Sons

Swiftly Fly The Years

/ Ann Coleman / 94 Comments

It’s no secret that I’m not exactly young anymore.  I’m sixty years old, and could easily pass for a few years older than that (sagging chins and wrinkly skin runs in my family.)  I know I don’t have the strength and stamina I used to have; I never go anywhere without a pair of reading glasses, and I avoid mirrors whenever possible.  So you can see that I really do understand that I’ve become, shall we say, “a woman of a certain age.”

Which is why I can’t quite explain how shocked I was when I realized that my son, (the youngest of my two “children,”) had the audacity to turn thirty this past weekend.  I don’t remember being quite this surprised a couple of years ago, when my daughter turned thirty, although maybe that was because at that time I could take comfort in the thought that at least one of my offspring was still in his twenties.  But my son is my youngest, and now he’s thirty.  How in the world did that happen?  When did my baby boy become a thirty-year old man?

fullsizeoutput_4ee1I know it’s sounds beyond cliche, but it really does seem like just yesterday when he was just a little guy, full of energy, fun and endless curiosity.  I remember how he struggled to pronounce the letter “r” which always made him sound as if he was speaking with a southern drawl.  He could be stubborn when it suited him, but that wasn’t always a bad thing.  If he was interested in something, he threw himself into it with his whole heart.  Once when I was picking him up from preschool, the teacher handed me a large paper bag to take home, filled with that day’s art project.   Apparently, the children had been asked to paint a picture on a coffee can lid.  All the other children painted one.  My son painted nineteen of them.

But now my son and daughter are all grown up and their childhoods are mere memories.  Now we’re all adults.  Sometimes I struggle with just how much advice I’m allowed to give at this stage of our lives, and exactly where the line is between being helpful and being intrusive.  As a mother, I think I’ll always worry and want them to take good care of themselves and make wise decisions.  But our role as a parent changes and evolves as our children grow up and become independent adults.  All I can say is that I try my best to say and do the right thing.  And I’m beyond grateful that I raised two forgiving souls who are willing to overlook the times I get it just a little bit wrong.

So yes, now I am definitely an “older” woman,  but the more I think about it, the more I realize that is perfectly okay.  This stage of life allows me to focus more on myself and to follow my own interests.   And when I look at the fine young man my son has become, I find that I really don’t mind so much that he just happens to be thirty years old…..

Raise Them Up

/ Ann Coleman / 86 Comments

When I was pregnant with my son, I was absolutely convinced I was going to have a girl. I was going to name her Sarah Marie, and I believed that she would have red hair (like my husband before he went gray) and green eyes.  I was so sure of all this that I was actually shocked when the doctor put my son in my arms for the first time and said, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”  Not disappointed, mind you…I loved my son completely and absolutely from the moment he was born….but definitely surprised.  And as I rocked my newborn son, a little part of me said good-by to Sarah Marie.

Honestly, that incident should have prepared me for what parenting is really all about.

As parents, we try so hard to make the right decisions for our children; to steer them onto the paths we think they should take and to instill our values and our knowledge in them.  And that’s as it should be.  But sometimes when we do that, I think we also make the mistake of thinking that our children will turn out to be exactly who we shaped them to be, and that they will always share our interests and always do things just the way we taught them.   But they rarely, if ever, follow exactly in our footsteps and sometimes set off on paths we never even imagined.  And that’s as it should be, too.

As a writer, I was thrilled when my son began writing stories for fun when he was about ten years old.  He was very good at it.  On some level, I suppose I even hoped he might grow up to have the commercially successful writing career that had eluded me.  But eventually he stopped writing those stories, preferring to spend his time playing sports and video games.  I remember being disappointed at the amount of time he would spend in front a computer when he could, in my opinion, be doing much more productive things.

And you know what?  That same son is now working happily and successfully in the field of technology.  He may not have taken the path I had envisioned for him, but he followed his own heart and found the path that was right for him.

Ann's photo 4

Neither my son or daughter turned out exactly the way I had pictured, and neither share every single one of my values and interests.  Instead, they did exactly what they were supposed to do and used the love, experience and knowledge they were raised with as a foundation upon which to build their own lives.  They are changing and evolving into exactly the persons they were meant to be.

My son surprised me, all those years ago in the delivery room, by turning out to be a bit different from what I had expected.  Honestly, both he and his sister still surprise me now and then.  And as their mother, I wouldn’t have it any other way…..

Wedding Moments

/ Ann Coleman / 62 Comments

img_0566The big day finally came last Saturday, and my son is now officially married to the lovely young woman he has been dating for the last several years.   People have been asking me, “How did the wedding go?” and I answer, honestly if vaguely, “Very well, thank you.”  The thing is, my memories of that day are jumbled images that are all mixed up together in my mind.  I’ve always been told I’m a bit of a scatter-brain, and I guess this proves it. But that’s okay, because all of the images are good ones.

