Parent Perspective

by Barbara Orelove

July/August 2006 Issue

Do You Know?

"Mom, do you know how frustrating it is to ask somebody to do their daily chores and not see it done properly?  Have you any idea how exhausting it is to ask someone to do a job again and again until it's right?"

What?!?!?!?  Did I hear that correctly?  Did this incredible child just sing my very own song?  Did he just sing the song that I offered up on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times on that daily basis?  Can it be true?

My toes start tapping their happy dance.  My heart rejoices and I sing out a new tune, "Hallelujah, hallelujah."  The song I have sung so long has been picked up by a chorus and rings through the room.

I can barely contain myself.  These boots were made for walkin', but I must dance the happy dance, I must move and jump and swing and jive.  These tippity tappity happy feet will no longer slog through the muck of unwashed gym clothes, floor-bound bath towels and, oh yuck, last week's bag lunch from under the bed.  Hallelujah, hallelujah!

Who would have guessed there was such talent hidden here?  These twinkle toes would make Ginger Rogers envious.  Bojangles would bow before me if he knew.  My son would roll his eyes if he could see these incredible metatarsals perform their happy dance.  Does he realize that he makes me rock 'n roll and do a jitterbug of joy when he sings my song back to me?

And so I sing out.  I raise my voice in exultation - oh, sorry folks, please don't let my joy disturb you.  Hallelujah, hallelujah!  This minivan is not big enough to contain my song.  The ballroom of Versailles would not be large enough, nor would Yankee Stadium suffice to contain my joyous voice. Hallelujah, hallelujah!  It is the circle song that all mothers sing; from my lips to his ears (maybe), from his lips back to me.  And the song is lovely to my ears.

It might be angels singing, the sound is so exquisite.  But no, it is my son and he is saying, "Mom, do you know how frustrating..."

I turn my eyes to the right as I drive and say, "Really?  Tell me about it, sweetheart.

Parent Perspective

by Barbara Orelove

May/June 2006 Issue

Hi Honey

This is a time of firsts.  Oh, what am I saying?  Every day is the first time for something.  As parents we know that.  From the first realization that there is to be another life in your life, to the first cry, the first step, the first day of school, first step into Stonesoup, first phone call home, first family lunch, our sons generate daily firsts for all of us.

I was nervous when I learned the date of my son's first phone call home.  What if he didn't like me?  What if he REALLY didn't like me?  What if he stood me up?  What if he yelled at me?  What if we found nothing to say to each other? Now, that would certainly be a first for me.

I made a list of subjects we could talk about, questions I might ask.  "How was your day, honey?" didn't seem to be quite right when what I really wanted to ask was "How is your heart, honey?"  So I wrote out my list and folded it and put it in my pocket.  I wanted to be sure it was close at hand in case I needed it. 

Good heavens!  This was worse than a first date!  Remember first dates?  I had butterflies and my palms were sweating as I waited for the phone to ring.  I was back to being a teenager myself wondering if he would call. 

The world absolutely refuses to stand still when I need a moment of quiet.  Life still intrudes when I most desire a little peace.  I was, therefore, unprepared when the phone rang and I heard "Hi Mom, wazzup?"  I forgot the neatly folded list in my pocket.  I forgot this was the first contact in weeks, eons, and eternities.  I forgot this kid could bring me to tears of anger and frustration.  I forgot to be nervous about the first of anything. 

"Hi, Honey.  I miss your funny face.  S'upp with you?"

Parent Perspective

by Barbara Orelove

April 2006 Issue

I Think I'm Dying

I think I'm dying.

I think it's my heart.

I'm having trouble breathing.

I have just left my son at Stonesoup School and these are my first moments without my baby, my firstborn, the light of my life

He was so tiny when I first saw him, and so perfect and I fell so deeply, hopelessly and forever in love with him.

Something went awry, though.  He got taller and thought he was smarter and more independent than I was ready for him to be.  He became so incredibly angry with life and hated living with his dad and me.  Our relationship became strained and hurtful.  We all made mistakes and made choices that weren't always wise.  His dad became angry, my son got angrier and I felt like the emotional punching bag flung between them.  I think the brain bruises are still visible in my demeanor.  Certainly they continue to hurt like hell.

The decision had to be made.  I don't think I can do this; but the decision must be made.  He is failing and we are failing him.  The decision is made; my baby boy must be sent away from me.  His hug will no longer be the spontaneous sun-brightener that happened on his good days.  His voice won't call "Where's Mom?" when he wakes in the morning and his tousled head will not be there to be kissed in the middle of the night when I can't sleep.

Yet I am relieved... and horrified to realize that sense of relief.

The time came to say goodbye and he seemed eager to be shed of us and ready to move on.  But I looked into his eyes and saw them start to swim.  I know, my love, I know...  Then we all squared our shoulders and stepped out in opposite directions.

I think I'm dying.

I think my heart is breaking.

I'm having trouble breathing.