Will I never learn?

When my son joined the football team at his new high school, he only had one year of midget football under his belt, and that was 2 years ago. The less experienced kids don't get as much time on the field, but it doesn't seem to bother him. It didn't help that for a week during practice he didn't have a helmet. He thought he had lost it and didn't say anything to me about it. I knew it was sitting in the trunk of my car, but didn't know he needed it. That was the week they started practicing tackling and running plays, which they wouldn't let him do without a helmet The extras they ordered hadn't come in yet. That was also the week they assigned first-string positions.

He loves the exercise every day, the weight training, the pasta party Fridays, and just generally being part of a team. There are 3 teams, Freshmen, JV, and Varsity. The older kids watch out for the younger ones in the hallways and during study hall and lunch. It's nice to be a freshman and have a senior acknowledge you in the hallway, right? There are only about 750 kids in the whole school, and they are pretty tight. I think we had over that number in my graduating class at Public High.

I've only missed 2 away games this season - of course those were they only 2 games they won. My son suggested maybe I should stay away more often... They are just starting to really come together as a team, with 3 games left to go. Not many of them had a lot of experience, and the coach only has so much to work with. Being such a small school, only 19 boys signed up. You can tell some of them are really into it, and so frustrated by their losses. My kid is just happy to be there!

I was at the game this past Friday, and let me tell you, those kids put their hearts into it. It was a really great game, they played hard and tried out some new strategies. There were some really excellent passes and catches. I walked around taking pictures, and at one point in my wandering up and down the sideline I came across a fellow mother who was video taping the game. They try to video tape as many games as possible. At the next practice they review the tape as a team and Coach gives them feedback. At the end of the year, from what I understand, some technologically advanced parent splices them into a Best Of dvd for each player to have as a keepsake.

So, I'm talking to the videotaping mother, just chatting about the game in between plays, and she asks, "Which one is yours?" I tell her he's number 35, and she looks out to the field to try to find him. I say, "Oh, no, he's on the sidelines - where he usually is". And then I look down at the video camera in her hand and start to panic. "Oh my god! Are you RECORDING?!?!"

Her eyes went as wide as mine as she pulled the camera up to her eye in what seemed like slow motion. Sweet relief, she had stopped recording in between plays. "Good thing", she said, "cause I don't know how to rewind this thing!". "Yeah, good thing, cause it would have been a tragedy if Coach's video camera accidentally got broken!".

Why can I not just once in a while think before I speak? Especially when there is a video camera around?

WWJD, Halloween style

My son and a group of his friends went trick-or-treating together last night in an affluent section of town where one of them lives. I was pretty amused that both he and that boy wore Hillary Clinton masks, bought separately and unaware of each other. And no, he wouldn't let me take his picture, the little stinker.

My son brought his athletic bag to hold his candy, and came home with it filled. The thing must weigh 10 pounds! I checked it out this morning, it was unbelievable. I've never seen such an assortment, nor have I ever seen so many full sized candy bars. The boy will never want to go trick-or-treating in the ghetto, again; although this should be his last year of trick-or-treating, anyway.

We were talking earlier today about what a good time he had. They covered about 3 miles of territory to get all that candy. Then he told me that some people had left a bowl of candy on the front porch, honor system style with a sign asking to please just take one.

"And did you all just take one?"

"Hell no, mom."

"But, J, that's cheating!"

I look at him, still in his pajamas - a WTFWJD shirt and Family Guy Stewie flannel pants. His eyes are puffy from sleep, and he looks like a big, huge version of my little boy. When I hug him, my head doesn't even come up to his shoulder. But that doesn't mean he's too big for me to try steer him in the right direction.

"J, what you did was wrong. What would Jesus do in that situation? I mean, really, look at the shirt you're wearing. What the fuck would Jesus do?"

"If he was in a group with his friends, he would probably have done what we did. Run to get as much candy as you can before anyone else got there."

"No, J. Jesus would have taken just one...

