My Dad, his mother, our beloved C-mamaDr. Spock was our tried and true method for parenting infants through childhood. We had to wing it through adolescence. Now comes parenting your adult children...where is the manual?
I want a book. Something that says "if your adult child says this, you should respond with that." Guess this is another example of on the job training.
My parents gave me the impression that once we turned 18, we were out of the house if not out of mind. A perpetrated falsehood to get us to have grandchildren, no doubt. My Dad used to say he preferred to live far enough away that we had to visit, but close enough we would stay in touch. I am not sure there is a clear distance indicated here but I am beginning to see the logic.
It is not that I want my adult children to do as I did, or even do as I said. When I was growing up, we had to say "Yes, Ma'am and Yes, Sir." The only discussion allowed was asking how high we were to jump. I gained a new level of respect for my Dad when his mother told him he was wrong about excluding our best man because of his long hair. She told him in no uncertain terms, he was to go out and "fetch that young man in here now." And my Dad did. No question. No remark. My Dad was 42.
Perhaps that is the way of southern raising. We were raised in a similar manner and were expected to listen and respect our elders. There are days when my 94 year old mother in law tests that raising, but I hear my C-mama's voice telling my Dad to bring that young man in our home, and I smile. Yes, that is how I would like to be treated and cared for by my adult children.
Not that my adult children are not kind and thoughtful, but I do get the sense that they think of me as a blooming idiot and that my true worth is that I can bake the best dang cookies on the planet.
How does one parent an adult child? My best advice, get out of the way. We made our own mistakes. Why shouldn't they be allowed to make theirs? As painful as it is, we are still trying to protect them from the falls, the boo boos, the heartaches of growing up. We didn't get wise because we listened to our parents. Our wisdom comes from all the scrapes along the bumpy road of life. Although we are here to tell the tale, no one wants to listen. Maybe our best revenge is living long enough to see them pay for their own raising.
Looks like we are relegated to commiserating with our friends about the trials and tribulations of raising adult children, along with our five mile walk to school in the snow. Preferably over a glass of wine and photos of when they were little...and cute!
Any tips you would like to share?