Whoa

It’s scary to think that this time next year, things will be so different. I’ve lived with someone for the last twenty years, seventeen of those being just with my son.

We’ve had our problems this year. Since he turned seventeen, it’s been a little like living with someone you want to divorce. It sounds harsh until you hear that he feels the same way. In fact, I’ve been told recently that the happiest day in his life will be the day he no longer has to live with me.

Yea, I’m an ogre, whatever, been there, done that.

Still, it feels lonely already. No sound of a key in the door at midnight on weekend nights. No nightly conversations about what happened that day. No noise or lights or flickering screens coming from his room each night. No constant ringing of his telephone. No truck in the garage every morning. No 6am alarm to fix breakfast. No “I’m home from school” phone calls.

I’ll be the mother of an adult. That means motherhood no longer defines me. I’m just going to be me. Scary!

At the same time, it feels freeing and exciting. I can go places. I can do things I want to do, without weighing his enjoyment. I can take some time off. I can get my graduate degree. I have options I don’t even know about yet.

Frankly, I’m a little grateful for the dog and the college bills to come. Because of them, I can only take baby steps into this new life full of just me. ACK.

Remembering September 17th

My mother would have been 77 today. She died at age 50 on October 17, 1980. My father told everyone she was 49, because her birthday was only thirty days before and he knew she would have liked that. She hated getting older. I think she might have grown accustomed to the idea eventually, but at 49/50, she hated it. Everything around her was changing and she was terribly unhappy, which I think was the largest contributing factor to her heart attack.

Anyway, it took me years to figure out that my teen angst, forever frozen, was misguided. She was the stability, the driving force, the one who worried and cared and gave a damn.

I’m sorry for those years. I like to think she and I have worked out our differences since, because I’m pretty sure she and her mother are our guardian angels. There have been too many signs and blessings to be unexplained.

Anyway, happy birthday, Mom. Thank you for adopting us. I know that you struggled and that you had the best of intentions. And I know that was love.

Mother's Day for Peace

I had no idea how Mother’s Day started. But I’m still in procrastination mode, so I had to research. According to da wiki:

The woman famous for writing the Battle Hymn of the Republic, Julia Ward Howe, attempted to declare a Mother’s Day for Peace to unite women against war after the Civil War. She got the idea from England, which had already designated a day for giving thanks their mothers. She wrote The Mother's Day Proclamation of 1870 to call for peace.

Though Howe’s efforts were unsuccessful, Anna Jarvis tried again and her daughter of the same name eventually succeeded. In 1914 President Woodrow Wilson declared the first national Mother's Day, as a day for American citizens to show the flag in honor of those mothers whose sons had died in war.

We Americans turned it into something that stood for absolutely nothing but the biggest commercial holiday of the year in less than a decade. To this day, Mother’s Day is the biggest day for restaurants each year. Anna Jarvis was enraged about what the holiday had turned into back then; I bet she’d be particularly proud of us now.

There. That’s researched. And, as usual, American history has embarrassed and angered me to no end.

I’m proud to report that my Mother’s Day wasn’t commercial at all. I avoid restaurants at all costs and we don’t spend much money on gifts and cards that get thrown away or put in a box, so it wasn’t that much of an effort.

I feel especially blessed this year, though. One of my son’s grandmothers made a few special points to get him to do something for me for Mother’s Day, stressing that he wouldn’t be home all the time that much longer and throwing in some other grandma-guilt, I’m sure.

He got up early (before noon) this morning and told me to make him a list of things he could do for me. And I did. And he did. And we hugged and were kind to each other. And it was a good, good day.

He’ll be 18 in a year and one month and I pray that I never have to think about the honor intended for mothers on the original Mother’s Day. But I’m glad I researched and have a new perspective on the holiday. I pray today (especially) for all the mothers with sons serving in militaries all over the world.

Procrastination. Check. Learned something. Check. Perspective, gratitude, and prayer. Check, check and check.

T shopping for the SAT

“Ian and I are going tea shopping, so I’ll be home after that,” my near-17-year-old son called to tell me after school today.

Say whaaaaat???

