Stepping Out

I’ve always been a bit of an enabler (which is a little like saying Ryan Reynolds is kinda sexy). It’s not that I don’t know that people benefit from facing the consequences of their actions, it’s just that I don’t want anyone I know and love to suffer (duh),especially if there’s anything I can do to help it. I’m rational enough to know that this is the mantra of all enablers and I’m doing my best to quiet my inclination to step in whenever my kids are having a problem, but it’s often a losing battle.

It’s not fun to watch your kids struggle (another duh). Remember when our parents used to say “this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you”? Turns out they weren’t as crazy as we thought they were. But our parents were tougher; they knew the value of those lessons that could only be learned from experience. My husband, raised by strict, no-nonsense parents that made my parents look a couple of hippies, would have raised our kids a whole lot differently, if only he would have had a partner that would have let him.

Now that full-time motherhood is in my rear-view mirror, it’s so much easier to see things clearly. If it’s true, as Maya Angelou says (and everything she says is true), that “you did then what you knew then and now that you know more, you’ll do better”, it’s time for me to do better. It’s time for me to do what’s best for them, even if that means not being there to brace their every fall. It’s time for me to step out.

And it’s time for them to have a chance to step up.

Doubting Momma

It doesn't take much these days for me to doubt everything I've done as a mother over the past twenty-four years. There are times when I question every instinct I've ever had; times I feel overpowering regret over choices I made; times I think maybe I wasn't such a great mother after all.

When you see your kids struggling to find their way, you start wondering what your participation in their troubles might be. Were you tough enough? Did you have a balance of discipline and tenderness? Did you encourage them on the road to success and comfort them during moments of failure? Did you shelter them too much from life's disappointments? Right now, I'm doubting it all.

The catalyst for my current bout of insecurities is the family my daughter is working for. They don't allow their four-year old twins to watch any TV, the toddlers have chores to do every day, and before bed, they contemplate the ups and downs of their day. They eat meals and snacks at pre-determined times and nap at 1:15 every day. Not exactly the world I created for my kids. At that age, they woke whenever the spirit moved them, they ate snacks in their carseats as I lugged them all over the northwest suburbs and got to bed before midnight. I thought I was being a cool mom. I thought I was making them flexible. Was I just being lazy? Was I really making them undisciplined?

God knows I'd go back and change a few things if I could. But where's the guarantee that my kids would be struggling less if I jumped into that time machine? And who's to say what challenges await those adorable four year-olds (or their "perfect" parents)? There's a million and one ways to screw up your kids. With luck, you love them enough to overcome your mistakes.

So, at this point, I'll just have to take comfort in hearing my daughter reassure me that I was a great mom, that she wouldn't trade me for anyone, especially one who wouldn't let her watch a cartoon once in awhile. If she feels that way, I can't have done everything wrong.

Engaging My Inner Lioness

When your kids are in crisis, it doesn't matter if they're four or twenty-four. There's nothing you wouldn't do to take away their pain; to help them climb out of the hole they've dug themselves into. Even if you do manage to squelch that initial instinct to jump in and take over, you often can't help caving in the end. It must have something to do with that damn umbilical cord. Even after it's cut, it's still there, invisibly tugging you in the direction of that piece of your body that's now walking around on its own two feet.

I have to constantly remind myself that my "kids" are now adults. They should be able (and I should encourage them) to handle difficulties on their own. It's not as if they don't do their best to keep me in line. Those innocent eyes that once looked to me to make it all better have been replaced by icy looks that clearly say 'Don't even think about it'. Even if they want my help; even if they're going down for the third time, they're loath to let me in on it.

So, we lionesses have to be vigilant. We have to figure out how to separate the serious from the trivial. We can't go around roaring about everything. Because there will be times when you know you have to step in. There will be times when you feel in the deepest part of your gut that if you don't do something; if you don't help your child stop what they're doing/who they're seeing, something bad is going to happen. There will be times you just have to get in their face and stay there, shining a big fat light in their eyes until they finally see it.

