Category Archives: I’m a Sap

My son is so over me

So it happened.

It was one of those moments you hear about from parents of older children, but you hope won’t happen to you. My oldest son, Jacob, was embarrassed to be seen with me.

It makes sense of course, and is totally age appropriate. He actually turns 13 tomorrow. But still I felt shock and dismay when he told me in no uncertain terms not to pick him up from a family friend’s bat mitzvah party this weekend.

He’s been a playa with the ladies since he was 5– practicing the art of flirting with his kindergarten teacher and mastering it in recent years with a regular gaggle of preteen girls. I get why he doesn’t want me weakening his game.

But he and I have a special relationship. He’s a talker– like his mom– so he frequently confides in me about friends, school, and girls, and seems to value my opinion. I have a nice bond with his gang of boys and they’re always eager to chat when I see them, so I can’t be a complete loser among his peers.

Jacob and me bonding

He had a basketball game and had to leave the party early so I was going to bring him his uniform and pop in for 5 minutes to say mazel tov to the event hosts. But Jacob was having none of it. Our text conversation went something like this:

Cool mom:   I’m going to bring your stuff at 240p. 

Mortified son:  NO! I have nowhere to put it. and you’re not invited. You’re not coming. Seriously, that’s so annoying.

Cool mom:  I’m coming for 5 minutes.

Mortified sonWell, I’ll be gone. Bring it to the game. Don’t come. What is your problem? I don’t want you here. 

Cool mom:  I’ll be there at 2p and I’ll only stay for an hour. I’m wearing a bikini and carrying sparklers and balloons. See you soon!!!

Mortified son:  Be quiet don’t come!

Cool mom:  Go have fun at the party. 

Mortified son:  Meet me at the game.

Cool mom:  Love you too!!

When I got there, he was leaving and barely acknowledged me as I handed him his bag.

It’s funny. But it’s also a moment that changes everything. His face no longer lights up when I walk in a room. He doesn’t want to share his world with me the way he once did. He’s growing up.

Next weekend our whole family was invited to another bar mitzvah and Jacob is pissed. He actually demanded we decline the invitation so he can hang with his friends without us invading his space.

teen embarrassed by parents
Jacob & his bros enjoying a party

I told him– in the kindest of ways– that we were actually looking forward to cocktails and dancing with our friends and didn’t plan to cramp his style. We had to promise we won’t approach or speak to him when he’s with his friends.

The bargaining over our family’s “appropriate behavior” in front of his friends got so eye-rollingly ridiculous that we started torturing him for sport. Every day for a week, Wilson would yell “Hey Jacob, how do you like my moves?” and then dance like a freak, to the howls and giggles of his brothers….and then “Bet you can’t wait to see me on the dance floor at the party!” 

Jacob is not happy.

His only saving grace to the whole family being invited to this party is that his 7-year-old brother, Eli, is the greatest wing man ever. There’ll be girls all over him.

Eli getting girls at family party
Eli getting girls at family party

But Jacob still wishes we’d just stay home.

I get it. I was 13 once too. So I’ll try my hardest not to embarrass him next weekend and only peek in his direction when I know he’s not looking.

And hope that he still tells me all about it when we get home.

Reverberations of Newtown

newtowncandles

I spent most of Friday glued to the TV as the events in Newtown, Connecticut unfolded. You would think after covering news for more than 20 years, I’d have seen it all. But the depths of sickness and evil continue to plummet.

I can’t fathom a story more horrific or tragic. It left the nation feeling helpless and distraught, imagining the pain the victims’ families and that community must feel.

I woke up Saturday morning wondering what those mothers were thinking when they opened their eyes to another day to endure without their children. I went through the motions of my day, but at some point every hour or so I felt my spirit sinking as a memory of the scene or a TV interview flashed through my mind.

I was most moved by one teacher’s account to Diane Sawyer about how she hid  15 1st graders in a bathroom and tried to keep them quiet. Some kids cried and said they wanted their mommies, others said they just wanted to go home and celebrate Christmas. One boy said he would protect them because he knew karate. I could completely hear my 7-year-old saying that. (You can watch the interview here. I dare you not to cry.)

On the way home from a basketball game Saturday afternoon, I had my 12-year-old and 7-year-old in the car with me as we listened to Maroon 5 singing “Moves Like Jagger.” We all bopped in our seats and belted out the words and as I glanced back at them, I felt a rush of emotion. It was that feeling that sometimes comes when your kid achieves a goal, says something amazing, or gives you a longer hug than usual. A sense of connection, a reminder of bottomless love.

