"I definitely think you should..." Why, after so many years, does that phrase rise so easily to my lips? Only now, more often than not, I need to bit them back. No one is asking what they should do very often, and, honestly, honestly that could be a good sign. Do I know what they should do?

All I know is that once upon a time, there were three children and a mother who loved them very much.

At the time, I did not foresee the changes in store for that mother and those children. For now, I find myself living in "Once upon a time there were three adults and a mother who loved them very much."

This second story is one with less guidebooks. In the child version, you have certain criteria, such as:

1. Keep them safe.
2. Keep them fed.
3. Everyone needs sleep.

Now everything is much more topsy-turvy. Now it's:

1. They should choose to be safe and what degree of risk to tolerate.
2. They decide what keeps them fed.
3. Everyone needs sleep, but how, where, and when is mostly out of your control.

If I continue to be the same mother I was to children, I will smother away the adults who my three children are growing up to be.

So I try to listen even more. I am no longer a guide and a revealer of what the world is and how they should move in it. For they have entered other worlds: other jobs, other schools, and now, now they are the experts, growing close to people I may never know.

At best, I can listen (if they choose to share their experiences and plans. I do mention ideas of safety "stay in a group, buddy up" when my teen talks of heading to public Halloween parties. But their safety? That's up to them now.

It's a struggle. Sometimes I fight the instinct to gather them up and lock the door. Even thinking it, I realize the absolute impossibility of that idea. They are all bigger and stronger than me. I tried to raise them without a cage of fear and disapproval, which means, unfettered, they are exploring and dreaming, seeing which part of life is a place to make their home.

I don't want to hold them back. I hope they live their whole life with wings. Birds don't always fly, but without clipped wings, any place can be a joyful choice rather than a dreary prison.

I didn't realize how much their growing meant that I, too, need to grow. I need to grow into a love that is given with an open hand. I seek to rejoice in their joys even when I do not understand them, even when they are not the choices I might have made.

I try to more often use the phrases, "What do you feel you are drawn to? I'm proud that you accomplished that. You worked hard."

Their lives are not for my glory. They are earning their accomplishments. My role is to stand in the sidelines and clap. To often hugs, soup, and blankets, and then, yet again, an open door.

Yes, I'm sending them into that great, big scary world full of bad people. But there's good people out there too and maybe, just maybe, if I'm one of those lucky parents, maybe my kids will be some of those good people that others find. Good people to work with, to have fun with, and no one knows what might happen next.

I hope I get to hear about it.