Test 7.75

Lately, life has been a series of signs.  When I look up at a digital clock, it is 11:11, 5:55 or 3:33.  In one day, I run across blogs on the same topic as a friend just chatted with me about.  And, I met a stranger in the elevator who was going down, but went up when I called the elevator from the fifth floor.  Then down, and back up when I noticed I forgot my latte on the fifth floor. then down to the second floor where I departed.  We chuckled at the weirdness of the elevator farce and pondered the meaning of its occurrence.  Well, we made each other laugh, we agreed.

    I have yet to determine the breadth and purpose for all the poking to get a clue, listen harder, observe more.  What I do know is I am being tested by some little beings in my life.  Yes, my free-range chicks are nestled in their beds and look like angels.  Okay, well, actually, they talked me into allowing a slumber party of two on the trundles.  It is only ironic they chose to sleep in the same room and giggle themselves asleep when they were fighting and hitting each other all afternoon.

     Earlier today, they went out riding their bikes around.  They came back.  Then out again.  Then returned. And then, packing water bottles they announced they tried friend A and friend B who were busy so they were trying friend C.  Okay, call me when you there.  I change out the washing machine and drier, wipe up lunch, look outside, move things from point A to point B....I am getting a little nervous.  Seems like they should have called by now or returned if friend C wasn't home.  Ring, the call.  Phew.  

      Letting go of your children as they seek independence is bittersweet.  I was glad to see them go so bravely, glad for the silence, the cease fire, and worried whether they would know what to do if a stranger put them in danger all at the same time.  Did I teach them enough?   Were they listening?  My chicks returned home right before dinner so proud of themselves for stretching the apron strings.

     Later, the real test started.  I am not sure exactly why I take the brunt of all intense feelings Son has, I don't even know why he was so mad today.  I think it had something to do with me not making what he wanted for dinner.  (I am not dumb.  I know there is way more to the story then that.). He comes into the kitchen were I am singing and making dinner.  "I am running away. You are the worst mom ever.  No one loves me here."

     "Okay, it is getting dark, you might want to grab a jacket.  Where do you think you might go?  The park has bathrooms and a pond.  You might want to grab a fishing pole.  Love you."

     He stomps towards the door grabbing his hoodie off the rack.   Sister looks at me bemused.  "Just go with it," I whisper.  "Start giving him stuff to bring."

   She smiles, grabs a backpack that had water bottles.  "Here you might want some water.  Oh, and some snacks."  She keeps bringing him things, a Smurf figure dressed like a clown, his favorite near, a jacket, who knows what else.  Each time he trudged towards the exit, she'd say, "uh, you forgot this."

    Well, sure enough he packed it all in his pack and headed off.  I watched for him to pass the back window.  He didn't..  I started getting a sick feeling in my tummy.  What if he gets hit by a car?  What if he gets nabbed by a bad guy.  What ii he doesn't come home?   I turn to the stove top, a good place to hide your face once your eyes begin to well up with tears.  

     Daughter pats me on the back and asks if I am crying.  I tell her about my what-ifs.  I tell her that I try so hard to love him and show him, but I still don't know why he acts like this.  She tells me some very wise words.  She tells me he is still hurt from when I left for ten days last fall for the surgery. She says he is mad about the cancer.  And, that he was so little when it started he doesn't remember me without it.  Then she consoles that he probably went to the "hill."  I text my friends who live over there to tell me if they see him.   Sister pops out to check on Brother.  He has come back.  I am relieved and still crying gator tears in the spaghetti sauce.  Wasn't there a movie about a woman crying her emotions in soup or something?  

    I feel a little arm reach around the middle of my legs as I am getting broccoli out of the fridge.  I turn, he just looks at my puffy, tear full eyes and gives me a hug.  No words.  He runs back outside.  I guess I passed the test.  I am just not sure who is the grader.

    My children are pushing my limits this summer.  Some are so frustrating I want to spearmint.  Other times make me so proud.   We are working on cutting the apron strings.  I would just like to ask one thing.  can I have apron strings made of bungee cord?  I send them out in the big bad world, knowing they will pop right back.