Parenting Grown Children: What Dr. Spock Forgot to Tell Us

Hold that Thought: Why we temper the opinions and advice we give our grown children.

You may think you're tiptoeing around--"Walking on Eggshells," as Jane Isay, the author of a book by that name, puts it--but that may not be how we come across. My friend Pat, who describes herself as a person who says what she thinks upfront, says that after a day of babysitting--and reporting on events to her daughter--her daughter told her she shouldn't be so frank about what she's thinking. "What she doesn't know," Pat says, "is how I'm holding my tongue, not saying what I might otherwise say. I have to be very careful what I say around my grown children."

Don't we all. The great fear, I suggest to Pat, is that if we aren't careful with what we say, our grown children--children who now have adult lives and are heads of families of their own--will get so ticked off they won't speak to us again, or there will be a coldness to our relationship and that will break our hearts. She nods in agreement but she also asks, how much of a mute can you be?

In the introduction to her book, Isay recalls swapping notes with a friend about touchy incidents that they had both had with their grown children--how vulnerable they felt and how hard it was to communicate with them. Isay lays the problem to our being pioneering parents. "We're the first generation to have raised our children so permissively." Now, after cultivating the "creative" and encouraging them to express themselves, we're  stuck with the adult version of it. "Often their decisions [as adults] are not what we would have chosen--for ourselves or for them. We're at a loss to communicate our reservations, worries, and concerns, not because we can't put those feelings into words, but because the response we get often isn't pretty....the independence we worked to hard to instill in our children now feels to us like disinterest, and strong-minded youngsters sometimes grow into thoughtless adults."

Cold comfort, but all-in-the-same-boat comfort nonetheless.

 

Parenting grown children: Keep helpful housekeeping hints to yourself.

One of my "notes to self" [see list to the left] is about housekeeping--a euphemism for putting our imprint on our grown child's home or for acting on "advice" by assuming it's wanted and warranted. This goes for dads as well as moms: No fixing things, no rearranging messy closets; no relining kitchen shelves--unless asked.

As Deborah Tannen points out in her book, "You're Wearing THAT?: Understanding Mothers and Daughters in Conversation," some of our housekeeping suggestions stem from concerns for their health and safety." Tannen describes a daughter's discomfort--a feeling that her mother was criticizing her husband--when the mother would come to visit and remind her daughter and son-in-law that "he should cut down the dying elm tree in the yard lest it fall and hurt somebody (it did eventually fall though no one was hurt), and replace the rotting step lest someone trip (it never was and no one ever did). Anyone would find these constant reminders annoying."But Tannen doesn't take the nagging parents to task. She addresses the grown children in saying, "Imagine the worry [the mother] endured each time she saw these threats to her loved ones' safety--and her frustration that they didn't undertake the simple repairs to eliminate the danger."

Point well taken. But, as Tannen points out, not all our observations, helpful hints and concerned commentary are so obviously linked to an urgent safety or health issue. Tannen describes a daughter who "cringed when her mother peered at the stove in her kitchen, lifting the protective pan under the grill to check to see whether the crumbs had been cleaned from beneath the pain--which, of course, they hadn't."

I may be overly sensitive on this point--I had such a mother; the grill pan was the least of it--but Tannen has given me a slightly different perspective on my reaction [grrrrr!) to my mother's good housekeeping exchanges. Rearranging my kitchen cabinets, re-doing my closets is not necessarily the criticism I took it to be. It's a problem of indirect communication. It can make an innocent remark or action come across as criticism. And indirectness. Tannen warns that the areas for setting off our grown child with an "innocent" comment are "the Big Three of appearance: hair, clothes, weight."

Made me feel fortunate that my mother stuck to the housekeeping.

 

Grandparenting: How to talk to an 8 year old.

It's the issue that rises every time we pick up the phone or Skype to talk to our grown kids and their kids--our Grands: How do you start a conversation with a child old enough to sort-of hold a conversation? Asking, "How is school?" leads to a monosyllabic answer, as does the equally deadening, "How do you like school?"