And then he would have performed a miracle so it would be enough to feed the whole crowd." As I was saying this, I was also using jazz hands.

He had to turn and leave the room.

Retail Therapy

If you've read my blog recently, you might know that my son and his first girlfriend broke up a couple of days ago.

Any one who knows anything knows that the therapy for a break-up is.... SHOPPING!

We had already needed to have our hairs cut, so that was where we started. Then we went to BJ's and got junk food. In Bulk.

Then we went to Walmart. I had already planned to buy the boy some new things, and he didn't ask for much. We kind of roamed around and saw whatever caught his eye.

Nothing quite grosses a young man out more than his mother asking for the insert from his new package of underwear. But seriously, check this guy out. What the hell is he packing?


Here are a couple of really cool things that he picked out for himself.


What can I say, the kid has great taste.


After that, we carved pumpkins in the dining room. It was kind of awesome.

After carving, I made a great dinner, bloody rare T-bones.



Then I roasted the pumpkin seeds.


Do you wanna see our Jack-0-Lanterns?

Here is a scary kitty:


Here is a scary....um, penis?

My kid is pretty cool, sometimes

My son and a young lady started casually "dating" over the summer. I met her mother briefly once at a summer party. She and I email each other every once in a while, mostly about stuff to do with our kids. I was amused when she sent me a joke email that I thought was rather risque to send to someone you don't really know. Especially a fellow Catholic school mother. SHE doesn't know what a heathen I am.

My son let me know yesterday that he and the young lady had broken up. I talked to him about how he felt about it, and he actually talked back to me, which was pretty nice given that he's a 14 year old who has a hard time communicating his emotions. I also told him it was too bad because I really liked the young lady's mother. He said he was cool with it if I wanted to continue being friendly with her. As a matter of fact, he was probably more cool with it since they had broken up than he was when they were together. He felt pretty awkward when he found out the first time we had emailed each other.

Last night I got a new email from the mother:

"Very good video."





Oh yes, she did. Two weeks after I happily supported Connecticut legalizing civil unions for homosexuals.

I forwarded her email to my son with a note, "so there goes a potential friendship, right down the political tubes".

He emailed me back, "What, can't you be friends with a conservative?"

Out comes my lecture mode. It's right up there with my over-react mode, my always say the inappropriate thing at the wrong time mode, and my give way too much information mode.

"Of course I can be friends with a conservative. But I don't think I can be friends with someone who doesn't even for a second ask my political views or know anything about me before sending me messages about such highly charged issues such as pro-life and homosexuality and marriage and family.

I know that the way I have raised you with the Catholic religion as your base may make our beliefs differ from each other, sooner or later. I will never regret the education and moral basis and moral code that the Catholic school system has provided to you.

You and I may not always see eye to eye, as long as we agree to respect each other, and each other's opinions.

I am extremely pro-choice, have never been married and am a single mother. If you are still reading this, sweetie, know that my choice was to have you, even when others were advocating abortion. It was MY CHOICE, and I chose life. I have never had an abortion, I don't know that I could. But I wholeheartedly support a woman's right to choose what to do with her body, with her life, with her womb.

Anyone who knows me for a split second knows I wouldn't support a message that includes the term "Evangelical Christians". No matter how many flavors you put in the Kool-aid.*

I love you,

Mom

p.s. file this under way too heavy of a response for a flippant reply"

*note to Zibbs, I wrote this email last night, before I saw your Kool-aid post today. Coincidence? Or is it something in the water?

I just watched the video again. Since last night, it looks as though the link has been edited. There are now 2 versions floating around, the second is less inflammatory. I found the original on YouTube.

I love the part about protecting sacred life from conception to "natural death". When the Christian George W. Bush was the governor of Texas, didn't that state carry out the death penalty more than any other state ever? Also the part about America being built on Judeo Christian values. While that may be partly true, wasn't the country also founded by people from many different cultures looking to escape religious persecution? Weren't many of the original colonists Puritans and Quakers? And isn't it in the Constitution that all men are created equal? Add the Civil Rights Amendment, in which all men, being created equal, should be extended the same rights and liberties - shouldn't that mean even the men that want to marry each other?

