As a teenager and young adult, my mother’s worrying was something I just didn’t comprehend. I also figured that by the time I came around as child No. 6, she had worried herself out. However, the worrying continued and it made me a little crazy at times.
Now here I am many years later, the mother of three kids with the oldest going off to college next month, and guess what? I worry about them – all the time. As I tell my own mom, “I get it now.” I wish someone had warned me long ago that worrying automatically comes with motherhood (the ultimate lifelong occupation), no matter how old your children are. I never considered myself a worrier, but when I think back to my 20s, my favorite bedside book was usually “The Symptom Finder”, so that may have been a clear warning sign of things to come.
It is nice to know that I’m not alone in my worrisome thoughts. According to Robert Leahy, Ph.D., author of the “Worry Cure”, 38 percent of people worry every day. And based on another study, women are twice as likely as men to worry. (As I listen to my husband snoring on the couch while I sit at my computer seeking advice on overcoming the latest teen challenge, I don’t need a study to tell me that I’m chief worrier in the family – at least when it comes to the kids.)
There’s no denying that parents of teenagers have a lot to worry about. Teenagers are coping with real challenges and pressures in their lives, and parents struggle with finding the best strategies to help them. For me, I try to keep perspective along the way, but sometimes it’s tough, especially when every time I turn on the TV or open up the daily newspaper, there’s a story of bullying, dating violence, reckless driving, drug and alcohol abuse, or other teenage tragedy.
In times like these, sometimes I just have to take a deep breath and keep telling myself that keeping the lines of communication open with our kids is what’s most important, and that my husband and I are doing our best to equip them with the tools and support they need to navigate life successfully. After all, we all have to learn to stand on our own two feet sometime.
That being said, finding the right balance between letting go and holding on is tough to achieve. There are times I want to dive in and rescue my kids, and other times when I have to force myself to put my worries aside and stay out of the way. I never realized how tough it is to watch your children struggle for independence until I became a parent myself.
With our first-born preparing to go off to college, we look back at his childhood with fondness, and feel particularly grateful to have made it through the middle school/high school years, where worrying seemed to hit an all-time peak. We’re certainly not naïve -- we know college will bring a host of new challenges and worries, but at some point, we also realize we have to let our child live his life.
My son actually said it best after we had a heart-to-heart talk about college and the influences that might confront him: “Mom, I don’t think you need to worry about me as much as you are. The last thing I would do is ruin opportunities for myself -- the same opportunities that you and Dad have worked so hard to give me.”
I can learn a lot from my son, including how to spend less time worrying and more time enjoying his evolving adulthood. There is immense joy in seeing your child discover and nurture his talents, and start making positive, life-changing decisions for himself. He also deserves to have the freedom to make mistakes. After all, none of us got to where we are today without stumbling along the way.
Hopefully my son eventually realizes that my worrying is a sign of love. It didn’t take long to realize that my own mom’s worrying shouldn’t have been viewed as an annoyance, but a gift. If I’m lucky, my mom will worry about me for a long time to come, and my son will eventually say to me, “Mom, I get it now”.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
It's Summer Camp Season
When Allan Sherman’s “Camp Grenada” starts playing in my head, I know it’s time to gear up for overnight summer camps.
Overnight camp is great for the kids. But each year 10 million parents across the country are stressed out by the long list of tasks needed to get them there. For parents of first-time campers, this can be especially overwhelming.
It all starts with finding the right camp to begin with. Our first time around, we spent hours searching online, getting information from other parents, and talking to camp directors. With an estimated 12,000 summer camps across the U.S., the arduous task of finding the right camp provides great training for the college search process that hit us years later! Thankfully summer camps don’t require entrance exams or come with rejection letters.
Once we found “camp paradise”, paid the bill (ouch) and completed dozens of forms, the real fun began with the “What to Pack” camp checklist.
The first time my two boys went off to summer camp, I spent hours trying to find every item that was on that list – from bed-bug-proof mattress covers, to cot-sized sheets, to laundry bags and footlockers. But I went one step further. Knowing that they’d miss us terribly, I created stamped and preaddressed postcards that they could simply drop in the mail after writing us their heartfelt notes.
