable risks.

Our flight would be only an hour or so. (Driving was not an option.)  I was comfortable with the short flight until I read an article interviewing a handful of public health experts, NIH's Doctor Anthony Fauci among them. They were all asked about their personal behaviors. Did they go to supermarkets to shop? Did they wipe down their groceries? The answers varied among the five. But there was one question in which they were all agreed. None of them would set foot on an airplane.  Strike one.

Next risk question: Where has everyone we would be visiting been and what have they been doing? As departure day neared I talked to my daughter-in-law about what safety would look like at their home. They live in a part of New York State that has a low infection rate. And yet. "You know the big kids go out," she told me. "They see friends. Plus they're coaches at a soccer camp." My Grands are responsible kids (they're 19 and 17); they wear masks most of the time; they understand how infection works. But they're teenagers! Long story short: My DIL didn't think it would be safe for us to spend any time inside the house. We could sit out in their backyard, splash around in the pool, take walks in the neighborhood and eat meals at their outdoor table. But what if it rains? Or it's beastly hot? Strike two.

Next hurdle: State quarantine issues. The third strike came while we were still weighing and wavering. Governor Andrew Cuomo closed New York State to visitors from 31 high-infection states. Our state of Maryland isn't in terrible shape--we're no California, Florida or Texas--but we were on the list of 31. We would have to quarantine for two weeks upon arrival, and good social practice would demand that we do the same when we got home. One could say, the state is unlikely to police us. On the other hand, the policy is there for a reason. We are reasonable people. Do we have the right or legitimate reason to flaunt the policy? (I watched Governor Cuomo's press briefings everyday as he guided New Yorkers from epicenter of infection to a mere 1 percent infection rate. He listened to the scientists; shouldn't we continue to listen to him?)

All these decisions are personal and full of individual wrinkles and perils. Friends of ours are driving to New Hampshire (Marylanders are permitted to enter) to visit their son. Their grandson is pre-teen and has not been out partying. Their son's house has a separate bedroom on another floor where our friends can stay. The trip sounds safer than ours did.

So this is my rationale about the particulars on why we made the decision we made. It's personal but there is expert-driven guidance out there for help in weighing travel risks. This is one  that offers practical advice that touches on a range of travel issues, from the relative hazards of riding trains versus planes to assessing hotel safety. Here's what the CDC advises. It includes a lot of easy-to-follow practical travel tips and a "what to pack" list--i.e. hand sanitizers, masks.  Spoiler alert: The CDC would rather you stayed at home.

painting by Monet, "Bridge at Argenteuil" at National Gallery of Art

 

 

 

Power Shifts: Our adult children call the plays

We had plans to have dinner with friends last Friday night. They canceled. Their son asked them to babysit his 9-year-old twins.

Paterfamilias watches the football game every Sunday with his friend Lance. This Saturday Lance called to say he couldn't make it: He and his wife were invited to have lunch with their daughter and her family. Understood. Family takes precedence. On Sunday morning the friend called again. The daughter changed the invite to an early dinner. Game On!

This weekend, we were supposed to see friends whose work schedules even in semi-retirement are so complicated it took us weeks to figure out a date when we were all available. We canceled the get-together yesterday. Our son, who lives in a city far from us, suggested this weekend was the best one for us to come visit him and his family. When we emailed our friends to tell them we had to reschedule, they were nonplussed. "We understand completely," they wrote. "[Our son] wields the same power over our schedule."

So the pendulum swings. When our children were young they marched to the needs of our appointments, meetings and business trips. Now we adjust to theirs. In part it's because their lives are more complicated than ours--they are the ones juggling high-pressure careers, children's activities and social obligations. We're retired or our careers are on a less active plane; our social obligations less obligatory. We are able to be more flexible and adjust to a request for a last-minute babysitting assist. What's more important than helping out our kids?

But it's more than that. They have always been our priority but right now, as they raise families and come into the prime of their careers, we aren't their priority. So we fit ourselves into that new dynamic.

There's another reality. Our grown children are the access to our grandchildren.  Case closed.

 

The bitter and sweet of living far from our grown children

We who live far  from our grown kids take solace in the "up" side of distance. When we visit them it is usually for a few days or even longer and those visits can be festive, busy and intense. For a few fleeting days we are part of their everyday lives: We see up close and personally how they live. We pick up on quotidian minutia that they don't discuss with us on Face Time or in texts. It's more intimate and revealing than having children live nearby and dropping by for an hour here and a dinner there.

But there's a trade-off. They're here today and gone in another day or two. A friend whose daughter flew in for a two-day visit, texted me in mid-visit: "My apartment is full of life! Today I know what I am missing."

