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Illustration by Catherine Chan
This fall, I officially became an empty nester. My boys – the oldest started third year and the youngest just started first year – are living independently, beyond the reach of my house rules, unsolicited hugs, annoying parental suggestions and frequent complaints about their disaster of a bathroom. They’ll be coming home for Thanksgiving weekend, and seeing their faces and hearing about their university shenanigans will surely overshadow a blender caked with peanut butter and wet towels on the floor.
It’s taken me a while to learn how to live with my grown children when they come back for a visit.
Having older kids, especially those who attend or who are about to attend university, requires a fine balance of understanding their need for independence and autonomy while still maintaining some semblance of order, agreed-upon conduct and basic cleanliness. When my older son came home after his first year, we faced an onslaught of epic late-night kitchen messes, his coming home at all hours, sleeping all day and generally wreaking havoc on our previously calm and orderly household. It created so much frustration and, honestly, more resentment and anger than I care to admit.
That summer was rough – too much conflict, too many ignored rules and a kitchen that seemed to exist in a perpetual state of chaos. Neither of us really understood the other’s perspective, and we definitely didn’t handle it as well as we could have.
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This past summer, my eldest and I had a truly enlightening conversation. I was growing frustrated – again – by his apparent lack of understanding that we are a four-person household that functions best when each member shows even the slightest consideration for the others. I took our conversation as an opportunity to ask his advice on how I could best handle his brother’s recent foray into similar behaviours.
His response was surprisingly wise and unfiltered in the best way. He reassured me that there was no evil plot afoot to drive me insane, but instead, his brother was just being a normal self-involved, oblivious teenager and not doing what I asked had nothing to do with me.
“It’s not all about you, mom.”
He likely hadn’t even registered half the times I’d asked him to clean up. And each time the task went undone, I grew angrier and more frustrated until I eventually lost it. My son was often genuinely baffled about why I was so mad. That clueless look on his face? Apparently, not an act.
Wow. That conversation was a game-changer.
I’d been handed a gift – a glimpse behind the curtain to understand what was really going on. My thoughts of diabolical planning to drive a mother into monumental exasperation faded as I began to understand where my kids were coming from. My challenge was to meet them in the middle – armed with compassion, patience and love.
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The next day, I thought about how I could shift my approach. I could lead with kindness. And set a few basic rules of engagement, helpfully backed by a dangling carrot – access to the family car – and aim for peace over perfection.
I began with baby steps. I didn’t immediately go to DEFCON 5 if there was a dirty pan in the sink or an unmade bed. I took bigger steps by calmly reminding them that in order to have the car, which I was happy to share, they needed to tidy their rooms and the bathroom. I asked for and began getting more frequent hugs and even the odd kiss on the cheek. I found that I genuinely did not get frustrated or angry if they didn’t immediately do what I asked, and in some instances, I even asked if it would help if I made their bed or washed their dishes. Those requests were always appreciated, and I felt like they were good examples of demonstrating that I was there to help.
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I am so grateful for that impromptu conversation with my older son, for the opportunity to share my frustrations, to ask for and receive his great insights and advice, and for the power of trying a new approach to a persistent issue. You just never know when the most unexpected source will provide a solution to an elusive problem. Enlightenment can sneak in sideways.
Although certainly not perfect, my new approach was met by many signs of positive change. As a parent, I’m always adjusting and learning. My children continue to be my greatest teachers, and as they both prepared to launch, I realized that the best way to hold on was learning when to let go.
As I embrace my new reality free of school drop-offs and pick-ups, sports practices, appointments and tennis tournaments, I must admit that although my kitchen is spotless, I do miss their boyish energy, banter and constant quest for protein.
Jill Cannon lives in Toronto.
