What’s A Mother To Do? Probably A Lot Less.

I do too much for my child. I know it’s not good, and I don’t think I’m alone.

In fact, some of the results of modern parenting are already in, and experts are saying that on the whole, today’s children grow up lacking motivation and creativity, feeling entitled, dependent and unsatisfied. And those are just a few of the unflattering adjectives that regardless of how many youth sports trophies they earn, predict a not-so-bright future, thanks to parents like me.

Who is “me?”

I’m part of the overly involved generation of older mothers who, even as I juggled breast feeding, homemade baby food, a career, yoga, volunteer work and snowboarding lessons, somehow found plenty of extra time to try and control every aspect of my child’s life — maybe in the name of doing it differently (better) than my own parents.

I’ve been the confidant, advisor, motivator and playdate-maker. I’ve made sure no shin guard or mitt is missing, socks are always clean and matched, thank you notes are always written. I’ve checked grades online, sometimes hourly, to track missing assignments and test results. And I’ve talked to my son in gory detail about subjects that would have literally shocked my parents unconcious.

Yet even as I’ve built this new-style, open relationship and pushed my son forward, I am filled with anxiety about all I’ve done that will hold him back.

Inconsistently I’ve turned various life responsibilities over to him, but my actions are usually viewed as punishment, not as an attempt (and my responsibility!) to teach him to do things for himself — because that’s what he must do to feel competent and confident out in the world beyond my evil mommy powers.

So that he doesn’t end up living in his childhood room-with-the-alphabet-rug forever, protected and paralyzed by a mother who knew better but didn’t do better, I’m trying.

This year, a full six months before he will go away to college, I’ve quit packing him a school lunch!

Baby steps.

Grocery Store Confessions: Why I Shop Among the Superior.

Every so often, when I’m feeling really confident, I shop among the health and planet hugging elite at Whole Foods. I don’t have enough authentic looking cloth bags to go there for a major grocery expedition — or enough money. Plus I don’t like feeling conspicuous for wanting my tortilla chips salted and my lips glossed.

I am not comfortable among mothers who load dangerously vitamin engorged vegetables right on top of their babies in their strollers because even food carts are a waste of resources — and then say to other members of the Smug Shopping Club, “Oh, look, my six-month old is eating kale!”
Hell, yes, since a giant leaf is laying over her face.

But there’s something that drives me to put my hair in a low pony tail, scrub my cheeks too hard for a fake wind burned effect, and wear flat brown shoes. It’s a specialty food item I can only find at ye olde health food store: yummy, creamy, tangy, high calorie, proudly-packaged-in-molded-plastic Just Desserts LEMON CAKE! (with no trans fats, of course.)

And the uglier truth is, there are lots of inappropriate, unhealthy, irresponsibly wrapped treats at Whole Foods, right next to those expensive organic apples with the dark bruises all over them. Borrow some khakis and see for yourself.