A few days ago, I posed this question on a grandparenting blog.Susan Adcox, who runs the site, answered that question with some solid advice. (You can link to it here). For starters, she refers to a source who's done a lot of thinking about the issue: Selma Wasserman in her book,Grandparenting by Long Distance. Wassermann suggests that you keep questions specific ("What toy are you playing with?" is better than "What are you doing?"), assume the burden of keeping the conversation going (small children don't yet have the hang of small talk) and, for small children, come up with questions or statements that you use over and over.

Susan, a grandmother with several years of practice, says she's had success talking to her grandkids about things she did with them, asking about movies or TV shows they both may have seen and about any major events coming up--holidays, birthdays, competitions. She also recommends asking about friends:  "If you can remember some details about your grandchildren's friends and ask about them, your stock will go up considerably. Friends are so important to older children."

A reader on the grandparenting blog brought up another point: understanding the words the young children are saying.Wildncrazygrandmas says she gets particularly frustrated when she cannot understand them over the phone or Skype. "I have to ask them to repeat what they just said, and I lose them!"

Been there, experienced that.

Checked in with my son-in-law who's a pre-school teacher. He suggested asking kids fun questions that they can answer on their level: Would you rather play in sand or snow? Would you rather be Batman/girl or Luke Skywalker/Princeses Leia? Would you rather be able to be invisible or to fly?

Anyone have any other ideas? Click the comment button and write on.

 

Skype that Connection: Keeping up with family and friends far away

I thought I heard myself talking this morning. House guests (a woman my age) and her daughter-in-law (my daughter's college roommate) were in town for the Jon Stewart-Stephen Colbert Sanity/Fear rally. First thing in the morning--before coffee and before making sandwiches and signs for the big day on the Mall--she [the mother] Skyped her daughter who lives in London. It was a rare chance to have the California daughter-in-law chat with the London daughter. The conversation was like a page from my own book: She was encouraging her daughter's children--her grandchildren--to say hi to Auntie Megan, to show off their Halloween costumes, to tell Auntie Megan this and tell her that. I could hear the kids--reluctant to show off on Skype--horsing around in the background. And there was BaBa [the grandma's name of choice] trying to work her will and get the grandkids to connect with the an aunt who lives far away.

The next day I Skyped my daughter so she and her roommate could chat and, too, so our grandchild could show just how adorable she is. The two roommates had a wonderful visit but, of course, my Grand was, like the children in London, less than cooperative about performing for the Webcam. And I tried to work my will but, like my house guest, had to let it go.

We are what we are. We make Herculean efforts to keep up family and close-friend connections. And it's making the connection possible--not showing off the progeny--that counts.

In Praise of Praise: There is power in positive encouragement--and vice versa.

I am a captive audience, tilted way back in the big chair at the dentist's office. While he works away, my dentist starts talking about his search to find the right incentive to get his youngest son off his duff. And that reminds him, he says, that he's the youngest of three boys and that his mom always pointed to the accomplishments of his older brothers whenever he did something--good or bad. Even today, he tells me, when she comes by to visit and sits in his waiting room, if a patient tells her, "Your son Steve is an artist of a dentist," she'll say, "You should see my son Norm." (Norm is also a dentist.) And, my dentist Steve continues, she does the same thing to Norm.

There's a breather in the dental work. I get to ask a quick question. "So how did that make you feel?"

"Oh we're used to my mom," Steve answers. "Our family was always indirect. We never told each other anything. We'd tell one brother to tell the other something. That's just how things worked in my family."

So he seems at peace with his mom's continuing "critical" approach to parenting him as an adult son. And yet, when the dental work is done and I am hauling myself out of the dental chair, Steve brings the subject up again. He starts telling me "Mom" jokes--jokes in which a Mom is the butt of the humor. The jokes are unkind at best. He winds up with this one: "My mom, she put the "fun" in "dysfunction."

