Now that my son is officially a sailor and therefore a man, I have to break a bad habit and stop mothering him like I used to do.
I can't help myself though. Asking him if he's done his laundry or wiped the dribbles off the toilet is as ingrained in me as yellow on a smoker's fingernails. That's only two in the list of all the mommy questions I've asked for nineteen years of his life. You probably have kids or you've been exposed to children at some point, so you know how talking to them goes. Holding real conversations that don't involve the phrase, "Did you finish your vegetables?" with the manchild makes my brain stutter and then freeze.
Skype has proven an almost adequate playground to my maternal queries...
What did you have for dinner? Did you even eat?
Did you cash your tax return check yet? You need to do that.
Would you get a Facebook please?
Can I send you this link to an article about incurable gonorrhea?
What kind of phone are you thinking of getting? You know where you can get a good deal on a phone...
Did I not raise the kid? I'm sure he's perfectly capable of making his way to a store that sells cellular phones. He knows how to buy that phone and then he can use that phone in a responsible manner.
And even if he doesn't use his phone responsibly, so? It ain't MY phone. It's his. He legally earned the money to buy himself a device that requires a monthly contract. His name is on the dotted line. My name is still safely at home.
This leaves me wondering how to put the brakes on my instinct to chide or guide him like a toddler.
A toddler I'd love to send gonorrhea info to.
Don't touch that!
Monday, April 22, 2013
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