All week long, the boy has been tardy, when exiting the school. On average, he usually exits the building around 3:10 pm and I place him at our front door by 3:30 pm. But this first week back, he’s been coming out of the building closer to 4:00 pm, which puts a cramp in my schedule, having to wait for him. “Bay, I have better things to do than to sit in the parking lot waiting for you to emerge!” I explained tersely to him the other day. “Sorry mom, I just got to talking to a bunch of different people. You keep telling me you want me to make friends…” He said, hoping to use my desire for him, against me. “Be that as it may bay, you could have, at least, texted me that you’re running late…” I said. “I’ll try to remember next time,” He said, which in reality was code for, “Whatever mom”.
Yesterday I was forbidden to drive following a procedure, so the hub was instructed to pick him up after work. But they didn’t arrive home until close to 4:30 pm, which prompted me to ask my hubby, “Did you run over to your Mom’s?” “No, the boy was just extraordinarily late leaving the building,” He replied. “Bay…” I said. “I’m sorry Mom, it’s just I struck up a conversation with a girl who was having emotional issues.” “So, you were her shoulder to cry on, so to speak?” “Not “so to”, but actual and in the process, I made a new friend,” He informed. “Oh yeah? So, what’s her name?” I asked.
One would think getting the person’s name who just used your shoulder for support would not be a difficult task, but for the boy… “Um, you know what? I forgot to ask her, her name”. He said and then guffawed to himself. His sister, seated next to me on the loveseat, lifted her hand to her forehead and said, “Facepalm, why does that not surprise me!” before laughing. “So, you’re telling me, you helped some chick through an emotional moment and you failed to get her name?” I asked wondering if his excuse was, in fact true. “Apparently so, but having a name really isn’t all that important is it? I mean, isn’t being there for another person who’s hurting more important?” He asked and then exited the room. I looked over at his father, who shrugged and then he exited the room too. Looking at my doll, she said, “Mom, you have to remember it’s the boy you’re dealing with–where nothing makes sense where he’s concerned.” Which then prompted me to laugh. She was right.
Mean Mommy's Memoir 