I remember waking up on the morning of the wedding and immediately checking to see if the weather forecast of a cool but sunny day was correct.  It was, which meant that it was a perfect Fall day for the outdoor ceremony.  I remember getting my hair done later that morning, and telling the stylist to be very generous with the hair spray so that my hair wouldn’t be drooping by that evening.  I believe my exact words were, “Use enough so that if I walk into a brick wall, the wall will be dented but my hair won’t.”  And she did. I think I finally washed the last of it out this morning.

img_2001I remember seeing my daughter-in-law in her wedding dress for the first time and how incredibly beautiful she looked,  but also thinking how lucky I am that my son chose to marry someone who is even more beautiful on the inside.   I remember seeing my son, all dressed up in his suit and tie and wondering exactly when my energetic, loving and creative little boy turned into such a handsome, intelligent and caring young man.  (I know I’m bragging here, but I’m a mother, and that’s one of the perks.  It makes up for all those years of dirty diapers and sleep deprivation.)

I remember blinking back a few tears during the ceremony, and not even being sure why, because I felt nothing but happiness at that moment.  Later, during the cocktail hour, I remember greeting so many friends and family, and feeling so grateful for each and every person who came to share the day.  I remember being nervous right before the mother and son dance, because I rarely dance and never like to be the center of attention.  But I followed my blogger friend Jodi’s advice and simply focused on my son, and enjoyed it so much that I was actually just a little sorry when it was over.  Who knew?

Once everyone was dancing, there was so much to notice I could hardly keep track.  I was touched when my son-in-law asked my mother to dance, and impressed with their moves on the dance floor.  I remember trying to follow along in a line dance, being glad I was at the back of the group, and my surprise when they all suddenly did an about-face and I found myself front and center.  (I have since learned that where you want to be in a group dance is in the exact middle, sandwiched in between tall people on all sides.)  I remember watching in awe as my son (who hates to dance) danced not only with his new wife, but with his grandmother, his friends, and (briefly) with his cousin Travis.

I remember posing for many photos, some serious and some silly, and texting a few to dear friends who were not able to attend the wedding, because we wanted to find a way to include them.  But mostly, I remember looking up to see my son, my daughter, my son-in-law and my new daughter in-law taking a group photo and thinking, “That’s my family now.  Those are my kids.”  And I couldn’t have been happier…..

Scary Fast

/ Ann Coleman / 51 Comments

I was idly scrolling down my Facebook news feed yesterday when I spotted a couple of photos my daughter had posted of my son and herself, all dressed up for Halloween.  They were taken when my children were very young, in the preschool and kindergarten years, but when I looked at the pictures, I was instantly flooded with very specific memories of those two Halloweens.

martha-and-daniel-2I remembered that my daughter’s angel costume had been borrowed from church  (one of the costumes used for the annual Christmas program), and I remembered how grateful I was that my son wanted to be a fireman two years in a row.  I wasn’t one of those moms who enjoyed putting together elaborate costumes for my children, which also explains why my daughter’s ballerina costume in the second picture is nothing more than her dance class outfit with a shirt underneath the tutu to keep her warm.

I remembered how we carved the pumpkins just before eating dinner, so that our Jack-0-Lanterns would be ready for any early arrivals.  I remember how my husband and I took turns being the parent who stayed at home to greet trick-or-treaters, and the parent who took our kids around the neighborhood.  I remember the pumpkin sugar cookies I made,  dying the frosting orange and then adding just a touch of green for the pumpkin stem.  (I may not have been big on costumes, but I put an effort into those Halloween cookies.)  Mostly I remember the barely contained excitement of my son and daughter when the big night finally arrived, and for once, getting a lot of candy wasn’t just allowed, it was actually encouraged.

When my children were young, I was a stay-at-home mom who was struggling to make a go of a free-lance writing career.  Sometimes I felt a bit overwhelmed by the constant demands on my time, the never-ending cycle of laundry, meals, dirty diapers, and trying to keep two very active little people safe, healthy, and happy.  Occasionally I felt isolated and lonely, missing the company of my co-workers and the way I took easy access to adult conversation for granted.  Older women, especially my mom, often told me to treasure the years when my children were young, and warned me that they would be over far too soon.  “In the blink of an eye,” they said, “this will all be gone.”

martha-and-daniel-1

I’m ashamed to say that there were times when I didn’t quite believe them, because time didn’t seem to be moving all that fast to me.  But now my daughter is a 30-year old married woman, and my son is a 27-year old man who will be married in less than two weeks.  It seems like only yesterday that they were a little ballerina and fireman, and so excited for Halloween they could hardly stand still.  How can that be?  How in the world did time move so very quickly?  I remember those sweet days of their early childhood so very well, but I guess I must have blinked…..

