Some of the best parts of parenting happen after the kids move out.
The rules change. You’re no longer managing curfews and car keys. You’re building an adult-to-adult relationship. And some of the ways we do that look a little odd from the outside—quirky, even. But they’re warm, human, and they work.
Here are seven strange but sweet things I’ve seen parents (myself included) do to stay close to their grown kids.
1) Sending calendar invites for little things
It started as a joke. I sent my daughter a calendar invite titled “Five-minute Tuesday check-in.” She accepted. We talked for eight minutes about nothing and everything—her new desk chair, my stubborn tomato plants, the book we were both pretending to finish. The next week, she sent me a “walk + talk” invite for Saturday morning. I took it while looping our local park.
On paper, putting love on a calendar feels clinical. In practice, it removes the guesswork and guilt. Nobody is interrupting. Nobody is “calling at a bad time.” You both protect it the way you protect any meeting that matters. Keep the invites short and low-pressure. Ten minutes. No agenda. If you both want more, you’ll schedule more. It’s the rhythm that keeps you close, not the length.
2) Mailing small, oddly specific care packages
Not holiday gifts. Not big boxes. I mean the “I saw this and thought of you” envelopes that make no financial sense and all the emotional sense in the world. A sheet of silly stickers for a stressed grad student. A tiny jar of the chili crisp they loved when they were home. A handwritten recipe card for the soup they always request in winter.
I once mailed my son four different brands of sticky notes after he mentioned in passing that the ones at his office curled up and fell off his monitor. He sent a photo of his desk with a caption: “Dad-level adhesion achieved.” It’s strange. It’s sweet. It says, “I’m listening,” without demanding a response beyond a grin and a thank-you text.
For bonus points, slip in a stamped, addressed postcard to you. Write “Mail me one line when you get a minute.” Half the time, you’ll get a sentence that lands straight in your heart.
3) Keeping a shared family playlist alive
Music makes time travel easy. I grew up with vinyl. My kids grew up with burned CDs and then streaming. Now we keep a shared playlist with an open-door policy. Anyone can add anything. A jazz track I heard in a coffee shop. Their workout anthem. The lullaby we used to sing—now remixed by some DJ with more tattoos than I can count.
It sounds small, but it gives you a way to walk into each other’s moods. I’ll put it on while making Sunday soup for the grandkids and send a quick voice note: “Track 12 is perfect for chopping onions.” They’ll reply with a song and a line like, “Play this on your morning walk.” It’s a long-distance conversation in melody. When we do get together, that playlist becomes the background to board games and stories. Continuity without effort.
If you’re not musical, try the same concept with a shared photo album titled “Things that made me smile.” No captions necessary. A sunset. A dog with an opinion. The last piece of pie going missing. You’ll find yourself scrolling it on slow afternoons and feeling closer without a single phone call.
4) Texting memes and weather updates like a love language
Yes, I’m the parent who sends memes. Not daily. Not to be “cool.” Just enough to say, “I speak your dialect.” A cat looking betrayed by a cucumber. A screenshot of a typo that turned “meeting” into “meat-ing.” It’s a quick burst of connection that asks nothing more than an eye-roll emoji.
On the practical side, I also send weather notes before their big days. “Heads-up: rain in your city at 4—grab the boots.” My adult kids pretend to groan. Then they text photos of their dry socks. When storms roll through, I check in with “Power good?” Simple. Slightly dorky. Solid.
If you’re worried about over-texting, borrow my rule: two pings in a row maximum unless it’s urgent. And I always add, “No need to reply; just thinking of you.” That sentence removes pressure like you wouldn’t believe.
5) “Parallel play” days at home
When they visit, we don’t plan every minute. We do something I learned from watching toddlers: parallel play. They answer emails on the couch while I read the paper. We sit at the dining table with our laptops, share a bowl of grapes, and say very little. Then someone looks up, asks about lunch, and suddenly we’re chopping vegetables together.
It feels strange at first. Aren’t we supposed to be “making memories”? Here’s what I’ve learned: the quiet hours are the memory. Your adult kids get a place to exhale without hosting you. You get a window into their natural rhythm. Then, when conversation arrives, it’s deeper because it wasn’t forced into a schedule.
If you both work remote sometimes, try a “co-work day.” Coffee at nine. Break at eleven. Walk around the block at two. You’ll end the day feeling like roommates who actually like each other.
6) Keeping a running “permission slip” list
Conversations with adult kids can turn into feedback sessions and nobody wants that. So I keep a list on my phone called “Ask before offering.” It’s a reminder that my advice needs an invitation. If they mention car trouble, I’ll say, “Want a second opinion or just a sympathetic ear?” If they’re venting about work, I ask, “Do you want help brainstorming or do you want me to say, ‘That sounds awful’ and pass the pretzels?”
It sounds funny, but it keeps trust intact. Adults don’t need surprise solutions. They need to choose when they want a coach and when they want a cheerleader. I learned this the hard way with my son years ago. I launched into “fix-it father” mode about a lease issue, and he went quiet for a week. Now I hand him the pen: “How can I help?” Most times, he says, “Just listen.” So I do.
If you’re a regular reader, you may remember I once wrote about “saying less to love more.” This is that idea in action. Permission first. Input second.
7) Using tiny money gestures as connection, not control
Finally, let’s talk about the small financial things that feel strange from the outside but sweet on the inside. I’ll Venmo my daughter $9 with the note “Your next latte is on me—proud of you for finishing that course.” I’ll leave a twenty in my son’s glove compartment with a sticky note that says “Emergency tacos.” When we go out, sometimes they pay; sometimes I do. We treat it like a dance, not a scorecard.
The key is keeping it light and optional. Money stops being sweet the second it carries strings. My rule is simple: if the gesture needs a “thank you” beyond a heart emoji, it’s too big. If it sparks a grin and a funny reply, it’s just right. You’re not buying time. You’re sprinkling a little ease on their path and reminding them their wins matter to you.
Conclusion
Now, none of this is a formula. Every kid is different. Every family has its own history. The point isn’t to adopt all seven. It’s to find the one or two that feel natural in your home and practice them with a little consistency.
A few small principles tie these “strange but sweet” habits together:
- Keep the pressure low. “No reply needed” texts. Short invites. Open-ended visits. Low pressure makes room for more connection.
- Be specific with love. “Good job” is nice. “Proud of you for having that hard conversation with your boss” lands.
- Laugh at yourself. I know my memes are “Dad-adjacent.” I send them anyway, and if they flop, I shrug and try again next week.
- Share text over perfection. A two-line postcard beats the long essay you never write. A quick voice note beats the phone call that keeps getting postponed.
- Let them lead sometimes. If they signal they’re busy, believe them. If they suggest a new ritual, try it their way.
Connection in this phase of life isn’t loud. It’s a handful of quiet strings you pluck now and then—calendar pings, goofy envelopes, playlists, memes, weather notes, kitchens shared in silence, and a twenty-dollar bill labeled “tacos.” The songs you write with those strings aren’t chart-toppers. They’re lullabies for grown-ups—steady, familiar, and warm.
Staying close to adult kids is less about grand gestures and more about gentle habits. Pick one strange-but-sweet idea and try it this week. Keep it light. Keep it kind. Then ask yourself the only question that matters: did this make us smile and bring us a little closer? If yes, do it again. If not, adjust. That’s the whole game.
