The End of Motherhood?

in which Oldest is outraged...again.

When Oldest returned from his job as a camp counselor to four and five-year-olds ("They are not human beings. They are CREATURES!") he found me smashing bananas and shredding bittersweet chocolate.

"What are you making?"

"Chocolate Banana Bread to send to Youngest.  I need to get it to him before his cabin leaves for their two week trip on the Allagash."

"What?  You are making him banana bread?  You've never sent me any home-baked goods!"

I didn't say anything right away. I was too busy creating a long mental list of all the many care packages I have sent that boy's way.  But of course he is right.  For some reason, the prospect of my son spending weeks at camp in Maine seems to lend itself to the creation of home made sweets while months in college send me shopping for specialty salamis, Sees candy and clothing.

Never think your children are not keeping score.  Not for one minute.

it's OK for them to change, but God forbid ya buy a box of Wheaties...

Oldest, the keeper of tradition, the enforcer of the old order, has returned from college for the summer.  He stands stands in front of the pantry, staring at our cereal choices.  He is displeased with the state of the offerings.

"Why do we have Wheaties?" he asks, his question tinged with outrage. "We never have Wheaties."

My silence was clearly not the response he was looking for so he took his outrage up a notch.

"Whose cracked-out idea was it to buy Wheaties?"

He grabs the box and heads to the fridge for the milk.  As he opens the door, he adds bitterly, "those Organic Grape Nuts are no good either."

love, teenage style

Here is the card I received yesterday from Youngest. 

Over the years, each of my boys has given me a card with some version of the caveat Youngest included here. Each boy (in his turn and luckily not in the same year), has used Mother's Day to acknowledge the  strain that his teenagerdom has put on our relationship. Youngest loves me and knows that he has not necessarily been acting in the most loving way lately.  I think this awareness that love involves responsibility is actually a huge developmental milestone scrawled on a piece of hotel notepaper.

And not only that, I got a backscratch out of it too. 

Moi?

The other day we came home and, unexpectedly, found a package left halfway up the driveway. It had this notice stuck to it:

"Who, me?" 

one of those moments when you know everything is going to be just fine...

I went in to wake Middle this morning for the dreaded SATs.  Only his hand was visible.  It peeked out from the mount of his duvet and rested on his computer.

"Middle," I whispered, "You are asleep with your hand on your computer."

From beneath the covers, he mumbled, "I woke up this morning and checked my email but there was no good news so I went back to sleep."

Just then, the song he had picked to wake him up for the SATs began to play.  As the volume rose, I recognized some very familiar bars.  And a moment of worry and sadness and fear became one of those most cherished of all mothering moments - the ones when you know everything is going to be just fine.

Because how many of the seventeen-year-old boys who received that longed-for invitation this weekend chose this to wake themselves up for the SATs?

It's all good.

bonding moment

After our typically silent car ride home from practice, Youngest usually grabs a snack and heads to his room.  The door closes and chances are good I will not see him again until dinner.

Yesterday, I had had enough. I knocked on his door and went in.

"Come on, Youngest, we need to have a bonding moment."

He looked up from his computer and lifted an eyebrow (hey, when did he learn to lift an eyebrow?  And why wasn't I informed?).

"Must we?" he inquired.

"Yes.  We must."

I lay down on top of his duvet and patted the spot next to me.

"Oh, all right."

He lay down next to me and put his head on my chest.

"For how long?"

"One minute."

For the first thirty seconds, I was lost in memory. How many times did his tiny self fall asleep on me, his head getting heavier the deeper he fell?

And then I heard something. Something whispered. Something rhythmic.

"Youngest, are you?... Could you be?... Don't tell me you are....counting the seconds?!?"

I felt his body shake with silent laughter.

That devil.

My angel.

Robin, Youngest wonders if you, perhaps, would be his mother from now on...

After reading about Youngest's thoughts on the necessary co-existence of evolution and Christian belief, Robin wondered in the comments:

Perhaps some of those 2,109 text messages were philosophic discussions?

After laughing heartily to myself, I thought I better check in with Youngest on the off, off, off chance that it could actually be true.   So, on the way from school to tennis, during the only interval available for conversation - the commercial breaks between songs - I mentioned her suggestion.  He responded without missing a beat:

Two-thousand-one-hundred-and-eight were philosophical discussions and one was to you to pick me up.

If monks in saffron robes showed up at my door to take him away, I wouldn't be surprised...

Today, Youngest will spend waste a large amount of his school day taking the ERBs.  His school recommends that kids bring reading material in case they finish the test before the allotted time is up.  Since he has worked his way through this, he is bringing this.

He said at breakfast that he is pretty sure some of his friends, particularly in science class, will give him some grief for his choice in reading material.  We do live on the Westside of LA, after all.

But he has a plan.

"I am just going to say to them," he told me calmly, "For each to thrive, they must co-exist."

If there is an end to motherhood, I think this may be it.

he's right, of course...

The other night, at 10:30, I peeked into Youngest's room.  It was dark.  I stepped in to give him a kiss good-night and stopped when I saw a glow under the covers.  Could it be?  Could it possibly be? Could my Youngest actually be reading in bed? I mean, I did that all the time when I was 14. 

Uh, no.

That bluish glow?  Cell phone.

He was texting. At 10:30.

I reached out my hand.

"Hand it over."

"What?"

"It is 10:30.  Way past bedtime.  Say 'good-bye' and give me the phone."

He turned back to his phone. 

Minutes went by.  He studiously ignored my loudly tapping foot.

"WHAT are you doing?"

"Just wait a second. I'm saying good-bye."

"A simple "g-n-i-t-e" would suffice."

He glared at me, finished the message and handed me the phone.

"Don't you dare read this," he ordered me sternly as I turn to leave.

"I know you're tempted."

I'm so proud...

This morning, as the boys were getting ready for school, I commented on the recent lack of lunch preparations.

"What is going on?" I queried.  "You guys haven't been making lunches lately.  What are you doing for lunch if you are not making it?"

Youngest looked up from tying his sneakers and answered cheerily, "I beg!"