Last weekend, I had the not unfamiliar feeling of losing control.  Of fearing for my reputation as a good mother.  You might be asking why.  Or more likely, AGAIN?

Let me first reference a past column singing the praises of thank you notes. If you’re a devoted reader, you may remember how much I love writing thank you notes, and how I’ve drilled their importance into my boys from a young age.  You’re never too young to express sincere appreciation, I say.

My oldest is graduating from high school and headed to college in the fall.  This is an event worthy of celebration and Will received many generous gifts from friends and family. The day after he received his gifts but hadn’t yet opened them, I had the brilliant idea of not letting him take any of his cards and gifts with him until he’d written every single thank you note. Accountability, after all.

He was outraged that I would imply he wasn’t raised to know that thank you notes were mandatory.  Nor that he wasn’t sufficiently grateful. I retorted that these were my friends and if he didn’t send the notes promptly, it would be rude.  What was unsaid was that his delay (or non-action) would reflect badly on me.

I don’t yell at my kids much anymore but when I do, I’m realizing that it’s now more about me than it is about them.  When they were younger and I yelled, it may have been out of frustration, fear, or sheer impatience.  Not anymore (mostly).

Now that Will is 19, my job is done.  By that, I mean that if he didn’t absorb all the lessons that his father and I desperately tried to impart over the last 19 years, our window is shut.  The behavior we tried to model, all in the quest to make him a decent human has either been instilled or not.  That ship has sailed, as I am too fond of saying.  He is an adult, whether I’m ready or not, and I need to back away and stop thinking his behavior (both good and bad, unfortunately) reflects on me.

On a non-maternal level, this self-awareness works all over. Let’s say you live on a block where the yards are pristine. Without weeds.  Lawns as green as Ireland.  Perfectly pruned and dead-headed beds of flowers and shrubs. You are struggling to keep up with the neighbors.  Your lawn is weedy, not mowed in lovely, straight lines, and your flowers and shrubs are leggy with dead parts. You feel you’re an embarrassment to the neighborhood.  You fear your sad excuse for a yard is a statement of your worth as a person.  As a city dweller.

Enough already.  Did you notice that your neighbors are all retired?  Their yard is now their full-time hobby and they have nothing but time to tend to and perfect it. You have a full-time job and an actual family with two dogs who don’t care about a pristine lawn.  In fact, they seem hellbent daily on destroying your entire yard.

Let it go, man (or woman). This is not about you or your priorities.  Chances are good that no one is judging you.  If they are, it’s because they have too much time on their hands.  You cannot be bothered by this.  You’re doing the best you can and that’s all that matters.

It’s hard to get to this place of distance and self-reflection.  I’m still struggling with the directions to this location.  But for your sanity, take a moment.  Is this worth getting upset over? There’s something to be said for releasing control.

Just to let you know – if you don’t get a thank you note from Will, I am still a paragon of motherhood.  No question.