Say no more. I know exactly what she means.

We are disciplined about being independent. These visits--whether we go to them or they come to us--are a reminder of the price of that discipline. We're not "sweeping up the heart/and putting love away" but the reality is our grown kids live far from us and lead lives very much apart from ours. We can't meet them spontaneously for a Saturday morning coffee. Paterfamilias and I have stopped going to Chinese restaurants on Sunday evenings--they are too filled with three generations of family laughing and talking and sharing fried rice and moo shi pork. And we're not.

While the long visits we get are wonderful and "full of life," they are a reminder of how much we miss our children and their families, of how we discipline ourselves not to think about the loss and the excitement the younger generation, whose lives are on fire, bring into our lives. 

 

 

Parenting Grown Children: Or are they starting to parent us?

 I walk into my daughter's kitchen on a Sunday morning--Paterfamilias and I are visiting for the weekend--and there she is, our daughter working with her daughter (my Grand) on a home work assignment. My daughter is the sounding board, reacting to her daughter's thoughts and questions about an essay our Grand is writing for history class. It's on the Sixth Amendment (Don't bother to look it up. It's the right to a speedy and fair trial).

It's a touching scene--my daughter taking her time to discuss the constitutional issues with her child and encourage her reasoning or redirect her research. It's what parenting is all about.

That afternoon, my daughter and I take a walk. She asks about my blog and a memoir I've been mulling over about my years at Time Inc--my first job right outta college and smack in the middle of the Mad Men years. As she was that morning with her child, my daughter turns into a sounding board--asking questions, offering advice and suggesting avenues of research.

It's touching. Her suggestions are helpful, encouraging and right on point. Is this parenting in reverse? Or should we call it "parenting up?"

We hear a lot about the sandwich generation--how many adult children are caught between taking care of their children and assisting their increasingly frail parents.  We've read Roz Chast's "Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant" for an up front and personal account that covers the frustrations of that journey from an only child's perspective. We aren't on that "something" road. We aren't dependent or frail--at least not yet. But our children are full grown, mature and alarmingly wise adults. We can talk as equals--even though there's a hint of a tilt in the balance toward them. They have become as good at advising us as we have been at offering them our best counsel.  We're at a peak moment.

 

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When she was four, my youngest grandchild delighted in my tai chi and yoga demonstrations. I would show her how in Tai Chi we "embrace the moon" and "stroke the wild horse's mane" then we would move on to a yoga flow of mountain to tree to falling star poses--at which point she and I would fall over and laugh. She's nine now, and as her older brother and sister concentrate their physical efforts on soccer, soccer and soccer, she has become my yoga buddy.

Whenever I come for a visit--she lives in Albany; we live in Maryland--we head for the basement to practice yoga. We make our way through cat and down dog, the warrior poses and triangle. We try eagle and cobra. But this is all prelude for her:  she has her eye on shoulder stand--with an assist. I hold her up by her ankles, give her back a support with my shin and slowly ease back a smidgen of the assist. Each visit she's just a little stronger, a little more able to use her abs and arms to "hold it" on her own--even if it's just for a second or two. She loves to hear me tell her how much progress she's making with shoulder stand.

There's a special grace in sharing yoga with her. It's a way to do something special together --something no one else in her family can usurp or do better than she can (as is the way with older siblings). This last visit over Thanksgiving, she seemed to feel the same way about our yoga tie. As her grandpa and I were leaving to catch our airplane, she and I had our usual goodbye hug. I mentioned how much fun she seemed to have had on Thanksgiving day when she ran all over the house playing nerf gun shootout with her uncle. "Yes," she admitted, that had been a highlight. Then she whispered, "also the yoga."

Every morning when I roll out my yoga mat, I smile at her three little words and am warmed by my yoga buddy.

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Observation: Ancient poets on the evolution of our role at family get-togethers

 

My daughter gave me a gift a while ago: a book of free-verse Tao Te Ching poems, written "for those coming into the fullness of their wisdom." For months, it sat in a messy pile on my desk, unopened. I was too busy to slow down to reflect on any fullness or to lose myself in poetry. Time and mood conspire: I found the little book--a mere 120 pages, some with delicate ink-wash drawings [see above]--on a day when I was trying to think my way through a messy passage in my life.

Among the gems I found in "The Sage's Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for the Second Half of Life" by William Martin, was this sparely written poem that, for all its gentle tone, rips to the heart of where we are as parents of grown children--or, rather, where we might aspire to be as we kick off this season of family get-togethers.

