One time at band camp ...

I looked in the mirror and saw my mothers face, frowning back at me. I used to be embarrassed that I was like my mom. I didn't like that I have her eyes, coloring and her smile . I didn't like that we carry the same gait and our laugh is hearty, complete with snorting, once we get going-- so unladylike! I didn't like that we share a love of throwing a good bash. I really detest that she and I share a weird (if not sick) sense of humor. Upon my announcement of being pregnant with my second, my mom threw in my face, complete with a snide grin, "Karma dear." To this day, I shiver with those words..I know just what kind of trouble I was. I was in deep trouble!

I am truly, my mothers daughter, both physically as well as crediting her for some of my personality quirks. Of course, I can't blame my mom for all my oddities. My strong personality often (here's a shock) gets me in trouble. My discernment becomes blurred when the things I perceive to be in my control, suddenly run through my fingers like water. I am a wanna be slob, but because of my need for control, the struggle between the slob and clean freak turn me into one frazzled woman, unbalanced between my creativity (cooking, writing, baking, playing) and June Cleaver.

On this, the eve of my son's thirteenth birthday and mothers day weekend, I somehow feel very out of control. I have no control over the fact that I am now the shortest person in my house. I am 5' 8" tall. When did this happen? There is a new baritone voice at the other end of our dinner table, in the back of my car, on the other end of the phone. When did this happen? There is men's deodorant in our bathroom, a razor in the medicine cabinet and huge shoes littering the living room. When did this happen?

I truly didn't see this coming. With Emily, my now fifteen-year-old, her thirteenth birthday arrived in party form, lacking these vivid feelings of inadequacy, loss of control and a deep, deep nostalgia of birthday parties past. I have a young man in my house now. No longer the pudgy baby nor little boy, but a lanky young man. A thirteen-year-old who, despite the fact that I hope to come a close second to being as gorgeous as my mother, I am his mother and unintentionally embarrass him. Our relationship has shifted and there are now implied rules of engagement between us.
Lately, he hasn't wanted to hug me. I get the "side" hug or worse, a high five. There is the unwritten rule of boydom that you absolutely cannot acknowledge your mom while you're with your friends, no matter how loud she calls your name. Asking why you should do something repeatedly will probably get you out of doing something your mother wants you to do, especially after she worked a ten-hour day. Hording and eating constantly is a good method of keeping your mother out of your room, because what the hell is that smell? You must have at least four friends over (who sound like 'Dory' from Finding Nemo because their voices are all changing) to play endless hours of Xbox 360 and farting is required. This also helps to keep the nosey mother out of your room. Karma, it's a bitch.

I've had my share of being embarrassed by him too. As a precocious three-year-old, he marched up to our Pastor's wife and announced that he had a penis and she had a vagina.
He was a hard baby. Nothing stayed down, he spit everything up, usually, I'd be prepared. During an outing with college friends, I was showing them some of the sights of Chico. Nine-month-old Joshua projectile spit from his car-seat, instantly spraying my friends and the windshield. I literally waited for his head to spin around, thinking he was possessed.
During an over-the-hill party for a friend, a 'Fart' book was read aloud. One of the pages read, "Girls don't fart" and an animation of a girl swinging, farting and birds falling out of the tree, dead. Joshua stands up and announces, "My mom farts! She is the biggest farter in our house. Sometimes, her farts are so loud, they shake the house!"

Ahhh yes, memories. Tomorrow, I will have four farting, eating, loud teenage boys in my house. My mothers day encompasses rousing pizza-hung over and XBox play-off boys with pancakes, hopefully getting them all out of bed before noon, so I can enjoy my Mothers day. My daughter has abandoned me and has resolved to house sit for a friend. The only consolation is that my fridge is full and my bedroom is my sanctuary. I have a large TV, DVD player and I am not afraid to use it. Though my bedroom lock has been picked many times by my dear kids, I know for a fact that the boy party will not intrude.

Two weeks ago, I was in the realms of my shower experience, shaving, shampoo-ing and singing, at the top of my lungs, Stings 'Roxanne.' Little had I known that four farting, hording, eating boys had moved their Xbox play-offs into my room. After all, I had the bigger TV. Grossly involved in their game, the boys ignored my singing antics (only reserved for the shower) and continued with their game. Meanwhile, I finished my shower, towelled off and strolled, stark naked to my bed, to retrieve my robe.

Needless to say, I had some esplainin to do and after several giggles from the farting, eating and hording boys and groans from my poor son, I made the necessary apologies and rapid phone calls to parents.

Yes, as I look into the mirror, I really have become my mom. My son is thirteen as of now, midnight. Hopefully, I will get to endure thirteen trillion more memories. As for now, this moment, I think I will enjoy a bit of Karma and get my video camera ready for postings of "four teenage boys asleep," on Youtube. Karma. Makes me chuckle complete with snorting!

Happy mothers day!