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This morning I was out walking and a young couple passed me by. They were obviously new parents, their little bundle of snuggly joy wrapped close as they walked down the street, hand-in-hand. Liking each other. Talking about their kid the way only people with one kid who is still a baby can. Like they were the only people in the world who had ever been parents. Like the world was their playground.
Part of my smiled sweetly inside and thought…”Awwww!”
And then the other part of me, the worn out single mother of teenagers part, snickered secretly inside and thought. “Yeah, you’re smiling now. But wait. You’ll be brain dead like the rest of us in a few years.”
This week was parent-teacher conferences at son’s school.
He texted me: When are you coming. I texted back: 5:30 son. You know that. He texted: Ok. Text me when you are here.
So I am thinking. “Wow. My teenage son is paying attention to me! He never texts me without me chasing his bony behind.”
If you have never done this PT conference thing in NYC, well, be thankful. It’s a sprint and timing exercise in futility between several floors and 7 teachers who give you 5 minutes each and inevitably run behind.
Doors open at 5:30. Ok. READY SET GO! Throngs of parents dashing madly for the sign up tables!
Quick-sign up for a 6pm with Math, then try to get the 6:10 with English because it is on the same floor. But oh shit, nothing there til 7. Ok, run up 2 flights, sign up for science and hope they don’t run behind. Down one for writing. Crap! Nothing til 7:15! Careful not to bash into the other 300 parents trying to do exactly the same thing.
Son and I meet up and we do the sprint together. We tag team on the sign up and he actually comes schlepping around with me to all the appointments and really listens to what the teachers say. He even takes notes.
I am looking at him and thinking he really is not from my planet. He is from the note-taking, linear logic planet. I can learn from him.
Along the way he introduces me to his friends. And they are FUNNY. God, they are funny. One kid is selling mugs to raise money for the school and says, “Buy a mug. Buy one for your teenager. It holds liquid. Teenagers like liquid.”
I am thinking I want to go back to high school. Seems like a lot more fun than working.
Anyway, so we are going all around, meeting people, talking to teachers. After seeing the last teacher we high five each other for a race well run. And suddenly it dawns on me.
I have been invited into his world.
I stop for a minute and just look around. I look at son. He knows I am thinking something.
“Mom, don’t get all weird , ok?”
“Awww. This is so cool. C’mom, give me a hug. Right here! At school!”
And then, the unthinkable happens.
Yes.
He actually does it. Right there. In front of his peeps. He hugs his mom.
Woot!
I knew sooner or later I was going to get the big payoff for all the many years of hard work.
So the other day daughter comes home from school on time.
"Hey" I say "Weren't you supposed to go window shopping or something like that with "R"? ("R" is a boy).
"Yeah" she says. "But my friend "K" (a girl) got all jealous like, "What are you going with him for?" And the to him like "What are you going with her for? You know she doesn't really like you."
Dear GAD save us all from tween girl crap.
"So what happened?" I ask.
"R got all weird so I said to him: Look if this is too much for you to handle, let's just forget it." And I left.
"Damn." I said. "Way to decide what works for you and what doesn't babe."
I get a little tweenie-from-behind-the hair smirk.
Last night I was coming home from my Friday night outing around 11pm or so. So I get off the subway and am plodding along up the hill mindlessly Blackberrying. Suddenly I am full fontal chest slammed by a very large man with a duffle bag. Mind you, this was not a “Dammit, watch where you are going lady!” kinda bump. This was a “Get the F outta my way” kinda direct hit, with rage. For some reason (and this is not the first time) my reaction is not “Say nothing” or “Run”. My reaction is FIGHT. It doesn’t matter how big you are. My reaction is the same. You can see how this kind of thing may have gotten me into trouble in the past, especially here in NYC. And being a 5’3” female, sometimes with a boyfriend, it has also sometimes gotten the guy I am with into vicarious FIGHT trouble.
So anyway, after dufflehead slams me full on I turn and say, “Was that really necessary?”
And the guy turns around and pulls from this half opened duffle bag something that is either a stick, a bat or a semi-automatic weapon.
In any case, it is not good.
So I am standing there, staring back at him. Because by this time we have passed each other on the street. And I am looking, frozen. And I am thinking I want to run full speed ahead and jump on him. Asshole. I want to scream “WTF is wrong with you you crazy-ass motherf@#ker??!
And as I am standing there actually contemplating this, a voice comes out of somewhere and says, “Just go. Go!”
I do not know where that voice came from. But I go, counter to my whacked out instincts, I run in the other direction. Away from danger instead of into it.
And a block later I text LBD who in her infinite wisdom breathes me through what just happened.
What is it about the automatic, about flight or fight that propels me IN? Always IN.
Have you ever been in a sudden situation and been surprised by your automaticity?
I have been thinking about kissing. Ok, making out. The devouring. I think it might be one of my very most favorite things in the whole wide world. When it is good, when for whatever reason all the sensoria align, and I am drowning in the moment...there is nothing else in the world but the deliciousness of the kiss. The smell and the taste and the feel of the other person. Yum. Kinda like eating stuff. I like kissing.
