My Path to the Best Senior’s Home

I’ve decided to ditch my usual New Year’s resolutions. The odds that I’ll actually become uber-fit, learn to meditate or cut back on coffee are—and here, I’m making a rough calculation—zero. Instead, for my 2017 New Year’s resolution, I’ve decided to focus on worrying my kids. Now, hear me out:



Some day, I am not going to be the sharp, witty person that I am today. There’s a pretty good chance that some day, I’ll be bat shit crazy and my kids will be forced to say things like, “Mom, don’t you think 12 cats is enough?” and “Mom, please stop putting underwear on your head.”

I believe it’s now illegal—even in Canada—to put elders on ice floes and shove them out to sea. So my kids need to be prepared for my mental decline. Not just emotionally, but also financially. I don’t want to be stuck in some el-cheapo senior’s home. I want to be in one that has an open bar every night, soaker tubs in the bathrooms and a free masseuse. That type of home is going to be expensive, so my kids need to start preparing now, while they still have a decade or two to save up.

To get them motivated, I’m going to start making small, yet very worrying changes in my behavior. Changes that my kids will instantly know are signs that Trouble Is Looming and they need to save up for my future care.

Here’s what I’m considering:

1. I’ll insist that pimples are Major Medical Emergencies that only heal if covered with duct tape. Every time one of my kids steps in the house, I’ll sprint toward them with a large roll of duct tape and search their faces for any blemishes that require “treatment.”

2. I’m going to announce that pictures are supposed to hang crooked on the walls, and I’ll have a tantrum if any kid tries to straighten them.

3. I’ll buy a vegan, gluten-free, low-fat cookbook—and threaten to use it.

4. I’ll insist that we should open a daycare specifically for colicky kids (even screaming balls of snot and fury need somewhere to stay during the day).

I think that will be a pretty good start. If I don’t see clear signs that my kids are saving up for a posh senior’s home, I’ll get more serious about this. In 2018, I might actually start wearing pants—instead of pajamas—while I work. And I’ll start hanging the toilet paper roll the wrong way (and we all know what way that is).