This is one of those times.

Bumps in the Road

Yesterday was a particularly bumpy ride on my way out of the motherhood. Can't say that anything major precipitated this emotional meltdown other than a less than perfect phone call with my son but that seems to be the pattern. The act of letting go of the reins of full-time motherhood is a dicey operation. Sometimes you're able to steer your way around the potholes and sometimes you're not.

Expecting your grown up male child to keep you informed of what's going on in his life is a little like peace in the Middle East. You want it to happen with all of your heart and soul but know there's not a chance in hell of it actually taking place. So while I think I'm asking for something completely reasonable, he sees it as an invasion of his privacy. While I think I'm just trying to forge the new and improved version of our relationship, he thinks I'm trying to keep him a child forever. I honestly don't think that's true but I did underestimate how hard it was going to be to let go.

The day did end on a happy note when he and his girlfriend showed up on our doorstep with dessert. I tried to keep the conversation light. He gave me extra hugs. I didn't pry or give advice. He brought chocolate. We're getting there.

The Pity Party is Over . . . For Now

If you look at the description of this blog, it's supposed to be an "often humorous" look at the transition from full-time motherhood to whatever comes next. As anyone who's been reading this over the last few weeks knows, it's been anything but funny. Well, that's about to change. Beating myself up about the mistakes I've made as a parent could easily turn into a full-time job. Since that occupation doesn't pay very well, I've decided to direct my energies elsewhere.

Although I have one foot out the door of full-time parenting, our daughter is still gracing us with her presence so I still have opportunities to impart my hard-won wisdom on somebody. God knows, she's having her own transitional issues. She's between boyfriends and jobs. She's undecided about returning to school. She's confused about where she wants to live, although I did hear her mention to a friend that she might as well live here until she's thirty. She did laugh after she said that. That means she was kidding, right?

So, from now on, I'm going to concentrate on getting my own act together. I'll help my kids when I can (hopefully, not before I'm asked) but I'm going to stop focusing on the things that I cannot control and start working on what I can. That bestseller is not going to edit itself.

Boyz to Men

I have to admit I'm not handling this very well. I thought I'd be so happy to have my children move out but now that the first one has actually done it, I'm spending more time crying than celebrating. Maybe it's because it's my son. Unlike my daughter, he never was very demonstrative or communicative. He'd spend days in his room playing video games or talking to his friends, venturing out only to grab a Gatorade and a slice of pizza. If I was lucky, he'd ask me something about Sports Center or throw me a compliment about what I'd made for dinner. If I wasn't, he'd pass me in the hallway without uttering anything more than a couple of grunts. But, every now and then, he'd surprise me. He'd tackle me with a giant hug, reassuring me that I was the greatest mom on earth. Okay. It was usually when he wanted something but I didn't care.

Now that I can no longer find him hanging out in his room, I'm having trouble adapting to our new relationship. Since we work together occasionally, I still get to see him on a regular basis but it's always so impersonal. If he was uncomfortable showing emotion when he was in the privacy of his own home, you can imagine how much he hates it under the glaring eye of non-family members. I'm trying as hard as I can to give him time; to honor his privacy. I remind myself that he still loves me; that we'll get back to a close, connected relationship one of these days.

I just hate the meandering path we're on getting there.

Truth or Consequence

Last week I wrote about a particularly difficult incident with one of my kids. When your children are in their twenties and still living at home, it's hard not to be affected by their mistakes. This wasn't anything life or jail threatening but it did hurt. The hardest part was being lied to and dealing with the loss of trust that will be affecting our relationship for some time to come.

Two days after our family meltdown, our son left for Colorado. It was a trip that had been planned for weeks but the act of rewarding himself with a vacation when things were so broken seemed ill-advised and wrong. A friend advised me to warn him that if he went on this trip, he would have to find another place to live when he came home. I couldn't do it. Maybe I should have. Maybe he needed to finally learn that there are negative consequences to negative behavior but I just couldn't do it. Maybe he needed to man up and accept responsibility for his actions by giving up something he really wanted to do. He chose not to.

