A boy and his mother walk into Macy’s. The lanky lad, who looks to be about 15, walks a few paces ahead. Although they share similar facial features, their expressions are vastly different.

The look he throws about says, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Hers says, “We haven’t spent time together in awhile. This is kind of nice.”

I watch them intently. It is the winter of 2002. My little boy is 6 months old. I find myself seeking out and studying the dynamics between mothers and sons. No matter the age or life stage of the parties, their interactions fascinate me.

Within a few seconds, the skulking young man is navigating through the women’s section and moving toward the escalator. His mother silently follows. Then she sees a brightly colored sweater. She stops a second to admire the sweater, to touch the material before she calls out to him.

Upon hearing his name, the boy stops in his step, rolls his eyes, then turns around and walks back to his mom.

“What do you think of this sweater?” she asks, holding it to her shoulders. “I really like this color.”

“Whatever mom. I don’t care.” He uses an irritable tone, emphasizing the last three words. He starts to slowly walk away.

She winces at the remark. She hangs her head as she slowly puts the sweater back on the rack. She gives it a final smoothing then walks quickly to catch up with her son.

The “weary breastfeeding mother who’s neck-deep in diapers” in me is tempted to grab him by the shoulders and admonish him. I want to point out the injustice he’s done to his mother. I want to command him to respect her. I want to point out the sacrifices she’s made, the nights she’s comforted him, the meals she’s fed him and the countless little things she’s done for him to show her love.

I’ve thought of that memory alot as the years have passed. As the relationship between Seth and me slowly changes, my perspective of that incident evolves as well.  Now, I see this boy’s actions as something less personal. He is, in an incredibly awkward and painful way, trying to assert his independence. He aspires to be his own man. While he does not want to need his mother, she knows he still does.

I hope his mother, after a few minutes, realized that his indifference wasn’t really about her. I hope she realized he was in the middle of uncharted territory with limited life experience. He was dealing with this separation process the only way he knew. He didn’t stop to think about his actions or how this process affects his mother. But, to be honest, how many of us at that age have?

I may be completely wrong in my theories. I’ve never mothered a teen boy, nor have I been one so really, what do I know? I write this in case I’m right. Because I hope that in 10 years, I can remember “its not personal” myself. 

Little boys. They sure do love their mamas. This, in my opinion, is a little boy’s most endearing quality. 

Little boys are simple creatures. But they are also whirlwinds of big adventure. (Thankfully most are easily amused. You can spend an entire hour in the car keeping a little boy entertained armed with nothing but fart jokes.) 

At least once a day, while I hug my little man, it dawns on me. Someday my little boy won’t be so little. Someday he will refuse to snuggle with me. Someday his little motormouth will quiet and he’ll skulk around the house, with peach fuzz sprouting above his lip. Someday he’ll be too embarrassed to walk beside me in public.

But for now, I savor how he happily holds my hand when we cross the street. He’ll kiss me in front of his friends. For now, he wants to marry me. For now, whenever the hubby is out of town, he begs to sleep in my bed — on his daddy’s side. And I happily let him.

There is so much love in a little boy heart. How can you not find that utterly adoreable? How can you not giggle?

How can Seth’s father NOT laugh then shake his head as he jokingly refers to the boy as “young Oedipus”?

(P.S. Earlier this year, Marc’s cousin Amanda found out she had cancer. Being the dynamic rocker chick she is, she’s been trying to give this cancer a badass beatin’.  Recently she has been moved to hospice. Please keep her, her honey, her parents, sister, step-dad and step-sis in your prayers. Please join us in praying for a miracle. Or if you aren’t the praying type please send healthy, healing vibes to Amanda in Arizona. Thanks.)

Fyi — Am waiting on some info in regards to the ”Who does what at your house” post. Hope to have it up by the end of next week.

His kindergarten classroom is a buzzing, whirlwind of activity. You’ll often see some kids working in pairs on a project while others work on the floor by themselves. Yesterday when I walked into Seth’s class to volunteer, I saw him sitting at his seat, subdued and woefully eating his snack. Something wasn’t right with this usually energetic and enthusiastic boy. 

I asked  him what was wrong. “Nothing,” he mumbled while looking away.

His teacher promptly pulled me aside to tell me he had alot of trouble following directions in that first hour of class. At one point, when all of the kids got up to work on their projects (after gathering together to read a story) Seth remained on the floor by himself.  He seemed so out of it, she noted.

I helped him and the other kids with an art project. While I cleaned up the tables, he was working on a numbers project. Or he was supposed to. He tried to mistakenly work on another child’s project and the teacher gave him a stern word telling him he had to work on his own number puzzle instead. 

I watched him as he sat on the floor, hidden away in a corner, clutching pieces of puzzle, with an look of overwhelming defeat in his watery eyes.  I told his teacher that he clearly was having an off day and asked if I could go over to where he was and give him a hug. She said, “ok.” 

