Break The Rules, Break My Heart

I knew I’d been lucky a little too long. My two teen boys have rarely given me any trouble. Until yesterday.
My husband and I called them both out on something pretty major, the details of which I agreed to keep private. Let’s just say I am still shocked, mad, surprised and hurt. Mostly hurt.
Andrew and Matthew know I’m hurt. I believe they would rather have me angry at them than disappointed in them.
I made the most of that bit of knowledge. I told them that their actions basically broke my heart.
It was enough to bring tears to their eyes and a small measure of satisfaction to my heart. My boys DO care what I think and how I feel.
So after some yelling (mostly to get them downstairs) and lots of talking last night, we tiptoed around each other today, our nerves raw, our feelings exposed.
It’s temporary, I know. We will heal, but we will probably never agree on certain aspects of what transpired.
If any good came out of the situation it’s that we learned that our kids care enough to tell the truth, even though the truth was hard to hear.
Oh well. The parents held their ground, reinforced the rules, and hugged the kids. The kids asked questions, apologized and hugged the parents.

How Far Do Apron Strings Stretch?

Parenting was a little easier when my kids were little. At the time, I didn’t think so. When Andrew was about 6 and Matthew was about 4, they pretty much did what I expected them to do. Parenting involved making sure they were well-fed, clean, safe, and educated. My boys were firmly attached to my apron strings.
Flash forward 12 years. Yes, parenting still involves making sure my kids eat, bathe, stay safe, and study. The difference is now they don’t do what I expect them to do, or what I want them to do, or ask them to do, a lot of the time.
I am not saying my kids are bad, not at all. My “babies” are simply much taller versions of their 6- and 4-year-old selves with crazy hormones and driver’s licenses.
Oh, and sometimes they talk back. And challenge me. And break rules. Go figure.
While Andrew and Matthew are still hanging on to the apron strings, so to speak, I can feel those strings stretching.
So what’s a mother to do? My instinct is to yank those strings back and bring my boys closer. But I can’t. I have to let the strings stretch and pray they never break.
I’ve learned that loosening the strings doesn’t mean I have to let go of my expectations for my kids. Or back down on my values. Or agree with all of my boys’ decisions.
Sometimes I react and raise my voice. Sometimes silence is best.
Like all parents, I have learned to adapt, adjust and change.
And I keep a firm grip on my end of the apron strings.