I’m 48 with three kids. My OAP parents still help with money and fix my toilet

It was on my 48th birthday last September that everything came to a head. I wasn’t coping. I’d not admitted to anyone that I was on the edge of despair, unable to afford the family home on my own, since my husband and I separated a year previously. An independent Virgo, I’d been stoically carrying on, hustling for work outwardly, but inwardly struggling daily, hoping everything would be OK. But it wasn’t OK, bills were bouncing and if I didn’t do something drastic, I wouldn’t make the mortgage. To celebrate my birthday, my parents met me for a pub lunch (their treat), while my three kids were at school, and all it took was for them to ask “How are you?” for me to burst into tears before we’d even ordered food. My mother, on the other side of the table, held my hand and said, “Keith, hug her!” My dad, sitting next to me, duly complied. After I’d had a cry, my mum said: “Let’s not worry about it all today. We’ll have a nice birthday lunch and then we can talk about it all properly tomorrow.” True to her word, the next day they took me for a coffee, armed with pen and paper, where they listened without judgement, listed my outgoings and debt, so together we could come up with a plan. “You’ll always be our daughter,” my mum said, as I cried in thanks. “It’s what we do,” my dad said. In fact, he says this often – for instance, when he comes round to fix my broken loo seat, put up shelves, dismantle a bed, change a light switch, check my car tyres, fix my children’s bikes, or any other odd job I wish I was proficient at doing myself. Ditto, my mother hand-altering my dresses, or even darning a jumper, which I should be doing myself, but she just does… better. Shorts It may sound like I’m a teenager with midlife parents, but actually I am midlife and my parents are vintage Boomers. My dad Keith, 81, and my mum Nicolette, 78, have always been great parents, but I think I’d sort of presumed at some stage that I’d feel more like a grown up who could look after myself. Or even, at this stage, that I’d be looking after them. After all, on paper, they are OAPs. However, the care is continually the other way around. Since my marriage separation, I’ve genuinely wondered how I’d cope without them. Recently, I had a flea infestation, and I needed to hoover my entire home top-to-bottom before the pest control company arrived. When my parents heard this, they didn’t hesitate in coming round armed with two extra vacuums, on a boiling hot day, to hoover my house with me. This was intensive exercise on a scorching day, as I live in a huge old church building. I hadn’t specifically asked for their help, so seeing my 80-ish-year old parents sweaty after speed-hoovering my home, left me feeling humble – and worried they need to slow down. Are my parents unique or is it their generation? Am I incapable or is it a sign of modern times that midlifers like me still need such support? The thing is, I remember my own grandparents at the same age acting more like OAPs and being less hands on with their children – my parents. Having reached older age, my parents could have slowed down, but their parenting to me is as hands on as when I was 15. As a separated mother of three, it is so nice to feel looked after. For instance, a roast Sunday lunch is available every Sunday at 1pm, come rain or shine, at my parents in Gillingham. Bottles of “cheap fizz” as my dad calls them in plentiful supply from the fridge in the garage. It helps that they are so local – and it’s not just a fortunate coincidence. When I settled in Somerset a decade ago, with my sister already in Devon and my brother in Wiltshire, my parents relocated after 50 years in Guildford to live in Dorset – just 20 mins down the road from me. Leaving all their friends behind, so they could be hands on for their three children and – now – nine grandchildren. We’re not exactly the Waltons, but we do have big family lunches with the whole clan a few times a year. We also go on big holidays together – next year for my 50th and my mum’s 80th, we’ll celebrate in Cornwall. I love hanging out with them all. Last summer, I went to a festival in Dorset, called We Out Here, and on the way I stopped in for lunch with my parents. They armed me with snacks and mini cans of gin and tonic, which they happened to have in the cupboard. When I arrived at the festival, a friend asked why I’d taken so long to arrive, and when I told her, she said, “Why are you always seeing your parents? You’re missing out on the fun!” But, actually seeing my parents is my kind of fun. We play Scrabble, Rummikub, or chat about life in a way that means I don’t feel interrogated or judged, or watching my words like I do with some friends. I’m aware this time won’t last forever, and changes will come. We are all ageing. I don’t want to think about that yet. But I do want to be able to give back to my parents when the time comes. Also I have an amazing example of the sort of 80-something parent I want to be to my children when they grow up.