One of the worst things about co-habiting with your adult children is knowing too much about what they're doing. Like most moms of my generation, I encouraged open communication with my kids from an early age so that they would feel free to come and talk to me about anything that was on their minds. I hoped this would lead to an honest exchange of ideas and feelings that would benefit all. What it did lead to is a steady stream of too much information. And I've discovered something about myself. I'm not as cool as I thought I was.
When they were younger, I could handle just about anything they threw at me. They were pretty good kids (i.e. police cars weren't regular visitors to our cul-de-sac) and their transgressions/confessions rarely kept me up at night. I figured I was through the worst of it when they each hit twenty-one. God is still laughing about that one.
Dealing with their love lives, employment (or unemployment) status, depression, financial problems, and general confusion about the direction of their lives is exhausting. I honestly try to stay out of it as much as I can but it's damn difficult when they're sleeping on the other side of my bedroom wall. (Alone, I hope). I keep telling myself that it's a temporary situation, that they're as anxious as I am to have space to themselves but lately I'm not so sure. Their current problems have given them legitimate excuses to hunker down into the family manor and their father and I are trying our best to help them with the tough transition to real life. I just wish they wouldn't feel so compelled to let me in on everything. They could at least have the courtesy to do what I did for my parents. Lie.
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