This was the reply waiting for me when I got to work this morning, "Bah, you know I'm not Conservative. Highly from it. I agree with mainly all your political beliefs, except for swearing at the tv when Republicans are on. And she just assumed that since you were sending me to *name of Catholic school removed* that you were probably some sect of Christianity and held the same beliefs as her."

Do you see what he did there? In a few sentences he not only talked me down, but sympathized with me while trying to be fair to the other party. This kid is wise beyond his years. Maybe HE should go into politics. Although he'll never get far when they start researching his crazy family.

If you are a Christian, an Evangelical Christian, or a Republican, please know that I respect you and your opinions. I hope you will do the same for me. It is, after all, still a free country.

Is there a therapist in the house?

I had the strangest dream last night.

I realize mid-sentence that I am talking to a group of people in a school hallway, and I'm dressed in a Catholic School uniform. I'm telling this group of people that because I should have graduated 20 years ago, but got my GED instead, I thought it would be a great idea for me to start as a Freshman with my son at his high school. I made sure we weren't going to share any of the same classes, and in my dream he seemed fine with the idea. Which is not how it would have gone down in real life.

I'm walking down hallways and up and down staircases, completely lost. It's not my son's school but my public high school. And no one else is in uniform, not even my son. I can't find my binder with my schedule that tells me what room I'm supposed to be in next. I find myself in a locker type room going through my locker frantically searching for my schedule. Just as I realize my backpack is not mine but my son's, the V.P. of the company I work for starts admonishing me for being late for class. I tell him that I don't know what class I'm supposed to be in, or where I'm supposed to go. He tells me I'm supposed to be in Algebra and that I should have planned better, been more prepared.

I go out into the empty hallways again trying to find my algebra class. Just as the bell rings and kids start pouring out of classrooms, I look down and realize I am completely naked from the waist up. Kids start pointing and laughing, whispering behind their hands, "hey, isn't that Mrs. Schmancy, J's mom?". I duck into the next doorway which I think is the girl's bathroom but ends up being the boy's locker room.

I hide in a stall until the next bell rings. Luckily, when searching my son's backpack I find one of his polo shirts, I'm bra-less but not longer topless. I decide I better go to the nurse's office and complain of female problems to get sent home before this day goes any more wrong.

When I get to the nurse's office, it seems to be set up as a flu-shot clinic for seniors. I ask for the nurse and the lady asks me if I'm here for a flu shot. I'm not that old, bitch. The nurse must have sent me home because the next thing I know I'm running across the lawn as fast as I can to get away from that place.

That's all I remember. Which is a lot because I never remember more than bits and pieces. This is wrong on so many levels. Am I envious of my son having such a good high school experience so far that I want to go back and change my own? Even though I am obviously an embarrassment? And old?

What the fuck?

Moms are soooo embarrassing!

My son had his first Homecoming Dance, tonight. I had never been to one, myself, so I wasn't sure what etiquette called for as far as getting a corsage for his girlfriend. I checked around on-line and the best I got was that it wasn't required, but what girl doesn't like flowers? Right? Remembering that the only major dance I went to in high school was my junior prom, where my date forgot to bring me a corsage, I decided the girlfriend was getting one, period.

We didn't know what color dress she would be wearing, she just bought it today, and I wanted to order the corsage in advance. So I went with a neutral wristlet, 2 white roses, white opaque ribbon neither silver or gold, just in case. It was really very lovely.

I took my son shopping for his outfit, today. After 2 hours, he finally decided on black dress pants with a subtle stripe, just a little long so they bag at the bottom, a white button down shirt in a little more relaxed style than a traditional oxford, a black tie with a silver stripe, and his black dress shoes that he wears to school. He looked very much the part of a sharp dressed young man. I was gushing over him like a retard. That's what I do.