After some investigation, I found out that Austin and Ian and a few other boys are going to Allen’s house tonight for an SAT study party and they’ve decided that the tea stands for the “T” in SAT. So they're going to drink tea and study (between video games, I suspect).

Ian was the obvious choice to go tea shopping because he’s British. And Austin’s on the rugby team which made him worldly-guy runner-up.

My contribution to the evening was the Applause-O-Matic Happy Meal toy I got today at McDonalds. It’s a pair of clapping hands they can use quizzing each other and doing what the “S” in SAT stands for: STUDY!!!!!!!!

The Last Week of Lobsterfest

The best way I’ve found to pin my son down alone for an hour or so is to make sure he and I meet for dinner somewhere once a month. I had been unsuccessful convincing him to go anywhere with me this week for Spring break, because, come to find out, most of his friends were staying in town. His social schedule was especially packed, but I managed to at least guilt him into our monthly dinner Wednesday.

(And next year, if I have to drug him, we’re going somewhere for his Senior Spring break. I am pretty well known for picking places and times that include some sort of festival. For example, this year I had tried to sell a visit to Washington, DC, which would have coincided with their Cherry Blossom Festival. This would have been fine two years ago, but not now. In a thoughtless moment, I mentioned the Festival and all bets were off. “You want me to do what?” I’m convinced that just the word is the deal breaker, not the week with the mother, so I’ll have to consider that in our plans. Or just use a different word.)

Anyway, Austin loves Red Lobster, so that’s where we went. And, as luck would have it, when we sat down, the waitress handed us our menus and singsonged, “It’s the last week of Lobsterfest! Order it while you can!”

A festival, after all. I win again. He was unaware and didn’t laugh when I explained what I was smiling about.

Then I thought of the time, years ago, when a cashier at Burger King told my ex-husband that they were out of Whoppers. The proclaimed Home of the Whopper was out of Whoppers? And now, Red LOBSTER won’t have LOBSTER? I swear - the longer I live, the more confused I get. What will replace it? Talapiafest? I’m betting it’s Shrimpfest, but I like the sound of a Talapiafest.

The marketing worked, because the frenzy was upon us. The last week! Now, I do know that Red Lobster doesn’t catch its fish from the same part of the ocean as the finer seafood restaurants, but I had no choice – we would order lobster. The $62 bill to come, after dinner, drinks, tips and taxes, was a small price to pay for such an occasion anyway. It was a festival, after all.

We try to eat before 5 pm here in Indianapolis, because of my disdain for crowded restaurants and people with unruly toddlers who should eat at home. This early dinnertime typically puts us in the respectful company of seniors and lone or coupled diners, with whom I love to be.

And this time, I noticed three women around us, each sitting alone. No books to read, no restless eye movements from not knowing where to look, no hurries. They were content and comfortable, just sipping their drinks and savoring their meals.

I mentioned that I wanted to be just like them. Austin assured me, “Oh, you will be. Don’t worry.” I took that as the complement it wasn’t meant to be.

So, $62 and an average seafood meal later, I had been comforted by my son’s company, these women, and the fact that we hadn’t missed the “fest” after all.

I got to go home and think of my future trip alone to the Smithsonian and the Cherry Blossom Festival. And, I plan to enjoy dining alone, thinking of the ladies at Red Lobster.

Austin got to leave and go hang out with his friends for yet another night.

A nice Spring break was had by all.

I learned about my son from a boy from Japan

I will always remember our experience last week hosting an exchange student from Japan. But not for the reasons I thought I would. I loved having him and going through the entire process – my son going to Japan last year and this boy coming here to Indianapolis this year.

It was a priceless experience, but my biggest and most surprising reward was getting to know my own son again.

Since Austin started driving nine months ago, and really for at least a year of attitude before that, I have to be thankful for crumbs of information that give me glimpses into his life and who he is becoming. I know him, of course, but I don’t know how he is around other people, I don’t know what he does when I’m not around - things like that. I don’t know how he is as a human being going through his life anymore. I know what time he has to be her or there, when he’ll be home, when he needs money for gas, when to write a check for rugby dues - the mundane everyday stuff. But there is the, I suppose typical, teen-parent distance between us in the big picture sense. But by having a kid from a million miles away in the house, I learned more than I have in the past two years about my own son.

