Checking the Bag

Checking the Bag

Hi, it’s been a while since my last post. I was not aware of how hard momming is when your kids are young adults and you yourself are also a young adult. (Humor me, I am still learning too.) So no, it does not get easier, contrary to what I was previously led to believe.

Currently, I’ve got two 22-year-olds about to finish college, and by the end of this week I will also have a 17-year-old high school junior. It is a far cry from my posts about the forgetful tooth fairy or what came out of the mouth of my toddler. This stage is a different kind of hard. It is fragile—not fragile like a flower, but fragile like a bomb. This is the stage where you switch from the driver’s seat to the backseat. It’s when they look to you for advice, not answers… and the things they are asking aren't little questions like, “Should I paint my nails red or pink?” They’re big ones like, “Should I move to <insert state> after graduation?”

(For the record, if my kid ever asks me nail-polish advice again, I will happily frame the moment. Those were simpler times.)

Anyway, I say all of this because I'm not sure I'm giving the best advice anymore. When I was younger, I used to believe people in general were good. My mom always told me she trusted me until I gave her a reason not to, and I lived by that theory as well. But as I’ve gotten older, situations and people have given me a different perspective. I’ve become someone who jumps to the worst-case scenario, trusts very few people, and keeps an unusually small circle because… well… people can be generally terrible.

This is my jaded view of the world, and I hate that I might be flinging it onto my kids like emotional glitter—except instead of sparkly and fun, it’s dusty and existential.

Let me explain.

This past weekend my twins were visiting from college to celebrate my youngest’s birthday. I picked them up, they stayed the night, and I drove them back the next day. During the hour-long drive, we ended up having a bit of a deep conversation. I noticed it then—my immediate responses of “You can’t rely on people” and “You have to think about yourself first” were rolling out without hesitation. I was basically handing out worst-case-scenario pamphlets like a doom-filled Girl Scout cookie seller.

Later, after I got home, my youngest wanted McDonald’s for dinner. She picked it up and noticed they didn’t put the sauce in the bag like she requested. I asked her if she checked the bag before she drove off. She said no. My response?

“You always have to check the bag. You can't trust anyone.”

And the thing is… I wasn’t kidding. If you leave that drive-thru without confirming your sauce, you are living on the edge. That’s chaos. That’s danger. That’s nuggets without sauce—and no one should live like that.

But later that night, as I replayed my conversations with my girls, I felt sad. I’m always making sure they know what could go wrong, but almost never reminding them what could go right. Yes, you MUST ALWAYS check the bag at McDonald’s (this is not up for debate), but it was the principle of it. When did I start checking my metaphorical bags? When did I become so untrusting and cynical? And why?

Being a mom is wanting more for your kids than you had. It’s protecting them at all costs. It's wanting them to make the right choices and not be scared to take on challenges. But here’s the truth: you have no control over that. You think you do in how you raise them, and you might influence them some, but you have no real control over who your kids become or the choices they make.

My kids still believe people are generally good. They trust and love and walk through life with positivity. I don’t want to ruin that. They need to decide their worldview themselves. Maybe they’ll end up trusting less or being more cautious, but that should be their decision, not something I hand them like a family curse.

I will always try to guide them in a way that benefits their lives, but I have to remember that my experiences are not theirs. Their future doesn’t need to carry my past.

I’ll close with this: if I collected my “two cents” in a jar every time my kids needed advice instead of giving it away, one day I might have enough to eat somewhere fancier than McDonald’s. And in that case, there would be no worries about missing sauce.