The real fun was packing time. Sitting on the floor surrounded by dozens of items and my handy Sharpie, I put my boys’ names on every single item with the expectation that it would not get lost. I was determined that each sock, pair of underwear, jeans, t-shirt, toothbrush, soap dish, flashlight, pillowcase, water bottle and every other item packed carefully in the massive footlocker would be clearly branded with each son’s name.
With everything packed up and in the car, it was time to make the five-hour drive to upstate New York. On the way, we thought the boys would talk excitedly about the three weeks they’d be away from home, but they were quiet. So we spent a lot of time peppering them with questions…”Do you think you’ll like the food?”; “What are you most excited about?”; “Do you think the counselors will be nice?” Their little sister only wanted to know: “Will you miss me?”
Camp arrival and registration was uneventful, but it was pouring rain. We slogged through puddles to locate the boys’ cabins, meet their counselors, make their beds, organize their belongings and say goodbye. We were back on the road again within an hour, but this time with a family of three vs. five.
On the ride home, we talked about all of the projects we’d get done at home, and our seven-year-old daughter was excited about being an only child -- if only for a short time.
A week flew by, and no word from the boys. Surely a postcard would arrive soon, or we’d get a homesick phone call, but there was nothing. Two weeks later, we finally heard from our 11-year-old and the conversation went like this: “Hi Mom. I miss you. Hey…can you send me some money? Sorry I haven’t sent any postcards – I couldn’t find the mailbox.”
The remaining two weeks flew by, and before we knew it we were back on the NY Thruway to pick up the boys. On arrival, we found their cabins without a problem. My husband helped pack up one son, while I took care of the other. In my 11-year-old’s cabin, the footlocker that was once neatly packed with clean clothes was now empty (but the laundry bag was overflowing). The toothpaste, soap and shampoo were easy to round up, but the toothbrush was missing (and had been for some time, I was warned). The sleeping bag had to be rolled up (but the bag it came in was missing), and our son’s sheets had to be stripped from the bed (they hadn’t been changed since his arrival). And after discovering all of the unsent postcards in both boys’ backpacks, I also spotted a shack prominently located in the middle of camp with a large sign that said: “Camp Mailbox”.
So we loaded up the boys and all their “stuff” and head back home. With Dad singing “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh”, the drive was filled with stories about the friends made at camp, the new things they learned, and their favorite (and dreaded) camp counselors . Three weeks had flown by.
My husband and I may not have gotten through everything on our to-do list, and our boys may have come back with half the clothing, socks and underwear they started with (and that still bears their name), but they have countless memories that will last them a lifetime.
Overnight camp is great for the kids. But each year 10 million parents across the country are stressed out by the long list of tasks needed to get them there. For parents of first-time campers, this can be especially overwhelming.
It all starts with finding the right camp to begin with. Our first time around, we spent hours searching online, getting information from other parents, and talking to camp directors. With an estimated 12,000 summer camps across the U.S., the arduous task of finding the right camp provides great training for the college search process that hit us years later! Thankfully summer camps don’t require entrance exams or come with rejection letters.
Once we found “camp paradise”, paid the bill (ouch) and completed dozens of forms, the real fun began with the “What to Pack” camp checklist.
The first time my two boys went off to summer camp, I spent hours trying to find every item that was on that list – from bed-bug-proof mattress covers, to cot-sized sheets, to laundry bags and footlockers. But I went one step further. Knowing that they’d miss us terribly, I created stamped and preaddressed postcards that they could simply drop in the mail after writing us their heartfelt notes.
The real fun was packing time. Sitting on the floor surrounded by dozens of items and my handy Sharpie, I put my boys’ names on every single item with the expectation that it would not get lost. I was determined that each sock, pair of underwear, jeans, t-shirt, toothbrush, soap dish, flashlight, pillowcase, water bottle and every other item packed carefully in the massive footlocker would be clearly branded with each son’s name.
With everything packed up and in the car, it was time to make the five-hour drive to upstate New York. On the way, we thought the boys would talk excitedly about the three weeks they’d be away from home, but they were quiet. So we spent a lot of time peppering them with questions…”Do you think you’ll like the food?”; “What are you most excited about?”; “Do you think the counselors will be nice?” Their little sister only wanted to know: “Will you miss me?”
