Tonight at dinner, I happened to ask Zoe about a boy she’s been “talking” to. And by “talking” I mean texting, never sees, and doesn’t spend any time with. Basically she’s having a relationship with a telephone. But who am I to complain? It actually works out pretty well, from a Mom’s perspective.

So, when I casually, nonchalantly, in my most laid-back voice, asked about this particular boy, she said, “Mom, you need to get a life. Honestly. Stop worrying about my ninth grade love life. Worry about your own. ”

Apparently, I’ve been asking a little too much, too often.

As much as I hated to admit it, she wasn’t rude, she was right. She said it with kindness and respect. I couldn’t be mad at her. I was impressed with her. She was nicely telling me to give her some space, trust her judgment, and give her room to figure things out on her own a little bit.

Yikes. A scary place for a mom.

We have a close and open relationship, and she shares plenty with me. I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on in her life. I enjoy knowing the details of all aspects of her life…including her love life.

I could see the helicopter flying around the kitchen.

Part of me wanted to tell her I’m her mother. I gave birth to her after all, and that gives me the right to ask her anything I want, about anyone I want, at anytime. But I also recognize she has a right to her own privacy, and I have to respect that.

There’s a delicate balance between asking the right questions, and asking too many questions. I haven’t found it yet, and I don’t have all the answers. She’s my first born, which means I’m just winging it, and probably messing up more than I want to admit.

But it’s OK. I’m sure I’ll cross the line plenty of times in the future, and as long as she continues to nicely remind me to keep out, I will.

Finding meaning each day,

Dara