adult children | Eyerollingmom

DISCLAIMER: This entire piece is reprinted/copied & pasted from the Boston Globe, where it appeared online on May 28, 2024 and in print on June 2, 2024

(see for yourself!)

https://www.bostonglobe.com/2024/05/28/magazine/when-did-my-kids-get-so-bougie/

I roll my eyes a lot with my grown children. I wish I didn’t. Lord knows I was also wildly winging life in my 20s and 30s, but something’s certainly off with them.

Really, the kids are all right. But if I’m being honest, the kids are all, well, wanting. Despite my best parenting efforts, mine have grown up to enjoy, let’s say, the finer things in life. Are they materialistic? Or spoiled? Or (gasp! worse!) bougie? There. I said it. They are definitely bougie. One has a coffee subscription. Another has water deliveries. They all have extensive (translatation: expensive) assortments of skin care and sheet sets. And don’t get me started on their sneaker collections. Plus, throw in their fiery defense of self-care and push presents and work-life balance and maternity shoots and me time and ohmygaaaaawd stahhhhhp!

Who are you people? I often wonder, swiping my lips with generic ChapStick. We’ve always been a middle-class family — not frugal, but far from the Carringtons (kids, those were the folks . . . oh never mind). All four of them were raised with a keen respect for brand names (OREOS? Sweet, Mom had a coupon!) and they were taught to recognize the value of quality (Yes, you may pick one thing from the dollar store but no crying when it breaks on the way home, k?).

Yes, they may have witnessed a few ah-mazing pairs of my new shoes stride past them in their lifetimes — but that’s the thing: luxury is supposed to be special, and occasional. Their combined desire for exotic vacations and fancy hair products has me stymied, if not maybe a teeny bit jealous (some of those expensive styling aids are legit). My generation was a simpler young adult. We were hardly as hydrated as them but we grew up fine without Sephora or Stanley. We also didn’t need friendship coaches. That’s right — young people now retain professionals to help them meet people their own age because (checks notes) no one talks to each other in bars now because that’s creepy. Wait, what?

We didn’t have the evil internet, or hipster influencers or trendy TikTokers showing us glamorous temptations of more lavish lifestyles. We went to work and switched out of our commuting sneakers and thought we were pretty ballin’. Of course, we had our share of super cool, influential ads that steered us to certain purchases (looking at you, Marlboro Man), but there wasn’t a constant scroll to keep up with everyone else’s. My mix of millennials and Gen Zers — digital natives — have been scrolling since childhood. Good grief — is their newfound love of luxury my fault? Does the finger of doom point to me, the giver of smartphones? Are my Frankenkids my own frivolous creations? Before pouring myself a frothy draft of Mom Guilt I checked in with Dr. Tomi-Ann Roberts, noted author and professor of psychology at Colorado College, who researches social media fasting. I wanted to know: Are my kids materialistic or just a product of the times? The times, it seems, are not helping. Roberts points out the ubiquitous “self-view” component of Zoom and FaceTiming: my babes’ behavior may be due in part to their chronic self-surveillance and constant awareness of others’ views of themselves. “Sure, we took pictures of the stuff we saw on vacation and of our friends, but not of ourselves experiencing whatever we were experiencing,” Roberts explains to me by email.

Wow. It’s hard enough for me not to stare at that tiny mirror of my face, a constant reminder of how others see me. If I struggle to look away, what chance do my kids have? “They are never just alone with their thoughts,” Roberts goes on. “They are hyper-aware of the look of whatever they’re doing.” Oh, the bliss of being young and acutely unaware. I was feeling nostalgic for my simpler, more oblivious time. Sure, my people are not perfect. We couldn’t keep the Disney Store alive in malls (heck, we’ve barely kept the malls alive) and we’ve been desperately relying on our kids to guide us through every minute of technology (fair trade: We keep you alive, you keep us relevant). See the irony? We need them. With their weird eyebrows and their man buns and their filming of EVERYTHING and their phone call refusal and their downright defiance of punctuation . . . they don’t carry it all in the win column. But I imagine they’re allowed to slip, too (cue images of our ‘90s matching track suits).

