Let me do it

One of the hardest things for me as a mom is letting my kids be independent. It must have something to do with me being a control freak. Yesterday, the oldest was doing her science fair project and you don't know how badly I wanted to grab that glue and stick the feathers on the board in the proper pattern rather than all willy nilly with glue showing through! See, control freak! I can remember a project I did in first grade where we had to write facts about ourselves on a large poster. Mine said something like My name is Elizabeth. I have brown eyes. I have brown hair. I am five years old. I love my sister. I was so proud of that thing. It was so neat and all the writing was correct. I get flashbacks to that whenever I watch my girls write. They have to work harder because they're left-handed, but neatness is not really a concern of theirs. And I wish it wasn't a concern of mine! Why am I so bothered? Why does it drive me nuts that every other little girl is wearing a dress to the dance and my daughter is wearing a skirt with non-matching shirt and knee-high boots? Or that the little one pairs pink and red and purple with silver open-toed shoes? I've at least gotten to the point where I allow them to pick out their own clothes, but I still wish they'd wear something "normal." Of course, if I did it, it would get done faster. If I did it, it would get done the way I want it. But what's so wrong with the way they want it? Why can't I just let them be who they want to be and not what I want them to be? My mom used to always tell me that children grow through you. You raise kids, but you can't make them. I guess that's why my mom didn't freak when I shaved my head or when I got a tattoo or when I dressed like a punk or whenever I did the silly things I did. She let me be me. I'm trying. I promise to keep working on letting go more each day. But, seriously, if my kids turn into those goth chicks, I might just lose it.