It's all my fault.
I am one of those moms who, it was just easier, too often, to do things myself. So there were tasks my kids should have learned but didn't. If I had it to do over, I'd do it differently.
That said, it means things come up now that they are (somewhat) on their own that put me in the position of being helpful from afar. Suddenly I feel important, like I still have some use.
My 20-year-old got a part-time job at college this year working for a married couple -- both her professors -- as a part-time babysitter. They have two young children and demanding schedules.
Her job is basically to trade cars with them on campus -- their minivan because it has a child car seat in exchange for her 13-year-old sedan with its leaky windows and empty water bottles that roll from under the seat when you brake. She then drives to the day care center to pick up the preschooler, continuing on to their home to meet the 7-year-old's bus, two afternoons a week. The parents arrive later in her car.
Turns out this involves some domestic prowess that until now, had gone untested. And she doesn't want them to realize that, so when she's not sure what to do, she calls me. I figure it's not unlike having a young newlywed off on her own for the first time.
Take meals. Sometimes the parents don't get back until after dinner, so the mom leaves ingredients for my daughter to prepare a meal.
Now, I thought she knew how to cook -- by osmosis, I guess. I know she knows oatmeal and macaroni and cheese, and grilled cheese and smoothies. She can make brownies from a box, Jell-O Poke Cake and cookies, too, though mainly for the dough. She can also make eggs. And salads.
It's enough to survive.
Anyway, she calls me up one afternoon, talking low, I guess not wanting the kids to hear. Faced with the makings for French toast, she's not sure what to do: Does she scramble up the eggs and milk and throw it all in a pan on top of the bread or what?
I can't believe she doesn't know how to make French toast, but then, I stopped making it because I like it way too much; better not to have it at all. So I told her about the dipping and the cooking on both sides. Her dinner turned out fine.
The other day, the mom gave her a credit card to stop and buy the kids some books and she didn't know what to do. Should she sign the mom's name at the checkout? Or her own? There I was again, oh so helpful with sage advice.
I like this. It makes me feel that she realizes the value of my knowledge and experience.
Maybe it will have some legs the next time we butt heads. Maybe she'll realize that she should, in fact, listen to her mother?
Nah.
Reach Kathy Gibbons at kgibbons@record-eagle.com or by writing 120 W. Front St., Traverse City, MI 49685
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