There were several events for the kids throughout the week, but the parents really only got involved at the farewell potluck dinner and the welcome and subsequent send-off at the airport. At those two events I got to talk to parents who knew my kid, kids who were friends with my kid, and I got to see my kid interact with the kids from Japan, the teachers and other parents and his friends.

A parent told me how grateful she was for Austin last year because her daughter had been treated badly by the other girls on their trip to Japan and Austin was the only one to be kind to both sides, which eventually led to a big reconciliation and a good time.

I met the girl who Austin asked to the prom. I only found out after the fact, though, that they were going together as I’m sure he didn’t want me saying anything in front of her or her mother. I met her mother and enjoyed them both immensely.

At one point during the potluck dinner, to which I had whined about going for an hour and to which he told me I had to go because it was the right thing to do, my son came to check on me to see if I had gone through the buffet line okay.

He was polite, thoughtful, and kind. He was mature and funny and at times, charming. He didn’t even seem embarrassed by me like he usually does.

I think we may become friends again. I hope so. I’m proud of him and I’m proud to know him.

I'm not ready

My son’s senior year of high school is quickly approaching. He has registered for the SAT and the ACT. He has started discussions with his counselor about what classes to take his senior year (his school is huge and has a course catalogue comparable to some small colleges). And we have an appointment next month with the counselor to discuss college choices and strategies.

We actually had a discussion about UGA last night. I was very supportive, because, for some time now he has wanted to major in biology and eventually go into medical research, which I think is one of the best fields for the future and something at which I know he would excel given his science and math grades and passion. But it sure is far away and definitely not conducive to weekend trips home.

We also talked about IU, which is just an hour or so away from Indianapolis. I said, “Great, you can come home on weekends and we can do stuff!” And he just looked at me - I think with pity - and let me know, “Most of my friends will be going there, so, if I go there too, I won’t really be coming home.”

As it should be. Ready or not.

A different day

At first, I didn’t recognize it. And then, I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. I knew I had felt it before, but it must have been a long time ago, because I still can’t remember exactly when. It finally introduced itself - rather matter-of-factly, and rudely, too, giving me no indication of how long it would stay and apparently not offering me much choice.

It has materialized in paralyzing fear and sadness. And in the ability to come up with scads of excuses not to get out of bed every day. It loves naps. It loves television. It loves blank stares in the mirror.

It hates quiet, but it hates noise. It hates people, but it hates solitude. It hates plans, but it hates having nothing to do. It hates not getting anything done, but it hates doing anything. It hates time passing, but it wishes the days would go by faster.

It loves a reliable Benadryl or two in the afternoon because it forces sleep. It craves sleep. It wants to be tired. It wants a moment or an hour not to be angry or sad.

It loves the phone ringing for the first time in a week, but it hates to answer because it doesn’t know what to say. And if it says too much, it might explode…or cry. It loves to see others living and playing and having fun, but it hates the idea of interacting. It really just has no idea how to interact. It’s helpless, but I think it wants help. It seems to want to dream. It wants to escape. It wants to live, but it’s not crazy about living right now.

Now, it feels guilty. It knows it’s not this serious. It’s not cancer, for God’s sake. It’s not a tragedy. It gives itself too much credit. It’s just the result of too much time. It should find something to do. It should just shut up and carry on. It is just loneliness, after all.
----

The house is empty again. The house will be empty from now on. I want to fill it up with happy sounds. I want to fill it up with laughter. I want to fill it up with hope. I want to fill it up with good thoughts. I want to fill it up with thoughts of anything other than myself.

I never see my only child anymore. It’s been the two of us for almost all of his sixteen years. He is my only family. And because of this, he’s really been my best friend as well. Now, he’s living his life, growing up, becoming independent, all the things he should be doing. And, I’m very proud and happy for him. But, suddenly, I have no idea what to do with myself. I don’t feel comfortable doing anything. Or being around anybody. I’m in an awkward phase, I suppose.