Honestly, they’re pretty amazing. They lean into the things they love — the recycling and thrifting and saving the critters — and they seem to know what they’re doing, even as living, breathing creatures of irony: screaming for sustainability while scouring Poshmark for Prada. And really, it’s not all grim. It turns out Boston is the place to be for millennials and Gen Zers. At least one recent survey ranked Massachusetts in the top three states for millennials, and a recent This Old House study ranked Boston in the top three cities with the biggest migration of Gen Zers in 2022. They’re moving into tech-hub cities with economic opportunities and big art scenes and we’ll be able to watch them flourish. With any luck, I’ll soon be happily raising nearby grandkids who’ll call me Glamma and teach me whatever comes after TikTok.

Guess I just have to learn to embrace their glamor. Lucky for them (sigh, and for us), they’ve got the perfect combination of confidence and chutzpah and — most important — they are driven and drunk with power. And why not? Their side gigs alone pay their brunch tabs. Perhaps my generation was just drunk? The ‘80s, Your Honor, the ‘80s. Amusing to mock, my kids are fun to watch. So — their silly splurges aside — I shall keep the faith. Even if collectively, they don’t know how to write a letter.

Tina Drakakis is a writer in Plymouth. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and has been featured in Boston Globe & Huff Post. She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone” presenting her popular essay The Thinking Girl’s Thong and her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series. That said, she still places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements (next would be as the $100,000 winner on that home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as Eyerollingmom/Tina Drakakis on Facebook, Instagram & Threads. Her collection of essays, A Momoir, can be found here (agent interest ALWAYS WELCOME!)

I should probably start with a disclaimer: the blog you are about to read ends in a cliffhanger.

Alas folks, there will be no binge-reading to the end: you and I both will find out the outcome together in due time.

My two older children have returned home this summer, after living on their own for the past couple of years. Also, since starting college my third-born will be home full-time this summer as well. So now, after getting a (somewhat) sneak peek of what an empty nest might look like I’m back to a full house. Alrighty then. Anyone else excited to see how this (interim) honeymoon lasts?

I say somewhat because my nest hasn’t truly been empty. My youngest, still in high school, has always been here but you remember those days: between school and sports and work and a tendency for Taco Bell, his presence is usually only detected by his residual scent of deodorant or fresh globs of toothpaste on the counter (and mirror and floor and…). Plus my middle guy has been coming and going all year from his local college so sure, there’s been plenty of noise and laundry churning throughout the calendar.

I say interim because both adult children that have ventured out into the world have plans to resume their independent adult trajectories in the fall so this is basically a pit stop for them. A breather. An extended visit. I am a little more than well aware once our Summer of Love is over this might definitely be it for our party of six.

I’ve had some time to come to terms with our last hurrah but not so much the onslaught of well, stuff that comes with this reunion. And by stuff I really do mean stuff. The carloads of boxes that kept coming through the front door and up the stairs were anxiety inducing. With every Rubbermaid tote that passed I couldn’t help but feel the rooms shrinking in my once-spacious home.

Still, a few deep breaths exhaled and I turned on my heels and carried on.

I’m thinking my kids might be a little surprised to find their mom is a lot less uptight than when they were last here.

I’ve always run a pretty tight ship. You know, the usual: rules, respect (really, feel free to check out any earlier posts about my oldest son surviving high school with less electricity than the Amish. He’s pretty good at math but I’m fairly certain it’s because he may have been grounded and gotten his calculator taken away, too, so he had to adapt). I was always a stickler for mundane, common courtesy because seriously people, just pick up after yourselves and Psycho Mom stays dormant. I’ve always kept a relatively tidy (please don’t look closely at the baseboards) house. But the sheer volume of items currently dumped throughout the length of my second floor– approximately 2 apartments worth – has morphed my steely resolve into unashamed submission. No joke, there are presently areas of my house that are in violation of EPA regulations. But you know what? Rather than fret about what people might think about us filthy Americans (why bless your heart, is that two 55-inch televisions side by side???) I’m following the lead of a Disney princess and letting things go. All those cups and shoes and cereal bowls and food wrappers and sink hairs are rolling right off my furrowed brow for a few short weeks.

