Snowplow Parenting

Last night was the local high school's prom.  As I was looking at all the prom photos on Facebook, I kept thinking, has it really been almost a  year since the College Student graduated from high school?  Why, yes it has.  She has almost a complete year of college under her belt, and it's been a growth experience for both her and her parents.  I can't speak for her, but I'm having to learn how to restrain my inner urge to solve any problem I am confronted with- even when it's not exactly my problem to solve.

Recently, I was reading about something called "snowplow parenting", in which parents not only helicopter but they actively work to remove all the obstacles in their child's way, so that the path is smooth and easy.  This seems like a lot of extra parenting work, and also a bad idea- at some point obstacles will be encountered no matter how much snowplowing happens, so it's probably better to learn how to overcome when you're young and the stakes are lower than when you're all grown up.  One of the examples I read was about a kid who hated sauce, so the parents actively worked to make sure that the kid never encountered any- not at home, not at school, not at friends' homes.  Then lo and behold, she goes off to college and encounters sauce in the dining hall.  Apparently things did not go well.  Obviously no one told her that sometimes the sauce is the only thing appealing about dining hall food.

When I was a kid and I said I didn't like the sauce, the Grandma or Grandpa of No would glare at me and then say "Well, then, just scrape it off, but that is what there is".  Sometimes there might be a little extra spice tossed in, in the form of "There are hungry kids who would be happy to have that sauce", or "If you don't like it, then you can start doing the cooking".

Oh, thank God, I told myself, when I heard about this.  My kids are too old for this latest parenting trend, and I'm too old to be doing all that work when I could be taking a nap or looking for my reading glasses.

Then Spring Break happened.

So earlier this spring, I needed to get the College Student home for Spring Break.  I went to the trusty ol' American Airlines website only to find out that apparently EVERYONE wants to fly over Spring Break; tickets were well over the Mom of No's budget.  I went to the trusty ol' Southwest Airlines website and discovered that I could get the College Student home somewhat within budget but she'd have to go to Las Vegas, Phoenix, St Louis, and Denver first.  Remember this, children: you can have it under budget, on time, or within specifications, but you can't have all three.

"How about the bus?"  I texted the College Student. "Road trip!" she replied.

Despite the horror stories people insisted on telling me about the bus, her ride home was fine.  She even got dropped off at a gas station close to our house.  This was better than flying! No check bags fee, no drive to the airport!   When her visit came to a close, the Dad of No took her to the bus station and dropped her off.  All was apparently well until about 7:30 AM the next morning, when she texted me that she was stranded in Wichita.

"Wichita Falls, Texas?" I said.  I wasn't yet caffeinated and therefore not fully competent to confront any obstacles the day would present.

"No, Mom! Wichita, Kansas!"  Apparently the bus driver had stopped at the bus station at some ungodly hour of the morning, told everyone to get off the bus, unloaded their luggage and drove off.  No one knew where the bus had gone, or when a new bus would arrive to take everyone to their final destination.

This is where the parental urge to snowplow started kicking in, and I had to work hard to resist it.  My brain was presenting two possible reactions to this issue:

1.  Your young adult child is delayed at the Wichita bus depot. She says that she is safe but somewhat hungry and a little worried about missing calculus class on Monday morning. You need to back off and let her do the adulting thing.

2.  PARENTAL EMERGENCY! ALL HANDS ON DECK! THE BUS STATION IS HOLDING MY BABY GIRL HOSTAGE AND I NEED TO GO RESCUE HER! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!

Many conversations ensued. The Grandpa of No called (Hey, I heard the College Student is stuck in Kansas!).  The Dad of No and I had discussions about would it be better to drive to Wichita and then take her back to school, or bring her back home and put her on a plane.  At no time did the College Student ask us to come get her; she seemed to be bonding with her fellow stranded passengers while looking for places to charge her devices and consuming the snacks she'd brought from home.  We were the ones feeling the desperate need to snowplow.

Fortunately, by early afternoon, a bus representative had appeared and was rescheduling all the passengers.  The situation was under control without any real intervention on our part (well, OK, maybe a phone call to the bus customer service number to find out what was going on).  She arrived back on her campus around midnight and went to eat with a friend. She now has a bus story to tell, which seems to be an American rite of passage.

Meanwhile, at home, by Monday morning my adrenaline levels had returned to normal, and my urge to snowplow parent the College Student had receded into the background, where it probably needs to stay.