Helicopter Mom am I. See me fly.

This morning I was reading a lovely post by Wife Goes on.  She has been silent for a while (boy, can I relate), so she was giving an update on her high school and college-aged kids.  I could tell by her post how proud she is of them and how she has let them grow and find their own way.

As I read it, I thought, “I totally could have written this!  I feel that same sense of calm that she does.”

BAHAHAHA!  Who am I kidding?  The word “calm” isn’t even in my dictionary any more.  I wouldn’t resemble calm if you set me up for an all day spa treatment in a luxurious and secluded paradise.  With a Xanax IV-drip.

It’s not in my DNA.  I mean, it couldn’t possibly be, could it?  If it is, someone sign me up for electric shock therapy or whatever will work to bring it to the surface.

I feel sorry for my kids.  At work, I’m not the kind of employer that micro-manages employees.  At home, I am just that kind of employer and my poor kids are the employees.

LoverBoy has a touch of my Type-A personality, so I don’t have to hover over him about his grades.  In fact, when he greets me at the door with his daily GPA calculation, I almost want to fly, fly away.  His personal life and yo-yo relationship with his girlfriend make me crazy.  I’m constantly scrutinizing his body language to determine if he is sulking because of a recent fight or if he is just his usual stress-case about his grades. Let’s be honest, though.  He’s so stressed out that asking ONE question nearly sends him over the edge, so I just fret about all things potentially dangerous in silence.  I mostly needle him about seeing his friends more, cleaning up his room and his car, and eating more.  Have you eaten?  What do you want to eat?  Can I fix you something?  Do you want me to run out and grab something?  You really should eat.

With MonoBoy, well…there’s just all sorts of mother-hovering going on.

Do you have homework?  When is your next test?  Did you study for your test?  What grade did you get on your test?  Why does it say you have a missing grade online?  Did you talk to the teacher about that missing grade thing?  The missing grade is still showing up.  Do I need to contact your teacher myself?

Basketball:  I found your knee-brace on the floor.  Why wasn’t it on your knee?  Did you stretch before practice?  Eat a banana so you don’t cramp up.  I don’t want to hear any whining later.  Are you whining? Did you eat the banana like I said? 

Social Media:  Stop tweeting in ebonics.  You sound like an idiot.  Did you just tweet that I said you sound like an idiot?  GET OFF OF TWITTER AND DO YOUR HOMEWORK!  Good night, Sweet…is that your phone?  GET OFF TWITTER AND GO TO BED!

Friends:  Before I say that you can go, who are you going with?  Which Chris – the one I like or don’t like?  You haven’t hung out with so-and-so in a while, did something happen?  Who was that on the phone?  Do I know her?  I saw that girl you were talking to  on Twitter.  You might want to tell her that her profile pic is inappropriate.  I’m guessing her parents aren’t on Twitter? How many of your friends were at our house after school today?  Next time, tell them not to drink all of my milk.

Eating:  I don’t care if you’re not hungry, you need to eat something besides Oreos.  No, McDonalds doesn’t count as something besides Oreos.   Sure, I’d let you have cereal instead of the dinner that I cooked, but good luck with that since your friends drank all of the milk.  Geez, at least take a Vitamin before CPS takes you away for malnutrition.

Sometimes he gets pretty fed up with it, especially about the grade thing.  “Why don’t you ask LoverBoy about his homework all of the time?  You don’t trust me.”

The truth is that it’s partially true.  It’s not so much that I don’t trust him.  It’s more that I don’t trust not knowing about something.  As soon as I turn my eyes away, something goes wrong.  It’s been proven by history.  I didn’t check up on my husband’s whereabouts or ever question his stories, and he had an affair.  I didn’t micro-manage our bank account, trusting that the money I put into savings would be there, and he gambled it away.  And whenever I don’t check MonoBoy’s grades online, I get an email about a grade lower than an 80.

So for now, Helicopter Mom am I.  See me fly.

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