The Spectrum of Anxiety: Prom to India

Cole's Junior Prom is over. Check that most over-celebrated high school event off the list for this year. Don't get me wrong. I love being involved with our kids' activities. And while co-chairing the after-prom party was kind of like having mud thrown in your face (in a good way), it really wasn't all that bad. Not that I'd ever do it again, Mrs. Heithoff. But I have to admit it. Helping to plan the after-prom party was nothing compared to the actual anxiety over my son's entire experience.

Prom Challenge #1: Would his tux be a skinny fit?
Prom Challenge #2: Would another date cancel right before the buzzer?
Prom Challenge #3: And finally, would his awful cold prevent him from getting through the night?

As it turned out...

kramer.cole kramer.

• Cole's tux fit like a glove. More specifically, it had a James Bond appeal without the pistol.
• His date did not cancel, and she was beyond lovely. He had a great time despite the fact that her boyfriend was actually at prom as well. (Long story.) 
• And his nasty cold turned out to be a bit of a blessing! To his parents, anyway. He got through casino night (under our watchful eye). And by 2:00 AM, he was too sick to attend any after-after prom party. Poor kid. (Whew! Thank God.)

worth the hassles.

Now on to other worries. There's this one that's been niggling at me. Especially when I pushed the banality of prom drama aside.

A few weeks ago, Alex casually mentioned she might be taking a trip to India. Just for a few weeks to help her friend with a journalism project.

Say what?

India! No, Alex! Haven't you read what happens to women over there?

Well, yes. She does read. Journalists read.

I get that she's an adult now, despite what our tax returns might say. So, we can't really forbid her from going on this so-called Pulitzer grant project. But certainly, she'll listen to us. I've been trying to formulate a coherent argument. It goes something like this:

"No, Alex. You can't go. We won't let you. Just because you want to experience a new world and write an in-depth article about social injustice in a remote part of an undeveloped country doesn't mean you should...Heck, why don't you join the Marines or the Peace Corp while you're at it?"

This is where I get stuck.

Is it wrong to discourage a child from pursuing a noble cause in favor of eliminating a parent's anxiety? Is it all that different from discouraging your kid to attend an after-after prom party to keep from getting sicker? Okay. Maybe it's a little different.

When Alex was a junior in high school, she saved her money and convinced us to let her go to Amsterdam. It was an amazing, enlightening experience for her while I suffered painstaking heartburn for the entire two weeks. Despite the pain in my chest, my mother's voice would ring in my head. "You raise kids to be independent." I believe that, in theory. I just can't quite let my heart

See that map on her wall?

embrace it.

But I will. It's the right thing to do. If she decides to go, I'll load up on Tums and ensure my fervent prayers reach across the world. And perhaps I'll preoccupy myself by helping Cole to figure out a date for homecoming next fall.

Miss Independence

Texting with my daughter this morning:

Say what? You're on the road? How would've I known to start worrying more than I already do?

I knew she was going to Georgia sometime this spring. But she hadn't mentioned it in our last several conversations. Hubby had just spoken with her yesterday. He wasn't aware either. 

There she goes... there she goes again.

Does that say independence?

That's our Alex. Fiercely independent. She's the kid I could never convince to lay in bed with us when she was a toddler. She needed her space. (This turned out to be okay, since second kid was a fixture between Doug and I until he was about eight.) She's also the kid who decided to venture to the restroom – on her own – in the mall – when she was in kindergarten as I tried to figure out the baby stroller. Luckily she outsmarted any evil kidnapper. She made it all the way to the ladies room with her mother and grandmother having only mild heart attacks.

Mom always told me, "Raise your kids to be independent." She didn't tell me what an anxiety-ridden task that would be. I fear the day we receive a text that says, "Oh Mom! The mountains in Afghanistan are simply breathtaking! Did I tell you I'm moving here?"

In truth, I admire the my daughter's self-awareness and tenacity. Like the time she insisted on wearing canary-yellow tights to Catholic School. Or the time she convinced us to let her go to the Netherlands. By herself. Or the many times she's surprised us with a new tattoo that stood for something extremely profound and difficult for me to understand. 

Now she's on to be become a journalist determined to expose social injustices in the world.

How about that?

It's a strange combination of pride and heartache when your kids develop into these interesting creatures who take on a life of their own. I won't deny the satisfaction I feel when she calls to ask me a question about getting her wisdom teeth out or paying a credit card bill or cleaning mold off the kitchen floor.  She still needs us on a practical level. But when she showed us her most recent tattoo – Roman numerals of her father's, brother's and mother's birthdays, I realized something else. She still needs us emotionally. She'll always need our love. And she'll always get it.

Today after she told me about this service trip with sixteen other university students, I politely asked her to keep me posted. I also mentioned something to her about her stalwart independence. She told me it was my fault. But I sort of disagree. I tried my best to keep her under my wing. Luckily, she's much stronger than me.

