Sitcom Mom

Anyone who has been reading this blog for awhile knows that I have an affection for a couple of current TV moms, namely Frankie Heck of The Middle and Beverly Goldberg of The Goldbergs. Not only do I think they're two of the funniest depictions of motherhood available for your viewing pleasure, I also think they're consistently an honest representation of the inner thoughts and feelings, (good, bad, and certifiable) that come with being a mom.

Until Frankie and Bev came along, I had never seen myself in past TV matriarchs. Roseanne was way too caustic and crude. Carol Brady was entirely too chipper (and sported a haircut that no one could identify with). And Edith Bunker was too passive. I did throw my chips in with Debra Barone (like Frankie, another Patricia Heaton role) of Everybody Loves Raymond for awhile but, as the series went on, she developed a nasty edge that broke the bond. (But if you haven't seen the PMS episode, check that out of your local library. It should be required viewing for all married couples.)

I'm not saying that I agree with all of Frankie and Bev's choices but watching Frankie run down to the field after she thinks her son is hurt in a football game or Bev, mournfully sniffing her children's baby blankets after one of them gets his driver's license, makes me feel as if someone out there gets it; that someone else knows how it feels to wear your heart outside of your body. And, if I can feel better, knowing that at least I would never have embarrassed my kid by bringing his jockstrap to class or loudly proclaiming to other shoppers at Bed, Bath and Everything Else that my son had agreed to spend the day with me, that's a productive use of a half hour.

But, sometimes, an episode hits a little too close to home.  This year, on The Middle, the eldest son goes off to college and neglects to call his mom. Oh, he texts his dad about everything under the sun but doesn't make an effort to stay in touch with the woman who gave him life. (Did that sound too bitter?) When she finally confronts him about how hurt she is, he's clueless but does confess to not wanting to hear her ramble on about nothing or risk being chastised for something he had or had not done and that, here's where the knife goes right into the heart, it's just easier to talk to Dad.

My son hasn't come out and said any of that or I might be saying all of this to a therapist instead of my keyboard. And, in all fairness, my son's Internet connection is not up yet so we haven't been able to Skype and my ancient flip-phone is incapable of sending a text that doesn't take ten minutes to compose. (Yeah, I know I have to get on that.) But I haven't heard his voice in over a week (if you don't count his outgoing voicemail message) and, like my sitcom compatriot Frankie, I'm having a tough time with that.

I thought we had a deal. I would let him go without hanging on to his leg, begging him to stay. And, in exchange, he would pick up the phone often enough that I could pretend he wasn't a thousand miles away. He was supposed to "call me when he got there".

It didn't work for Beverly Goldberg either.

Just You and Me, Kid

My husband used to travel for business . . . a lot. He would often be gone for 2-3 weeks at a time negotiating deals in Hong Kong or sizing up a possible acquisition in Jaipur while I busied myself signing the kids up for Park District swim classes or attending middle school band concerts. Don't try this at home but we even lived apart for longer than I care to admit when he finished up an assignment in Germany and, later, took a job in Virginia that he feared might not work out long enough to uproot the kids. Even when we were clever enough to be living in the same zip code, my hubby tended to be one of those Type A personalities who worked fourteen hour days and weekends. Long story short - we spent a lot of time apart.

Lately, not so much. For the last year, my better half has been working out of a home office, establishing a media business as well as trying to get some consulting projects off the ground. We've gone from being separated by an ocean to being separated by nothing more than a staircase. It's great to have him around more but, now that we're the only two people living in the house, it's also an adjustment.

As newly-christened empty-nesters, we're bound to hit a few speed bumps as we try to re-invent our relationship while we each try to re-invent ourselves. Whether it's taking a walk around the block or making a spontaneous trip to McDonald's for one of those $ .49 cones, we're in the early stages of converting our routine into something that resembles the one we signed on for when we said, "I do". Hopefully, we can avoid the pitfalls of other long-time married folks who found out they had nothing to say to each other once the kids hit the road. Since I still find my hubby one of the smartest, funniest, most challenging people I know, I doubt I have to worry about that one.

But trying to interrupt me after the new People magazine is delivered? That could be a deal breaker.

Goings and Comings

Having a baby shower for your firstborn on the same weekend your youngest moves halfway across the country makes for some interesting emotional moments. From 5:00 a.m. on Saturday, standing on the driveway tearfully waving goodbye to collapsing on the couch and sleeping in my party dress on Sunday, the highs and lows I experienced over the past two days would rival anything Space Mountain could ever throw at me.

Change and I have never been the best of friends. I'm all for the status quo if I have any kind of say in the matter. I know that's not a recipe for growth but if you ask me, growth is very overrated. And you can call me crazy but I'm also not particularly fond of events that leave me feeling as if my heart is being ripped out of my chest. Having never sent either of my kids off to a college that was more than a couple of hours away, it was inevitable that a few tears were going to be shed as I watched the Denver-bound moving truck fill up with my son's belongings; as I watched my parents envelop him in a bear hug and warn him to stay away from "that marijuana crap"; as I watched his pregnant sister give him an extra embrace, knowing that he would miss the birth of her first child.

But, after all the tears, I knew there was work to be done. There was a shower to be thrown; a welcoming party for the newest member of our family. There were cupcakes to decorate and balloons to be hung. I was grateful for the diversion.

Sunday afternoon, a roomful of friends and relatives gathered to abundantly bless our daughter and her husband with love and everything our new grandson could possibly need. There was so much joy watching my daughter revel in the anticipation of becoming a mother that, for a moment, I could only remember how wonderful it is to be a parent. Because, no matter how many times I've felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest, I've been lucky enough to be a part of creating two amazing people that have brought me more happiness than I could have ever imagined. They were the ones who made my dreams come true.

Now it's their turn.

Dinner for Six

It's not often that I can corral our two kids and their significant others for a night out but last night, I decided to take advantage of the fact that our son is leaving and guilt everybody into a dinner at Olive Garden. I know what you're thinking. "You had a chance to have a dinner out with your family, the last one you're going to have for the foreseeable future, and you picked Olive Garden?" Well, here's the thing. I knew I had to shoot for a place that would be relatively quick (for my son), relatively inexpensive (for my hubby), and relatively delicious (for my pregnant daughter). And I really didn't care. As long as we were all together for a couple of hours (and I didn't have to cook or clean up), I could have cared less about the menu.

We met up at six. The kids surprised me with a shadow box of three hysterical photos of the two of them holding large letters spelling out the word M-O-M. After I stopped crying, we drank some wine (at least I did) and ate our breadsticks. We talked. We ate some more breadsticks. And we laughed. A lot.

After a couple of hours, it was time to hand over our coupons and pay the bill. It was time for my son and his girlfriend to do some more packing and time for my daughter to go home and put her feet up. I wish it could have lasted a little longer but I was happy to take what I could get; happy that everyone had made the time to get together to share one more memorable evening with one another.

Hey, I know no one is dying. I know Denver isn't the other side of the moon; that there'll be many more chances to get together to share special evenings with my family. But I also know that things are changing.

And I have to be grateful for right now.