Becoming That Mother

I had a boyfriend in high school whose cosmic purpose in my life was to have his mother serve as the example of someone I did not want to become. But someone I was definitely in danger of becoming. Or am in danger of becoming.

This boyfriend was preparing to start college later that summer. His mother reminded him to nap in the afternoon. She plated his food for three meals. They were having stones in their front-walk relaid and made him sit and watch the masons for a physics lesson.

She phoned the Booster Club chair-person ahead of time to make sure that her family had good seating at the Sports Banquet. She had his NHS stole professionally pressed. She squabbled with the art teachers over which hallway his pottery should be displayed.

I can count on one hand how many times I have thought of the boyfriend. Yet I think of his mother at least once a week. Especially at the beginning of a week like ours: Alumni Auction, Moving Up Ceremony, Signups for Private Violin Lessons, even teaching Children's Church. I walk that fine line between loving and serving my children and masterminding their status to a very sick end. I want to mother my children well, hoping they'll be successful. Yet, I am tempted always to be angling for their success in a way that I think is manipulative and unhealthy.

This boyfriend's mother looms in my mind. I hear myself sometimes and think I resemble her, petite and polite but imperious and curt. She was perfunctorily polite but talked to her husband through her teeth. Her home was tasteful and groomed-- Delft pottery a big friendly dog of pure breeding. All of her ethnic features were country-clubbed into submission. I think of her now because she perplexes me. She was complex-- she was raising a really confident son with a very agile mind. He was creative and funny. He was happy, which was not common for a high school boy, at least in my experience.

So what I wonder now-- was she right? She had her hand in everything. I, on the other hand, am used to a big family--we invited our parents to our ceremonies and our games. Our parents had careers. My brother describes their style as "benign neglect." Our parents were macro-minded. I remember fighting with my mom, "What is this hockey-hockey business?" she asked after I'd been at an all-day field hockey tournament. They took our successes with gratitude, grace and humor. Having chosen to be home with my kids, I am looking for a way of being involved micro-mindedly but in a way that does not make me into that boyfriend's mother. I guess I know the answer I'm looking for, sane balance. Fighting that ivy-hungry paradigm. Being self-suspicious about what success means.

That boyfriend, with his Sampras-esque armspan, had in many ways what I would like for my kids-superficially, anyway. His mother had sterling intentions--let's have you travel, let's expose you to art and let's offer you a chance at some cool colleges. I think I can bring those opportunities to my kids. I just want to be honest about how this exposes my hunger for status. She stands out in my mind because she was aggressive and explicit about what she wanted for her son. As my kids grow up, I think it would be good to be explicit about it but just to be authentic as possible.