Camp arrival and registration was uneventful, but it was pouring rain. We slogged through puddles to locate the boys’ cabins, meet their counselors, make their beds, organize their belongings and say goodbye. We were back on the road again within an hour, but this time with a family of three vs. five.
On the ride home, we talked about all of the projects we’d get done at home, and our seven-year-old daughter was excited about being an only child -- if only for a short time.
A week flew by, and no word from the boys. Surely a postcard would arrive soon, or we’d get a homesick phone call, but there was nothing. Two weeks later, we finally heard from our 11-year-old and the conversation went like this: “Hi Mom. I miss you. Hey…can you send me some money? Sorry I haven’t sent any postcards – I couldn’t find the mailbox.”
The remaining two weeks flew by, and before we knew it we were back on the NY Thruway to pick up the boys. On arrival, we found their cabins without a problem. My husband helped pack up one son, while I took care of the other. In my 11-year-old’s cabin, the footlocker that was once neatly packed with clean clothes was now empty (but the laundry bag was overflowing). The toothpaste, soap and shampoo were easy to round up, but the toothbrush was missing (and had been for some time, I was warned). The sleeping bag had to be rolled up (but the bag it came in was missing), and our son’s sheets had to be stripped from the bed (they hadn’t been changed since his arrival). And after discovering all of the unsent postcards in both boys’ backpacks, I also spotted a shack prominently located in the middle of camp with a large sign that said: “Camp Mailbox”.
So we loaded up the boys and all their “stuff” and head back home. With Dad singing “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh”, the drive was filled with stories about the friends made at camp, the new things they learned, and their favorite (and dreaded) camp counselors . Three weeks had flown by.
My husband and I may not have gotten through everything on our to-do list, and our boys may have come back with half the clothing, socks and underwear they started with (and that still bears their name), but they have countless memories that will last them a lifetime.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Getting off the worry wagon
Are my kids on the computer too much? Are they reading enough? Are their friends a good influence? Are they happy? Will they get (or recover) from Swine Flu? Worrying and being in your 40s -- it seems like the two go hand in hand. And it's not just for parents. In our age bracket, we're also worried about neighbors and friends battling cancer, aging parents, and making the time to take care of ourselves, which always seems to fall at the bottom of the list.
I may be venturing out on a limb here, but it doesn't seem like men worry nearly as much as women. Or maybe they do, but they just keep all their worries inside. My husband and I talk a lot about the kids and the usual worries parents have, but he rarely talks about his personal worries. Me on the other hand? I know I drive him nuts with my excessive worrying about the kids' health, their friendships, how I'm going to get everything done in a day, my aging parents...an on, and on, and on.
Having kids definitely makes you treasure their childhood and the early years when they can truly be carefree -- without worries. I love watching preschoolers skipping off to school excited to seize the day. They look at every moment as an adventure, and they're in awe at the littlest things in life. Wouldn't it be great to get that feeling back as an adult?
I think we have to try by carving out time for ourselves to do things that take our minds off life. I went canoeing on the Charles with the Trustees of the Reservations a couple of weeks ago and it was incredibly therapeutic to take a 2-hour break from my to-do list to do something I'd never done before. At first it felt a little strange to go by myself, and as I was driving to the river launch, I had second thoughts. But I didn't turn back, and in the end it was one of the most memorable experiences in my life. I felt like a little kid in awe at seeing the fall foliage along the river banks, or the Great Blue Heron overhead, or the gorgeous pheasant that popped out of the marsh. At that moment I had absolutely no worries in the world, and it was a phenomenal feeling.
Now I just need to figure out how to keep that feeling alive on a regular basis. Any suggestions for staying off the worry wagon?
I may be venturing out on a limb here, but it doesn't seem like men worry nearly as much as women. Or maybe they do, but they just keep all their worries inside. My husband and I talk a lot about the kids and the usual worries parents have, but he rarely talks about his personal worries. Me on the other hand? I know I drive him nuts with my excessive worrying about the kids' health, their friendships, how I'm going to get everything done in a day, my aging parents...an on, and on, and on.
