Parenting From Afar

To be near or not to be near, that is the question

Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

This is my daughter’s favorite psychological weapon. To call me a helicopter parent.

In spring 2017, two years before I would file for divorce from her father, my classmates and I created a presentation on the concept of Helicopter Parenting for our graduate-level Adolescent Development class.

Like most of the developmental concepts I learned in school, I couldn’t wait to discuss it with my children—the ultimate judge and jury on my own parenting.

This was a mistake.

Parenting is frustrating at the best of times, but it’s a special flavor of dilweed cake to swallow when your child misuses a concept (that you taught them) to insult you.

You see, my daughter retained the knowledge that helicopter parenting is a bad thing. She failed to remember what the term actually means, though.

Helicopter parenting is the colloquial term for parenting practices in which the parent is always “hovering,” protecting their child from any and all dangers and controlling the child’s environment to shield them from negative experiences.

This is apparently what my daughter thinks I was doing during her childhood

Helicopter parenting can look like:

• Calling your child’s teacher to insist they change a grade

• Telling your child’s friend that they need to invite your child to the party

• Picking your child’s extracurriculars because you think those will be good for your child, regardless of your child’s level of interest

• Insisting on doing your child’s homework or major projects because you want them to get ahead

• Never allowing your child to walk home with a group of friends or be chaperoned by another parent because you believe you are the only one who can keep your child safe.

Helicopter parenting can come in all kinds of forms, but the bottom line is:

1. Parents truly believe they are doing these things in the name of love and being a good parent, and

2. They are effectively curtailing their child’s autonomy and standing in the way of their ability to build self-efficacy.

I think when I told my then seven-year-old daughter about helicopter parenting, she filtered that through her thick, overly synaptisized grey matter and deposited “anything Mom does to parent me that I don’t like” into her memory bank.

My only ask is that my children make different mistakes than I did—which does narrow it down quite a bit because I made some doozies!

The Incident

My daughter is sixteen now and lives with her father in Beaverton, Oregon. She’s been there since she started high school 2 and 3/4 years ago. Without prompting, she declares that her father and I are very different as parents (Oh, boy, do I agree with that one!) and that I’m at 100 while her father is at 0.

Meaning I’m way too much, and he’s not enough.

This contrast makes sense to me. Her father is very hands-off. It was a point of contention during our marriage. He couldn’t even be bothered to remember to give her a regularly scheduled dose of her seizure medication.

What she seems to forget is that, because I was working and going to school full-time for the majority of her life, I couldn’t have possibly had the time or energy to be a helicopter mom, even if I wanted to.

So when she told me that she was scared walking home from work alone at night and her father “wanted her to be brave,” my Momma Bear instincts flared like an allergic reaction to bullshit.

I applied for an apartment in Beaverton the next day. I was approved two days later.

This incident is only the latest in a long list of “parenting differences” that have kept me awake at night.

Do I want to move to Oregon? No, not at all. Do I want my daughter to have a ride home and an alternative place to go when her dad’s being…himself? Yes, absolutely. I want this for her even while she’s insisting that she’s old enough to take care of herself.

She’s sixteen.

Apparently, she thinks I’m both of these people in one.

The Fight

After my daughter expressed her frustration with the lack of support at her father’s house, while not wanting the rules of having to live in California with me, I shared that I’d be able to offer a third solution:

She can stay in Oregon and have her normal life. I would just be there whenever she needed me, and I’d stay out of her way otherwise and let her and her dad do their thing.

She WAILED and declared that moving to Oregon would be the most helicopter thing I could do.

Let me put this in perspective.

In the book I’m currently reading, Available: A Very Honest Account of Life After Divorce, in Chapter 5, page 69, Laura Friedman Williams writes:

“Ever since I became a mother over 18 years ago, I’ve thrown myself into the role with single-minded gusto. There’s not a PTA I haven’t joined, a school function I haven’t run, a bake sale I haven’t contributed to, a craft project I haven’t attempted. No holiday has passed without my marking the occasion with special celebratory meals and decorations for our front door. My kids have never been late to school, I’ve never missed a slot at a camp or afterschool registration, and they get their check-ups and shots right on time. In other words, I take parenting as seriously as the United Nations takes world peace.

Listen, that’s just normal parenting. But, if I may use this as a springboard for my defense:

• I never joined a PTA.

• Never ran a school function

• Never contributed to a bake sale

• Never attempted a craft project

• Hated decorating and left that up to her dad

• Was the cause of my children being late to school more times than I’d like to admit

• Had to pick and choose which camps or afterschool functions my kids could attend due to lack of funds

• Okay, so I was pretty good at making sure they saw the doctor and got their shots on schedule.

But I didn’t have time to do any of those other things, even if I’d wanted to (which I wouldn’t have, tbh).

The Decision

I pushed the move-in date to late May. Originally, I was approved to move in a week from this writing. But I promised my daughter I wouldn’t make any rash decisions. Her reaction scared me—though I don’t want her to know that.

What she doesn’t understand is that I’ve built up a repository of evidence that all point to the conclusion that she would be better off having me in closer proximity. I tried making my case while being abundantly clear that any decision I make is entirely up to me. I’m not asking her permission, though I’m always willing to hear her concerns and consider her perspective. Ultimately, though, I’m in charge of what I do, just like, for the most part, she’s responsible for the decisions she makes. Within reason and legal bounds, of course. Again, she’s sixteen.

I don’t think, however, that I’d be better off up there. I love my current situation and don’t want to move. She doesn’t want me to move. Goodness knows neither her father nor I want to be anywhere near one another. There’s good reason to leave well enough alone.

But there’s still my Momma Bear instincts. And those, as any mother can tell you, are awfully strong.

I have until May to decide or forfeit the money I’ve already spent on the application and holding fee. This isn’t an easy decision. Ultimately, I’m the only one who can make it. What will allow me to do what’s healthiest for me while still being a good enough parent?

Meanwhile, I don’t think my daughter will come to appreciate what a helicopter parent is until she becomes a mother herself. IF she becomes a mother someday. I’m still hoping she doesn’t for a while.

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