Over the years I have been called a helicopter mom- behind my back, yes but a moniker I most definitely deserved.  Beau’s nickname for me through his formative years was indeed Eagle Eye.  The boy couldn’t get away with nothing and hopefully still can’t (by the way if any of you know anything pertaining to Mr. Beau G Banks please contact me here.  You’re identity will be protected).
When Donovan came down the pike I decided it was time to try a different approach.  Sure I was still the doting mom but more like the doting mom on Xanax- a little more chill.  Now being chill is pretty much a foreign concept and I am certain if friends were asked they would deny my motherly chillness hotly but I know the difference and there is one.  At Pump it Up last week I only went through the obstacle course once.  Five years ago I would have been running relays with the kids and putting helmets and kneepads on them as they bounced and bobbled through the cushioned hall.
But I digress.
On the playground I noticed Donovan and some other boys wrestling.  Oh dear I thought and looked around at other moms. 
“Boys will be boys,” one said.
HMMM.  Its true boys are different then girls but does that mean that they have free reign to fart burp and take each other’s heads off. 
Well what’s a little wrestling I thought? 
A few minutes later I glanced up to see Donovan with his foot in someone’s stomach.  Oh heck no.
“Donovan,” I boomed. 
He didn’t even look up.
So intent was he on protecting himself and inflicting damage that he didn’t even here the boom; and the boom is NO light matter.
I removed him from said tussle and banned fighting.
When I asked him why he wanted to do that he said all the boys did it and he wanted to be like them.  Then he asked if I wanted him to just hang out with girls. 
“Yes I said until you turn twelve and then they are off limits.”
I’m just kidding I didn’t say that.
It’s a fine line to walk.  Letting them work out their own battles.  Letting them make a move without stalking them for safety reasons.  Letting them hit the ground so they know how to pick themselves up and I admittedly am a little shaky on what side of the line I’m on.
Last week Beau called me from school and told me he forgot his basketball uniform and could I bring it.  I refused to pick up the pieces so he sat on the bench in street clothes.
“Do you think he learned his lesson?” someone asked me.
“NO, I said he’ll forget his head next week but I think I might have learned mine”