Local friends only exist in sporadic e-mail now. And I’m less of a people person than I have ever been. I’m not good at meeting people. I’m not good at small talk. I’m not good at little get-togethers with people I know, much less people I barely know or don’t know at all. Frankly, I’ve always found most folks exasperating after about the first 15 minutes of conversation. Not that I’m thrilling or any less frustrating, I’m sure, I’m just, like I said, not a people person. And the people I do find interesting or fascinating, the ones with whom I’d like to get together, typically don’t like me at all.

My astrology and numerology predictions for October all said the same thing: this would be a period of beginnings and a preview of the following year. That’s great, just great, because all I feel are endings.

Jobs are ending. What has been home is ending. Friendships aren’t what they were. We’re all in such different places – physically and mentally. The life I’ve known for almost two decades is ending. I’m not me anymore, but I don’t know who to become. I obviously have some adjustments to make. I suppose I just put one foot in front of the other for a while, trusting that it will all work itself out. It just needs to let me take the first steps.

I know I could read a book, I could go to the used bookstore, I could go look around at the mall, I could go to the library, I could go for a walk, I could rake the leaves, I could shop for a new sofa that I desperately need, I could go pay $4 for a chai tea, I could take a vitamin, I could pray. Better yet, I could volunteer somewhere, contribute, give back, think of others.

I could do any of these things, if only I could muster five minutes of not feeling sorry for myself. Then, maybe I could distract it long enough to give me time to leave the house.

We had scheduled a trip next week to go to DC for Fall break, but, when my son said he had to work that Saturday and didn’t really want to go, I felt relieved. It sounded like a lot of work, a lot of trouble, a lot of activity, a lot of involvement with people. Actually, I think I was scared to go. I was scared of making the plans, boarding the dog, spending the money, driving an older car, the scheduling and arranging, the parking, the hotel noise, all the things that could go wrong or just be a hassle.

And the holidays are coming. They will be decorating and shopping and showing commercials of happy, warm people, giving tips on how to plan a perfect Thanksgiving and Christmas. They will talk of home and friends and family and joy and peace and love. I will be alone watching old movies with the dog. I have enjoyed the last few years alone, but that was because I wasn’t alone all year. I’m a little scared - worried that it will still be here.

Things are just changing and I have to change. I need to try new things. I tell it every night that tomorrow I will leave the house. So far, it hasn’t let me, but I hope it will soon.

Good enough for a documentary

My son and I were talking about some movie star, whose name I can't remember now, being discovered in some common, ordinary way. I told him stories of ones I remembered hearing about who had been spotted eating in a restaurant, sitting at a bus stop, shopping at the grocery store, or walking down the hall of an office building. I don't know how we got on the subject and I don't know what our point was initially. But, the conversation ended like this:

ME: It would be so hard to believe. How would you trust that the person was honest? I can't imagine being discovered like that. You're just sitting in a restaurant somewhere and some big-time movie guy starts talking out of the blue about being in a movie. It doesn't seem like something that I could even imagine...

SON: Yea, not for you - unless it was a documentary.

BB Guns

From Tami's archives (Nicholas is age 5): Nicholas and I are sitting out on the front steps the other day because he wanted to look at the clouds; it was a nice spring day. So we're sitting there looking at clouds, admiring the spring scenery, when he notices a robin perched in the crepe myrtle and says, "Look, mama! What a pretty bird.....I wish I had my BB gun!"

A day off from school

Recently, my teenager had a holiday from school. When we were scheduling that week's activities, I casually mentioned that I could take that day off from work and we could make it a long weekend. As he stormed out of the room, he said, "Fine, just RUIN my day off!" I'm gonna miss him.....someday. :)

Bible School

At age 5, my son had attended Bible school for a week which really gave him something to think about. I noticed he was just staring off into space one day (longer than usual), so I asked him if anything was wrong. He said, "No, nothing's wrong. I was just thinking. Maybe if Jesus had just asked people if he could do tricks for them, they wouldn't have gotten mad and hung him."

Break Days

My 14-year-old son and I have periodically taken what we call "break days" during his school years. They usually end up being in January when it's dark, lonely and cold making it hard to get out of bed in the mornings. In the past, allowing these days off has only added (more) to my "cool mom" status. From what he says, no other kid he knows has a mom that offers this service.

