Control

I'm a control freak. I'm not unlike so many other mothers in the world that have taken the word "control" to a whole new level. Now that my boys are older, I am beginning to loosen the grip a little. And it feels good. I am learning to breath again. I am learning to understand that everything I worked so hard to make right (my definition of right) doesn't really matter in the big picture! My youngest calls me the "sheet police" because he would always kick his top sheet to the bottom of the bed and just use his blanket. For years, I would come in and pull that top sheet up from the bottom of his bed and say, "You need this". Why? Because I use a top sheet? Because it is tradition? Because the earth will implode on itself if my children don't use their top sheet?

Neither of them use a top sheet. And probably never will. I don't even put them on their beds anymore.

One day, on Facebook, one of my oldest son's friends posted: "Who uses a top sheet?" I had to laugh and of course posted back that "I do!", adding oh so painfully, "But my children don't". And I felt a moment of shame. Like Ii had somehow failed my kids.

But I haven't. Top sheet-less as they may be, they are becoming who they want to be. And it is time for me to stand back and watch more, control less. No more sheet police. But you can bet mine is tucked neatly under my chin every night.