Having no idea what the other was wearing, the girlfriend bought a black dress with silver accents and a white sash. They are going to look great together.

I had asked him in advance if he wanted to take his girlfriend out for dinner, before the dance, my treat. No. Well, can we go to her house and give her the corsage so her mom and I can take pictures? No. Can I get out of the car at the school and take pictures of you together? No. Will you take my camera and have someone take a picture of you together for me? No. Can I at least get a couple of pictures of you before I drive you to the school? Okay, but I'm not going to smile, and you better not post the picture on your blog. Will you hold the corsage while I take a picture of you? No. Okay, don't forget to open doors for her, and stuff.

I drove him to the school where his girlfriend was supposed to be meeting him outside (thank God it finally stopped raining for a while). He knew in advance that a lot of his friends were going stag. If you go stag, you don't have a date to buy a corsage for. None of the girls were wearing one. NONE.

The following is a conversation between my son and I, with a little paraphrasing thrown in because I can never remember exactly what was actually said (I'm not great on the short term memory thing): "Mom, no one is wearing a corsage." "I know, honey, but maybe all those people are going stag. You are lucky enough to have your girlfriend as a date. You cannot go wrong giving a girl flowers." "But mom, what if I walk in there carrying a corsage and it was totally the wrong thing to do at a semi-formal? I'm going to feel so gay." "Or, honey, you are going to look like the confident young man you are that is bringing his date a corsage. I paid fifteen dollars for this corsage, please don't let it go to waste." "Mom, I'll pay you back for it if you don't make me bring it in." Silence, silence, people watching, silence. "Baby, I'm not going to make you do anything that you don't want to do. It is your choice."

The child stares at me trying to ascertain whether this is just another of my Jedi mind tricks. How much guilt is he going to have to endure by actually getting out of the car without the corsage? "Go, baby, have a good time." He continues to stare at me. "Have a great time, I love you, now GO." He gets out of the car, without the corsage, off to take another step toward adulthood. Another decision toward his independence.

As I drove out of the school's parking lot, I thought a lot about what had just transpired. I have been both his mother and his father since he was born. I have mostly tried my best, with not always the best results. He has seen me at my worst when I wasn't capable of keeping it away from him. I am hoping beyond hope that he will be a good man, building on what I have taught him. I am hoping that he will be a good man because of me, because of how I tried to raise him, and also despite the many failures I have made as a mother.

I hope he had a really great time at the dance, that he mingled with his friends, and slow danced with his girlfriend. I hope that he is building a foundation of his own that is stronger than the one that I had. I hope that his life is going to better, that is what I am busting my ass for. He is going to be a better person than I could ever hope to be.

While we're waiting for the results to come in, would anyone like a really pretty corsage that is just going to rot in my fridge for weeks to come before I can bear to throw it away? Otherwise, I'm going to have to wear it on my wrist for the rest of the weekend.



As you can see on the left, my son helped me figure out how to convert the picture to HTML, so if you would like to share the corsage, let me know and I will send it to you. It can be like the sisterhood of the shared corsage. Yes, I do know how queer I am.

This is 911, how can we help you?

My sister, Kouf, had us over for dinner one evening. My sisters, Bouf and Shouf, joined us. My son had recently started kindergarten, and was learning lots of new and fun things.

Kouf and Bouf both had teenage daughters at that point, but neither of them was there that night, for whatever reasons.

After we finished a wonderful meal, Kouf suggested my son would have more fun in the childproof room upstairs. She adored her nephew and had a chair set up for him in front of a television with a vcr playing Disney movies. This was also the room outside of her teenage daughter's room, there were t.v. trays and a phone and games and books, mostly on built in shelves. This was a really cool room.

Anyway, the sisters were downstairs chatting and singing, and maybe drinking, and generally having a good time when the phone rang. Kouf turned down the music and answered, and immediately gave us the blow-by-blow. "What, this the State Police?" Our dinners immediately came up in our throats thinking about her daughter.