This year, we spent our January break day sleeping late, eating out, going to the mall and the bookstore (a favorite trip) and watching TV. It went by too fast and I mentioned that night that one more day sure would be nice. My son said "Yea, but I got stuff to do."

Please don't say it

I could be the only one, but nothing gets me more riled than a married woman claiming single motherhood.

“I feel like a single mother.”

“I’m a single mom this week.”

“&* !# , I’m doing everything! I don’t know how much longer I can handle being a single mother.”

Words thoughtlessly uttered by married women everywhere - and worse yet, in conversations with actual single mothers.

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I have convinced myself, in an effort to excuse the insensitivity, that, just by claiming temporary membership, they’re making an attempt to appear stronger, busier, more necessary, more capable, more responsible, more organized, and, as such, more of a mother. But, in fact, because they’re typically whining about handling only a partial load of that of a single mom, it really ends up serving the opposite purpose.

The most recent scenario that comes to mind went something like this:

Jackie’s husband had been out of work for a month. He was offered a consulting job three hours away. He had to accept, but it required him to be away from home during the week, only coming home on weekends. They have two children, nine and seven. About three weeks into the arrangement, she was worn out. I’d never seen her look so tired and frazzled.

“Joe’s working out of town is just so hard. I have to do everything. I have to get up, get breakfast ready, get the kids up, get them to school, clean the house, do the laundry, run errands, pick them up from school, get Joe Junior to soccer, get Lisa to ballet, get dinner on the table, help with homework, get them bathed and ready for bed, get their clothes ready for the next day, read them their bedtime stories and then make lunches for the next day and straighten the house before I get to bed, if I’m lucky, at midnight.”

She continued, “I don’t know how much longer I can be a single mother.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

She looked more than a little surprised and almost angry that I had found her situation funny. So, I tried to explain.

“You would need to add a lot more to that list to begin to qualify as a single mother:

Find a job,
Go to work,
Find reliable and safe babysitters while you work,
Be able to pay a babysitter,
Pay every single bill with your paycheck including Junior’s soccer and Lisa’s ballet fees,
Make sure everyone has health insurance,
Get the kids to the doctor’s and dentist’s offices while you work a full-time job,
Be able to afford the doctor and dentist,
Keep a job while navigating the kids through all their activities,
Keep a job when the kids are sick and you have to be at work and have no babysitter.

Until you can do all those day after day, week after week, month after month, and then year after year, and come to do them happily, proudly, and almost effortlessly, your thinking you are anything close to being a single mother is funny and I couldn’t help but laugh.”

She seemed to understand…for a second. “Oh, I know. It just feels like I’m alone. It must be so hard to really be a single mother. You guys don’t have a choice – you have to do everything.”

“Again, you really just don’t understand at all. We do have a choice. We have the same choice you do. We just choose to be single. We choose not to add the husband to the picture because we don’t really need or want one, whichever the case may be. It isn’t our priority. We are capable, strong, independent, thinking women who have chosen to live our lives to our own standards. As a result, we do typically demand a little more from people. And, thankfully, we seem to be raising grateful, independent, contributory, upstanding, rational, respectful, and thoughtful human beings.”

I don’t know if she really understood – she was super-busy after all. But because I believe single moms deserve much more respect than being so casually and thoughtlessly used in assertions such as hers, I will continue to correct anyone who falsely claims membership in the club.

And, somewhat proudly, know that she could never be one of us.

Another lucky star

How great is this? My 16-year-old son and his “crew” of friends have decided to attend this Sunday afternoon’s piano recital of a boy they know from school. It was announced during church service and the boy was overheard saying that he didn’t think anyone was coming.

This kid is the perfect kid to whom no other kid can ever measure up. 5.2 G.P.A., accomplished pianist, spelling bee finalist, hockey player, newspaper editor, all rolled up in one compact kid. But he also has intense pressure from his parents and very little time for friends to develop socially or enjoy being a kid. So, while the other kids don’t really get a lot of time to spend with him, they’ve decided to wholeheartedly support him.

My son will sit in the audience and watch this boy excel at yet another event. And he’ll clap and whistle and shout his share of “whoo-hoos”. And I’m more proud of this than I would be if he were the one performing.