KEY POINTS:
I always imagined that when my kids grew into adults I would never see them. I've talked to them at length about the great disappearing act of my generation, but they have continued to live at home.
And I quite liked having them around until I realised there is a distressing trend for parents with adult children to include them in their best mate circle.
These once-tiny little moppets with smelly nappies and food in their hair are suddenly drinking buddy, travelling companion, confidante and cool flatmate to the people who once changed those nappies.
"We do everything together," gush these parents.
Please don't ever let me be one of them. I would rather swim naked across Cook Strait than wake up one morning and realise I had spent 21 years raising my children so I could spend the next 20 years hanging out with them because my life is empty.
God forbid the children of these other parents should ever leave home and force their parents to spend time getting to know each other again, walking around naked and having sex whenever they like before dining on takeaways for two.
But getting to know each other again seems so boring when you have a constant stream of youth through your house teaching you how to use an iPhone and introducing you to music other than Steely Dan.
You are mainlining cool by association with your yummy kids.
In our generation, we left home to have sex. Not so with this generation, whose partners are welcomed with open arms into the family home and bedrooms. "The more the merrier, you cool bundles of adulthood."
Couple this liberalism with the free booze, free rent, free food, free overseas trips in return for a few hours of drunken rambling by their ageing parents about how disappointing their life turned out to be, and you have a win-win situation.
I'm guilty of some of the above. I do drink with my adult children, take them to dinner and once took them to Paris. But they don't have to be my confidante because I don't believe they deserve it. Why would you expect adult children to be remotely interested in the mad life you have made for yourself in the past 45 years?
But in return, I don't expect to be judged for that life and, sadly, when you hang out with your kids too much that's exactly what you'll get.
You may spend 99 per cent of your time being the perfect parent, but that 1 per cent when you screw up by drinking too much at lunch with one of your friends whom you encourage to crash a family party, means you have hell to pay the next day.
You become the teenager sent to Coventry because your behaviour was inappropriate. If they could send you to your room they would, but you're already in your room because it's the only place in the house you own where you feel free of criticism.
I've been told I need to have a long look at the kind of people I'm spending my time with and ask myself if these people are having a good influence on me, I should spend a bit more time considering the needs of others, and could they please have my credit card for their uni fees.
So, I'm always ready for them to move out. When they do, I miss them. I use phrases like "empty nest" and continue to cook huge meals for just a few. But, secretly, I'm relieved to be me again, a bit like that first time when I moved out of my parents' house at the age of 17.
My husband points out I only have myself to blame. I brought up my kids to have opinions, think for themselves and not take shit from anyone. Which apparently includes their mother.
