A dear friend’s Mother is the author of my title, “You Kids These Days Are So Carefree.” Her Mother’s doing time at a long-term care facility, and the kids she refers to are us – all in their 50’s, edging towards grand parenting and designing our tiny houses during cocktail hours. We the “kids” are sandwiched between caring for elderly parents and continue to be the go-to for our young adult children.
Sure we could be like our parents and save for that rainy day, but our generation has seen too much with what happens to our elderly who saved for the rainy day. In a blink of an eye a $600,000 retirement fund vanishes in 3 years or less in a long-term care facility, only to become a medicare recipient for the remainder of their days which are long and endless because of some physicians who plug for “quantity” versus “quality” of life. BULLSHIT to that I say. Signing up for the *Hemlock Society because the only time you’ll catch my dimpled ass in a Depends is at a Halloween party or disco dancing in funky wedges and a too short dress.
*Hemlock Society USA was a national right-to-die organization founded in 1980.
Okay, so my generation is more carefree than our parent’s generation was, and we won’t dispute that fact. It stems from the wisdom of knowing and having seen too much. Access to TOO MUCH SHITTY INFORMATION is only a click away. Gone are the days of my favorite way of ignorance is bliss, and bliss it was.
While laying out on lounge chairs in my garden popping off a bottle of champagne this past Mother’s Day, me and a friend came up with our own list of how we managed to raise 3 children each trying to justify our apparent “carefree” behavior. Naturally religious and maternal guilt played a part: Sacrifices we made, the menial jobs we did so we could stay home to raise them; and you’re damn right we’re gonna practice the art of being carefree now if we have the health and means to do so.
THE THEN – In order to stay home and raise our children – We stuffed envelopes, typed bills, contracts, estimates for small businesses, State tax forms data entry for $75/box (or a penny a line), glued Christmas ornaments to cards, ran home daycares, typed Home Inspector reports, raised 3 children by day-fed & bathed them and went to waitress for 6+ hours by night. Then we got full-time jobs as soon as the last kid was in school.
Babysitters – We only asked our parents or hired when we had a wedding or event to attend that children weren’t invited. We couldn’t afford a sitter nor trusted anyone enough.
Housecleaning – Even with multiple jobs, we did it ourselves.
Manicures/Pedicures – If we ever had the time, we did it ourselves and it was usually for a special occasion.
Hair cuts – Cut at home for years by a friend who was a hair dresser and my hair-do usually resembled Mrs. Pynchon from an ancient sitcom called, Lou Grant.
Carpet cleaning/window cleaning/power washing/painting/wallpaper – all performed by us. We never paid anyone for something we had the capability of doing. We were taught by our parents how to paint a room and cut in trim and windows with oil paint nonetheless….not that easy latex shit that wipes up with water.
Clothing – Hand-me-downs usually from family members, averaging 3-5 years behind in style. So, I was either dressed in preppy pastel Lacoste/Laura Ashley or looked like Wednesday of the Addams’ Family in black depending on which Sister-in-law’s cast offs I inherited. My daughters were usually throwing up Laura Ashley matching dresses and trust me…not by choice.
Formal attire – We would hit up each other’s closet if we had to go to a wedding/funeral. We continue that tradition today.
Window treatments – We watched HGTV “Design on a Dime” and made our own out of chicken wire, batting, t-pins and material or we sewed some out of sheets and tablecloths.
Stains & Hems – We are stain masters and were taught how to hem by family or Home Economics – the class they cut out and then realized these kids haven’t a clue on basic “life skills” unless they’re ordering take-out, high-five’ing the cleaning lady, dropping clothes to a laundromat, dry cleaner, etc.
Family meals – We cooked them and ate together every night. Take out and frozen dinners were a treat especially for the cook.
Liquor- Right around age 40, we Mothers began taking our medicine regularly, and we continue that group therapy.
What we didn’t have or do: Botox, eyelash extensions, waxed eyebrows & who-ha’s, tanning beds, Blue Apron Meal service, nannies, cleaning ladies, pure barre, personal trainers, massage therapists, facials, manicures/pedicures, new cars, exotic vacations (ours usually included a tent, a raft & a beach chair). We didn’t have “Me” time. This is probably why most women are plagued with IBS – they never had time to take a shit in peace for years.
What we did have: Dirty little kids running all over the yard and rollerblading, broken wrists and ankles, an inventory of freeze pops or popsicles, a stockpile of snacks hidden in the dryer, a trashed house, a dead lawn, constant laundry, food replenishing and cooking; the need to scrape together enough money to buy Christmas presents and have Birthday parties.
Yes, we are the “You kids are so carefree” generation because retirement to us is enjoying what we have now. We’re not stupid – the Brinks truck will not be following our hearse. Hell, my kids are turning my ashes into a plant pod and nobody’s spending any money on me after I’m dead anyway. So, take the trips, buy that new car and hit the road, spend time at that summer cottage, see new places, meet new people, and by God have that daily cocktail hour of Vitamin V and Vitamin C and just sit your ass down and watch the flowers bloom and the hummingbirds flitter. Another dear friend’s Mother, Peggy and a wise Mother of 7, used to say, “Screw the golden years.” These are our golden years. We’ve done enough and have been enough.
None of us plan on spending retirement propped up in a chair waiting for everything: Minimal Family and living friends to visit, meals, toileting, showering….ultimately for our eternal rest. So, treat yourself to regular manicures and pedicures (with a spiked seltzer in a paper cup), eyelash extensions until the glue seals your eye lids shut, a massage of your dimpled ass, lush vacations that don’t include a tent, eyebrow tattoo’ing since they fall out when you get old (and relocate into a mustache & chin Billy Goats), and a most definite splurge – A SQUATTY POTTY – ergonomically aligned with your colon for effortless evacuation.
The Word According to Be Hoxie (Hok-see) 