The next words we heard our sister say were, "No, no one called 911 from this line.". "Oh, okay, I understand.". Apparently, someone had learned about the importance of 911 in his kindergarten class and decided to test the system. And called and hung up on 911 FOUR times. Their policy is that if they get a 911 call, even if they call back and receive a response that they are not needed, they have to send a police officer over to check things out in case a hostage is trying to send them a signal. A hostage could very well be trying to signal 911, but when they call back, someone could have a gun to their head telling them to say that everything is all right.

When I heard that there was a state police officer on his way to my sister's house, I WAS PISSED. I yelled up First Name, Middle Name of my son, Get Your Butt Down Here and Put Your Shoes On, Because You and I are Meeting That Police Officer Outside and Explaining Why We Wasted His Time.

Luckily, the police officer in question was unbelievably understanding. He explained to my son that now he knew if he ever had to call 911 that they would always be there for him. He didn't give my kid a hard time about a false call, but did try to explain that he shouldn't use 911 if he didn't really need to. I was so impressed by the way this particular officer dealt with my kid, when he really didn't even need to be nice.

Needless to say, my son has not ever needed to call 911, again.

The importance of wearing a seat belt and locking your car door

One of the many places we lived when I was growing was on a very busy street. I loved this house, I still do. It was on the market recently, and I would have bought it in a heartbeat if I could have afforded it. It was set way back off a dirt driveway, surrounded by overgrowth and trees. It was a raised ranch with 4 bedrooms, 1-1/2 baths and a fireplace in the living room. At the time it was a dump that really needed a lot of work, but I remember it with fondness.

This was where I got my purple Schwinn bicycle with a push button horn that my brother taught me how to ride down the big hill in the front yard. This was where my brother taught me how to play baseball in the back yard. As there were only two of us, we had to say, "ghost on first", "ghost on second". This was also where the little creep shot me in the leg "by accident" with his BB gun. I have a lot of great memories, there. I spent much of my time outdoors, exploring in the woods, often with our German Shepherd, Schnitzel, who was probably my best friend at the time.

My mother had a big blue Rambler. The back seat was a bench seat, and seat belts were unheard of at the time. It was kind of fun because if my mother took a really hard turn, we'd all go sliding across the back seat and crush each other on the door. It was like the amusement park ride that goes really fast in a circle and you can't keep yourself from crushing the person sitting next to you, depending on which way the ride is going.

One day when I was probably 7, my mother piled four of us into the car to go to the grocery store. I don't remember who was sitting next to whom, but I was on one side of the back seat and Bouf was in the middle. Mom was taking a left onto the very busy street and she gunned it because there were cars coming. We all went sliding across the backseat toward me, which should have been fun - until the door popped open. I fell out of the car onto my knees with a line of traffic coming at me at anywhere from 40-60 miles per hour.

My adrenaline must have kicked in, because I remember getting myself up and over to the side of the road, and then when the traffic eased, getting back over to the side of the road that our house was on, while my knees were bleeding down my legs. And waiting and waiting for my mother's car to come back. She didn't realize at first what had happened but finally registered Bouf's hysterical screaming that I had fallen out of the car and turned around to come back for me. I think to this day that Bouf may have been more traumatized by this incident than I was. She saw me falling out of the car and couldn't catch me!

I got an honor position on the couch for the rest of the day with a blankie and everyone treating me like a princess. Bouf even walked up the store and bought me a stuffed animal, Bimini, that I treasured and slept with for at least a year before he was stolen from me on a cross-country bus trip to Las Vegas.

I always locked my car door for at least 10 years after that.

For a long time I couldn't understand how my mother didn't know I had fallen out of the car until I was writing this and started to think about it. A couple of years ago, I was driving my son and two great-nieces to the mall. I often tuned out the younger niece's screaming, because it was almost constant, and I'm the kind of person that really needs to concentrate on my driving. It had started raining, and I closed the rear windows. My younger niece started screaming, but I ignored her because I assumed she was just upset that I had rolled up her window. My son starting yelling, "Mom, Mom!" but he was in such a panic that he couldn't get the words out. "MOM - HER FINGERS ARE STUCK IN THE WINDOW!". Wow, did I feel like a loser! Thankfully, no harm was done to the poor baby, or her fingers.