Having kids definitely makes you treasure their childhood and the early years when they can truly be carefree -- without worries. I love watching preschoolers skipping off to school excited to seize the day. They look at every moment as an adventure, and they're in awe at the littlest things in life. Wouldn't it be great to get that feeling back as an adult?
I think we have to try by carving out time for ourselves to do things that take our minds off life. I went canoeing on the Charles with the Trustees of the Reservations a couple of weeks ago and it was incredibly therapeutic to take a 2-hour break from my to-do list to do something I'd never done before. At first it felt a little strange to go by myself, and as I was driving to the river launch, I had second thoughts. But I didn't turn back, and in the end it was one of the most memorable experiences in my life. I felt like a little kid in awe at seeing the fall foliage along the river banks, or the Great Blue Heron overhead, or the gorgeous pheasant that popped out of the marsh. At that moment I had absolutely no worries in the world, and it was a phenomenal feeling.
Now I just need to figure out how to keep that feeling alive on a regular basis. Any suggestions for staying off the worry wagon?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Confidence
I've been thinking a lot lately about confidence: where it comes from, how to gain it, how and why it disappears.
I have a classmate who I've known since kindergarten. All through school, I never envied her intellect, looks, artistic ability or overall popularity (she really had it all). But I did envy her self-confidence.
I'll never forget deciding to run against her in elementary school for some position, and the teacher asked us both to stand up in front of the class and explain why we were the best candidate. She got up, and was incredibly articulate with her pitch. Me? I mumbled, couldn't put three sentences together, and was totally embarrassed. I knew I'd do a great job in the elected position, so why couldn't I let others see the faith I had in myself?
I grew up in a wonderful, supportive family with parents who loved me. But I also had five older brothers and sisters who got a kick out of teasing me. Maybe I just didn't have a thick enough skin to deal with it.
Thankfully going to college and having a career were the ways I developed confidence in myself. I know my talents and strengths, and my career choices allowed me to maximize them. I also had professors and bosses who were incredible mentors -- people who helped me grow and succeed. What a great feeling to be finally comfortable in your own skin.
Still, when I was helping a newly appointed CEO prep for her Chamber speech to 100+ high-level business women, I thought it would be a great idea to poll other successful women in our company to see what challenges they experienced in their career. It shocked me to learn that lack of confidence was the No. 1 challenge they had to overcome. Not discrimination by men, not competition with other women, not work-family challenges, but self confidence. It stunned me -- especially in this day and age.
With three kids of my own, I try to be sensitive to how I talk to them. I try to boost them up without overflating their accomplishments, which can be tricky. How much praise is too much? I see confidence and resiliency are equally important (and resiliency is a whole other topic).
I especially want my 8-year-old daughter to have confidence in herself and her abilities. She has absolutely no problem getting up in front of an audience to belt out a song at her recital, but ask her to tell a boy who is pinching her in the arm to knock it off, and she won't do it. Why is it difficult for many females to stand up for themselves -- even as adults? I want my daughter to be strong. I want her to know she can do anything she sets her mind to. I want her to know I have faith in her talents and abilities -- of which she has many.
While this may seem strange, if I spot an obituary in the newspaper of a woman who had an amazing life and overcame all odds to be successful, I talk about that woman with her. I have read stories of some amazing women which have surely inspired me.
As I wind down this post, here's what I also realized: that there's a pretty good chance my old classmate wasn't confident of herself 100% of the time. My guess is that like any human being she had self-doubts. What's great about being 40-something is having the ability to have this perspective. Age does have its advantages!
I have a classmate who I've known since kindergarten. All through school, I never envied her intellect, looks, artistic ability or overall popularity (she really had it all). But I did envy her self-confidence.
I'll never forget deciding to run against her in elementary school for some position, and the teacher asked us both to stand up in front of the class and explain why we were the best candidate. She got up, and was incredibly articulate with her pitch. Me? I mumbled, couldn't put three sentences together, and was totally embarrassed. I knew I'd do a great job in the elected position, so why couldn't I let others see the faith I had in myself?
I grew up in a wonderful, supportive family with parents who loved me. But I also had five older brothers and sisters who got a kick out of teasing me. Maybe I just didn't have a thick enough skin to deal with it.
