May has always been a busy month for our family. For over 13 years, we have attended the lion's share of end-of-year parent-teacher conferences, school carnivals, spring picnics, end-of-year field trips, final competitions of anything the kids have participated in, choir productions, spring musicals, field days, final exams and suffered through fruitless parental efforts to squelch those can't-wait-for-summer-vacation butterflies. We remember that summer excitement all too well, and we, too, are excited for days of sleeping in, lounging at the pool, and saying good-bye to the routine commitments of school for three months.

This year's May frenzy had a new element; I helped our eldest, Mike, pack up, vacate, and clean his dorm room at The Regency in downtown Denver. Rather than spending his summer at home with us, he has signed a year lease and is moving to Ft. Collins to live with his girlfriend, Rachel, and their mutual friend, Trevor. We've made the Three's Company jokes often - bless all three of them for thinking we are funny.

Not really wanting to dive right in to cleaning my son's room, I first took Mike out to my old stomping grounds, Mead St. Station on 32 nd and Mead for lunch. We ate on the patio, basking in the warm Colorado springtime sun, lingering over a very good meal. He told me terrific stories of how finals were either "cake," "lame," or "f'n hard, man!" I have no idea what that means in terms of his GPA.

Mike is coming into his own, and it is fascinating to watch. I found myself thinking how surprised I was that I never even thought to ask him about his grades. Phil and I made an agreement with Mike last semester that involved linking scholarly performance to parental funding of education. We didn't browbeat him about it; just laid it all down on paper, made sure he understood and agreed, and listened to his concerns and comments. We re-worked the plan to accommodate all of our goals, and lo and behold, the stress is gone - for all of us.

Mike is in control of Mike's life. By giving him permission to sit in the driver's seat, we gave ourselves permission to sit in the back and be quiet, agreeing to enjoy the ride. Like I said, the stress is gone.

As I listened to my son, I was aware that I had grown up, too. I realized that I am more his mentor now than advisor. These two roles differ greatly. As an advisor, I would tell Mike what he should do. My intentions were pure, based in love, meant only to provide that guidance that every youth needs . . . and they were smothering him. All Mike wants to do is be on his own.

As a mentor, I can listen to my son as an intelligent young man beginning to forge his way into the world. He has a zest for living, wants to try new things, and isn't afraid to admit he might change his mind and choose another path. He has several in mind, which means he is making contingency plans along the way. I realized, over our iced tea and lemonade, that I am extremely proud of my adult son.

Mike never verbalized the young adult anthem of "Leave me alone! I can do it myself!" to us, he just got so frustrated whenever Phil and I would talk to him about school and would walk away, leaving us feeling confused and lost. We didn't get it. We were his parents, and that job of checking up on your child's academic performance was a role we knew well. It's what we have done since 1993, when he first walked into that kindergarten classroom.

The hardest part about parenting is that there are millions of books out there providing well-researched insight into how to handle every little speed bump you will encounter raising children, however, there is no one standing next to you to give you a well-deserved flick on the forehead or to slap a hand across your mouth when you're about to make a mistake.

Mike, as the oldest, has the unfortunate role of suffering through every single one of our parental mistakes. With each new life phase he encounters, we approach a new chapter in parenting as complete novices.

When we got back to the house to unload and sort laundry, Mike went off to hang out with a high school friend. As he was getting ready to leave, he told me, "Mom, I don't feel like I live here anymore. I think I've really moved out for good now."

I just smiled. I think he's right - but I still agreed to do his laundry. I've got to hang on somehow, just for a little while longer.