It’s debilitating and I think I do it to myself. I wish I had that gift of letting my kids figure it all out on their own, but I’m the mom who always says, “Don’t cut yourself” when they’re holding scissors or “Don’t choke” when they’re eating. Mind you, my kids are not babies anymore, and I don’t see an end in sight to my madness.
I’m not a helicopter mom, but a reminder mom who lectures and makes sure they know what they most likely already know.
Max went to his first day of work today after just getting his license, and I worried all morning until I got his text. “I made it. Love you.” I took a deep breath and thanked God.
All day we texted, him initiating more than I did because I was trying to give him space. Well, he forgot his charger, which in this day and age, and since he didn’t know the way yet, means he didn’t know how to get home.
“My phone is at one percent,” he texted me.
“You’ll have to figure it out,” I said, wanting to cry.
Well, he did, and he’s on his way home now. I knew he could do it, but why don’t I want to let him?
Teresa Forester Adams 