Friday, December 10, 2010

The Things I Don't Know...Will They Kill Me?

"All my friends came up to me and told me to tell Kyle what a great job he did," Will said to me last night peering up from his computer.

"At what?" I was lost.

"The improv show at lunch time, Mom." Will tried hard not to roll his eyes at me.

The thing is, I had no idea that Kyle was in an improv show.

This got me thinking. And we all know when I start thinking, well, let's just say, no good comes from it.

But the gears of my old brain began turning. And churning.

What else don't I know? The neurons in my brain darted around the vortex. I could feel my endless thoughts bouncing hither and yon and ricocheting off each other.

Then silence. A huge, gapping hole of silence. Nothing was filling in the void. Absolutely nothing.

I couldn't think of a single thing that Kyle was not telling me, only because the scenarios were endless.

Then I stopped in my tracks. I remembered what my husband told me a long time ago. We had just met, we sat sharing a bottle of wine in a nice restaurant in NYC, as we tried to get to know each other.

I asked one of my endless probing questions. "What were you like as a teenager?"

He laughed, swirled the merlot in his wine glass and happily told me he treated his parents like mushrooms.

I looked at him questioningly.

"You know, I kept them in the dark and fed them a lot of shit."

We both laughed.

But I'm not laughing any more.

Perhaps it's better that I don't know everything, I try and rationalize. But for a "RECOVERING" helicopter mom, this thought doesn't stick.

New territory. New rules. New boundaries. New relationship. New, new, new, new, new.

The thing is, I loved the old.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Coffee and Hope!

Kyle directly and conclusively told me in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to help him with the college application process. He was bound and determined to do it himself.

After I got over the realization that my seventeen-year-old did not need me anymore, I felt a wonderful sense of peace. Getting into college was up my very capable son. I took a deep breath.

I smiled.

And then it started. "Mom, can you look this essay over?" "When is my app due for the U. C.'s?" "What's my I.D. number for Oregon?"

My response, "You're essay kinda sucks." "Are friggin' kidding me? Your application is due tomorrow." And "Don't you think you should know your own I.D. number if you want to do this process on your own?"

And so it goes...and goes..and goes until you become short of breath and begin to pop baby aspirin.

In Kyle's defense, one needs a master's degree to figure out the entire college application process. It is so complicated that I caught my even tempered husband hitting the keyboard once or twice.

Everyone warned me, but I had no idea. Now begins the waiting game. Where will he get in? Will he be happy? How will I cope?

But I had a wonderful distraction this rainy Wednesday morning. I met with a group of moms who all have freshman kids at school with Will. It was delightful.

Nobody talked about college. Heck "our" collective bunch of kids were just freshman. I didn't have the heart to tell them that if they blink, they will suddenly find themselves handing their kids the car keys, and in seconds, they too will be up to their eye balls in college applications.

And then the big..."What Do I Do For The Rest Of My Life"...question begins to loom heavy on the horizon.

So, I have come to you again, with open arms. My wonderful, collective energy force of mommies and daddies across the globe. How I miss you and need you and want to laugh and cry with you again. Are you still out there? Just One Foot? Privilege of Parenthood? Mothers of Brothers? Drama for Mama? Being Rudri? Motherese? Can you hear me? Will you listen?

This post is dedicated to the mommies and daddies I have never met but to whom I have poured my heart out-- to the new mommies I met today as we begin the treacherous journey through the teen-age years with our wide-eyed freshman, and to the mommies I know and love and have grown up with in the town I live and the town I left behind. I couldn't be getting through this with out you.

Thank you for your support, your counsel, your patience. I have this strange feeling that we have only just begun!