Pulling off the Band-Aid

The other night I was walking a track around a soccer complex filled with intense youngsters wearing colorful uniforms and the most adorable, tiny cleats. As I watched pure exuberance chase soccer balls, my heart sang and stung just a little. Weren't those my kids just only a few short years ago?

watching them play is still fun

Last weekend we traversed (in our Traverse!) to Iowa City to enjoy the first football game of the season. The plans were to meet up with our good friends and catch a glimpse of our college-aged daughter. And a glimpse is all we got. She's a busy girl with a full course load, a job, and friends who do't go out until after 10 PM. Crazy kids.

I'm so proud of our kids who are focused and have goals. Alex will become a journalist tackling social issues. Cole will either be an MLS soccer player or something else. (He really is talking about the "something else" possibilities.) 

Sometimes it just hits me. My usefulness as a parent is waning fast.

I was expressing this sentiment to a recently-retired friend of my parents. This is how he responded:

I remember when we took Michael to Luther College in 2001. Everything I had read said to not prolong the "tearing" apart by lingering at college after getting him settled into his dorm. They told us that parents weekend was just six weeks away and a good time to linger. So, with an abruptness we took him, moved his stuff in said our good byes and departed. It was rough on me and I was full of tears in the car pulling away. It was not that I was first experiencing his independence that we trained him to have but the finality of it all that the corner actually turned. Since that date our times together are richer and better with time. A beer or glass of wine are not required to make this so but they are a compliment for part of the times we are now together.

Beautifully-worded, Chris Hoffmann.

an Iowa City party sans the daughter

Last night I was completely sacked out when my son came home after midnight. He had driven a carload of kids to Council Bluffs to see the movie. The kid just turned sixteen, and I don't even remember saying goodnight to him! According to Doug I said, "Home so early, Cole?" Bad mom? Nah. I'm a good mom who has a proclivity for deep sleep. As most mothers understand, deep sleep is typically not an option as your kids grow up. Maybe, just maybe I'm pulling off the band-aid. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy that deep sleep – and every other moment as it comes.

When I Grow Up

Doug and I often ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up. "Artist" and "rockstar" have been the predominant responses the last few go-rounds. I guess we might as well toss doctor or lawyer out the door. And apparently they're not enamored by ma and pa's positions - neither banker nor farmer have gotten any nibbles. Go figure.

We're always encouraging Al and Cole to pursue whatever interests them. "Follow your passion." Thus, music and drawing emerge as career choices. Logical. The hole in this theory, we fear, is the simple economics of making a living. Our kids have no idea what it means to struggle, i.e. to be broke. Not that I would mind if they occupied our basement forever, but somehow me thinks they should experience something beyond my awesome tator tot casserole.

The good news is that they're still young. No need to panic yet, right? I've been brainstorming a few tactics to better prepare the kids for the real world:

1-Practice frugality. Just say no to unnecessary items. Think plain vanilla. (Do you need a kitty playing a guitar on your school notebook for $3.67? Can't we just get the plain yellow one for 49 cents?) This will really teach them some lessons in hardship now, won't it?
2-And let's explore new, specialized skills that could end up paying big bucks. Such as:

Butterfly Whisperer

Monkey Imitator

Any other ideas? I know there are a few other clever parents out there...

Do It Yourself? Are you Sure?

I can’t exactly remember the context, but I often remember as I was growing up my mother stating, “You raise your kids to be independent.” Since Mom cut my meat until I was fifteen, and relied on my college roommate to provide me laundry instructions, I’m thinking that she was giving herself a pep talk in attempt to change her enabling behavior.

No matter, I get it. I get the fact that it’s really, really hard not to wait hand and foot on your kids. Even if it makes you pissy because you’re too busy doing everything for everyone.

Case #1: Alex, first child, currently age 11. To this day, she would gladly let me do everything for her. “Mom, can you get me some milk.” Some instinctual message directs me to gravitate to the fridge before Doug lovingly tells his daughter, “Get your own damn milk.” I guess my husband buys into the ‘independence’ philosophy.

Case #2: Cole, my second child, currently age 7, opposite of Alex. He continually has something to prove. On several occasions I have caught him in the act of pouring a full pitcher of lemonade bound to spill all over the kitchen counter. He’s also the one who can make himself French toast. Of course I watch to ensure he doesn’t burn himself, but he’s easily angered if I try to take over the job. What is it with this second child? He either likes to prepare his own breakfast because 1) he gets a sense of satisfaction from doing it himself or 2) he doesn’t like my cooking. (Typically, I trick him by having his breakfast done before he enters the kitchen in the morning.)

So, despite my efforts to keep my kids dependent on me forever, other forces of nature seem to be at work. But they can’t keep me from cutting their meat.