So, who's got the most to learn here?

The Deepest Cut

I was hoping to start the New Year with optimism. After finishing the first draft of my first novel in November, I was sure that 2011 was going to be the year; the year of no excuses, the year of fulfilling long held resolutions, the year our family was going to put past difficulties behind us. Instead, the first few days of 2011 have been some of the most challenging moments of my life as a parent.

What do you do when the people you love most in the world let you down? What do you do when the children you've nurtured and supported for more than two decades completely demolish your sense of trust, causing you to question every parenting move you've ever made? If you're expecting me to answer those questions, you're out of luck. After several bottles of wine and a lot of tears I don't have any answers. When your children make mistakes, it's easy to remember your own youth and have compassion. When they compound those mistakes by lying to your face over and over again, taking advantage of all the love and trust you've freely given, it's not so easy.

So, today I sat in the upper balcony in church and prayed for understanding. I asked God to help me get through this latest parenting hurdle with as much love and forgiveness as He can send my way. What I really want to do is change the locks, confiscate their cell phones and car keys and send them out into the real world to fend for themselves. Hopefully, my prayers will be answered with my offspring making amends in a concrete way that allows them to continue to have a roof over their heads without sacrificing my sanity and integrity. Then again, God may answer with the toughest response of all. He might agree with me.

How Do I Turn This Darn Thing Off?

I have always been a bit of a worrier. Okay, maybe more than a bit. I've been cursed (like most mothers) with the gift of seeing the worst possible outcome of any given scenario. This natural tendency to envision catastrophe around every corner can often turn me into a . . . a . . . I don't want to say it . . . nag.

The truth is, if the kids were away at school I wouldn't know anything about their homework, research papers or tests. But since they're still sleeping in the beds they've occupied since they were three, I can't seem to help myself from becoming involved in their school deadlines, cleaning habits and romantic relationships. I know I pulled all-nighters at school, I know I dated a few questionable individuals, I know my bathroom used to resemble an outhouse. But there's a part of me that just keeps thinking I can save my kids from making these same mistakes. In addition to being a nag, I guess I'm also an idiot.

In many ways, I see great progress in both my kids. Now I just have to learn to trust in God as he helps them continue to move forward and learn from their mistakes. But I hope it's not long before I don't have to see them played out on a daily basis. Maybe then my inner nag will finally be able to shut her mouth.

It's in the Genes

When you're pregnant you wonder which parts of you and your husband are going to be mysteriously transmitted to your unborn child. Upon meeting your baby, you see the physical attributes he inherited right away. Oh, look, he's got his dad's ears. Sorry. And, hey, his nose curls up just like mine. Isn't that cute? Then, there are the traits that take a little longer to show themselves. I was thinking about that a few nights ago when my son pulled an all-nighter completing a college project. If he had been away at school, I probably would not have known anything about it. Since he's not, I saw the downside of the genetic pool wreak havoc with my unfortunate son. He definitely inherited the procrastination gene from his mom.

I've tried hard over the years to break myself of this loathsome habit. I've read books and listened to motivational speakers. I've bought desk calendars and leather planners. I even married the most logical, self-motivated, diligent person on the planet. All to no avail. I know what I should be doing with my time (writing, cleaning my house, organizing my paperwork) just as much as my son knows what he should be doing with his (homework, studying, cleaning his bathroom). Too often, I find myself "encouraging" him to stay on task and not waste time. But I feel like a hypocrite chastising him for playing a video game while I'm catching the latest episode of Modern Family. He swears that he's getting a handle on managing his time. He says he knows he's capable of doing a better job. I want to believe him. After all, he has one thing going for him that I don't. His dad's genes are floating around in there somewhere.