Letting Go

As a teenager, I remember desperately seeking two things:  freedom and the trust of my parents (specifically my mother).  Would I have honored that trust?  Maybe.  Okay, probably not.  But I would have appreciated the opportunity.

My folks have five children.  By the time I reached my adolescence, they'd been through this three times already.  Scratch that, two times already.  We are nominating my eldest sister for sainthood, as she never did anything wrong.  But apparently my other two older siblings made up for her angelic teenhood.  When my turn came, Mom's proverbial hold was tighter 'n Grandma's girdle.  It didn't work (love you, Mom!).  This would be when my tendency to rebel began.  The tighter her grip, the more I was determined to do exactly what I wanted.  I still have quite a rebellious streak and I'm almost thirty-five.

Recalling this all too well, I have changed my approach with Beba.  Now, she's not me (thank God), and to date, she's been a typical teen.  She's not exactly a saint, but she's not a hellion either.  She is well-prepared for adulthood.  She can cook, do her laundry, manage her checkbook, is employable and has proven her leadership skills in school and beyond.  There's one life skill that still eludes her and consequently drives me insane:  time management.  Whew!  In general, the clock revolves around her, not the other way around.  She has her own time zone.  PDT:  Princess Diva Time.  Everything I have done to help her learn this essential key to life has not helped.  Revoking privileges hasn't worked:  the car, the phone, her time.  It's gotten worse.  I refuse to micromanage her every move.  She's almost eighteen.  She's going to have to learn this one the hard way. 

A very wise person once told me that as a mother, my job is to give my children two things: roots and wings.  So, I have loosened the reins.  She has a social outing and a commitment early the next morning?  She decides if she goes, how long to stay and when to be up to meet her obligations.  Errands to run before work?  She decides how to prioritize and manage them so she can get to work on time.  As I type this, she is snoozing away and is 'posed to be at practice (have fun runnin' all those laps, dearheart).  She decides.  And she faces the consequences of her decisions.  Like a big girl. 

My refusal to attempt to control her makes my mother vibrate out of her skin.  And my husband.  Some of my girlfriends, too.  I doubt this strategy is in any of the numerous parenting books available, and I'm not exactly holding my breath for a "Mother of the Year" nomination.  But the way I see it, better for her to learn this now, even if she has to trip and fall.  I'd rather her fall now, while I am still here to pick her up, dust her off, and  lovingly reinforce the life lessons that cause her to stumble.  Before too long, I'm not going to be there to catch her . . . .

I have spent a lot of time and energy preparing her for her adulthood. Notsomuch me. I have a girlfriend whose sweet-n-precious is leaving for college soon, and I am taking notes (I'm watchin' you, Shercee).  Next year this time, we will be dropping Morgan off at college.  If I fall off the face of the planet, please come by to check on me.  You'll be able to find me in a corner in the fetal position, rocking.  Just remind me to be a big girl.