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By Donna Fentanes

One of the Helicopter Mom’s greatest tools is texting. I know many would say the Life 360 App is the best, but I confess, I have never used it. I’m still old school. I still remember the days when my parents had no idea where I was and what I was doing. And, for that reason, and the fact that if I used that app, I would be a wreck, I have refused to use it. But my kids use it for each other, so when I am tempted to know where someone is, I tread the unpredictable waters and inquire from one of the kids. But I was a habitual heli-texter. Yes, you heard me right... "was." I am proud to announce most of my heli-texting days are probably over.

Heli-texting. What the... heck is that? Well, I made up the word last night. Backstory: I live with three nocturnal creatures… my daughters. They go out every night, even after a long day at work or at school. And one of them is a four o’clocker… almost always out very late. Horrible conditions in which to quit heli-texting. I don’t know where they are. I have been long exiled into the “need-to-know basis” territory. Much to my chagrin.

Anyway, last night, I was home all alone; all the creatures, even the ones next door, were out. I didn’t know where most of them were. I had been working on ditching heli-texting for almost a month, but I did panic a little last night before I went to bed because one of the kids said they were coming home before going out again. Didn’t come home, didn’t text. So general anxiety panic disorder (GAPD) set in. (I made that up too.) I fell off the wagon and began to type out a text, copy it and sent to each of my offspring, to which I got two answers. Then I finally heard noises downstairs from one of those nocturnal creatures who had returned home. I went to check it out. I asked, “Where is everyone?”

One of the persons present told me of a potentially harried tale while the other person present tried to throttle him.

All I said was, “If they’re home safe, I don’t care.” Then I added, “Hey, haven’t you even noticed I haven’t been 'heli-texting' anymore?”

To which my daughter replied, “Hella texting?”

“No, heli-texting… helicopter texting. Hey, I just made up that word.” She wasn’t too impressed. I went back to bed and went to sleep.

Heli-texting, also known as hella-texting the San Francisco Bay Area, is helicopter parenting via text. That’s it. It’s blowing up their phones. I even googled heli-texting and couldn’t find any match for that word. Therefore, I hereby unofficially patent the word and take ownership. And why not? I am an expert... albeit a retired one.

I wrote a blog, “Hope For The Helicopter Mom,” about an incident when my oldest son tried to check my rampant heli-texting. Heading over to the City back when he was 17, he told me I only get five texts for the night. I sweated through the evening and he arrived home safe and sound just using five texts. But that was twenty years ago; it’s only recently that I’ve quit heli-texting.

A few weeks ago, I don’t remember exactly what happened, but as I’ve tried to emotionally distance myself from my grown kids and put the mothering to rest, I decided to quit bugging them via text. Just quit bugging entirely. They’re grown, they’re doing their own things (nail-biting) and unless they loop me in, I’ve got to find something else to do. In a conversation on a podcast, an interviewer reiterated some of Jordan Peterson’s words to him: “I heard you recently talk about a mother’s ability to let her child go out into the world knowing that they’re still vulnerable and that it’s now down to them and the world to look after them. That’s one of the bravest things….”

To which Jordan Peterson finished the thought: “It’s the female crucifixion.” He went on to describe the Pieta and Mary’s grief after the crucifixion.

Yes! Letting them go, go out into the world—a place you know is dangerous and evil as well as beautiful and glorious—knowing they are so young and inexperienced is likened to something as traumatic as a crucifixion. Letting them go has been that hard. And what keeps me on track to not worry, be anxious or fretful is that, as a Christian, I am called to JOY, PEACE, LOVE and HOPE, things that cannot survive in the hazardous environment of fear.

Lest you think I’ve arrived at total acquiescence and indifference to my kids’ independence and activities, I do still peek out the bathroom window after I wake up and count the cars, and sigh a heartfelt, “Thank You, Lord.” So what am I supposed to do now?

—Donna Fentanes

Donna Fentanes is a mother of ten grown children. She credits Erma for sustaining her with laughter and wisdom over the decades. In 2022, her youngest graduated from high school, concluding her child-rearing years. She continues to write on her blog, From The Shoe, and will soon self-publish another anthology of her blogs and columns, "The Plight of the Hare, Vol. 2." She has some of her short screenplays in various film and screenwriting festivals and has received some great responses, even winning one competition.

She is enjoying this time of transition from mothering to grandmothering and exploring new adventures in eating, screenwriting, photography and travel.

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything You gave me.'" ~Erma Bombeck