Not A Helicopter. Just A Parent.

It’s you, Nick, you’re the problem it’s you.

Someone named Nick called into a radio show this morning, and his rant really had me hovering above the pavement as I drove.  

His beef? Parents who declined to attend a holiday gathering at 1pm because it’s during their toddler’s nap time.

Let me tell you, Nick was on a ROLL. Peacocking through my dashboard speakers like the keynote at some O’Doyle Rules convention. “Gimme a break. We never did any of that BS with our kids. Like, it’s a PARTY. We’re GOING. They’re tired, they can sleep in the car. I swear, I’m so done. I’m ready to LOSE IT on all these helicopter parents.“

I almost had to pull the car over. Because twelve years into my own parenting journey, you know who I was suddenly–quite unnervingly–ready to lose it on?

You, Nick.

When our kiddo was younger, we adhered to her sleep schedule like PB&J on beige broadloom.You know why, Nick?

Because when we didn’t, the fallout lasted for days, leaving us exhausted on top of already being exhausted and our sweet, smiley baby uncharacteristically grumpy, all so we could spend a few hours not socializing anyway (you know, because of the overtired baby), and we quickly concluded it wasn’t worth it.

And people like Nick had a lot to say, pressuring us to attend, making us feel guilty for declining, implying there was something wrong with us for not willingly tossing a fragile routine that took us months to establish out the window in favour of their social calendar.

As for him firing off the term “helicopter parent” to shame two parents for…you know…parenting?

I was called a helicopter parent once–by a woman whose toddler had been wandering a busy playground for 45 minutes unattended, pulling on dogs’ fur, stealing children’s sand buckets then hitting said children with said buckets, and generally melting down in a manner the other parents in attendance unanimously recognized as Past Nap Time. We were about to call the cops when someone managed to locate the missing mom over a hundred feet away, sipping on Starbucks, chatting to friends with her back to the playground. Her response to the group of us keeping her child out of oncoming traffic for the better part of the past hour? “At least I’m not a HELICOPTER PARENT.“

(Was her husband’s name Nick, I can’t help wondering now?)

But in all seriousness, the thing is, I’ve always made a point not to judge. Raising humans is the toughest gig on the planet, you never know what that mom was dealing with. It’s just, with our family well past the toddler years by now, Nicks are still rolling their eyes at us when we don’t let our kid have Snapchat, or do sleepovers at houses we’ve never been in, or watch R-rated movies, and I wouldn’t mind a little of the same courtesy in return.

I suspect this is why I found myself strangling my steering wheel so as not to call into that radio station myself.

But if I had called in?

I’d have let Nick know that parents are not helicopters for supervising their kids—not hovering, not suffocating their independence but meeting their needs, keeping an eye so that when they do mess up we notice and can step in as appropriate.

I would’ve clapped for those parents not going to the party this weekend, for choosing to being present on the tarmac instead of kicking back in the airport lounge with Nick and his commentary and a complimentary cocktail. Then I’d have played them this absolute gem of a clip I wish I’d seen years ago from my newest #shero “Chopper 19.”

I might also have said:

Good for you, Nick, for bringing your overtired toddlers to all those parties. I’m sure that was delightful for everyone.

And,

By all means, Nick, just because every expert on everything agrees sleep hygiene is kind of a big deal, we wouldn’t want you to miss your egg nog.

And,

NO ONE CARES that you did it differently when you were parenting, Nick. Take a look around—a couple things have changed since the dark ages.

And,

Hey Nick, how about a bunch of us helicopters come to your house, wake you in the middle of a sleep cycle, drag you into a noisy room full of people and force you to stay there ‘til whenever we’re done having fun? I mean, you can always sleep in the car.

(Annd now you understand why I refrained from making the call…)

But I wanted to leave this here anyway, because I think some parents of young ones might appreciate it, especially this time of year.

From my helipad to yours, brave moms and dads, I wish you holiday survival. Stay home whenever you want to. Do whatever you need to.

And if the wrong Nick tries to wriggle down your chimney, you know exactly what to do with that yule log.