Tuesday, April 17, 2018

When Mom's Embarrassing

This face.

Coming back from a basketball game, I spotted this sunset and scenery....right before the snow.  

When the boys were little, they hated Sunday School drop offs.  As we approached the classroom, they clung to my leg and whimpered softly.  I wiggled out of their chokeholds and thrust them towards a nervous teacher.  Then, I'd scamper out of eyesight while my little ones' cries drifted down the hallway.  I greeted those mornings with a myriad of emotions: sadness, worry, and a tiny bit of happiness.  Yes, happiness.  I had sons who adored their mama and hated to be detached from my side!

Fastforward a decade.

My teenage son packed his lunch for school.  He piled potato chips and pudding into his lunchbox (where's the carrots?).

"What time should I arrive at your track meet?" I questioned while washing breakfast dishes.

He fiddled with his lunchbox latch, seemingly oblivious to my inquiry (or perhaps experiencing an instant-bout of hearing loss).

I repeated the question and cornered him with a dish towel.

"I don't want you to go," he mumbled.

Good thing I wasn't cleaning the knives.

"Say that again?" I asked thinking he was also experiencing an instant-bout of lunacy.

His response remained the same.

Now I wanted to fall on a knife...to the heart.

He uttered no reasonable response to my demands for an answer.  I read between the lines.  I've officially become embarrassing.  Why?  I'm not sure.  I don't scream profanities from the sidelines.  I wear age appropriate clothes (no leopard minis or short shorts).  I've never cradled him into a bear hug and called him my "baby" (in public).

Because I am his mom, I am embarrassing.  I am embarrassing, because he is a teen.

This, I know, is a right of passage.  In a decade, I imagine we will laugh about the year mom hid behind a bush trying desperately to get a glimpse of his track meet (while avoiding her son's glances).

Nine-year-old Collin recently said, "You are better than my best friend, you are my mom."

Sweet Collin.  I savored his word knowing in a few years I'll probably be embarrassing to him too.

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