DEAR CAROLINE: Being a stay-at-home mother has made me feel invisible and I don't know if I can get my marriage working again. Am I too old to start over?
I'm now in my early 50s and the children, who are young adults, need me less. I feel like I've become invisible. My husband and I have grown distant. We still talk, but it's mostly about admin or his work and we don't connect in a meaningful way. It's as if I've become a member of his staff because he's still busy leading his important work life.
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The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
Tim Dowling: the tennis has reached boiling point – and so have we
When the sun is out and the weather is hot, my office shed becomes sauna-like long before midday. By 11am, I retreat to the kitchen to work. By noon, the kitchen is also too hot to work in, and I move to the living room, where I find the oldest one and the middle one sitting on the sofa in the dark, their faces illuminated by their laptop screens. 'This is the place to be,' I say. 'The only place to be,' says the oldest. 'My room is like an oven.' I have learned over a period of years that if I keep all the curtains shut, night and day, the living room will stay 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the house in sultry weather. On certain days it becomes the only habitable room. Today is one of those days, by no means the first of the year. 'I picked the wrong day to work from home,' says the middle one, typing furiously, eyebrows knit in concentration. 'I could be in an air-conditioned office.' 'Me too,' says the oldest one, sipping from a steaming mug. 'What are you drinking?' I say. 'Tea,' he says. 'Hot tea?' I say. 'Hot drinks keep you cool in warm weather,' he says. 'No they don't,' I say. 'I feel cooler,' he says. 'Well, I don't,' I say. 'I can feel the heat coming off your cup from here.' 'I have a meeting,' says the middle one, standing up. We spend the next four hours like this, with one of us occasionally leaving the room to conduct some private work business, only to return 20 minutes later flushed and sweaty. 'This is kind of depressing,' says the oldest one. 'Can we open the curtains?' 'No,' I say. 'Look.' I point to a spot on the wall where, thanks to a small gap at the top of the curtains, a thin stripe of sunlight is shining on the opposite wall – a stripe of such intensity that it looks as if it could set the paintwork on fire. 'Can we have the tennis on?' he says. 'Yes,' I say. At some point the dog wanders in, crossing in front of the tennis with a rubber ball in its mouth, eyeing the three of us expectantly. 'Nobody wants to play with you,' I say. 'It's too hot.' The dog releases the ball, which bounces once and lands in a boot. The dog tries to retrieve the ball and gets its head stuck. 'What are you doing?' says the middle one. The dog looks his way, with a boot on its head. After the boot is removed, the dog squeezes itself into the gap between the sofa and the wall behind, and collapses there, panting. My phone pings once: a text from my wife. 'Mum will be home in half an hour,' I announce. 'And believe me, she will have things to say about the present arrangement.' The match we're watching goes into a fourth set, which eventually progresses to a tie-break. Inevitably this is the moment my wife picks to walk in. 'What's happening in here?' she says. From behind the sofa, the dog's tail thumps twice. 'We're working,' says the middle one. 'You're watching Wimbledon,' she says. 'Just like in a real office,' I say. 'They don't have the tennis on in real offices,' she says. 'When were you last in a real office?' I say. 'When were you?' she says. 'That's my point,' I say. 'It could be exactly like this, for all we know.' There is a terrible scrabbling sound: the dog is trying to find its way out from behind the sofa. 'I still don't understand why it has to be quite so dark in here,' says the oldest. 'There's ice-cream melting in the back of the car,' my wife says. 'This match is on a knife edge,' I say. Just before dusk, I allow the curtains to be opened for one hour, at which point it becomes clear that the room is in a terrible state: there are cups everywhere, cables running underfoot and shoes strewn across the floor alongside little piles of now unidentifiable things the dog has chewed up in the dark. 'I can't live like this,' my wife says. 'Me neither,' says the oldest one. 'I'm definitely going into work tomorrow.' At 2am I cannot summon sleep in the tropical reaches of our bedroom. I think about taking my pillow down to the welcoming coolness of the living room, but I can hear the oldest one still watching telly in there, unable to sleep himself. I pick up my phone and look at tomorrow's weather, which promises more of the same. Then I think: but there's cricket tomorrow as well, all day.
Daily Mail
8 hours ago
- Daily Mail
FLOURISHING AFTER 50: My daughter's expensive wedding is ruining our retirement plans - can we cut back without losing face?
Dear Vanessa, I'm feeling sick with worry and don't know who else to turn to. My husband and I are both in our late 50s. We've worked hard all our lives and were hoping to retire by 70 - not extravagantly, just comfortably. Our eldest daughter is getting married next year. We adore her and want her to have a lovely day, but a few months ago my husband told her fiancé's family that we would pay for the entire wedding. He did it to look generous - especially because the groom's parents are very well-off and traditional. Now he says he can't back down without losing face. The problem is the wedding has ballooned to nearly $60,000 thanks to a huge venue, band, flowers, the lot. My husband insists we'll 'make it work' but I know we can't afford it without dipping into our mortgage offset or even our retirement savings. We still have some debt and we're not rich by any stretch. I've tried talking to my husband but he just gets defensive and says he won't 'look cheap' or let the other side think we can't provide. Our daughter is so excited and I feel terrible bringing it up with her - but I'm so angry that we're risking our future to keep up appearances. Should I push him harder? Should we tell our daughter she needs to scale back? Or should I just bite my tongue and find a way to pay - even if it means we work longer? I feel so stuck. Worried Mum, NSW. First of all, I really feel for you. This is exactly the kind of family conflict about money that can quietly undermine the retirement you've spent decades building. A wedding is meant to be a joyful celebration - not a $60,000 drain that chips away at your future security. But this is about more than one big day - it's pride, old-fashioned expectations and the fear of embarrassment when money truths come out. My first piece of advice is to move this out of emotion and into facts. Sit down with your husband and map out exactly what paying for this wedding means for your plan to retire by 70. For example, if you have $500,000 in retirement savings at around 58 and plan to retire by 70, spending $60,000 now could mean losing more than $110,000 by the time you reach retirement just from the lost growth alone. Most people forget the real cost isn't just what you spend today - it's what that money could have grown into for your future. To see this clearly, run a quick scenario using the free Moneysmart Retirement Planner - you'll find it here. Plug in your real numbers - your current balance, contributions and target retirement age - then run it again with $60,000 less. That difference is your real cost of 'keeping up appearances'. Once you both see the impact in black and white, you can plan a gentle but honest chat with your daughter. Tell her you love her and want her day to be beautiful, but you can't risk your own security to impress anyone. It's one of the best lessons you can pass on: big milestones should never come at the cost of your long-term wellbeing. If your husband still can't face it, I strongly recommend bringing in a neutral third party - a financial adviser or coach - to show him the numbers without blame or conflict. Sometimes that's all it takes to break through pride. If you'd like help finding the right adviser to guide you through this, you can start here. You've both worked too hard to spend your later years worried about money. Be brave enough to have this tough conversation now - your future self will thank you for it.
Daily Mail
18 hours ago
- Daily Mail
BEL MOONEY: How can I cope with my parents' poisonous divorce?
Dear Bel, My parents are getting divorced. Both had affairs so it's ugly, bitter and full of blame — and I've somehow ended up stuck in the middle, trying to 'support' them while they throw emotional wreckage at each other.
