Last week, my 21-year-old son, Alex, strolled into the kitchen and asked if I could help him brew a cup of coffee. If you’re familiar with those modern Keurig machines, like mine, you’ll know it’s quite straightforward. You simply pop the K-cup into the chamber, choose your cup size, and hit “Brew.” Simple, right?
But Alex is my firstborn. He’s the one who enjoyed having a young, eager mother who meticulously laid out his clothes each night, trimmed the crusts off his sandwiches, and peeled his apples. Now, I find it a challenge to even remember to buy apples, let alone peel them.
I held back a chuckle when he asked for coffee help. As he plopped down with his iPhone, I realized he didn’t actually want to learn; he just wanted me to do it for him. “Alright,” I said, “let’s get you started. Open the machine.” I guided him step-by-step until, like magic, he was sipping his warm cup of joe.
Not long after, his 11-year-old brother, Jake, entered the kitchen and whipped up an omelette. He heated the pan, cracked an egg, added some egg whites from the fridge, sprayed the pan with cooking spray, and cooked his breakfast. He topped it off with hot sauce and enjoyed a homemade hot chocolate alongside his meal while watching his favorite show.
The contrast between my first and fourth child never ceases to amaze me. Jake has thrived in the absence of my constant oversight, while Alex, despite his capabilities, often needed me hovering around. It’s a classic case of the firstborn versus the youngest.
This morning, I dropped Alex off to catch a bus for his summer internship. It required a business-casual outfit and some adulting skills. Watching him pour a bowl of cereal before we left made me realize how much he has grown. The week leading up to this moment involved a fair amount of guidance: shopping for “big boy” clothes, securing his monthly bus pass, and even a practice run to find a parking lot. Reading the bus schedule was a bit tricky for him; after all, he had never done anything like this before. The younger siblings have learned from his experiences, as he paved the way for them through various milestones, from playing instruments to applying for college.
As I watched him walk away towards the bus, a part of me wanted to jump out and ensure he was getting on the right one. But I resisted and drove away, seeing his new jacket fade from my rearview mirror. Later, he texted me, giving me a thumbs-up to let me know he was on the bus. “Thanks for the ride and everything else, Mom,” he wrote, complete with heart emojis. He really meant it; despite our occasional clashes, he knows I’m always in his corner.
Navigating the fine line between being a helicopter parent and simply lending a helping hand is tricky. I hope I’ve managed the latter. By the time Jake ventures into adulthood, there will likely be less hand-holding, thanks to the experiences he’ll have observed from his older siblings.
But for now, I cherish the fact that I still have a little boy who wraps his arms around me for no reason, belts out Maroon 5 in the shower, and occasionally forgets to use shampoo. Time flies, and in the blink of an eye, you transition from handing your child a juice box to a commuter mug. People often say this, and when you’re in the thick of parenting, it can feel endless. But then, suddenly, it’s not.
I’m excited to pick him up from the bus later and hear about his day. We’ll celebrate his big step forward with a homemade dinner. Though Alex may have graduated from skateboard attire to dress clothes, he’ll always be my baby.
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Summary
As parents, we witness our children grow and navigate the world in unique ways. From the firstborn feeling the weight of our expectations to the youngest thriving in their absence, each child’s journey is distinct. Despite the challenges, we cherish the little moments and look forward to celebrating their milestones.
Keyphrase: parenting reflections
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