Whew. That isn't what I'd want my kids saying about me. And it makes me wonder whether Steve wouldn't be thrilled by a direct compliment from his mom. A grown child is never too old for a positive word of encouragement. When it comes from a parent, it's mighty powerful. I, too, had a mother who withheld praise. I still have a little note she wrote when she was well into her 80s that told me how proud she was of my writing career. It was the first and only time she shared that sentiment with me. The note still makes me choke up.

Skype Me Up, Scottie: Visiting face to face with the grown kids and the grandkids.

I may be a little late to be an enthusiast, but I've discovered Skype. Had heard about it, of course. But had no real reason to use it. Now paterfamilias and I do. Alpha daughter and her family are living in a country that is an ocean--and a six-hour time difference--away. But with Skype, we "call" each other through our computers and can both see and hear each other. It makes it feel like we're right there in our daughter's apartment, sitting in her kitchen, looking out her kitchen window and chatting over a cup of tea. Our granddaughter sometimes sits still long enough for a conversation. But often she just dances by, says hi, and dances off screen. Or plays the piano for us. Our grandpup also makes her presence known.

Alpha daughter has also used Skype on her laptop to give us a tour of her apartment and a closer view of the courtyard outside her window. When we go on vacation with our son and his family next week, we hope my little notebook-laptop will Skype us a visit--the cousins can see each other and tell each other whatever silly things small children manage to convey via a computer screen.

Other friends are further up the evolutionary ladder on their Skype. One, whose granddaughters live on the other coast of the U.S., says she reads stories to the youngest kids--turning the book to show them the pictures. Has anyone tried checkers? Or another game? Or found another inventive way to use computer-phone technology to bridge the distance between our homes here and their homes way over there?

Traveling in Asia: Sharing your trip with the grandkids

Paterfamilias and I have returned from our trip to Vietnam. We are still recovering from jet lag and the challenges of dealing with the impenetrable language [they use the same alphabet as we do but not the same pronunciation of the letters], the different culture [this was our first trip to a country not dominated by Western language and thought], the traffic [hundreds of thousands of motorbikes; no traffic lights!] and the climate [hot and hotter in the south, though it was winter].

While we were there, we decided we would share the trip with our Grands. Almost every hotel we stayed at--from the shabby place in the Mekong Delta to the spiffy hotel in Ho Chi Minh City [Saigon] to the business-like hotel in Hanoi--had a computer with access to the Internet. So every evening before we went out to dinner we sat down at the computer and distilled the day for our Grands--filtering the day's activities to focus on what a 6-, 7- and 8-year old would find interesting.

So, we gave them our rules for crossing the streets [if there's a Vietnamese person crossing, go with them. If not, wade into the traffic and walk across it at a stately, measured pace; do not look at the traffic--it will terrify you and make you stop in your tracks and that would be a dangerous thing to do.] We told them how hard it was to speak VIetnamese [Nguyen is pronounced Win; Thu is pronounced Toe; Thuy is pronounced Twee--and that doesn't account for having one of 8 accents on the vowel]. We told them how sweet and friendly the children were [When we were bike riding in rural Mekong Delta, kids would run over and call out, "Hallo, Hallo." One little boy jumped on his bike, rode over to us and called out, "Hallo, Hallo. Good Afternoon," and rode away laughing merrily.] We would describe an ancient temple or tomb we saw and give them Internet links to it. When we moved from city to city, we encouraged them to get their maps out and follow our progress from the south of the country to the north and then over to Cambodia.

One of the wonderful things about emailing about the country and culture we were experiencing was getting an occasional email back--either a question from one of the Grands or a comment from one of our grown children to the effect of how much they were enjoying the reports and the details. In our last email, the day we were leaving to fly back home, one of the Grands is reported to have said, "Oh no. They're coming home. Does this mean no more emails?"

Bottom line:The feeling of inclusion with our children and their children while we were far from home was beyond wonderful. We were still connected.

