Front Porch Blues

Sitting on my front porch in my new Adirondack, a gift from my wonderful, but former, mother-in-law. Doodlebug is tucked deep beneath a mound of blankets on the couch,  sore throat and achey, watching an entire season of The Office. Honestly, not once have I been able to sit down today and look for jobs online, peruse Craigslist, go through the newspaper, CareerBuilder--nothing. Every time I try and do so it's "Mom, can you get me a bobby pin?" or "Mom, would you pleaaaaaaase pour me another glass of water?" And, of course, I think nothing of this at all and run around the house, fetching hair ties and glasses of water, juice, a bowl of ice cream and some soup--I do these little things lovingly and almost always with a twist...like, I write on her water glass in washable marker, "feel better angel-head!".  And even sick and achey-breaky she manages to roll her pre-teen eyes at me and say, "Oh, now it's "Angel-head?"  I wonder, if washable markers had made their debut in the early 70's,  would my own mother do the same kind of thing? Oh wait, no....no she wouldn't. She did not have an only child, like I do. She didn't have the time to think of little crafty things to put on kitchenware so that we, too, could roll our eyes all the way to the back of our head at her.  I, on the other hand, helicopter around my kid constantly...still writing little notes to put in her lunch bag, making her kiss me goodbye at drop-off.  Ugh. I am making myself sick. Her eleven and-a-half year old self is crying out for a little separation, some identity of her own, something that is totally UNRELATED to me and my crazy family.  Her father is much better at this "letting go" stuff than I. He has two other children by wife #2 and lets our daughter do things like take the dog and her two half-siblings to the park--by themselves!!!  Even typing those words sends me into a mini panic attack. Lately I have taken to sort of stalking her when she is at her dad's house. Ok, not really stalking, but like, you know, parking a good ways down the street when I know she is walking a few blocks to the park to meet her friends. Oh, and it just so happens I have taken up bird-watching (the doves) so I, conveniently, had a pair of cheapo binoculars at the ready.  Cars drove passed me that day (this is the suburbs) and slowed to nearly a full stop to gaze into my car window..."what in holy hell is this woman doing?" My daughter  would be so annoyed with me if she knew.  I picture her busting me do a drive-by the park. And the worst thing: the ex and I live nowhere near one another...so the old, "Oh, I was in the neighborhood" thing is OUT. I imagine her annoyed and embarrassed and disappointed in me. I am disappointed in myself. Years ago, sipping beers on a front porch in New Orleans. someone said, "raising children should be an exercise in letting them go." It now dawns on me that this person, a trumpet player at the time, WAS then and is NOW child-LESS! But I have thought about that almost every day since. And I get it. I do.  Every day it gets a little harder. But isn't that our job as parents? To give them the tools to deal with things like hurt, rejection, anger, LOSING A JOB? Then we can send them out on their own to make their way--to make their own life? Question then: Am I hurting my Doodlebug by doing these things? Or, am I only hurting myself? We want to protect our babies, these creatures that took up residence in our bodies for nearly a year....isn't that just instinct to want to keep doing that FOREVER? Why is it that dads are so much more laid, layed (there's that word again) back? Why are they willing to let their kids go right out the door (granted she did have the dog and her cell phone with her), with nary a care?  Oh, there we go, another command from within...gotta go. But let me know what you think about this, please.