I’m blowing my kids’ inheritance on myself – my six-figure sum is better spent on trips for us than mortgages for them

WHEN the house sale money hit our account, my husband Erik leaned over my shoulder and whistled. “Blimey,” he said. “That’s a lot of holidays.” He wasn’t wrong. After fifteen years in our six-bedroom Victorian money pit in Vermont – all stained glass, creaky floors and bills the size of a small mortgage – we’d…