raising resilient kids

Last week I confessed I was a Helicopter Mom. The truth is, while I’ve heard the phrase Helicopter Mom for years, I never once thought it applied to me. In fact, even when I posted about being one, I was being a little cheeky about the whole thing.

Then I turned to Dr. Google.

I’m a textbook case:

I’ve stayed up late completing school projects for my kids.

I have meet with teachers and answer questions, originally directed at my child.

I intervene with dance and gymnastics coaches when my child hasn’t advanced at the speed I think they should be.

And literally and metaphorically, I don’t let them make toast, because they could get burned.

I am now obsessed with kicking years of dedicated helicopter habits. Like everything else I do, I’m probably over-correcting: I’ve checked out ten library books with titles like The Overparenting Epidemic and Because I Said So. I’ve scoured the internet for articles (there’s literally 8 million results). And I’ve drawn up a set of rules to help me self-check:

Allow them to feel uncomfortable:

I realize I’m more uncomfortable listening to or even anticipating their discomfort than they are – as if it’s happening to me, not them. I’m robbing them of the right to feel badly and then learn that this too, shall pass. If this means pissing off your five-year-old because they have to sleep in their own bed, or allowing your 17-year-old to fuck up his grade because he pulls a no-show for a really important test, then so be it. Hell, I didn’t rag on my husband when he paid cash for a stolen car, why am I hovering over these kids? Maybe next time they will make the right choice, and I will save myself a big argument.

It’s time to stop “child-protecting” the family environment

In short, they can do things without my supervision. Failure is ok. Or in other words, they may get burned making “toast,” but they will probably survive.

Prepare to kick them out of the nest

In other words, teach some concrete life skills and model them. I’ve unconsciously fostered a home atmosphere where no one (except Pascal), really cares about hanging out with anyone outside the immediate family. They are all devoutly anti-social. And that’s just a small example. Jake and Phoenix are complete slobs. They can’t even do a load of laundry or take out their own garbage. Jake has failed his driver’s license twice. Em hides in her room most of the day. I could go down the line, but believe me, none of them are learning any independence. Five year old Leo doesn’t even have the basics: I could start with getting him to spend the night in his own bed. Which leads me to:

Helicopter Mom, Helicopter Parent, good fortune, Fortune Cookie

Let them find their own solutions

All too frequently, I solve the problem or step in just because it’s easier. Because I tell myself things like, 14-year-old Em would forget to breathe if I didn’t tell her how to, I end up enmeshed in a ridiculous conversation about what she should do with a basket of laundry. I think I’m doing some badass parenting, because I turn it into a Q&A: What do I do with this basket of laundry? Well, what’s in it? Towels, should I fold them? What kind of towels are they? Dishtowels. Do we waste time folding dishtowels in our house? No. Where do they go? In the drawer. Bingo. But seriously, who is to blame? Why didn’t I start this sooner?

The goal is to end up with resilient kids who can problem solve and don’t need your input for every detail in life. They might make poor choices, but they will be able to come up with a backup plan or a solution. Ultimately they will be able to resolve issues without holding your hand. This also creates an adult that is prepared for the world.

But I’ve done none of this. I’m SO late to the party, but it doesn’t mean I can’t still go.

Helicopter Mom, Helicopter Parent, Step Mom, Blended Family, Parenting Advice

For more than ten years, I’ve been posing as an expert on both parenting and step-parenting. As far as blended family issues? Ask me anything. Every kid still has ten fingers and toes, they are reasonably healthy, and they like each other so much they don’t even want to leave the house most of the time. I must be a great parent. Helicopter Mom is a term for some other dame.

But then I started this blog. From the sheer weight of having to self-reflect and edit my thoughts, and review the various comments – both positive and not – I realize how much I don’t know about raising kids. So I’m flipping the conversation for a bit; rather than impart my own So-Called Mom wisdom into the world, I’d like to share a series of posts over the next few weeks about different parenting challenges I’m facing and ask for your advice.

Helicopter Mom, Helicopter Parent, Parenting Advice, Step Mom, Mom Support, Mom Blogger

From the various comments I’ve received, it’s easy to see the support and the hate. I welcome both. After all, we moms are in this together, aren’t we?

So here’s to a better version of this mom,

So-Called Mom

Another parenting challenge you won’t find in any of the how-to books is how to help your 17-year-old firstborn navigate his first heart-break. Apparently helping doesn’t mean hovering, shouldering or swooping in and saving the day, my bad! Believe me when I tell you that there is nothing worse than realizing you’ve been meddling like this right up to your kids’ adulthood.

As a freshly self-identified helicopter parent, I recognize that no one, especially Jake, has asked for my help in this way.

Full disclosure (I’m getting good at those): my first instinct was to memorialize my reaction in a vlog. And in all my well-intentioned emotional “honesty,” I realized while editing, that all of it was best left on the cutting room floor as they say.

So here’s what I got out of this:

I’m lousy with boundaries. Whether it was their first day at kindergarten, or navigating friendships or getting their driver’s license or

having their heart-broken, I have bumbled my way through helping my kids cope, thinking I could “fix things,” truly believing I was an expert. Ironically, this blog is teaching me the flip side of being a so-called mom: that the more I think I know, the more I realize I don’t.

Don’t we all have that mom fix-it impulse? To step in and just take-over?

Well, apparently this So-Called Mom doesn’t just take over and fix, I flat-out hijack any and all rites of passage and then take it upon myself to fix things that aren’t even broken.

So back to where I began: my 17-year-old, Jake. Yesterday he fessed up that the reason he’s been staying home from school isn’t his “migraines,” but because the girl who he’s been crushing on all year-long is moving far away. I spent the day texting with him, while he was in class, about what to do. That’s no-no #1. And then I bawled about it like it was happening to me.

Note to self: Don’t create a false narrative about your kid’s so-called heartbreak like it’s going to create a lifetime of regret over “the one that got away.” Especially over a relationship that never even happened. It’s as if I see the disappointment of a first crush as proof that leaving the bubble of homeschooling was the bad idea I knew it would be.

My problem? I feel my kids pain even more than they do. And then whenever there’s a remote discomfort, I want to “protect” my kids from feeling it—and I do, without realizing that letting them experience these things is essential to building confidence and resiliency.

Look, I want to say it’s not as bad as it sounds, but the truth is that he is transforming into an adult faster than I can keep up with and I just want to be able to say I did OK. Part of that means that I can look back and confirm that I provided an equal balance of support and letting go—that he has been able to find his own path after I showed him the ropes. But I realize now that I haven’t been doing that—and not just with Jake but will all my kids. I’ve been leading the pack too strongly and controlling their emotional responses.

So this next part is going to be hard. It means backing off of my instinctive responses and keeping my pain to myself. I get this about letting them fail. But maybe I’m afraid of failing myself? Do other moms also share that?

Please say yes,