It’s a downright Fortnite free-for-all up in that family room right now but yes, while I chant to myself I can do this, I can do this, sometimes I catch myself grinning.

Oddly enough, I really, truly don’t mind the temporary chaos and disaster zone. Could it be that I’m older? Maybe a little bit more tired? Heck, I’ve written enough this year about life’s unexpected curveballs so I’m certain that silent thunder of time swooshing by is factoring into my Brand New Me. Whatever it may be I’ve decided to embrace my dog days of summer with my big, fat (filthy) family and ignore the mess.

It was simple serendipity that brought us all back under the same roof, not a grand master plan and (sniff) no one missing their mommy. It just kinda worked out, what with leases and jobs ending and future plans starting to gel into different zip codes.

So now my beds are full (although aarrrgh! this has significantly affected my options of refuge when there’s a rumbling bear dad sleeping next to me) and sometimes even the couches are full, too. I’ve come down many a morning to a sleeping figure in a room with lights on and electronics still buzzing. In the olden days that stuff used to chap my ass and I’d screech until the guilty retreated back to his own room. But now when I spy it, I turn off the juice, tiptoe out the door and go off to work.

It’s a mind shift. Rather than focus on all the frustrations that used to sour my mood almost daily, I am choosing instead to spend my summer in wonder.

I wonder if any of my kids even notice how much I’ve mellowed.

I wonder if the older ones are hissing a collective “What the %@&#*!!*” when I go to sleep before the younger ones even come home at night.

I wonder if my mom is rolling in her grave, seeing I’ve eschewed my own upbringing and have decided not to require rent/room & board from any of my adult children passing through this summer. I know, I know, I debated for a long time about this because I’ve held to it in the past. It’s never about the money (although, lord. that grocery bill). Plainly, I want my kids to think of their home as a place they can always come to, no matter what, without conditions, with no questions asked. Since this is likely the last time we’ll be living together I really want this time to be a happy memory for everyone. So, I’m sorry, mom, forgive me. Everyone’s getting a financial hall pass this summer.

I wonder if the plans my kids are making — the determined, fearless and optimistic blueprints they’ve designed to move across the country and move in with their sweethearts in search of adventure — will all work out.

I wonder if my younger ones will follow their siblings’ lead and leave their folks rattling around a big old house in due time.

I wonder if we folks will find ourselves kicking up our heels when they do… or living a plot twist by leaving it all behind to follow them.

I wonder about all these things as I’m food shopping and cooking and cleaning and stepping over things and sharing cars.

So yes, the rent and the laundry and the grocery bills and the mess … it’s all getting my Who Cares shrug for a little while because I’m enjoying my summer.

I find myself reveling in the late-night banter of siblings. It fills me completely.

I catch myself straining to listen to snippets of podcasts through bedroom doors and over shower water. I am fascinated with their interests.

I become elated to find everyone happens to be home for dinner on any occasional evening. Even if it’s a small 30-minutes for burgers on the grill before everyone scatters again, it’s a huge 30 minutes.

Huge.

But about that cliffhanger: we’ll just have to wait and see if Pollyanna is still skipping around her house in August picking up wet towels and humming sweetly about pole vaulting to get to her washing machine. Who knows, she might be long gone by the end of July (truth: it only took a few weeks before I declared no one was getting their favorite foods on my shopping list if their rooms weren’t picked up) so that should be interesting.

For now, we’re just taking it one day at a time.

Because every parent knows …

things go like this …..

to this ……

In a heartbreak heartbeat. xoxo

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and has been featured in Huff Post. She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone” presenting her popular essay The Thinking Girl’s Thong and her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series. That said, she still places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements (next would be as the $100,000 winner on that home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as Eyerollingmom/Tina Drakakis on Facebook, Instagram & Threads. Her collection of essays, A Momoir, can be found here (agent interest ALWAYS WELCOME!)