When is this "you're turning into your mother" shit going to stop?

It's official, I'm feeling old

Well, the point in my son's life that I have been anticipating since I enrolled him in Catholic School for his kindergarten year has arrived. Tomorrow my baby starts as a freshman at Catholic High School! I have been scraping, saving, scrimping, pushing, begging, borrowing and stealing for this day for 9 years.

We moved back to "the big city" a few months before he started kindergarten. I looked into his future and saw a few things that I did NOT want to happen. The first thing was that I did not want for him to move around from school to school like I did. The second was that I did not want him to attend the same public high school that I did.

When we moved back to this town, it was because I had bought a house (on my own, but with a lot of help). I thought for sure I would never move out of that house for any reason, but I know my old buddy, Murphy's Law, and knew I needed to plan ahead. Even though the district that my house was in had one of the best grammar schools in the town, I knew that he would eventually end up in one of the only two crappy junior highs, and eventually the high school (where metal detectors and armed security guards are not unheard of).

My son had been with the same daycare provider, Miss Anna, since he was four months old. As she was on the other side of town, the bus system would not transport him to her house after a public school half-day kindergarten program in our district. The only option would have been having him dropped off at a generic "Kinder-Care" type of place. For a half-day they wanted to charge me twice what I paid for a full day at Miss Anna's, plus extras for snow delays, school cancellations and holidays.

There is nothing wrong with day-care centers, but J was used to being in a home with a woman who loved him and he was comfortable there. Miss Anna's own children went to a local Catholic school, and was already on the bus-line. That school also had a full day kindergarten. Snow delays and cancellations were no problem, because no matter what time I dropped him off, he was already there. So I enrolled him. That way, also, no matter where I moved, if I had to, and I did have to, he was always at the same school.

Money has always been tight. I was incredibly lucky that my son's paternal grandfather offered to help with tuition for quite a few years. After that, the school provided some scholarship assistance. Two years ago they agreed to just take $10.00 a week from me as that was all I could afford - for both tuition and the after-care program. Miss Anna couldn't keep him forever, she can make more money having a full time baby, and God bless her for all that she did for us.

Late last fall we started making the plans to get him into the Catholic High School in town. It is not a guarantee that just because your mom has told you since you were in kindergarten that you are going to go to this school, or that you went to one of the local Catholic grammar schools that you will get in to this high school. My son had to write essays, and fill out paper work, and show extracurricular activities and public service hours.

He struggled because some of his friends make the High Honor rolls easily, and he tries and hasn't made one yet. That is the way of the world. Also, he lacks in extracurricular activities. He tried clarinet for one year and hated it. He did Boy Scouts for about 3 minutes and hated it. He did midget football for one year and loved it. So he talked up the sports aspect, and the fact that he loves children and might want to get a teaching degree. He also went to a Red Cross certified babysitter training course, and is certified to give CPR to both children and adults.

I also had to write essays and fill out forms, mostly begging for financial assistance. I would have stopped just short of selling my soul to the devil to get my son in to this school. I should not have worried! He aced the test! We had to wait almost 5 weeks to find out, but he aced the test! First we got his acceptance letter. Then I got a letter letting me know that they were giving him a scholarship for 2/3 of the tuition. I sat down HARD - and cried.

Seeing my son and his friends at their eighth grade graduation was so worth it. Many of these kids had been together since kindergarten. This was what I wanted for him. A sense of belonging, of having life-long friends.