Wedding Dance

/ Ann Coleman / 66 Comments

I have long been convinced that the world is divided between people who enjoy being the center of attention and people who hate being the center of attention.  Both my son and I are in the second category, as are most members of my family.  Additionally, neither my son nor I like to dance and we most especially don’t like to dance if other people are watching.  Which means that we have a bit of a dilemma on our hands, since his wedding is just a little over a month away and that means we are going to be expected to do the traditional mother/son dance at the reception.

My son has already informed me he doesn’t want to do the mother/son dance, and I completely understand why he feels that way.  I know that the dances are a way of giving the parents of the couple who are getting married a special time with their son or daughter on this very important day, and I admit that I would like to have that moment with my son.  I just don’t see why the tradition has to be limited to dancing.  There are other options, in my opinion.

0467-2Personally, I like the idea of a mother/son cake eating.  At some point during the reception my son and I could sit down at a table together and enjoy a piece of wedding cake.  It would be that special “mother and son moment,” and I would even have a chance to pass on some valuable marriage advice, such as “the wife is always right.” (That one has served me well, lo these many years.)  I don’t think we’d even mind if others watched while we were enjoying our cake, as both of us are actually good at cake-eating.

Sadly, I doubt very much if I’ll be able to talk anyone into going along with my idea, so that brings me back to the question of whether or not we will be doing the mother/son dance.  For a long time, I agreed with my son and thought that I would really rather not do the dance at all, especially when I wasn’t sure if the bride and her father were going to be doing their traditional dance.  But they are doing the dance, and I know it will be a beautiful memory for both of them.  There’s something very special about the wedding of a son or daughter, and I think the tradition of the dance is meant to acknowledge that.

So while I am not a good dancer and I know I will be nervous with just my son and I out there on the dance floor, I have decided that I would like to do the mother/son dance at my son’s wedding.  I will search for a song that is very, very, easy to dance to and that is also (and more importantly) very, very, short.  I may even ask the DJ to dim the lights so that people sitting a few tables away won’t be able to see us.  But I will do the dance, because I do want to have that moment with my son and to publicly acknowledge how happy I am that he is getting married and that his fiancé is going to be an official part of our family.

Now I just have to figure out a way to break the news to my son……

Sometimes It’s Right To Be Wrong

/ Ann Coleman / 12 Comments

DSC03338I still remember how upset I was when my son, who was then in his Junior year of college, called me to tell me he had acquired a dog.  At the time he was living  200 miles from home in an apartment building that did not allow dogs, was a full-time student, and also played racquetball for the university, which required some travel on weekends.  I didn’t see how he could possibly provide a good home for a dog, and as a volunteer at the local Humane Society, I knew how often dogs that are bought or adopted on impulse are turned in at animal shelters.  My son got quite an earful as I rattled off all the reasons why adding Frankie to his life was not a good idea for either of them.

When I calmed down enough to listen to him, my son told me that Frankie had desperately needed a new home, as the person who was listing him for free on Craig’s List (always a horrible idea for any animal) said that he had been returned to the breeder after being attacked by another dog, and had spent the previous, very cold, winter living in an outdoor run.  When my son picked him up, he was scarred, filthy and terrified. That made me agree that my son had done the right thing to rescue Frankie out of that situation, but I still didn’t believe that he should keep the dog.  I told him not to expect any help from us, unless he wanted to find Frankie another home, in which case I’d pull in every favor I had coming to make sure he found a good and loving home this time.

IMG_0028But my son was determined to keep his new dog.  He moved to another apartment building that allowed dogs, took Frankie to the vet to have him neutered, wormed and vaccinated, and bought all the necessary supplies.  We met Frankie for the first time when my son brought him home for Christmas break, and I had to admit that he was awfully cute and very sweet.  I was determined not to get attached to the little guy, but I failed miserably.  Even Lucy, who as a rule hated having any dog other than Sandy in her house, eventually made friends with Frankie.  As long as he lets her be the boss, (and he does) they get along quite well.

IMG_0182Frankie lived with us for about a year after my son graduated from college, until my son bought his own house and moved into it, taking Frankie with him. By then, I liked Frankie so much that I was secretly hoping he would leave Frankie with us, and I did mention how lonely I thought Frankie would be since my son and his girlfriend would be at work all day.  Sadly for me, but happily for Frankie, they solved that problem by adopting another dog to keep him company. Frankie bonded with his new sister, Roxy, very quickly, and they are now best friends.

I still see Frankie often, as my son lives close by and I am often the designated dog-sitter, so I get to enjoy Frankie’s lively, playful personality.  He’s not the smartest dog around, but he’s happy, loving, and always ready for a snuggle.  And I just love the joyous, proud way that he prances along on his walks as if he is quite sure he’s on his way to somewhere wonderful. I have told my son that if for any reason he can no longer keep Frankie, he is coming back to live with us.  It’s painful for me to admit it, but my son was right and I was wrong:  Frankie definitely belongs in our family.DSC01614