My mother criticizes my parenting

It drives me crazy. How can I get her to back off without hurting her feelings?

The question

My mother's driving me crazy with her criticism of my parenting.

She's always saying we spoil our children, going on and on about how she did it in her day, and so on.

I actually blew up at her on Mother's Day and I feel incredibly guilty. I love her to death, but it makes me crazy when she criticizes me about my kids. I think I'm doing a good job. How can I get her to back off without hurting her feelings?

The answer

Well, on the one hand, don't even get me started about how annoying unsolicited parenting advice can be.

For years I was a stay-at-home dad.

Moms complain about all the unsolicited advice they get from random busybodies, sanctimonious babushkas and Nosy Parkers on the street.

But imagine, ladies, when they got a load of me!

A huge, stubbled, confused-looking man pulling a bottle of "express milk" out of the cargo pocket of his army pants and jamming it in the craw of his screaming, tomato-faced kid, trying to shut him up.

The babushka would freeze, her hump tingling with anticipation. Her whole life - all 176 years of it - was a preparation for this moment. Throwing herself in the path of my stroller, she would point an ancient, crooked finger like a gnarly old oak twig at my then-infant son, Nicholas (who's now a brilliant, beautiful, eminently sensible and exquisitely sensitive 11-year-old, by the way, babushkas of the world), and croak out her edict: "Your baby cold! Needs another layer!"

Or - and this one would always kill me - "He needs his mommy!"

That line was like a knife in my heart, would make me want to drop to my knees, clutch the hem of the babushka's traditional mourning garment and sob: "No, babushka, no ... don't say ... that ..."

But all I ever did was smile and say: "Thank you for your input. You've certainly given me something to think about." And roll Nick away with a frozen rictus of faux gratitude affixed to my kisser.

Why? Because, ladies, that became, in time, my policy.

At first, I would bristle and argue; but I came to realize there was no point, it was a fruitless waste of energy. People who love giving free, unsolicited advice are not going to change their ways just because you act haughty and say something frosty. All you do is create friction and bad blood.

And sometimes, horribly, the busybodies actually have a point. If you drop the bristling and listen, from time to time you can get good advice, even in this unsolicited, off-the-street format.

It can be tough to implement this "smile and say thanks" policy, I know - especially, I found, in the face of parenting wisdom from people who don't actually have kids themselves.

And FYI, having "nieces and nephews" does not confer expert parenting status on you, people. Anyone can be an uncle. You come in, distribute a few presents, a toy or two, some loose change, maybe bust a couple of magic tricks, then leave on a high note, bidding adieu, pressing your bunched fingers to your lips.

Trust me, there are times we parents would also like to leave on a high note, bidding adieu, pressing our fingers to our lips. But we don't have that option.

Unlike various aunts and uncles, though, your mother does have a lot of direct parenting experience - from raising you.

And her experience was this: For something like the first 30 years of your life, you were wrong about pretty much everything. So it's automatic for her, it's second nature to correct and reprove you and attempt to steer you in the right direction.

Second, parenting has changed unbelievably since her day. And sometimes (like when I go to a restaurant where someone has brought their kids) I think parents of previous generations have a point when they say our kids are spoiled, undisciplined and obnoxious, and we're too precious with them.

I think of my kids as reasonably well-behaved, but after a weekend in the care of my wife's parents, I'm amazed at the transformation: When we arrive back home, they file out of the kitchen, in single file, hair parted neatly on one side, seen but not heard, practically addressing my wife, Pam, and I as "Sir" and "Madam."

Of course, it only lasts until the grandparents' car disappears down the street, but sometimes one can't help but wonder: What if they were like that all the time?

Now I'm not qualified to say what way of bringing up kids is better or worse. All children are different and so are all parents. Suffice it to say you could probably learn a lot from your mother if you stopped bristling and being defensive.

But you're responsible for how your kids turn out. Therefore you have the final say in how to handle them. There is such a thing as being polite yet firm, of saying something such as: "Thanks, Mom, I appreciate it, but I prefer to do it this way."

Still, you owe her an apology. She gave birth to you in pain and suffering. She had horrible nights and frustrating days with you, as you now know. She compromised her dreams, ideals, figure, social life, rest, independence and so much else to protect you and keep you warm, dry and happy, as you now know.

She's owed at least one day on which she is honoured with unstinting patience and tolerance. Since you ruined that with your outburst, why not make it up with a bunch of flowers, maybe a nice dinner and a card that reads: "Mom, I appreciate everything you've done for me, including and especially bestowing upon me the gift of life."

Because hey: If she hadn't done that, you wouldn't be around to feel irritated, now, would you?

David Eddie is a screenwriter and the author of Chump Change and Housebroken: Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad.

DAVID EDDIE
From Friday's Globe and Mail