Parenting advice for your child turning 40

Parenting advice for your child turning 40

There’s no shortage of parenting advice for that prenatal crowd. Bookstore shelves are packed with parenting advisers of every ilk. Don’t want to let the baby cry 'till she gives up? Keep looking. Next shelf down it’s nature’s way all the way: family bed, wearable cradles. He’ll never cry. From Dr. Sears to Dr. Roebuck they’ve got all the answers, and they are as different as pink is from blue.

The list thins a bit during that stage from six to eleven, then picks up significantly once those hormones kick in. It seems there are fewer titles than ever for parenting adolescents. Plugging them in must have cured it.

Co-parenting. Now that’s a huge topic of interest, often recommend by divorce lawyers along with the first consultation. Seems that a little more co-parenting in those first thirty-six months might have headed off a few of those issues.

No way around it, parenting is hard. And it doesn't end, even when their grandson has commandeered the family minivan. Granted, the physical care of a midlifer dwindles significantly, but there is that dreadful damned-if-you-do/damnedif- you-don’t conundrum. Recall for a moment, your spinning thoughts, as you helped your limping outfielder off the diamond you knew – there was nowhere for you to land on this one. Straight to the ER for an Xray and you were ‘overprotective.’ But, telling her to “shake it off” likely guaranteed a re-break of the tibia in a month. 'Could have set it properly then,' the orthopedic surgeon growls.

Please, won’t somebody write a book?

I was fairly well prepared for everything from cradle cap to wisdom teeth. Knew my job description for everything from breastfeeding to dressing the bride. But it’s this middle age thing that has me stumped.

As with many families today, we’ve lived distant from our three daughters most of their young adult lives. With the gentlest blessing we could summon, we’d rent the largest UHaul available, and truck it full of our stuff to get them started. Without a doubt, they'd hoped for new stuff. So had I.

Between Southwest Airlines and unlimited cellular service we were as connected as any of us needed, or cared to be. 5 p.m. culinary emergencies were my specialty. “Mom, all I have is an onion, dry pasta, two cans of creamof- something, and a half pound of frozen ground beef?” (I had them fed by six.) One-by-one the Grand’s stair-stepped in. This job I was ready for: rock the baby, tend the mom, feed the dad. After much oohing, aahing, rocking and crooning, I’d fly, fly away before I’d made anyone too angry. (Oh, well there was that one time – but she thought she knew everything.) As it turned out, she did – until that eleven p.m. wakeup call. “What are we supposed to do about the family of opossums living behind the dryer in the garage?” Her faith in my competence with urban wildlife is mystifying. I’d not had a clue about calming a colicky baby.

They’re wonderful parents: mature and better prepared than we’d ever been. But this decade between forty and fifty is perplexing. Something like the terrible twos, but more like another adolescence. Wedding linens fray, right along with the vows. Her BFF from high school needs a biopsy. The boss taps him as a mentor for the new golden boy Their own empty nest lies in sight.

We parents need that child development book asap! (Child? Until the English language comes up with something else, it's the only word we've got for them.) How do we parent these midlife offspring? We love them, but we wonder: Too much, too little? Too late, too soon? A pat on the back? Ahug? Some advice? Suggestions? Or money?

Philip, my husband and father of our three, sees it like this: we stay far enough behind so they don’t hear our footsteps, but close enough to catch them before they fall. It’s a method that's worked fairly well. But, clear as glass, I see that the day presses upon us. Too soon, we’ll pivot. It will be those middle aged children tip-toeing behind us, ready to do the catching.

I pray God gives us all grace as we make the turn.

Pam Young is a selfdescribed former slob turned organizing guru. You can find more from Pam at www.cluborganized. com.

‘Make It Fun’ By Pam Young