This latest rant refers back to a long-past blog post during which I gave vent to my feelings towards unsolicited parental advice.
It pains me to admit that I might not be the perfect parent. Sadly, the shelves of Chapters and WH Smith (that is a nod to my trans-Atlantic inclinations) are devoid of literature espousing my pearls of parental wisdom.
In fact it’s a bit of a touchy subject, so just don’t start! One nerve that sits exposed and particularly vulnerable is connected to the fact that I do everything for my spoiled rotten offspring and generally serve as the family dogsbody. I’ve tried to rectify the situation but my horror of conflict forces me every time to just go ahead and do anything for some peace and quiet.
So, my bonnet starts positively buzzing when I hear someone say “if you don’t get them to do things for themselves they’ll never learn to live on their own”.
Oh BALDERDASH! I have long maintained that my pampered progeny are quite capable of cooking a meal and doing their own laundry, and when I’m not there to do it for them, they’ll just have to get on with it.
Well … yay me! I’m delighted to report that Roxy, out on her own in Vancouver, is managing to eat cooked (semi-) balanced meals and wash her undies. I gather she has even worked out how to make a sandwich for her lunch.
Yes, it seems that, resist as they might the responsibilities of adulthood, they have the wherewithals for a full, productive life away from the nest.