 

Like the Full Moon on an Autumn Evening

When we were young

and feeling the need to prove ourselves,

we generated heat and energy

like the noonday sun.

But now we take time to reflect the Tao

and bathe our world in soft silent beauty

like the full moon on an Autumn evening.

 

An abundance of opinions will generate heat

but accomplish nothing.

You no longer have to comment

on each and every little thing.

You can observe events with a detached serenity.

When you speak,

your words are gentle, helpful, and few.

Your silence is as beautiful as the Harvest moon.

Helping Hands: Being there for our grown kids

The kids may be grown up, have kids of their own, be launched in their careers and be living lives independent of us--just as we brought them up to do.

And then something happens--an emergency, a minor accident or temporary difficulty--and suddenly our parental services are in demand. Well, demand may be too strong a word. Let's say. there's an opportunity for us to be helpful without being intrusive or making them feel they've regressed into childhood.

A few years ago the "something" in our family was a frightening car accident: my daughter's child, my Grand was hit by a car and ambulanced to Children's Hospital with a concussion and broken pelvis. It was a high anxiety, frightening moment until we knew that she would be all right. Being an hour away by airplane, I flew up--ostensibly to help out, though there was little I could actually do. By the time my daughter and family got home from a two-day stay in the hospital, friends and neighbors had started a chain of casserole deliveries, offers to walk the dog and do anything else they could possibly do. Months later, when I had enough perspective to post about the event, I noted how useless I felt. My daughter wrote to assure me that it meant a lot to her that I was there.

I was reminded of this a few weeks  ago when "something happened" again. It was not as life- or health-threatening-- as the first something but challenging nonetheless: My daughter hurt her back (Ashtanga yoga. grrrr!). She ended up with an extruded disc or two, a lot of pain and a numb left leg that occasionally collapsed. Ordinarily, this would not call for a mom to fly to a daughter's side--there is a helpful husband, many friends and neighbors, and doctors and physical therapists. But there was this hitch: She and her family were about to decamp for a summer in California, swapping their home in New England with a friend who has a home in the East Bay area near San Francisco. There was a limit to how long the cross country trip could be delayed--the California family would be en route shortly. My daughter and Grand were scheduled to fly to San Francisco and make their way to the house while my son-in-law with the dog in the back seat and a trunk full of luggage drove across the country. 

A fine plan when my daughter knew not of back pain. Now she was temporarily incapacitated and hurting. Although the worst of the acute phase seemed to be receding, I suggested I could fly to San Francisco with my daughter and Grand, help them settle into the house and take care of some basics until my son-in-law got there.

Offer made. Offer accepted. Which is why I woke up on a Tuesday morning a few weeks ago with a view of the Bay Bridge to my left, the Golden Gate on my right and mountains shrouded in cloud straight ahead on the far side of the bay. Outside, nasturtiums grew wildly, spewing their yellow and orange pops of color up hills, along sidewalks and out of cracks in driveways.

I also saw that my daughter, injured though she was, was capable of managing on her own. She logged onto her laptop and ordered dinner delivered. If it had been necessary, she could have done the same with groceries. None of whatever it took to move in required my presence.

So what was I doing there? Was I on the wrong side of useful? Maybe, but, once again, being there is helpful in a less tangible, reassuring way. No matter how old our children are--no matter how grown up and independent they become--there still is room for parental presence and the reassurance of  emotional support. I may not have had to take care of basics, but I got my reward anyway: Three days of quality time with my daughter and my Grand. Three generations of our family's women helping each other out.

 

 

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Where's Waldo? Feeling left out when we're left out of our grownkid's photoshoot

 

"I feel petty," a friend says before launching into a complaint about her grown daughter.

The daughter lives abroad--four years in South Africa, now a transfer to Singapore. When the transfer came, my friend flew off to visit--to see where her daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren would be living. It was a friendly visit and went as well as a visit for more than two or three days can go. But there was a downside.

Here's how my friend describes her complaint:

"We took lots of pictures-- of the kids in their beds and going to school, of a side trip for a weekend outing, of places we went to visit together. When I got home, my daughter sent me a stream of the photos. There were no pictures of me with the kids, my daughter or anywhere. I feel petty even mentioning it. I don't exactly feel excluded but I sure don't feel included in their family either."

When children live far from home--countries and time zones away--the family gestalt may change. Not so much to exclude Nana or PopPop, but as a means of self-protection. Our grown child may have to rely on friends, neighbors and co-workers for day-to-day support in life's daily challenges. Need to take one of the children to an emergency room while the spouse is out of town? Can't call Granny in Boston to babysit in Singapore.

