August 11. Day 223. Take you under my wing

 

In the dictionary, under the entry Helicopter Parent, there should by rights be a picture of me.

I am a hoverer of the worst type. I can't help myself. I (s)mother. I (s)mother all in my charge. My husband, my son, my dog(s) sometimes even my students, anyone in my care could experience it at one time or another. I am sure at times they find it incredibly frustrating but they all also understand how to play the system to their advantage. Just a small hint of hopelessness and the nurture gene kicks in and I tend to step in and help. The boys also understand that "let me help" can become "come on I'll do it" if you play your cards right. A medical professional (who happened to be a complete cow) did once tell me one useful thing in an otherwise patronising $500 consultation. She said "being a teenager is about learning to let go. Being the parent of a teenager is about learning to let go". I wonder what book of cliched phrases that came from. In any event she is right. My little ducklings really no longer need to be sheltered under my wing. It might not be time to fly the coop yet but there has to be somewhere in between.