While I Wasn't Looking

Somehow…while I wasn’t looking…my son grew up.

I guess in my head I knew it would happen. He’s 22, for Pete’s sake. He’s graduating from college this May. Of COURSE he grew up, you’re saying. That’s what they DO.

Except that I wasn’t ready for it. Don’t get me wrong – I am so proud of my son and his accomplishments that I could burst. But while it’s one thing to know in your head that he’s an adult, it’s completely another to stand back at his first gallery showing (his senior exhibition) and watch him actually BE one.



I cried for 3 days four years ago when I took him to Cambridge, MA to live at school. I made sure he called every week and Bill and I arranged for every bus trip home to be sure he’d make it for every break.

Then came the summer he didn’t come home…between junior and senior year. I thought, after 3 years of seeing him sporadically on his breaks, that it would be OK that he wasn’t home for the summer. It was…until it wasn’t anymore. I was home alone (my daughter lives with her dad in the summer), and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. But I made it through and he came home for 2 weeks before he went back for his 4th and final year.

Winter break this year was a joy, even though I had to work through most of it. It was comfortable having him home and knowing he was there with us. Even though he and my daughter picked at each other, his being home made her happy, and it was nice.



There were a few moments that should have hinted to me that this wasn’t my “little boy,” or as he’s referred to affectionately, my “boy-child” anymore. He made some comments that took me aback a bit – responsible comments that took into consideration the needs and wants and situations of others. I don’t know why I was surprised, but I was. His scope had widened. As it should have – but it was neat to see.

He went back to school with the determination to be technology-free for a while. He left his laptop home for his sister to use and only had his phone on over weekends. It worked out because by this point, let’s be serious…he wasn’t calling home every week anyhow. And I was OK with that, knowing he’s a busy student with obligations and friends to keep him occupied.

Those obligations, which mandated a senior portfolio show, kept him from coming home on Spring Break. Yes, of course I missed him, but it would have only been a week and it would have been a challenge to spend time with him. Although again, just knowing he’s in the house is comforting. But I sucked it up and soldiered on with the knowledge that I was going to see him at his senior show. I would finally get to see the work that had been his mistress all this time and spend some time with him in his own environment. I was very much looking forward to it.



We had the privilege of staying at my father’s house in historic Marblehead. All I can say is that it’s beautiful.



There’s nothing about it I don’t like.



There’s nothing about it my kids don’t like, and, well…I wish it were, or had the potential to be, mine someday. It doesn’t, but that’s another story for another time.




SO –

We went to his show, held at a gallery in Cambridge. There were a LOT of people there.



As soon as he saw me, I got one of his signature hugs (you haven’t been hugged until my son hugs you) and an introduction to the people he’d interrupted to hug me. Of course, he constantly forgot his sister, but it was OK – I could tell he was nervous, and after a while he started to remember.



Although there were 3 artists showing, it was clear that this was his show. The majority of the crowd was there to see his work, and he worked the crowds like a professional. He accepted his congratulations, explained his work, and, because he is who he is, worked making photos to document the experience.



He was in his element, and it was stunning to see. Here was this charming, handsome young artist, someone who draws people like (cliché coming) moths to flame, and he was my son. MINE. But in this environment, he wasn’t my “boy-child.” He was an artist. A man. A citizen of the world. In a sense, he didn’t belong to me anymore, he belonged to everyone there, and they deserved him. He deserved them. He deserved all of it; the accolades, the attention, the glory, if you will, of a show that far exceeded my expectations and made me so proud that I could have cried. (I did that later.) It was a bittersweet moment. I realized I'd done what I set out to do, and he doesn't really "need" me anymore. It's a stunning revelation.





So you see, 22 years ago, I gave birth to my first child. And while I wasn’t looking, he grew up.

Cha-CHING! It's Pay Day!

The two most beautiful words a working person knows – “Pay day!”

Especially, if – like me – you tend to live paycheck to paycheck.

It wasn’t always like this, but it used to be like this. Does that make any sense?

When I first got divorced, money was something that was in VERY short supply in my house. We (ALL of us) wore thrift store clothes and no-brand shoes. The kids had food (none of it brand name and a lot of it from the damaged/discount rack), shelter and transportation that was mostly reliable.

What *I* had was a mountain of debt and one paycheck. The money almost always ran out before the month did, and creative financing was new to me. There were those times when the paycheck didn’t make it before the straw that broke the camel’s back. That always meant a nasty-gram from the bank and a charge of $30 for overdraft protection. OK, so they KNEW I didn’t have any money, but they charged me MORE of it? I never understood that.

OK, so we lived like that for a while. Dinners at Mom’s a couple nights a week, strictly budgeted grocery trips, and now and again a S-T-R-E-T-C-H to cover school pictures or the field trip to the zoo.

Things turned for us, and I replaced my 1988 Chevy Cavalier that barely went from home to school to work. I actually got a loan on my own credit! Next step – I applied for a mortgage. And I was accepted! So we now had a house and a car that ran all the time instead of just some of the time. Through various other circumstances, we began to save money. We moved up to department store clothes and better footwear. The kids got iPods and cell phones. We had more than rice and ground meat and pasta in the pantry. We could afford field trips and gym suits and pictures and the occasional outing. Life was good. Christmas came and there was more than one gift apiece under the tree.

What’s happened since then? Well – a car payment. The last one had been paid off for some time. The new one is not. Credit card debt…good Gods, if I could just learn NOT to use the damn thing. “It’s for emergencies” I told myself. Must have been an awful lot of those lately. The usual bills – electric, water, cable, internet, etc. Oil in the winter, increased electric in the summer…you know the story!

Anyhow, today’s pay day. I should be thrilled, but the sad truth is that this check is already spent. As usual. And so the cycle begins again.