Mothering? Or Smothering?

As my little babies turn, gradually, into little girls, my helicopter parenting skillz are apparent. They've always been exaggerated. We got to the part of the bike trail that overlooks a lovely, but roaring creek and I cringed telling them not to climb on the very large, very high metal fence. A foot could get stuck. They might fit through the two-inch slats. What if they do fall? They'll drown in the knee-deep water. (It was easily a 20-foot drop, by the way).

Part of the problem, I know, is that I was a news reporter. I wrote about a 14-year-old girl that was sucked under by an Amtrak train and killed. I wrote about the 4-year-old boy who was sucked down by a swollen creek after a hard rain. I interviewed many families who lost loved ones who were shot, stabbed, drowned, pushed down to their death and, yes, abused.

It's no wonder that I'm smothering. Or circling. Or hovering. Or standing too close. I've seen death at too many doors.

But, I'm trying. Always, always trying.

This week's inspiration will take you to two links: The Washington Post column I just read, and the author's blog as well.

It's a very good discussion. Makes me want to let my girls roam -- to the fenced backyard by themselves (while I watch from a window).

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