The other day, I had an argument with my daughter about her college credits. Here’s the thing – she’s a junior in high school. The argument started when she was trying to figure out her senior year class schedule…during the first week of the second semester of junior year. Here’s how the argument went:

Her:  Mom, I’m trying to decide if I should take AP (Advanced Placement) U.S. History AND AP English.

Me:  Well, keep in mind that senior year can be pretty stressful with college applications and such. Are you sure you can handle TWO AP classes?

Her:  Oh my God, mom, you just don’t want me to take AP Classes! I’m trying to get some college credits out of the way before I get there!

That stopped me in my tracks. My daughter was already worried about completing college credits before she had even chosen a college. What are we doing to our kids? Why is this scenario even on their horizons? What is wrong with high school students being, um, high school students?

Here’s my question: What’s the hurry? Why are we in such a rush for our kids to grow up? At what point do they get to be kids? What’s next? Pre-Occupational Skills Classes in 5K? ACT/SAT Prep Sessions for First Graders? Huh, I wonder why kids today are so stressed out?

Oh and my daughter and I compromised. She chose one AP class instead of two, thereby giving her time to pursue her love of musical theatre, something she will eventually study…in college.

This winter storm we’re having made me realize one of my deeply buried maternal superstitions. Somewhere in my subconscious, I have this philosophy that it’s my job to worry about things so they don’t happen.

Case in point: My son goes to college in Indiana – about 6 hours away. Yesterday, prior to the storm moving in, he was leaving school to return home for Christmas break. The combination of his driving home and the storm arriving sent me into a tizzy. I made at least six phone calls to him that sounded something like this: “What time are you leaving? You need to leave early. You need to beat the storm. The storm is going to be HUGE. Leave as early as possible. What do you mean you haven’t packed yet?! Do you have warm enough clothes for the trip home in case you get stuck? Call me as soon as you leave.” (So I could commence worrying even more.)

I’m certain there was much eye-rolling during these calls, but he was kind enough not to share this with me. Truth be told, I wanted to scare him a little because at his age, you tend to think you’re immortal and nothing will ever happen to you.

I’m old enough to know that things happen to people, which, of course, makes me worry even more. And I seem to believe that if I worry about things enough, then they won’t happen. Often, it works, which is probably why I keep doing it.

But here’s the thing: This worrying gig is kind of exhausting, especially because it never ends. Sigh.

I have to confess that I’ve wasted a great deal of time, as a mother, worrying. When my kids were little (which, I have to admit, was before the internet), I constantly had my head buried in a copy of Doctor Mom. Every cry, sneeze, stomach ache or earache made me flip through the dog-eared pages in fear of evidence of a dreaded disease. (It’s a blessing that WebMD didn’t exist back then.)

When my kids reached school-age, I concerned about them hitting developmental milestones. I obsessed over words mispronounced or misspelled, math problems misunderstood or their inability to write a cohesive sentence. (Their parents are both journalism majors! Shouldn’t writing be part of their genetic code?!)

As middle-school approached, I worried about social issues. Who were they hanging around with? Why aren’t they going out more? Why do they want to go out so much? Why are they obsessed with how they look? Why aren’t they obsessed with how they look?

Then came high school. Because I was not the head cheerleader, prom queen or valedictorian, I had my share of high school issues. And, because I’m not a Stepford mom, I worry about my kids encountering those same issues. My philosophy is I’m here and I’ll help them make better choices, right? Wrong. The issues are totally different and so I worry even more. In fact, I worry because I don’t even know what to worry about.

College is a whole other ball of worry wax! Will my kids get into a good college? Will they like college? Will they excel in college or fade into the woodwork and barely graduate? What if they get a freaky roommate who stays up all night or brings “overnight guests?”

Can you see why this is exhausting?

So here’s what I do. Sometimes, because there seems to be no end to the worry, I focus on one thing: my kids, at home, safe and sound. Now that they drive, this is a bigger deal than you think.

And so, this Thanksgiving week, I’m thankful to have my kids at home with me.

What, me worry?