The other day son and daughter and I had a little family dinner at our favorite local joint. While cozy in the booth son was telling us all how perfect he is. Daughter was rolling her eyes. Ok, I was rolling my eyes too.
Daughter said, “Hrummmph. You sure do think a lot of yourself.”
And I said, “Yeah, it’s too bad you can’t manage to keep yourself clean.”
(He really cannot).
Daughter cracks up and then says really in a tiny little sarcastic voice, peeking out behind her hair:
So son daughter and I are walking down the street tonight coming back from various and sundry. And the teenagers are fooling around pushing and shoving and laughing. And daughter being daughter takes the whole horseplay thing to the next level by swinging her saddlebag like a lasso-whip device with son as the target, eventually culminating in a near hit in the jewels.
Son doubles over in mock pain, since really, it was mostly a close call.
I say, “Hey! Be careful! That was almost the real thing!”
And son says, “Yeah, because mom wants grandchildren someday!”
“That’s right, who is going to give me my first grandchild?” I ask.
Daughter says, “He will. He’s older.”
And then son says, TOTALLY seriously, “Yeah, mom, but I have poor social skills.”
There is just a moment of silence before I bust out laughing so hard I can hear myself echoing down the block. Because he is dead on. Dead on awareness at 15 of his disadvantage with the ladies (as he later calls it).
He is laughing with me. Daughter is laughing but I don’t think she really knows why.
“Damn” I say. “That’s true son. But you are really funny. And that goes along way.”
“Funniest person in the family mom. See, I told ya.”
This weekend was the first “official” weekend that daughter and son were here. No moving around back and forth to dad’s. Just here.
All kids, all the time.
Saturday I came back from my run and daughter was just waking. Soft and sleepy in the little bed as we sometimes call it (as opposed to the big mama bed).
She peeked at me from half under the covers with a book.
“Hey sweetie…” I say.
She grumbles some sleepy preteen morning acknowledgement.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“Mmmm.”
Ok so I come in.
“Can I come in the bed too?”
A moment of hesitation. Will she let me get in there and cuddle? Will she revert to preteen attitude of too-coolness? We never have time for such snuggle folly during our usually frenzied school/work week.
And, and…
She says YES! “Ok, if you want to.”
WOOT! I feel like I have won the pre-teen lottery. I’m gonna get a snuggle, I’m gonna get a snuggle!
I get in. She is almost as tall as me now, but lanky like her dad. She smells like…daughter. I nuzzle up and sniff her like a good mama.
“Mom. Stop sniffing me!” she says.
“Awwww. But you smell so much like you honey.”
Eye roll. “Well DUH mom. I AM me.”
I smile. She is her. I go in for more sniffing. I try to be a little covert; you know, just nuzzle up and sniff quietly. But she is on to me.
“She rolls half over and says, “I can’t really turn over mom.” “And I know you are still sniffing.”
Oh ok. Time to get out. Sigh. Get it while you can. Gets scarce as they get older. Sigh. Sigh.
“Ok honey. Love you.”
She buries her nose in the book so as not to be seen. But I hear her mumble out the love.
Daughter had a pre – teen morning freak out yesterday. Complete with stomping, eye rolling and her own self generated black cloud of angst. It was about the usual…TIME MANAGEMENT.
Daughter, like the Wuzband, operates on vampire schedule. She also sleeps like a rock once asleep. You can see how we would have a problem on school mornings around here, even with someone who wasn’t, say, A PRE-TEEN GIRL.
So there she is stomping around, throwing out blame.
“You are going to miss the bus!” I say.
“Mumble, grumble…teenage crapola…yeah right…” she sputters, hair hanging over one eye, late as usual.
Teenage Cyclops.
I am really not liking her at the moment.
She and her big bad attitude go clomping out of the apartment even though it is crystal clear she will miss the bus.
5 minutes later she is back. And she has brought not humility, but the black angst cloud now with even more girlie attitude. She walks in and says to me…wait are you ready…? She says: “THANKS A LOT!”
!!!!!!!!!!
I just look at her. I call to Wuzband, grateful that he is here at the moment.
“Uh, did you hear that? Did you hear what she just said?”
“I heard it.” he says.
The Wuz and the daughter go into the other room. Wuz puts on his coat and gets ready to take her to school.
Inside I am jumping up and down. Woot! I don’t have to handle this. I can just take care of myself and go to work. Holy crap!
Later on daughter comes home. The door opens and she goes over to Wuzband. “I’m sorry about this morning dad…” she says.
Ok, I almost fall right off my chair.
What? The pre-teen apologized? Without prompting?
Then she comes over to me and gives me a hug. “Hi honey” I say, hugging back.
And off she goes to do her pre-teen thing.
And I sit and look at the Wuz. He looks back. We say nothing.
I do not like to talk in the morning. If possible I say nothing until I get to work. Ok, considering the son and the daughter...mostly I HAVE TO say at least a few words. Maybe I should sign...?
I get to work. I talk all day long. Ahhh.
The fertility of silence. When is the first time you talk after waking in the morning?
To link to this blog from blog posts/comments, use [blog violet915], from anywhere else use http://personals.dallasobserver.com/blog/violet915,
and to read it remotely use the feed.