Communicating with the Kids: Times to keep your mouth shut--and times not to

There's a new book out on talking to your adult children--and the advice we all give each other to "keep your mouth shut." Ruth Nemzoff, a scholar at Brandeis University, pulls together her studies on the subject in "Don't Bite Your Tongue: How to Foster Rewarding Relationships With Your Adult Children."

Here's one of the points she makes in an interview:

"One of the most important factors in maintaining a healthy relationship with adult children is forgiving both yourself and your child for not being perfect. " And the definition of perfect changes daily, said Nemzoff. "One day it could mean being compassionate, and another day it could mean being high achieving with conflicting desires, so there is no perfection."

On the subject of grown kids moving back into the nest between school and job, she had this to say:

"Tell them what you expect, and invite your returning child to do the same. Agreeing together about the rules of the house before your adult child returns may be key to preventing every out-of-place coffee cup, shoe, or T-shirt from becoming a cue to reenact past dramas."

Ah the reenactment of things past. We all know we press certain emotional buttons when the kids come home, even when it's just for a visit. If only we knew what they were--as well as they do. I haven't read Nemzoff's book yet, but I will and will report back on some of her other insights.

Daily Lives: What do they really want from you?

Jen's mother-in-law is visiting. She's come from her home in Michigan to help with the Washington, D.C. baby--five months old and gurgling. Jen's just come back to work--she has the office next to mine--and she needed the help: Her husband is away at a conference and she has some obligations this week that would make it hard for her to get home in time to pick up the baby by day-care "curfew."
She and her mother-in-law are getting along very well, Jen says. Except for one small thing: Should the baby stay home with grandma or go to day care? Her mother-in-law stayed home with the baby on Monday. On Tuesday, she suggested the baby go to day care. "You don't want to get her out of her routine," Jen's mother-in-law said. 
Here's the conversation I had with Jen:
Jen: I'd much rather my baby stay home with her grandmother. I don't care about breaking the routine.

Me: Maybe that's your mother-in-law's way of saying, "'It's too much for me."

Jen: I can understand that. And I'd be happy to take the baby to day care. I just want her to be honest with me.

Me: That can be hard. She loves the baby. She wants to be helpful. But it can be hard staying home all day with the baby.

Jen: Well, I asked her if she preferred I take the baby to day care. She hurt her ankle the other day and I told her I could understand that it might be hard on her leg to move around with the baby. I asked her to be honest with me. And she just said, "You shouldn't break a baby's routine."

I know what Jen is talking about. I also think I know what her mother-in-law is saying. You want to be helpful; you've come to your daughter or daughter-in-law's house to help out. But it's confining and lonely and, depending on the Grand's age--tedious [newborns sleep the hours away] or exhausting [you're on guard every moment]. I've used similar subterfuges to avoid saying, "It's too confining and lonely. This isn't my house. I have nothing to do here--you don't want me taking over your kitchen or putting my imprint on your house. I need a break."
Jen's point: It's OK to say I don't want to be home with the baby all day today. Just don't pretend it's otherwise, because that way the best interests of the baby may not be being served.

That may be what she says. But is honesty the best policy? What would you do?

I

Money Matters: When is it time for "the chat?"

During the last few years of my mother's life, a visit to her (she lived in another city, an airplane ride away) generally meant a peek at a little list she kept.  She wanted me to know what her assets were and where--a CD at this bank, a safe deposit key at another one.  I came to think of it as "The Chat."
It gave me the creeps.

Yet, I've started wondering whether paterfamilias and I ought to be having "the chat" with our offspring. We're believers in share-it-now, help-them-when-they-need-it. But we're also husbanding what we'll need for an independent and comfortable retirement.  We're not [presumably] close to closing in on the end of our life lines, but you never know what's coming down the pike.

So we're asking ourselves, when is the best time to give our grown children a rundown on the assets we'll be leaving behind for them? It's a touchy issue but we don't want them to have to scramble around to assemble our assets. Maybe the sooner we do it--when we're in the pink of health and robust in appetite for life--is the better time. Not so creepy. Just the facts.

I've just developed a lot more empathy for my mother and The Chat.