Thankfully going to college and having a career were the ways I developed confidence in myself. I know my talents and strengths, and my career choices allowed me to maximize them. I also had professors and bosses who were incredible mentors -- people who helped me grow and succeed. What a great feeling to be finally comfortable in your own skin.
Still, when I was helping a newly appointed CEO prep for her Chamber speech to 100+ high-level business women, I thought it would be a great idea to poll other successful women in our company to see what challenges they experienced in their career. It shocked me to learn that lack of confidence was the No. 1 challenge they had to overcome. Not discrimination by men, not competition with other women, not work-family challenges, but self confidence. It stunned me -- especially in this day and age.
With three kids of my own, I try to be sensitive to how I talk to them. I try to boost them up without overflating their accomplishments, which can be tricky. How much praise is too much? I see confidence and resiliency are equally important (and resiliency is a whole other topic).
I especially want my 8-year-old daughter to have confidence in herself and her abilities. She has absolutely no problem getting up in front of an audience to belt out a song at her recital, but ask her to tell a boy who is pinching her in the arm to knock it off, and she won't do it. Why is it difficult for many females to stand up for themselves -- even as adults? I want my daughter to be strong. I want her to know she can do anything she sets her mind to. I want her to know I have faith in her talents and abilities -- of which she has many.
While this may seem strange, if I spot an obituary in the newspaper of a woman who had an amazing life and overcame all odds to be successful, I talk about that woman with her. I have read stories of some amazing women which have surely inspired me.
As I wind down this post, here's what I also realized: that there's a pretty good chance my old classmate wasn't confident of herself 100% of the time. My guess is that like any human being she had self-doubts. What's great about being 40-something is having the ability to have this perspective. Age does have its advantages!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
It all started with the high school reunion...
Over the last few weeks, I've been in contact with high school classmates to help plan our 30th reunion down in New Jersey. None of these co-organizers were close friends, and we hung out with different groups in school, so I was a bit reluctant to get involved. Would they accept me? How would they feel about me getting involved? Would I fit in? Then it dawned on me that at age 47 I was having some of the exact same feelings I had in high school.
So why am I helping with the reunion, you might ask? Here's the funny thing...I'm finding that as I get older, re-connecting with the past helps with the present. I have a 16-year-old who is now in high school. What lessons can I share with him about not only surviving but enjoying high school? People do change, and I'm excited to get to know my old classmates in a new way. It's amazing how much we change over the period of 30 years, and I want to challenge myself to appreciate high school classmates for who they've become -- not who they were at age 16, 17 or 18. I want to hear about their accomplishments and cheer them on. I want to know about the sad part of their lives, whether it's a parent dying or a personal struggle so that I can reach out. We were all part of a community for a very long time (for many since 1st grade) and to me that counts for something.
I look at the high school reunion as a great opportunity to reconnect with classmates, and to continue growing as a person. Sadly, as we get older, our class of '80 will only get smaller and I want the chance to get to know and appreciate my classmates long beyond next year's reunion. I also see my high school experience as a great way to help my son (and other kids) as they navigate the process of discovering who they are, what they want to do with their future, and finding balance in their lives.
So why am I helping with the reunion, you might ask? Here's the funny thing...I'm finding that as I get older, re-connecting with the past helps with the present. I have a 16-year-old who is now in high school. What lessons can I share with him about not only surviving but enjoying high school? People do change, and I'm excited to get to know my old classmates in a new way. It's amazing how much we change over the period of 30 years, and I want to challenge myself to appreciate high school classmates for who they've become -- not who they were at age 16, 17 or 18. I want to hear about their accomplishments and cheer them on. I want to know about the sad part of their lives, whether it's a parent dying or a personal struggle so that I can reach out. We were all part of a community for a very long time (for many since 1st grade) and to me that counts for something.
I look at the high school reunion as a great opportunity to reconnect with classmates, and to continue growing as a person. Sadly, as we get older, our class of '80 will only get smaller and I want the chance to get to know and appreciate my classmates long beyond next year's reunion. I also see my high school experience as a great way to help my son (and other kids) as they navigate the process of discovering who they are, what they want to do with their future, and finding balance in their lives.
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