Recently I met three good friends for coffee. These are younger women I was close to for several years as they reared their children. We hadn’t been together for a good while and catching up was fun. When we used to meet regularly, we talked about our children—the challenges, the frustrations, and the uncertainties of motherhood. They looked to me, as the mother of older children, for assurance that what they felt and feared was all normal and that they’d indeed be fine. Sure enough, their children have survived early childhood, adolescence, and are now successfully launched into adulthood.
So what did the conversation revolve around at this last klatch? Our children—the challenges, the frustrations, and the uncertainties of mothering adult children. This time, however, I didn’t have all the answers. Mainly because I’ve discovered there’s a lot I don’t know about parenting adults.
Some days it seems normal and natural to give advice and state what I think is the obvious solution to a situation. Other times, I feel irrelevant and out of touch with their world. The boundaries are unclear at times. Am I supposed to be their friend… their confidant… their counselor? Or step out of their way?
After I got home from our get-together I thought more about our discussion, and I drew some conclusions. I’m sure not all mothers relate to their adult children the way I relate to mine, but the MACs (Moms of Adult Children) I know share a common desire: we want our grown-up kids to like us. We don’t want them just to tolerate us; we want to feel that we’re their friends.
Maybe this desire isn’t in the heart of all mothers. But I do believe all mothers whose children have left the family nest share certain yearnings to continue a relationship that both generations enjoy. Once again I feel like a pioneer. There’s no particular authority I’ve found who has all the answers. With our own grown-up sons I continuously look for clues to indicate what’s going on in their minds. I have flashbacks to their boyhood days and I often wonder if I missed seeing a pattern of behavior or a cry for help.
I also concluded there are some things that our adult men might not know about me. If they should ask, here’s what I’d tell them:
If we had grown up together as teenagers, I think we would have been good friends.
Dad and love it when you want to double date with us.
As you become more capable, we become less necessary. That scares us.
We love it when you introduce us to your friends.
We try to keep in shape (as best we can) so you’ll be proud to claim us before your peers.
We sometimes don’t know what to do to help you parent your children .
It blesses our hearts when you call just to see how we’re doing.
We love it when you want our opinion.
We consider you the best friends we have.
We try to dress in a way you’ll like. (Dad does too, although you might not believe that. HaHa)
We appreciate it when you encourage the grandchildren to respect us.
We wish you could have known us when we were younger.
We fear becoming irrelevant.
Sometimes I find myself in the middle of missed communication between them and their dad. I watch him struggle with the feeling that he’s no longer needed as their hero—they now have little ones looking to them to fill the same role.
As for me, I’m no longer the most sought-after figure in their world. Most have wives now who soothe their wounded egos and make them hot tea when they’re sick. To be truthful, this is a relief. But sometimes…sometimes the little boy inside them needs attention. Sometimes they enjoy a momentary flashback to the days when their life was simple and they catch a reminder of this mom’s touch on their lives.
Maybe it’s when I cook a certain favorite dish, just because he likes it.
Maybe it’s a funny card or a GIF that expresses an inside joke we share.
Maybe, especially, it’s when he’s sitting beside me and I “crawlie” on his back again.
Maybe it’s when I remember the day he buried his special pet.
Maybe it’s when I drop off muffins at his desk at his office.
Maybe it’s when I read to them an episode from one of my journals.
Maybe it’s knowing we’ll keep the grandchildren to give them and their wives the much-needed opportunity to nurture their relationship.
If it sounds like I’m floundering to write this blog post, it’s because I am. Because I’m learning how to navigate the unmarked road of parenting adult children. I’m doing the best I know how and trying to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes I think I’ve nailed it; other times, I wonder where I’ve missed the signals.
But the good news is, that’s how I parented our sons when they were little. It worked well, as best I can tell, and from what other mothers have said, they’ve benefited from my transparency. So I’m doing the same thing with adult sons. Sometimes I lead; sometimes I follow; but together, we learn the dance.
