by Kim Robinson

Created on: May 29, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

One Of Those Moms

Lately, I've been thinking about changes. You know, how transformation is,
unfortunately, inevitable, and I despise it. Altering the way things are is not my idea of fun. I mean, even the thought of having a holiday someplace else besides my parents is absolutely 'out of the question!' I even find it difficult to change my 80's-Madonna hair style or throw away my hot pink lipstick or give my bell bottoms to GoodWill...after all, the buggers are quite trendy at the moment. The idea of letting go of these material things, yes, I know they are only things, is like announcing, "this time is ended. This time is over. And I don't like, if you haven't noticed, anything being over.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, terrifies me as much as my children growing up. Now, this change is unbearable. Years ago I remember somebody admitting to me, "You know, all of the steps are like small deaths." And it's sooo true.

I was one of those moms crying at the bus stop on the first day of kindergarten. "Ohhhh, my baaaaby!" I was one of those moms sobbing quietly as my husband removed the training wheels off our son's bicycle, and sprinting on the side of him like a crazy person as he strode down the sidewalk. "Mom's here. I'm right next to you, honey" I was one of those moms peeking through the window during my son's first dancethat is, until he detected me and yelled through cupped hands, "Mooooom, go hooooome!" I was one of those moms's who didn't push my son to get his driver's license, and when he finally did, I thought, "How the hell am I going to protect this kid? What if the breaks go? What if a drunk driver is out there? What if his cell phone rings? The what-ifs were friggen killin' me.

Realizing I had no control, I grabbed his large eighteen-year-old hand and smiled sweetly. "Repeat after me," I said. "My father whom art in heaven"

Yep, I was one of those moms. I am one of those moms. I will forever be one of those moms. Call me nuts, crazy, an enabler, a mama's boy creator,' a stalker, a hanger-on-er, a wiper-butt-er. I don't care. I am all of those things and more.

Remember that Bowie song Cha-cha-cha-changes? All I can possibly say about transformation, change, this inevitability of metamorphosis, this reality, which is occurring....

Is "Heeeelp!"

Perhaps when I begin cutting my son's steak in the presence of his wife, or run beside his sports car, or peek through his windows at night, I shall get an awakening.

"Mom, is that you out there? Pleeeease go hooome!"

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