They’re everywhere you look.
School dances, wearing khaki pants with a plain black or white shirt, tucked into the waistband with a belt circa 1985. Often times, they are huddled in a corner, never taking their eyes off the dance floor. They call themselves “monitors.” They are lying to everyone they know, including themselves.
These people, often mothers, have even infiltrated themselves into schools. Volunteering for every single function, even when there isn’t a function, they are volunteering for one. They make them up. The biggest one is called the “room parent” and she knows her job is one so many others are dying to have. She is in charge of roping the other parents into donating cookies, punch and plates for every single holiday party. She is the head bitch; and she will not go down without a fight. No one is taking her place.
At sporting events, these same people sit on the sidelines, taunting children from the opposing team – “Don’t you push my son!” or “Hey, REF, that’s a foul! Come on!” Even worse are the ones who look you in the eye, across the imaginary “team divider line” on the sidelines and give you the look of death while whispering under their breath, “ASSHOLE!”
Helicopter parents are ruining our society. And, for those of us who aren’t helicopter parents, we are being made to feel guilty that we don’t want to spend every fucking second with our kids.
My God, I gave birth to three kids (including a set of twins). I stayed home with them from the moment they popped out until the moment the yellow chariot arrived to take them away from me for a blissful eight hours. The LAST thing I want to do is see them at school. And, they don’t NEED to see me at school, floating around like a Zoloft-induced Monarch butterfly, smiling everywhere I go as if I was meant to belong there from 9 a.m. to 3:30 p.m.
I have my own life.
I enjoy grocery shopping at 1 p.m. without three little ones grabbing my shirt, pants and screaming about every single food item they think they want but will never eat.
I enjoy eating a meal in peace where I am not being torn in three directions – “Cut this please!” “Milk!” “I don’t like this, what else is there?”
Silence is fucking golden.
So, to you helicopter parents I say this … One day, your kids will get out from under your crazy-ass wing because they will seek independence. You cannot follow your children everywhere they go. You cannot be there to help them out of every problem, trauma or disaster. They will need to cope without you being there 24/7/365.
And stop, just stop making us parents who enjoy seeing our kids run off the bus to tell us about their day with smiles on their faces so damn guilty for not being there all the time.