A Shaky Declaration of Independence

Friday, May 4, 2007

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

A Shaky Declaration of Independence

By J’AMY PACHECO

I recently spent a week chaperoning a group of fifth- and sixth-grade students at a seaside science camp. Some of it was what I expected – lots of noise, fun outdoor activity and enough take-home sand to open my own beach.

There was one thing that caught me by surprise.

As a cabin chaperone, I was responsible for getting eight girls up and out every morning, and safely to bed every night. I have a fifth grader of my own, so I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.

If you don’t have multiple kids, you can’t begin to imagine what a challenge it was to get eight girls ready when you’re used to handling one. I thought they’d be able to do everything themselves, but I soon found that was not the case.

From the beginning, I felt like a nag. “Brush your teeth! Brush your hair! Where’s your jacket? Did you wash your face?” I found myself saying over and over. One girl forgot to bring undies; another had nothing warm to wear in the chilly temperatures.

I discovered that some of the girls weren’t used to brushing their own hair, and one had never used a blow dryer.

These were some pretty bright girls. All of them are enrolled in a school for highly gifted children, but not a single one could get ready in the morning without constant direction and instruction. By the end of the trip, I was worn out.

Reflecting on the experience, I realized that if I hadn’t been in the cabin, my own daughter would have been among the most helpless.

It’s always been my position that my daughter’s job is to do well in school, complete her homework, clean up after herself and help when I ask. The rest has always been up to me.

She’s never heard the bell of her alarm clock, as I wake her every morning. I’m the one who brushes and styles her head-full of waist-length, extraordinarily thick hair, and I’m the one who packs her lunch every day. It’s my command that sends her to bed every night.

My philosophy has been that she only gets 12 years to be a child. She gets a few more years as a teen, and then she’ll be an adult for the rest of her life. There’s no rush.

But I realized I am probably doing her a disservice by taking care of everything. I decided that unless I’m prepared to follow her to college, we’d better start working more on her self-sufficiency.

To begin, I gave her a stack of cookbooks over the weekend and suggested she plan our week’s meals. Hours later, she handed me a list that included such delights as chicken pot pie, crescent and wheel rolls, homemade ice cream, Marzipan, Bavarian pie and fruit cream tarts.

I narrowed the list to something we could achieve and digest, and scheduled our first cooking class for a Monday night. Unfortunately, she came home with a pile of homework that was equivalent to spending another entire day at school, and I found myself cooking dinner alone.

Again.

It looks like cooking classes are going to have to be held on weekends – if we can squeeze them with everything else we do on weekends.

I don’t really remember when I started taking care of myself. I’m pretty sure my siblings and I made our own lunches in middle and high school, but I honestly don’t remember anything about school lunch except finding the occasional dime to buy a chocolate covered donut in the cafeteria. Good times.

I also remember bringing nothing but fruitcake slices for lunch one day, and hoping nobody would notice that I hadn’t packed any “normal” food.

I know I got myself ready every morning, because my mother worked and wasn’t there to see how we looked when we left the house. I also know I wasn’t exactly a fashion plate, and I can pretty much guarantee that if I could sneak out of the house without having brushed my teeth or washed my face, I did.

So I find myself walking a fine line between wanting to be a devoted mother and wanting to raise a daughter who will one day be able to care for herself and her family. I guess we’ll just have to take things one step at a time.

I think I’ll start by digging out those cookbooks and planning one fabulous dessert that we can create together. Hey, you have to start somewhere.

Marzipan, anyone?