This is by way of explanation not justification. A once a year--or even less frequent--visit from or with a grandparent may feel like a special event to us but it may translate into a tie that's less binding. Even though they're the ones that left, there may be a feeling of abandonment: We aren't there when they need us.

Or the us-less photo shoot may have been pure absentmindness or simply something that happens when busy people are trying to balance a whole lot of things. It doesn't necessarily signify.

But the emotion it engenders--of feeling left out--does. It may be a little thing but it hurts.

 

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"No one says Thank You." That is my friend Lily's complaint as the first few weeks of a six-week visit--by her daughter and her family--unfurl. Her daughter, who lives half a world away in Jakarta, was here on an extended business trip, 7-year-old son in tow. While Lily's daughter went to work, Lily entertained her grandson. Two weeks later, her son-in-law arrived with the 5-year-old granddaughter. While he took care of errands and family business, Lily took care of both grand kids, stocked the fridge, made the meals, kept the house in order, invited her other daughter and her family over for get-togethers--and put her own life and activities on hold.

Six weeks is a long visit--and exhausting for everyone, visitor and host alike. Midway through the visit, a small irritant led to a venting of frustrations. Lily's daughter let her mother know all the things that were bothering her about the visit and the relationship between Lily and the other grandchildren. For her part, Lily let her daughter know how under-appreciated she felt. That ticked her daughter off even more. She told her mother that the visit was of great inconvenience to her husband. He had to use up vacation time from his job in order to bring Lily's granddaughter here for a visit with Lily. Now he wouldn't be able to take time off during the Christmas holidays for a family vacation.

What do you do when your grown child not only doesn't thank you for taking care of her and her family--at some cost to you (Lily was unable to keep up with many of her out-of-the-home responsibilities and activities) --but adds a guilt trip?

Sometimes it's hard to tell whether the outburst is about the visit or a rehashing of sibling rivalry ["You favor my sister's children over mine!"], the dislocation of being away from home [favorite foods or toys are unavailable] or the airing of real grievances. Longer visits present more time, opportunity and memory jolts to bring up unpleasant or unresolved family disputes.

Lily chose to put out the fire. She apologized to her son-in-law for the inconvenience and thanked him for the trade-off he had to make. By the time he left for a two week visit with his parents on the West Coast--taking his two children with him (Lily, it seems, was not the only one to blame for loss of vacation over grandchild visitation), Lily found her relationship with her daughter had greatly improved. The last two weeks of the visit fell into a pleasant rhythm. With the son-in-law and grandchildren away, Lily was able to get back to most of her activities while her daughter commuted to work. That didn't mean Lily wasn't relieved and happy to see her daughter's family board the plane back to Jakarta. 

The good news? Lily says friends no longer complain to her about their exhaustion after a three-day family visit. She survived a six week stint.

 

Visiting Privileges: How to be a good overnight guest in your grown child's home

  Some of us--I'm one of them--live far from our grown children. Visits to and with them entail an overnight stay of a day or two or more. Sounds like a grand get-away but it's rife with pitfalls: overstaying a visit, over helping, under helping, invading their privacy. The list goes on.

Susan Adcox, who writes the grandparenting page for About.com, recently featured 10 tips on being a  long-distance grandparent visitor. Some of what applies to being a good Grandparent guest, applies to being an inobtrusive parental visitor when we're on our grown child's turf--whether or not small children are involved.

Some of her pointed houseguest hints:

Get pre-approval of dates you plan to visit and length of the visit.

Let them know, before you arrive, if you plan to see friends, attend a business meeting or do something on your own. Not that you need their approval but to be sure your plans don't conflict with plans they may have made for your visit.

Provide your own transportation if possible. As Susan puts it, "Parents with children and careers will appreciate not having to pick you up and chauffeur you around." A benefit for you: If you rent a car, you'll be able to get away--for a coffee, for a drive, for some needed quiet time.In our family, Paterfamilias cherishes a morning run for a cup of coffee at a nearby Starbucks--by himself or, by inivation only, with one grandchild.

Check with your kids about staying in their home. Their apartment or house may be too small or cramped for overnight visitors. If you can afford it, a hotel room may be easier on everyone's nerves. 

If you've got special needs--such as special foods--bring them with you. Don't expect them to be provided by your kids.

 

Be neat about any space you use. Help with household tasks, but don't tackle any big cleaning or repair jobs unless asked. As Susan puts it, "To do so can be seen as implied criticism of the housekeeping standards of the household."

Be sure to give them some privacy. Find a secluded spot in the house or by take a walk so that you're not privy to everything that's going on in the house or their lives all the time.

You can read all of Susan's 10 tips here. 

 

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