|Once upon a time when|
he DIDN'T think I was
boring and NOT funny!
As hubby stood at the kitchen sink washing corn to toss on the grill, he was playfully teasing Middle about his lack of parental visitations. THAT’S when IT happened…
Hubby: “So why don’t you come visit your Mom more? What, do you think we’re boring or something?”
Middle: “Actually, yes. You guys ARE boring.” (Just like that…like he was saying, “Why yes, the sky IS blue.”)
Me: “I am NOT boring! I’m FUN!”
Middle: “No, you’re not. And you’re not funny either.”
Me: *horrified gasp*
The Boy: “If you think she’s not funny now, you should try being here in the morning when she’s writing her blog. She even reads them out loud. That’s when she’s REALLY not funny.” (Dude, you are TOTALLY grounded.)
|Mr. Ass-hat who no longer thinks|
Mom is fun!
That was pretty much when my pouting began…and lasted until I woke up this morning. (OK, until about five minutes ago. The ungrateful little dirt-muncher!)
In the early light of a new day, I now understand what the real problem is and I am free to make peace with Middle’s inconsiderate comments. The sad truth is he simply has no taste! (What else could it be?)
I didn’t fail as a Mother to raise a loving son who longs to visit and bask in the glow of my Motherly concern as I fuss over him in feeble attempts to stuff every bit of food in the house into his 6’3”, 150 pound frame…No. He just got the “no taste” gene from the Y chromosome side of the equation! *deep sigh of relief*
It’s really kinda funny. I did OK with the first little bird flying from the nest. I was as supportive of his independence as any Mom has EVER been in the entire history of the Universe. I have even resisted the urge to call him and nag incessantly about the fact he only stops by every three weeks or so. I don’t even text more than once a week!
Maybe that’s been the whole problem? Did I make “breaking away” too easy for him? Should I have sobbed uncontrollably, holding onto the hem of his pants as he drug me across the kitchen floor on his way out the door? Is this the only option left to him to assert his independence? Pfft! (If that’s the case, I truly pity the next child to move out…)
There is one small thing I do know without a doubt, *cue music from my favorite M&M’s commercial of all time*