I still have to pay about a third of the tuition, plus uniforms and books and school supplies, and football stuff. But I continue to believe myself lucky. I NEVER would have been able to do the whole tuition. My attitude was, let's see if he gets in, I'll worry about the rest after. My boss, who's daughter is also going to be a freshman at the same school this year, bought my son his $125.00 required calculator for algebra. Then I got a letter saying the town has a new text loan program for Catholic schools and I qualify to get one book free. I went to pick it up and it was the most expensive book on the list - for FREE. I love FREE! Then my boss's wife let me know she had received some very gently used shirts from someone who went to the same school, so I only had to buy J a few pairs of pants to start school. I can put off the most expensive uniform items for a month!

Oh, and did I mention, when my son was in Arizona, my sister's fiance bought J his football cleats? I am truly blessed. And I don't even really believe in the Catholic religion. I just feel there is something helping my son be a better person. That is something I can believe and have faith in - forwarding my son out in to the world. Maybe I don't have a purpose, but he does.

By the way, have I ever mentioned that if I had known he was going to be this cute, I would have named him Christoper Robin?

My son went to Arizona, and all I got was this lousy tee-shirt

My son, J, went on a road trip with my sister, Bouf, about two weeks ago. Her objective was to get her car and her dog to Arizona, where she moved last year with her fiancee. They spent about 6 days on the road from CT to AZ. The rest of the time was spent doing fun things!

I missed my son, but I'm sure we both welcomed a break from each other. My son recently turned 14. Need I say more?

My sister scheduled the flight for J to come home into an airport in Rhode Island. The only non-stop flight from Phoenix to our neck of the woods was into T.F. Green airport, outside of Providence, Rhode Island. Let me tell you, I hate Providence. I have almost never gone there or back without getting lost. Also, I cannot see very well to drive at night. At night, and in the rain, forget about it! J's flight was scheduled to come in at 6:25 PM. It was pouring rain here today, my tires are bald, my cell phone died recently, and my check engine light came on this morning. To say I was a little worried about the trip would be putting it mildly.


Freak out much, miss worry-wart? It pretty much stopped raining and I got there fine. Okay, I got lost about 4 times, but I had given myself more than enough time, I never really didn't know where I was, and had almost an hour left to kill. I brought a book to read in the terminal, no biggie.

I finally noticed people are coming out of the gate, and stood up to wait for J to disembark from the plane. I saw him coming out of the gate and I thought he saw me. He gives me a brief little chin up, eyebrow up acknowlegment, but then he walks away. I thought, maybe he didn't really see me, so I call out his name. Without looking at me, he says, "I saw you" and continues to walk away. I stood there with my jaw dropped open while about fifty people were looking at me, with incredulous looks on their faces. Oh yes, my son did diss me in an airport full of strangers. Never one to miss an oportunity to make it all about me, I said out loud, "I'm so glad you're home, son". In retrospect, I can see why he probably wanted nothing to do with me in the first place.

He continued to walk ahead of me by 10 or 15 feet all the way to baggage claim. I actually had to bite my lips to keep from crying. When we got to baggage claim, he finally turned around saw the look on my face. He said, "what?". I said, "you couldn't even say hi to me?". I had to walk away for a couple of minutes. I was really feeling very hurt, and at the same time, I was really feeling that I was turning into my mother. So, I chose the high road. I pretended everything was okay, until I really felt that everthing was okay. He did not feel like he had done anything wrong, he was worried that I was going to try to hug and kiss him in front of everyone, and that would have mortified him. I told him that in the future, he could at least greet me, and tell me that he was not open to public displays of affection. In his own words, "hugging your mother at the airport is lame". In my words, "not acknowledging your mother at the airport is lame."

He was completely fine after that, he was my boy again. He bought me a beautiful turquoise ring in Arizona that he gave me as we were leaving the airport parking lot. We talked a little on the ride home, and a lot more after we got home. The dog went bullshit when she saw him! He showed me the things that he had bought, and the things that were given to him, and the pictures that he had taken. All seems fine, now.

Good lord, is it just me, or does being 14 really suck ass? You could not pay me a million dollars to do it again. And you would have to pay me two million dollars to be the parent of a 14 year old, again.