This is particularly difficult when you live with your adult children and their children. I have decades of experience being a mother. I successfully raised a child all the way to adulthood. I kept them alive. I navigated schools, illnesses, teenagers, driving, dating and countless other crises.
You would think this would make me an invaluable household resource. Apparently not.
One of the things I'm still learning is how to stay on my side of the street. This is harder than it sounds.
My kidults let the boys do things I would never have considered when I was raising her. Sometimes I watch a parenting decision unfold and every cell in my 74-year-old body wants to stand up and announce:
“I HAVE SOME EXPERIENCE WITH THIS.”
Instead, I am learning to say nothing.
Well, mostly nothing.
For example, I have learned that the precise location of a teenage boy's waistband is not my responsibility.
Apparently pants can now be worn at a latitude that allows the general public to admire a considerable portion of their underwear. I don't understand it. I don't like it. And I have discovered that pulling someone else's pants up is frowned upon.
So I stay on my side of the street.
I have also learned that $50 is apparently a perfectly reasonable amount to spend on face cleanser.
Fifty dollars!
For something whose entire job is to be applied to your face and then immediately washed down the drain. I am from the generation that believed soap had pretty much cracked this problem.
But I don't have to fix it.
Then there is the $170 back to school backpack.
I should clarify. The backpack had previously been purchased by his brother — also used — for $200.
So apparently this wasn't reckless spending at all.
He saved $30.
I am still adjusting to an economy in which a used backpack can circulate among teenage boys for sums of money that I associate with small appliances.
When I was younger, used meant somebody else had owned it first and therefore it should cost less.
Today, we call it vintage.
For $170, I feel the backpack should carry me.
But this morning provided an excellent opportunity to practice my new philosophy.
My grandson is holding a garage sale of his used clothing in our condo clubhouse today. I was under the impression that his father would be there with him.
Apparently I was mistaken.
My first instinct was, naturally, to FIX THIS.
Is he old enough? Is this allowed? Can you actually use the clubhouse to make money? Does an adult have to be present?
So I did what any grandmother attempting to stay out of things would do.
I looked up the Clubhouse Guidelines.
There is no age requirement. Residents are allowed to hold events where they make money. In other words, there was absolutely nothing for me to fix.
This was extremely disappointing.
So today a 15-year-old is next door conducting commerce while I am in my room trying to stay on my side of the street.
I may need two Tylenol.
And I'm slowly discovering that this lesson extends well beyond teenage boys.
I don't have to fix every disagreement.
I don't have to fix every bad mood.
I don't have to point out every mistake before somebody makes it.
That last one is particularly painful.
Because I KNOW WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN.
I've already been down that road. I know where the potholes are. I know there's construction ahead. I know the bridge is out. And yet sometimes the people I love need to drive down the road themselves.
Friends don't always need solutions. Volunteer organizations don't need me to correct every inefficient procedure. Other adults are allowed to make choices I wouldn't make.
This has been quite a revelation.
There was a time when I thought being helpful meant helping. Now I'm beginning to understand that sometimes being helpful means keeping my mouth shut.
I am not always successful.
But I'm getting better.
These days, when I feel the overwhelming urge to straighten out someone else's life, I try to remember one simple rule:
Stay on your side of the street.
There's plenty over here that needs fixing.