I knelt down by him and held his face against my chest while rubbing his back. Upon my touch, the fat tears welling up in his eyes began sliding down his face. We silently sat there watching our tears paint his shirt. When I had enough composure to speak I told him, “Seth, you’re just having a really bad day today. There are some days when it seems like everything is so hard. Everybody has those. I’ve had a few of those lately too. So has daddy. So does everyone. But just remember we love you no matter what kind of a day you have.” He looked deeply into eyes. He screwed up his courage. 

I said, “You and I will do something special tonight, Ok? Tomorrow will be a much better day. You’ll see.”

At that point his teacher told everyone to line up for PE, so we both wiped our eyes and he left the room.  

I went to the corner market and bought him a little “cheer up” present — a whoopee cushion. Because if something that makes fart noises can’t cheer up a 5-year-old boy? NOTHING can.

P.S. After the first few “fart” noises and a trip to his favoritest restaurant in the whole wide world, all of the difficulty of the day was forgotten. Seth (as well as his teacher) reported that today was a much happier day.

P.S. Dear Wordpress. If I wanted all of my copy jumbled up and made to look like I have no idea how to make paragraphs, I would have stuck with sucky ass Blogger, thank you very much. And the fact that I can fix it 500 times, save and have it look the same exact way it did prior is a HUGE reason as to why left Blogger. Must I move my stuff to another service? Is this a sign of things to come. Cause this little glitch is pissing me off!

Hola Isabel asked a great question recently. And I want to ask it of you all. When it comes to caring for children, finances, and home — who does what? What about weekends? Also, do you work full time, part time or do the stay-at-home mom gig? And last but not least, do YOU think the work is fairly divided at your house?

Ok. That’s alot to answer so if you can just answer the “who does what”? That would be great. Its fascinating to hear how chores are divided (or not) in most households.

Newsflash: Slackermommy’s birthday is today. Wish her a happy one, will ya! 

Dear Facebook,

When my mom first joined, she thought you were so cool and fun!  I was really happy for her. I was all, “Wow!”

But then I heard that you have deleted photos of moms breastfeeding because you think they are “lewd” and “indecent”. Yet you allow others to post photos of naked breasts. You also have no problem with the many, many pro-ana groups that are also on Facebook. And? I just found out you don’t ban pedophiles.

I’m not very happy about this.

Actually? No one at our house is.

So my friends and I have decided to get together.

And send you a message. We’re seriously considering kicking YOU out of our lives — if you don’t shape up soon. And if that ends up being the case….

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Sincerely,

A kid who was breastfed for the first seven months of his life — five years ago. (And his mom)

 P.S. Boob juice rules! And so does the League of Maternal Justice.

Last Monday afternoon “the boy’s” kindergarten teacher called to express some concerns about his behavior.

After only one week of school.

The teacher became greatly alarmed over the course of a few days when she tried to get Seth’s attention and couldn’t. She tried calling his name in a louder voice. She even tried clapping. While this got the other kids’ attention, Seth didn’t notice. She asked about his recent hearing test. And I had a conversation with her I’ll probably have with every teacher that crosses Seth’s path. In short? His hearing is fine. He has what I call “selective hearing” — just like his father.

If you are two inches from my hubby’s face and ask him to do something he doesn’t want to do? He chooses not to hear you. I’ve noticed Seth also possess this “amazing” (and by “amazing, I mean, “completely infuriating”) ability to block out what he considers useless information (aka bedtimes, rules, various directives, etc.). And if you try to talk to either one of them while the tv is on? Let’s just say, your time would be better spent talking to an empty fish tank or the sludge that still may be in said fish tank.

So the teacher and I discussed tactics on how to get Seth to listen. I haven’t told her how I’ve tried for years and continue each day. I also didn’t share the fact that I’m tempted to place shock collars on both of them while sleeping. (Being that Marc’s “habit” is more ingrained, I already know what voltage I want to use!**) That might freak her out. But give her a few months. After having this same conversation a fourth or fifth time? Methinks she’ll come around.  

**A modest amount of voltage, like the “funky chicken dance” setting. Ok so maybe that would be considered a TEENY bit more than “modest”.

P.S. Dear DCFS, I’d NEVER really do this to my son. My husband? Well, that’s an entirely different proposition.

P.S.S. THANK YOU to the lovely ladies who gave me their wise input regarding the “second kid conundrum” post. I’ve read your words repeatedly. A decision to have or not to have another child hasn’t been reached because it seems neither decision feels right at this time. (My husband would be happy with one child or more.) So I’ve felt sort of stuck. But thanks to you all, you’ve given me some wonderful guidance, points and counterpoints.)

I just spent two hours on a post. And then erased it.

Sometimes you start writing about the problem. You pour your heart out. And its only when you get to the end of the post that you realize that the real issue? Is in that final, carefully constructed sentence.

