On a chilly autumn morning two years ago, when my daughter Melissa was still adjusting to her right of passage transition from the school for babies (middle school) to the school for cool teenagers (high school), my husband Bob and I both received a text from our offspring, who had just boarded the bus for another day of
Below is the context of this "loving" text:
"Way to stalk me Mom and Dad."
Bob and I exchanged puzzled looks.
Could she be referring to her Facebook page, where I have been forbidden to comment, post, like, or otherwise indicate to any of her friends that I even exist? Hmmm, no I didn't think so.
Then why, I wondered, had she accused her innocent parents of the unforgivable crime of stalking. (Which of course, by the mere fact that I gave birth to her, it goes without say that I have complete stalking privileges!)
To properly answer this question, I must take you back in time. Throughout her elementary and middle school years, Melissa had always boarded the bus in front of our house. Her mother, AKA Mrs. Overprotective Stalker, waited outside with her, until my embarassed middle school cherub commanded me to stay in the house where I was forced to peek through the window blinds to make sure she safely joined her peers on their daily journey to school each day.
But now that she had entered the "grown up" world of high school, everything had changed! She was now required to walk
Being Mrs. Overprotective Stalker, I had a hard time coming to terms with not being able to actually witness my baby in the act of getting on the bus. However, I realized I needed to accept this new reality. At 15, I knew my daughter had the intelligence, maturity, and capability to walk to the bus stop on her own.
I had to let her go.
And I did. For five weeks. Until my insecurity reared its ugly head.
You see, when Melissa left the house at 6:45 am, the autumn sun had not yet peeked above the horizon, forcing her to walk to the bus in pitch black darkness...without me there to shield her from harm.
So I worried...and worried...and worried some more.
But I didn't care.
I needed to channel my
I emailed the school, explaining that my daughter walked to the bus stop on a busy, traffic-filled main road, alone in the pitch dark. Surely they could understand my reasons for requesting that the bus pick up Melissa in front of our house, instead of making her walk the 3,974 miles to the corner, out of range of my line of vision.
Melissa, on the other hand, could not believe just how overprotective her mother could be.
"Mom, I am 15 years old and perfectly capable of walking to the bus on my own," she said in exasperation.
But it no longer mattered. The change had been made and I now had the privilege to once again
However, on that autumn morning when we received her infamous text, I had changed up my routine just a wee bit. Since I needed to throw clothes in the dryer, I chose to peek out of the window in my upstairs laundry room instead of the living room. As the bus neared its approach, Bob took that particular moment to come into the laundry room, take off his shirt and throw it into the large pile of dirty clothes in the middle of the floor. Together the two of us watched Melissa get on the bus, then continued about the mundane business of getting ready for work.
Until we received the text.
Seems that all of the occupants of the bus had witnessed not only me staring out of the window, but also my shirtless hubby peeking out from behind!
The laughter that greeted my daughter as she boarded the bus caused the type of mortified embarrassment that could scar a child for life and result in thousands of dollars of therapy. Thus the reason for the "love" text admonishing us for our behavior.
So, in the end, I promised not to look out the window in the morning, ever, ever again.
This month, as she starts her junior year in high school, I no longer have to worry about her getting onto the bus because I now have more important things to worry about.....she'll be DRIVING!
Oh help me!
|My daughter Melissa with me - AKA Mrs. Overprotective Stalker!|