Independence Day

I didn't hear my phone ring, nor did I hear the buzz of the text message. But when I realized there were two messages from home awaiting me, I knew it couldn't be good news ... and it wasn't.

LJ's consolation prize

Hoppy II, the replacement for LJ's African dwarf frog that died two weeks ago at the paws of Indy, had also, well ... croaked.

The text message also said that LJ wanted to talk to me, so even though it was well past his bedtime, I left my co-workers at the dinner table to call home.

After few words of reassurance and a promise to bring home something special from my business trip, LJ was fine.

Nearly 1,000 miles away from home, and I couldn't be there to hug LJ, wipe his tears, or tell him there would be many more amphibians in his future. It made me feel sad -- even a bit guilty -- that I couldn't be there to console him when he needed me most.

But, there was another twinge ... some other feeling lurking beneath the surface. It sounds callous, I know, but I felt just the slightest pang of happiness. Not that the frog died, of course. But it felt good that I was needed. LJ needed me to call home. He needed to talk to me.

Fast forward a few days and I was in my bathroom at home helping Julianna get ready for the day.

As I started to brush some tangles out of her hair, she immediately grabbed the brush and admonished me.


"No, I don't need any help with that. I am trying to be INDEPENDENT!"

If my coffee hadn't already kicked in that morning, then the tongue-lashing from my 7-year-old little girl did the trick.

There's nothing like a daughter's verbal rebuff to remind you who is really the queen of the castle. And it stung.

Seriously? Independent?

Is this the same girl who insists someone always be upstairs with her because skeletons might jump out of the closet? Is this the same girl who thinks it's impossible to spread the peanut butter on her own crackers? Is this the same girl who sleeps ensconced in a hot pink Snuggie and a pile of stuffed animals?

Yes, this girl is one and the same.

UFC

This girl -- my "baby" -- doesn't need me like she used to ... doesn't want me to do her hair ... calls me "Mom" instead of "Mommy" ... is embarrassed to hold my hand in public ... thinks Barbie dolls are too babyish ... reads the OpEd section in the Wall Street Journal each and every day ... just informed me of her new naval piercing ... and only likes watching television if Ultimate Fighting Championship matches are on.

Okay, so not ALL of those are true.

But even though it hurt for a moment, there was also another twinge ... some other feeling lurking beneath the surface. It was happiness. Or maybe pride. It was hard to quantify but most definitely there.

It was the realization that THIS was the moment that all parents strive for. We want our children to grow up to be well-adjusted, independent and self-sufficient. It starts when we wean them from a bottle to a sippy cup, and it ends when we hand them the keys to their college dorm room and remind them to call home ... every once in a while.

How paradoxical it is - the contrast between LJ and Julianna - the yin and the yang - the dead frog and the hairbrush. As parents, we want our children to take flight ... and yet, we don't want to let go.

I always swore to myself that I wouldn't be one of those ... one of those helicopter parents. The ones who need to be needed so badly that they stand smack dab in the way of their child and his or her independence.

But here I am, hovering perilously on the edge of the helipad ... just waiting to take off ... yearning to swoop in for that phone call, that hug, that need.

I know I'm not alone in this. If I look over my shoulder I'm sure to see a line a mile long of moms and dads who aren't sure which way to go. NEED vs. INDEPENDENCE.

Deciding which path to follow -- and striking the right balance -- is a daunting challenge. And it's one that all parents can empathize with -- no matter how young or old their child.

There's no right or wrong, open or shut, black or white. It's a monumental battle and it's one I may not be truly ready to face.

Now that I really think about it, you better save me a paper bag on that helicopter ... because it's gonna' be a bumpy ride.