Over the past couple of months, I believe I’ve hit the most difficult time of being a parent thus far. The boys are turning 19 this summer. Technically they are adults but my mind says they still require a lot of direction. From me. And it’s been stressing me out. A lot. “They say”, the bigger the kids, the bigger the problems. Hmmm…

Up through maybe 9 or 10 years old, the boys were so darn cute that any offense they made was simply a “learning experience”. I remember when Boy B decided to fake washing his hands by holding his hands under the faucet (not turned on) and made a shhhhhhhhh sound while rubbing his hands together like he was washing them. Dude, the door is open and I can see you. If you are gonna lie, then do a better job. I ended up giving him kudos for creativity.

Puberty definitely tested my patience but it was still tolerable because for the most part, the kids were still following our direction. It was just a very loud time in our house with all of their arguing and yelling. Tough but not terrible. Getting a driver’s license was intense but that was more about me fearing for our lives while training…then fearing for their lives while out driving. And I don’t think that feeling will ever go away.

These days I find myself struggling with trying to be helpful but not overbearing and encouraging them to be independent while still supporting them. As a mom, I’ve accepted the role of being a professional nag. But that always applied to things like doing chores or leaving notes to remind them to rinse their spit in the bathroom sink (ugh, SO gross). Nowadays, they know they’re adults so therefore any suggestions I make or advice I give, I get a whole lot of I know mom. But the thing is, they don’t really. Or at least I feel they don’t. So I bite my tongue because my inner voice of reason keeps reminding me they do need to learn to do these things on their own. Ultimately, it’s their lives to live, their choices to make. So, as much as I’d prefer to take over and do stuff for them or tell them what to do, I force myself to sit back and wait for them to take those steps on their own at their own pace. Anxiously. And it’s stressful. And I hate it. Because I know it would be easier for me if they just do what I tell them. But I don’t want to be a mother that smothers. Don’t be a mother that smothers. Don’t be a mother that smothers. Don’t be a mother that smothers…

Yesterday I celebrated 4:20. It couldn’t have come at a better time. I may be extending the celebration another day or two, or month…or as long as it takes. Peace out y’all.✌🏼