One of the hardest things about having your grown child still living at home is how often you have to bite your tongue. Well, how often you have to at least try. Hearing parts of emotional phone conversations, seeing late night comings and goings, and observing questionable behavior without commenting is something I've discovered I'm not particularly good at. After butting my nose into my kids' business for two decades, it's asking a lot to turn off such a finely honed worrying machine. And while there are some wonderful aspects to being the parent of twenty-somethings, assuming the role of silent, yet emotionally invested, spectator isn't one of them.
I've found that twenty-four hours is about my limit. That's about all I can stand before I break down and ask that question that I probably shouldn't or offer that wise but totally unsolicited advice. Amazingly enough, it doesn't usually go well after that. My daughter ramps up the 'you're not the boss of me' attitude and I lapse into the disappointed parent incapable of keeping my mouth shut, even when I know I'm about to make matters worse. The funny thing is, in my rational moments, I know she's just trying to assert herself. I know she's trying to figure it out. Along the way, I know she's going to make choices I'm not crazy about. I also know that it's going to get a whole lot easier for both of us when she's not making them right in front of me.
True dat
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