Friday, April 24, 2009
I earned the nickname "such-a-Mom" from our two sons when they were in their teens. Whenever I'd get in my famous Mommy-mode and remind them of little things like ... well, you know -- those things Mom's tend to notice ...
"Did you just pull that shirt out of the laundry basket?
OR ... "You've got something on your chin."
OR, better yet... "Excuse me?"
My son looks up from his book, blinks and says, "Huh?" (I know this boy is smart, because I've been his teacher for the past 15 years...
But he hasn't a clue, so I prompt him. "You burped."
"Oh yeah... 'scuse me."
I guess we moms think our sons won't survive or thrive or even *arrive* on the threshold of manhood without our daily interruption (er, instruction). We smother-mother them at times, don't we? And, good sports that they are, they tolerate it. Because they know from whence their cookies, cakes and pies come.
Those same two boys are 23 and 27 now, and once in awhile they'll say, "You are such-a-Mom." I don't mind, though. Nowadays, I only hear it on the rare occasions they're here for a visit and I've slipped back into my Mommy-mode.
"You need to borrow an iron for that shirt?"
Passing me on his way to the fridge, he'll hug me and say, "You're still such-a-Mom!"
So I take the opportunity to play my part once more.
"Be sure to save some milk for your Dad."