I felt that for a moment as I watched my two boys smiling and singing so happily in the car, without a care in the world. Then I bit my lip and swallowed hard as I felt the tears coming.

I was grateful for the simple moment of joy….relieved that my boys were safe. Then came a wave of guilt for my good fortune. It’s not fair that I get to sing in the car while parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters are grieving and asking why.

I keep turning the TV on, looking for some satisfactory motive, but there is only speculation. I’ve seen reports on the bravery of teachers and first responders,  and endless advice on how to talk to your kids about this kind of violence in a place that’s supposed to be secure.

The more I see, the more I weep.

One of the most frightening parts of this story– and many like it in recent months–  is that now there seems to be no place impervious to random violence. Not a movie theater, not a shopping mall, and now not even an elementary school.

We can’t always protect our kids from harm. What we can do is pay attention to singing in the car, covet those moments, and hope they last a lifetime.

p.s. If you want to do something to help, there’s a pay-it-forward movement to help buy dinner for a Newtown family to show they’re in our thoughts. You can read about it here.

Remembering 9/11

I knew today was September 11th but I got the kids up and off to school like it was any other day. But when I returned from the bus stop, the TV was on and the victims’ relatives were reading the names of those they lost on that horrific day 11 years ago.

I was weeping within minutes. Even for the tenth time, hearing the names breaks my heart and brings me right back to that Manhattan day. It was a gorgeous, crisp autumn morning and the sky was remarkably clear and blue, before it exploded into fire and smoke and misery.

I was working at Fox News and basically lived at my desk for a week trying to tell the most shocking, tragic, and intense story of our lives. When I was able to get out of the office to catch a few hours of sleep, I could smell the ash and smoke in the air and saw the glazed, damaged looks of my fellow New Yorkers.

I remember seeing the “missing” flyers posted all over the city, and making trips to CVS to get contact lens solution, wipes, rubber gloves to bring to our local fire house to feel like we were doing something to help.

There are so many stories about the thousands of people touched by the attack. For the 10th anniversary, I wrote a series of articles for AOL’s Patch.com. I interviewed a New Jersey man who lost his brother-in-law and was so moved by the experience that when he retired a few years later, he started a fund to support people in crisis in his local community and support cultural events that bring people together. You can read about TJ Hargrave– who was at his office at Cantor Fitzgerald when he died– and his brother-in-law’s inspiring story  here.   One of TJ’s daughters read his name this morning at the World Trade Center Memorial. I’m sure he would be so proud of her courage.

I also had the opportunity to interview several New Jersey firefighters last year — some of whom filled in at a Brooklyn fire house in the days following the attack. They tell a compelling tale with some chilling details about their experience in New York and what it’s like for them and their families to face risk every day. That story is here.

I always feel helpless when watching the families of 9/11 victims grieving. But reading these stories is a way to keep the memories of those we lost– and those who risked their lives to help– alive. One thing we can do is never forget.

Joys of Parenting: It’s the Little Things

Some days your kids disappoint/frustrate/infuriate you and bring out your worst self. Other days they bring home this:

by Eli, age 6.

In case you needed translation (I did):

I love my Mommy because:

She helps me.

She takes care of me.

She makes me dinner.

She carries me.

She loves me back.

I was an English major in college but this is the most beautiful poem I’ve ever read. It now lives in my kitchen and when I look at it, I’m reminded of why we do what we do and why every last bit is worth it.

Enjoy your kids today.

Last Day of School Blues

Today’s the last day of school for my kids. As they bust down the double doors  with glee, I’m feeling wistful that another school year is done.

This morning I shuttled between schools bearing teacher gifts and receiving report cards, feeling sad and anxious. I always get this way in June. Change is difficult and moving on means leaving people and places behind.

Two years ago I wrote a column about it for maplewoodpatch.com and although my kids are older now, the sentiment remains the same.  You can read it here.

The good news is although he’s headed for 4th grade next year, Aden still holds my hand once in a while and we read together most nights. Eli finished kindergarten today and is not looking back.  I’m trying not to focus on the fact that I’ll never have a child in kindergarten again, and instead take pride in all they’ve accomplished.

Maybe today when the last one gets home and dumps his filthy knapsack on my kitchen floor, I won’t think about them growing up too fast. Instead I’ll focus on not having to get up early and pack lunch tomorrow, or the next day after that. I’ll smile about not having to prod them to do homework or go to sleep early. I’ll revel in the next few days when we have no plans and can just hang around.

When you  look at the old column, notice the final, touching comment at the end from a mother who’s seen her share of last days.  It reminded me that the age of your kids doesn’t matter as long as you still feel close to them. And hopefully, they’ll continue to make you proud.