Blunt force instruments

It was around bedtime, and the children had nestled all snug in their
beds when my phone vibrated. A friend was on the line: "I've just got
to tell you what your son said today ..."

And although everything in my little world seemed to be right at the
moment, these are the words that send chills into the hearts of
mothers.

The boy is nine now (despite looking only a full seven of those years)
and since school ended he has pestered me non-stop about riding his
bike to the park recreation program. All. By. Himself.

Of course, he had to pass a series high-stakes road tests, which
lasted five days and included a list of skills that would rival DMV's.
I followed him silently the first few days, watching how he crossed
streets, approached driveways and handled pedestrians.

He passed his final  -- he riding his bike toward the park in one
direction, and me driving my car toward him from the other -- with a
perfect score. By week's end, he had his permit to go off on the half
mile commute.

Without me.

On his own.

What could go wrong, you ask?

Abduction? Unlikely.

Accident? Possible.

Attitude? Bingo!


I begin taking a mental inventory of past scripts that have
highlighted my numerous failures - be they drama or farce - during my
tenure as a parent.

My left eyelid pulses with an involuntary rhythm as I replay each scene:


There was the time "Santa's helper" told me the boy had suggested Ol'
St. Nick slim down some if he wanted to worm his way down our chimney.


Only, my son's words weren't as delicate.


And then there was the time my daughter went on her very first play
date, and the kid's mother later (laughingly) reported:


"She pulled me aside after snack time to tell me: 'You know ... Your
refrigerator is filthy.'


"And again, when she needed to use the powder room: 'You know ... Your
toilet bowl needs to be cleaned.'"


I beg a thousand pardons.

The candor, I suppose, I understand. It's the persnicketiness that puzzles me.


No civilized person would call our house clean. Our dirt has dirt.


It doesn't get easier as they get older, either.


"Why on earth would you tell that girl you don't like her grandmother.
It's her grandmother, girl! Have you no sense of decency?"

Children are the original blunt force instruments.

“Are you still there ...” came a voice from the other end of the phone.

My right eyelid started to twitch when I finally cleared my throat and
asked my friend what the boy did.

Turns out there was a communication mix up and the rec program started
an hour late that day. Her husband, who was dropping off their kid,
noticed my kid playing alone in the playground. He felt weird about
leaving him there, so he told the boys he'd take them for bagels and
wait until the counselors arrived.

"Your son told my husband: 'No, I'm not going anywhere with you.
You're not the boss of me!"

When I got off the phone, I went in to kiss my boy goodnight.

"Did you tell Jay's dad he wasn't the boss of you?"

"No, I told he didn't have custody of me. I wasn't going to go with
him because he didn't have custody."

"You do realize we know them, right? It would have been alright with
me if you had gone with him."

"But how well do we really know him? How well do we know anyone? I
think my way is better. I am wiser than my years."

I smiled and kissed his head.

"Can you shut the door on your way out, mom? I have to get some sleep.
I've got a long ride to the park in the morning."