Monthly Archives: May 2019

Mom and the Man

JackFour years ago, he graduated from high school. Four days ago, he graduated from college. I thought I couldn’t be more proud of my oldest son as when he boldly and confidently marched himself into his Kindergarten class without so much as a look back at me; not until he boldly and confidently marched across a stage to accept a high school diploma. Well, paint me ignorant because neither matched seeing him pause mid-handshake with the president of the university, diploma in the other hand, while a photographer captured that moment he became a college graduate.

And so the washing machine that is my life hits the spin cycle again. You’d think I’d get used to this. You’d think.

What I’m realizing about being a parent, now that my babies are turning into adult people is, if you do it right, they go away. Suddenly, that seems really messed up! If you invest your heart, you’re life’s allotment of patience, a small financial fortune, and any hope of developing a solid sleep pattern, your reward is to see the back of their heads as they charge off boldly and confidently into their lives. Just when you finally get them to the point that you really want to hang around them, they leave! So messed up.

But, too, if you really do it right, you give them a phone. It’s like one of those tracking devices they put on dorsal fins of orcas. Even as your kids get all adult-y, they’ll still use that phone to call you about the really important things in their lives: How long does it take for hard-boiled eggs? What do bedbugs look like? Where do you get pants altered? Yes, your role in their lives is basically to be their personal Google search, but that’s okay. It means they can handle the big things in their lives themselves.

So as my oldest spreads his big, strong wings to fly, I watch the back of his head as he marches off to do big things. He’s bolder and more confident than ever, but I know, too, he’ll glance back. When he does, I’ll tell him hard-boiled eggs take about 12 minutes, bedbugs look like little apple seeds, the dry cleaner can alter the pants, and I’ll always be here, always proud, always loving the man he’s become.

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Let’s Not Be Friends

imagesIGDA1YTNDear Strange Men of Facebook, please stop sending me friend requests. I’m not accepting them until you can come up with a more original fake story. This includes you Musawa Muhamadi. Please schedule a time when you can all get together for a virtual meeting then divide up your facts and try again. Until then, you’ll continue to be deleted and blocked. Probably after that, too, but who am I to destroy your ambitions.

It seems like pretty regularly, I get friend requests from men who are, strangely, all widowed, nice looking slightly older men working as some sort of highly specialized surgeon, who love puppies and cooking, and are deeply patriotic Americans. Including Musawa Muhamadi. According to his profile, he’d also been a Lieutenant Colonel and combat surgeon in Afghanistan with the US Air Force. Because I was stuck in an airport for several hours with nothing to do, I decided to have some fun. I sent a private message explaining that I’d received his friend request but just could not remember how we knew each other.

He responded immediately — excited, I’m sure, that he might have a gullible fish on his line — completely ignoring anything I’d just written. Instead he launched into how he’d happened across my profile, how wonderful I am, and that he must get to know me better. Uh huh. Right. My profile is locked and blocked so to access it at all, he’d have to have some mad, disreputable computing skills. More like a hacker than a surgeon, wouldn’t you think?

So I started grilling. What was the capital of New Hampshire (Concord)? What must be yelled for a baseball game to start (Play ball!)? What day are income taxes due (April 15)? All things any solid American would know, right? And finally, why wasn’t he fluent in English, if it is, in fact, his native language. Moments later, he deleted his friend request to me. Funny, huh? He deleted me – I’m still chuckling.

So to Mr. Muhamadi, whoever you are, and those like you, give me a break. We have no mutual friends. You’ve only been on Facebook since August of last year. You have two photos – one of you in your surgical scrubs and one of you with an adorable child/kitten/puppy or glass of wine. You might as well say you’re a unicorn herder because that’s about as believable. Thank you, but delete!

(Photo is Dr. David Samati, an actual celebrity doctor whose image is often used for Facebook scams. He has never sent me a friend request. I’m not sure why.)

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