By Courtney Burkholder

“This year, your child will learn time management, organization, and responsibility.”

As I listened to my son’s teacher speak of giving up control and letting my child fall as a means of teaching responsibility, I felt my heart sink. These words evoked more fear in me than Advanced Calculus ever did.

She went on to explain that unfinished homework, a forgotten gym bag, a paper requiring a parent’s signature are all opportunities to teach your child to be responsible. Fourth grade can get a bit “messy,” she explained. And we were assured that a bad grade or lost privilege is not the end of the world because it is teaching our children a valuable lesson.

Not the end of the world? Was she kidding? “Messy” is really not a word we use in my house.

After 10 years of running around behind my child, picking up after him, monitoring homework, checking and rechecking work, cleaning out notebooks and organizing folders – suddenly, I’m just supposed to let him do it?

What about his GPA? What about his good student image I’ve worked so hard to create? What about my reputation as a good mother?

Although I pretended to take these suggestions to heart, secretly, I was unconvinced. After all, I’m a mother. She was virtually taking away my job!

Less than a week later, I found myself faced with one of these “teaching moments.”

I received an e-mail on Sunday evening informing me that my child had not turned in a homework assignment, and he would need to bring it to school on Monday. My heart began to pound. My mind began to race. Where was the missing homework? I’d seen the paper last week, knew he had completed it, but where was it now? Was it in the basket by the telephone? Could it be in his notebook filed under the wrong tab? Was it in the laundry room? The kitchen? Or - my heart beat faster - was it in that stack of old school papers I’d thrown away last Friday?

Frantically, I dashed from room to room in search of the missing homework, all the while screaming questions at my child who was somewhere in the house. In desperation, I went out to the curb and began sorting through the bags of trash we’d accumulated over the week-end - stinky, disgusting, rotting trash, ripe from sitting out in ninety-degree weather. After a cursory glance in each bag, I returned to the house for supplies and prepared to transfer the trash into new bags for a more thorough search.

As I raced through the house, I spied my child. My precious little angel was lying on the couch, watching television, and eating ice cream right out of the carton. Not a care in the world. Not a concern in that head of his. And why should there be? He had me to care for him.

Right then and there, I made a decision. I took a deep breath, walked to the couch, informed him of the e-mail, and told him to do his best to find the missing homework. He looked stumped. As he wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, I did what any good mother would do. I lay down on the couch and finished off the carton of ice cream.

The hardest job I may ever have as a mother is doing nothing at all. We can guide, assist, and encourage. We can teach, advise, and offer solace when failure occurs. But in the end, we have to let our children make mistakes and grow. How can we expect our children to be responsible, if we never give them responsibility? So moms, whether you want to or not, its time to take a break. Your carton of ice cream is waiting.