I’ve never seen myself as a mother of an only child. I have always assumed I would have at least two or three kiddos. The hubby and I have been trying for more than two years now with no luck. Part of me has felt sad. But part of me has felt “ok” with it. And therein lies the problem.

Seth was a difficult baby. He didn’t sleep much, had alot of ear infections and had colic. Later, he morphed into a difficult toddler. He still didn’t sleep through the night. He didn’t talk. Several times a day, for not discernible reason he would SCREAM into my crotch. Many days I felt emotionally strung out and exhausted by 10 a.m. I was also battling 15-25 migraines a month. I felt like such a crappy mom. And my husband? Was traveling alot and working 60-80 hour work weeks. When he was home, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a screaming child — especially one that hardly recognized him. It was a very tough few years. And our marriage barely survived.

It wasn’t until after a year of working closely with speech and occupational therapists that I began to really enjoy my son. He has as a Sensory Integration issue. You wouldn’t know it now though, thankfully. But he needs a bit more attention than your average kid. The migraines are better these days but I do know that every few years, my body goes all spastic and I get 15-25 a month for 9-12 months in a row.

And I wonder, could I be pregnant and care for a baby all over again? And this time with an older child? What if the second child has special needs (more so than what Seth had)? Would we be emotionally equipped to be good parents? We could adopt. That’s not out of the question. But the bigger issue is simply… Can we give a second child the energy and patience he or she would need? Can I be the kind of mother another child would need me to be? And would our marriage thrive or crumble as a result?

There’s NOTHING wrong with having one child. I know alot of wonderful only children. But that adage, “You don’t regret the kids you had, you regret the kids you didn’t have” haunts me. 

So the big questions I have for ya’ll are…. How did you know when you were ready for more children? How did you know when you were finished? When you added on to your family, did you think you’d have the patience and energy you’d need? And in having more children, do you now think you have the patience and energy you need? Spill it, lovelies! I am in great need of your wisdom!

Sunday marks my two-year blog anniversary. I decided to take an entry from two years ago — back when I still had no idea what a blog was and had even less of a clue where this journey would lead me.

I’ve gotten to “meet” so many wonderful people through this blog. Its been a wonderful, creative outlet. You all have made me laugh out loud and think about the posts you write. And even after all of these years, I still get a thrill when someone has commented on a post of mine. Thank you for taking time out of your days to read what I’ve written. You have no idea how much that means to me.

An Ode to Boobies (from the mind of a hungry 2-month-old and written down by his deliriously sleep-deprived mommy in the late summer of 2002.)

I am a baby
therefore I can not chew.
And that’s why boobies
I love you.

You’re warm, soft
and easy to cuddle.
I love to bury my face in your softness
and snuggle.

Boobies, boobies, boobies
you are so pretty.
And my mommy has the bestest
boobies in the city.*

Boobies, boobies, boobies
I am so happy there are two.
Because boobies, boobies, boobies. Oh sweet boobies,
Oh comfortable, wonderful boobies, I love you.

*Nope, I sure don’t have the bestest boobies. But hey, I needed something to rhyme with “pretty.”

As the hubby is on a 9-day biz trip, (KILL ME NOW!) the boy and I went out last night for a fine dining experience (at Long John Silvers). Afterwards we took a short walk to Best Buy.

When it comes to television entertainment, the hubby and I like to expose our boy to the pop culture “classics”. While he’s loving Looney Tunes, Speed Racer, and The Muppets, he’s become a rabid fan of Little Rascals shorts too. (Yeah, that’s kicking it old school, huh?)

Which is why we were in Best Buy. I figured if anyone would have the most recent Little Rascals movie, (from 1990-something…) it would be them. And yes, we weren’t disappointed.

So in line at the checkout, Seth sees “The Geek Squad” center.

Seth: “Mooommmm. What does g-e-e-k say?”
Me: “It says, ‘Geek’.”
Seth: (looks confused) “What’s a geek.”
Me: “It is someone who’s very smart and good with computers but dresses badly.”
Seth: (thinks for a moment and smiles) “Like daddy?”
Me: (look at the employee ringing up our stuff who’s smirking) “Yeah. Like daddy.”
Seth: “Daddy has boobie hair.”
Me: (Get an uneasy feeling cause I don’t know where this is going…)”Uh, yeah.”
Seth: “Do YOU have boobie hair?”
Me: “Nope.”
Seth: (Sly smile crossing his face.) “Yyyyessss you do!”
Me: (Oh dear God!) “No I don’t Seth.”
Seth: “Uh huh. Yes you do.”
Me: “I don’t have a hairy chest. If I did, I would know.”
Seth: “Yes you DO!”
Me: (Can’t even look at the pre-pubescent employee who by this time has FINALLY finished the transaction.) Sigh… Because now this kid is wondering if I really DO have booby hair.

For the record? I don’t have a hairy chest! Really.

I can’t wait until he’s in that “I’m humiliated just standing next to you, mom” phase. If there’s one life lesson he’ll be learning then, its this one: Payback’s a bitch, son!