The End of Motherhood?

You know what they say about clouds?

Maybe I should be glad my kids text so much.

seeds of doubt

So a while back, one of you asked me if my kids read my blog.  Dutifully, I went and asked them and they all answered with some version of a resounding, "Uh, NO!"  I believed them and that was that.

But the other day, I got an invitation from Middle to a presentation he was giving for his history class.  And he signed the card, not with his name, but with "Middle."

The thing is, I don't call him Middle in real life - only here, in blog life.  Suddenly, I found myself wondering, is he reading these here scratchings?  And what if he is?

Well, first off, if he lied to me about not reading the blog (which I doubt) I would be disappointed.  I always expect my kids to tell me the truth and have on a few occasions felt compelled to tell each one in turn that I only know how to mother children that I trust and if I can't trust them, I'm not going to know how to mother them and we are all going to be in for a very nasty ride.  So really, could they please do us all a favor and remain trustworthy?  And with the exception of a few little glitches, they have done just that. (It helps that I have a truly uncanny ability to know when they are lying. They each have such a cute tell.)

But I digress.  It is of course also possible that Middle started reading the blog after I asked him if he read it in which case I need to ask him again.  And I will. 

But in the meantime, I had a post I was going to write today.  It was about Middle and trust me, it would have been funny and sweet and explain who he is right at this moment: a drop-dead gorgeous jock who retains just enough nerd to make him impossibly endearing.

But I don't feel like I can tell the story because I realize that if he read it, he might be embarrassed by it.  He might not want total strangers imagining what it was like in his math class, when the teacher made a math joke - a math joke! - and my Middle laughed heartily while his classmates stared blankly, not getting it. Not getting it at all.  And who knows, some of the other kids involved might read it - and then what?  I remember, oh how I remember, the infinite black hole of high school shame.

So now I feel oddly hamstrung.  Much as I want to tell the story, I can't - or won't. 

Instead, I am going to throw out to you all the questions I have been pondering. I think they are important ones for us blogging mothers and fathers to be asking ourselves:  How much of my children's lives is it appropriate for me to scatter like seeds into the blogosphere?  Am I somehow abdicating my primary job as Middle's mom if I use his life - even in a loving way - for what is fundamentally my own purposes?  Isn't it possible that the act of blogging about my children at all - or featuring them in a post the way I would have with this story - is a kind of exploitation?

Do you ever ask yourself these questions and if you do, how do you answer?

What's your Most Played?

Because I have - clearly - been doing pretty much anything other than blogging, I was playing around in my iPod library this morning when I randomly clicked on the "Most Played" column.

I was genuinely, seriously, shockingly surprised that the clear winner was....drum roll please:

Natalie Merchant's cover of Neil Young's After the Gold Rush.

I hunted around for a video of her singing it but alas, there was none. There was, however, this version of the man himself singing it:

And then I found this kinda-sorta-maybe-related little gem.  Natalie Merchant and Michael Stipe singing one of my favorite John Prine songs...


With luck, I'll be back with our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow, but in the meantime, what's your "most played?"

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. 

If this weren't a G-rated blog, this would be The Food Porn Meme...

(un)relaxeddad, that devil, tagged me with the "Food Porn Meme" which I have to say I am - after a brief bout of cursing him under my breath - grateful for because creativity seems to have gone decidedly by the wayside in recent days.  And because this is, after all, about sex, I am inviting my Mate to, uh, help me out.

1. What food do you consider the best “date” food? In other words, what meal or food item do you think is sexiest to eat in the company of someone you would like to look sexy around?
Mate: Doesn't matter what the food is as long as you are feeding each other. Okay. Caviar.

(And really good champagne.)

2.What well-known person would you like to share a meal with?
Scarlett Johansson

(Excuse the editorializing but, ewwww)

3. What does your perfect breakfast-in-bed look like? (Food AND the details, please. Candles? Music? Flowers? Hot tub? Dancing girls?)
I hate breakfast in bed.

(We both hate breakfast in bed - one of many reasons we are still together after, eek, 27 years.)

4.What do you consider the best application of whipped cream to be?
I have an answer but wife tells me this is a g-rated blog.

(We'll get back to you on this one.)

5. Oh-God-No, Biff, the yacht is sinking! You are sent to the galley to retrieve the food. What luxury food items do you snatch first? The champagne? The caviar? Smoked Salmon? Truffles? Chocolate? Or something else?
I wouldn't get any luxury foods - in that situation, you've got to prevent scurvy for God's sake.  So I'd gather up all the oranges, lemons and limes and save the women and children.

(Is that man hot, or what?)

For those  intrepid enough to take this on...This Meme was started by a self-described "modern day recluse." I guess that makes sense.

The Rules…
“Answer each of the five questions. Tag five bloggers you would like to pass the meme to. Have them link back to you and to this post as the source meme. You and they can take the graphic from here if they like.”

Ok, now to tag...eenie, meenie, minee, moe...
Robin, because she this may be her first meme.
neurotic parent, because she can focus on herself for once
Mizmell, because now that finals are over, she has the time
Jennifer H, because she is brave enough to take it out for a spin
Mindful Mom, because we have to get out of our minds now and then, right?

Yipee...

The invitation arrived today!

And because I always do what you tell me, we never peeked.

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?" 

maternal double fault...

Last week, I watched Youngest compete in a tennis match.  As I sat among the parents from the other team, I heard a mother call out the following to her son on the court:  "Michael, no double faults!"

Seriously, short of shouting out "You suck!", could she possibly have found anything less helpful to say to her son as he stepped up to the service line? 

I remembered the little distinction I made the other day.  I mean, if she had to say something, couldn't she have settled for "watch the ball" or "keep your tossing arm straight" or, heaven forfend, "have fun."

When I am at my most compassionate, I would say that her admonition, "No double faults!" was really just maternal anxiety articulated.  But since I don't spend much time at that end of the compassion scale, I will try to simply be grateful to her for reminding me that I want my presence at my kids' activities to speak only of my support for them.

I think that's all the talking I need to do.

In that situation...

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.

want to play couple's therapist?

Middle is waiting for an invitation that is supposed to come today.  He desperately wants this invitation and has worked incredibly hard to get it.  He is hopeful, nervous, and excited - all very appropriate feelings.

Mate and I, however, are total wrecks.

I know there are many things more difficult than fearing your child will be rejected, but right now I can't think of any. 

The invitation, if it comes (please make it come!) will arrive in Middle's email. Since I am the resident IT maven around here and set up everyone's email accounts, I happen to be in possession of Middle's username/password combo.

Mate, whose normally unflappable self has been replaced, in this situation, with something akin to a Victorian lady who spends a lot of time on her fainting couch, wants us to check Middle's email on a regular basis today. 

I am resisting the idea.

I have tried to talk my way into agreeing with my Mate.  I mean, if I know in advance what the outcome is, won't I be better able to help him with his feelings?  If it's bad news, I can work through my own disappointment on his behalf, right?  And then be there for him when he hears the bad news?

I'd like to say my resistance comes from my commitment to mother less.  I mean, I can't really hold my head up with all of you if I'm going around checking my kid's email on a regular basis because I can't stand the thought of him being rejected.   

I'd like to say the resistance comes from my awareness that the true job of mothering in these situations is being a home for the feelings my child will have at the end of the day - whatever they are.  But (can you see me hanging my head in shame, here?) it's not that either.

The bald truth is that I don't want to check his email for fear of jinxing him.

OK, This is where you get to play couple's therapist: