A Little Help Goes a Long Way

home insemination Kit

Last week, my 21-year-old son, Jake, strolled into the kitchen and asked if I could assist him in making a cup of coffee. For those of you with a Keurig, you know that it’s pretty straightforward. You pop in a K-cup, choose your cup size, and hit “Brew.” Simple, right? But here’s the thing—he’s my firstborn. He’s the one who had a young and eager mom who was always ready to lay out his clothes, cut off sandwich crusts, and peel apples. Now, I can hardly remember the last time I bought an apple, let alone prepped it.

I chuckled a bit when he asked for my help, but when he plopped down with his iPhone, it hit me—he didn’t want to learn how to make coffee; he wanted me to do it for him. “Alright,” I said, “just walk over and open the machine.” I guided him through the process, and just like that, he was enjoying his coffee.

Not long after, his younger brother, Max, waltzed in and made himself an omelette. He heated the pan, cracked an egg, added some egg whites, and whipped up a delicious breakfast—all while watching his favorite show and sipping hot chocolate he made with the Keurig. The contrast between my first and fourth child is always amusing. It’s incredible how much the younger ones have benefited from the older siblings paving the way. My oldest, though fully capable, often hesitated to do things for himself because I was always hovering.

That day really hit home when I dropped Jake off at the bus station for his summer internship, where he needed to dress business-casual and act like an adult. It was a moment of realization, seeing him standing there, pouring a bowl of cereal like a grown-up. Leading up to his first day, we did a fair amount of prep—shopping for “big boy” clothes, getting his bus pass, and even practicing the bus route. Reading the schedule was tricky for him, but hey, he’s never had to figure that out before.

As I watched him walk towards the crowd waiting for the bus, I felt that familiar urge to check if he was boarding the right one. But I held back and drove away, watching him disappear in my rearview mirror. Later, he texted me to say he was on the bus (thumbs-up emoji), thanking me for the ride and everything else (with heart emojis). Despite our occasional clashes, he knows I’m always in his corner.

I recognize there’s a fine line between being a helicopter parent and simply offering support. I hope I’m leaning more towards the latter. By the time Max is off to the real world in a decade, I imagine there will be less handholding since he’ll have seen his older siblings navigate these experiences.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. After that morning, I’m grateful to still have a little boy who wraps his arms around me for no reason, sings along to Maroon 5 in the shower, and sometimes forgets to use shampoo. It all goes by so quickly. One moment you’re handing your kid a juice box, and before you know it, you’re handing them a commuter mug. It’s easy to get lost in the chaos of carpooling and chicken nuggets, but those moments slip away faster than we realize.

I’m looking forward to picking him up from the bus and hearing all about his day. Sure, he may have traded his skater clothes for khakis and a button-up, but he’ll always be my baby.

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In summary, watching my children grow is a bittersweet experience filled with pride and nostalgia. From coffee-making lessons to summer internships, I cherish every moment.