No More Teenagers!

We are officially done with them — teenagers. Yesterday, like literally yesterday, our baby turned 20, and just like that... poof... no more teens in my house. How did this happen? Time really does go by that fast.

Lately, I’ve been trying to remember the good old days and share stories with my kids about all the fun we had while they were growing up. The problem is, I tend to remember the same moments over and over, and it can be hard to pull up the smaller details. That’s where my scrapbooks and photos come in.

I’ve been working my way through pictures I found on an old external drive, and it’s wild how much I’ve forgotten. Photos from before our renovation spark memories of DIY projects, the kitchen floor we covered with cheap sticky tiles, the Velcro chore chart the kids used after school, even where we used to store all the vitamins. Funny little things bring back the oddest memories — and I love that.

Still, it feels strange knowing I’m done with the teenage stage. They’re adults now, which means things should  be different... right?

And yet, here we are. My son has just moved back home for the next four months while he’s on a co-op work term. His job is two doors down from where his dad works — score one for carpooling! But his return has stirred up a lot of questions for me.

I recently read an excerpt from a podcast where parents were talking about what happens when adult children move back home. How do you treat them as the independent people they are — and the independent people you want them to be — while still being their parent?

We can’t just be roommates. They’re not strangers we happen to share a kitchen with, and they’re not friends we’ve slowly grown close to. They’re our children — the ones we’ve raised and parented for nearly two decades. Can we really just stop doing that? I know some families do. I’m just not sure how... or even if I want to.

As a former teacher, I’ve always believed that mistakes are one of the best ways to learn. There’s real science behind it: when we make mistakes, different synapses fire in our brains, helping lessons stick. But not all mistakes are equal. Some are much harder to recover from than others.

Can a 20-year-old fail a class and move on? Absolutely. But do I really want my child to fail a class and pay for it again if the knowledge isn’t essential — and if there’s a genuine reason behind the struggle? Or do I help him study? In my son’s case, he wasn’t out partying or avoiding responsibility. He was sick. His anxiety was so severe it made him nauseous for weeks. Could he have gotten back on track sooner? Probably. But the real questions were harder ones: Do I let him fail? Will that actually help him? Can I help him? Should I help him? What is a mom supposed to do?

This is just one small example of what parenting a now-20-year-old looks like. I still want to parent, and those questions still run through my mind as my “roommate” sleeps until noon, stays up until 4 a.m. playing video games (it is Christmas break), and eats two-and-a-half pieces of apple pie as a snack.

I want my kids to figure things out on their own and carve their own paths — but at what cost? Where do you draw the line between support and stepping in too much... honestly, I’m asking you?

What have you been doing to help your older teens — or no-longer-teens — navigate the adult world? When have you let them fail, and when have you stepped in to help? Would you do anything differently next time?

While the teenage years may be behind us, the parenting questions... they’re clearly not going anywhere.