I’m floating in a sea of parenting anxiety this week. Well, maybe not anxiety as much as unease, concern and self-doubt. Plus, some anxiety. It feels like a perfect storm.
My three are all in periods of vaguely disquieting transition right now and I sit with it in my lap and on my heart, living proof that you never stop being an active parent, whether the worry is this month’s ear infection or big life choices that carry years of consequences.
Older son is in his first year of grad school, on his way to an advanced degree in … wait for it … Philosophy. Younger son is in his last semester of undergrad, facing those scary unemployment numbers out in the real world with his BA in … English Literature. Daughter is waiting on pins and needles for verdicts from the uber-selective college(s) of her choice, and I don’t care how accomplished and self-confident you are, it’s hard for any 17-year-old not to feel judged like a finalist in the Miss America pageant right about now.
These might sound like good problems to have. Each is a result of hard work and the message we sent from the day they were born: Find what you love and go for it, pedal to the metal. Don’t follow any path because someone says you should, or because it’s the direction your friends are going. Choose the road less traveled and make it happen.
Obviously, they all got the memo, but did we forget the addendum?
During our family’s early growing years (those far-away 80′s and 90′s) it seemed like the sky was the limit. We worked hard, we saved, and we were rewarded with a reasonably comfortable and happy life. Those were the days when the latter was an expected result of the former. Our kids were never made to feel that earning a living should be in conflict with self-fulfillment, or that putting food on the table would require compromise as long as you were willing to put in the effort. That seems like such a luxury in today’s economic times.
Husband and I both came from families that appreciated and encouraged an appropriate amount of informed risk (a story for another day), and we passed that on to our own. But here we are in what feels like a different universe, and I’m having serious second thoughts.
Did we make a huge mistake by failing to teach them the value of playing it safe? Sure, it’s great to go for the grand slam, but doesn’t it make sense sometimes to settle for a walk and not risk striking out, as long as you get on base? Did our you can be anything you want to be, as long as you do it well approach point them toward futures filled with disappointment and frustration when they bump up against real limits imposed by the real world?
Maybe we should have pushed engineering and accounting. Maybe we should have demanded practical minors to provide a recession-proof hedge against those liberal arts majors. Maybe we should have pushed harder for the Mandarin and Arabic courses that the more practical students were signing up for. Should have, could have, would have …
I guess what I’m really asking is, will we be to blame if they’re not able to attain the fulfilled and successful working lives we raised them to reach for? Did we send them in the wrong direction by offering an unrealistic vision of what’s possible?
But then I need to remind myself that anything’s possible. The road is theirs, not mine. Ouch.
Bottom line — they will make their own choices and be responsible for the outcomes. As hard as it is to accept that I can’t work my Mommy magic anymore and promise them everything will work out, it’s a fact. And who am I really promising, anyway?
I come full circle and realize it’s my own uncertainty that’s at the root of the feeling in the pit of my stomach, not theirs.
It’s my want to shield Daughter from the sting of the thin envelope, even while I know that disappointment is as powerful a teacher as success. It’s my hope that Younger will land a position that pays the rent and uses his brain, so he’s not trapped in an unskilled job that numbs his spirit — or no job at all. It’s my need to know that Older will finish all those years of schooling and come out into a world where universities still hire Philosophy professors.
The struggle isn’t to be shunned; they’ll struggle no matter what. And I’ll struggle to remind myself … it’s their choice, not ours.

How many times have you opened up a poopy diaper and wondered, ‘hmmm … is that normal?’ There’s not a mom on the planet who hasn’t worried about the color, consistency, or frequency of what’s coming out of that little behind. Have no fear, I’m going to clean up those messy doubts.
An adolescent male has had asthma since he was a toddler. His mom has spent those years learning about his triggers and honing her ability to zero in on the early, tell-tale symptoms so she could treat them before they bloomed into full-blown, scary asthma attacks.
Like many of you out there, I’m coming off several days of “vacation” time. I say several, because I’m honestly not sure if it’s seven or seventy. Feels like forever.
So there you are, humming along, feeling pretty great about your relationship with your pre-teen. He’s happy and engaged with life, the family and you, and things for the most part seem pretty peachy. Then for no apparent reason, he seems headed for the Dark Side. “Anakin!” you call out. “Come back!” But the little boy is gone and a moody, withdrawn adolescent has taken his place.
w it by looking around anytime from mid-November through the start of the New Year, but there are some of us who don’t get all that jazzed about the holiday season. We’re the 1 percent.
Yesterday I was at Pier I, a home decor store, looking for some sparkly candles to light my table and get me in the mood for the holidays. I love seeing all the gorgeous decorations that get showcased at this time of year. It brings out the child in me and really does fill my heart with a sense of joy and wonder. I know it’s hokey to some but I love to check out the beauty and artistic creativity that is so evident in each year’s new ornaments and displays.
Our family is headed to Florida in a couple of weeks to spend the holidays with the grandparents. Florida is that state where all New Yorkers (in this case northern New Jersey-ites) are required by law to go when they retire. This is non-negotiable.


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