To Infinity and Beyond
Make the movie last forever....
June brought the college boy home for a couple of weeks.
Just a couple of weeks, though; summer at the beach can’t compete with summer in Seattle which includes a very cute, sweet girlfriend and a frat-house full of seasonal squatters. My son lined himself up a couple of jobs and a few weekends away with his brothers and how can a mom say no to what I’m sure is the best time of the year in the Pacific Northwest? His happiness is what I crave, what we all desire so deeply for our kids, but this short stint home has made his absence feel more permanent than I was prepared for. Sure he’s been away all year but he’s still a child, right? Doesn’t he still live at home?
He spent his two weeks mostly lying in his bed, lying on the sofa, lying on the sand, asking what’s for dinner, and leaving the house at 9 pm right as his dear old mom was in pajamas, brushing her teeth. I blanched but then on my shoulder he would put his stern hand and reassure me he was fine; what time do I think he heads out at college? No need to tell him my nights in New York City used to end with pancakes at 4 am but I wasn’t a mother then (sorry, Mom) so his logic no longer aligns with mine. But off he’d go, a full grown human, almost always remembering to text me when he was heading home. He knows me so well.
He spent half his time with me and half his time with his dad which left me selfishly upset because I don’t want to share time anymore. I’m tired of co-parenting. One day I’ll leave this extravagant seaside and with it my velvet handcuffs, a freedom I anticipate being a great release. Shared time is necessary now, of course, but shared time is compressed time in an already squeezed timeline and this left me with a strange pressure that I had to razzle-dazzle my kids and prove myself worthy of their companionship. I wanted to run away to a Dodger game and stuff oysters down my son’s throat and throw down a card for some guiltless shopping. Here in the land of milk and honey, the bells and whistles are deafening; suffocation by golf carts and second homes where such whims are so easy, so thoughtless, it leaves me agog. I can’t spend $600 for a night at the ballpark, so instead I make taco pizza and we watch the World Cup on the sofa and I think that’s okay, too. My bells and whistles are a bit quieter but we like them all the same.
I did make one grand plan while my son was here; a mandatory viewing of Toy Story 5. How serendipitous that the release date fell during his short time here; the movie theatre calling us into it’s nest of nostalgia. Oh how I loved our matinees together as my kids grew; being squished in the middle of them, dispersing M&M’s and popcorn, their giggles and wide eyes soothing this movie loving mama. The theatre was packed with young families, alive with excited chatter and endless wrapper openings. I took my rightful place in the middle and as my kids drank their $10 sodas, my circle came full. I had that subtle feeling of a ‘last’ coming to fruition. The lights dimmed and I was flooded with every good feeling I’ve ever had of being a mom to these two kids. I wanted to bottle it up and keep it stored away to steal little sips when I need it most. Wouldn’t that be something? To our lips a taste of frozen time, our throats cooled by a perfect memory. For 90 minutes we sat and smiled and when we stood, I felt it; the final bow of a last. It was a wrap on childhood, caught up in a web of Woody and Buzz. I put my arms around my kids’ waists and did my best to squeeze the perfect memory into myself, managing a few seconds before they wrestled free, weightless of this moment that would linger far longer with me than them. The happiest moment, a few perfect seconds.
The next day, my son stuffed all his belongings back into his duffel and I dropped him to the airport. He was ready to get back to his life. His almost grown up life. We’ll be venturing up there ourselves, come late July, to scoop him up and head a couple of hours outside the city to let our eyes be saturated with green and our noses be met with fresh mountain air. Still, I hugged him hard while LAX buzzed around us, with him reminding me I’ll see him in a few weeks as he peeled away. It’s hard to be outwardly sad when he’s so happy but I’m still mourning childhood. I’m not sure if I’ll ever stop mourning it. But I recognize that this is my circle now. Where my kids go, I go. Where I go, they go. Maybe one day they’ll land again to stay awhile. And in-between, they live their great, big lives.
To infinity and beyond.
