Tuesday, November 19, 2013

All of a sudden...

I am that mother

When my sons were little I was determined I was not going to have fussy, demanding offspring who required a laundry list of conditions in order to function in society. I was downright smug about the fact that I could take the Heirs anywhere and they would adjust to the situation, even if it meant they'd be sleeping in drawers, wearing oversized men's t-shirts to bed or accepting strange food for breakfast (fish).

"Adjust!" I'd say nobley, the point being that the experience of being where or with whom was worth putting up with a few minor inconveniences. And they did.

Fast forward to 2013. Our nest has been empty for about two years and for awhile now the Heirs and I have been living more than an hour from each other. For the first time, only our desire to have a relationship with each other dictates whether or not we make the effort during this holiday season.

I spend most of my time being
The 2001 Sisiggy would have said, "If they want to be here, wonderful! This is what I have to offer. If it's not good enough, ADJUST! Or find a more accomodating establishment."
bewildered by the Heirs.


However, 2013 Sisiggy is running around frantically barking orders at Dirtman and obsessing over things like, "The boys don't like their towels hung up to dry; they like them dried in the dryer with fabric softener -- I HAVE TO REWASH ALL THE TOWELS!!!!"

The boys would find this strange, since while they were growing up they'd complain about being able to snowboard with the line-dried towels and I'd yell back that they were welcome to use their allowance money to check in at the Ramada for nice, soft towels. Otherwise...ADJUST!

Dinnertime was another strictly-held tradition. Either show up on time or fend for yourself: (all together) "I am NOT a short-order cook!"

So I had to know about Heir 2's plans the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving Day.

Phone conversation: 
Me: Will you be here for dinner Wednesday night?
Heir 2: By the time I get off work, run home and grab the cat and my stuff, I probably won't make it there until 9 or 10 o'clock.
Me: (pleasantly, with lilt in my voice) No problem. I can always throw something together for you if you're hungry.
Heir 2 and Dirtman (sitting with me and listening to my side of conversation):  WHAT?

I actually spent 15 minutes yesterday making sure I could find Heir 1's favorite fork. When he was little and his favorite fork was dirty, I'd snap, "Then I guess you'll be going hungry unless you can ADJUST!"

And the final proof that I'm a hopeless empty-nester: I added Cap'n Crunch cereal to my list...and didn't buy the generic knock-off.

So there you have it, my friends. I've become what I never in a million years thought I'd be -- one of those wussy, sentimental blobs of maternal goo*. And, I have to admit -- it frightens me. I'm afraid of losing my edge. The only last step for me if when I start watch all those sappy Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel -- at that point, just shoot me.
*This will open a whole new category of joke: 
How many Wussy, Sentimental Blobs of Maternal Goo does it take to screw in a light bulb?
"None, my darling. I'll just sit in the dark and think of you!"

4 comments:

dandelionfleur said...

Laughing...I will definitely shoot you.

tiffibug said...

Aww, don't worry, I'll still like you if you are a blob of maternal goo.

karjak said...

I'm pretty sure I have the fork...you can stop looking!

RETA said...

Okay, you aren't the only one! I can totally relate! What a great post! Thanks for writing - and, by the way, have a lovely holiday season!

RETA@ http://evenhaazer.blogspot.com