Sleeping Around

“Well, here’s the biggest problem,” I continue as I get in line behind a woman at the local café. “He’s not sleeping with me anymore. That’s what’s really upsetting.”

I balance my cell phone between my ear and shoulder as I reach in my purse for my wallet. The barista nods to me for my order. “I’ll have a medium low-fat latte.”

“I know he’s old and lethargic, but he’s just not himself,” I tell Teresa who I talk to every morning on my way to work.

“How should I know where he’s sleeping? All I know is that he’s everywhere but with me.”

The woman in front of me suddenly turns and stares. What is her problem, I wonder. I glance down at my blouse and make sure I’ve buttoned it straight. I was rushed this morning. Make-up? Did I put any on today? I’ve been known to show up at work without it sometimes. My fly, did I zip my pants? Continue… »

Wanted: Man for My Mom

I never expected my twenty-four year old daughter would pick up a man for me in a bar in a national park. So much for camping trips the way we used to have them back when she and her sister were kids and we sat around campfires roasting marshmallows.

“A girls’ road trip!” My daughter, Annie, boasted to her friends. “My mom and I are driving from Berkeley to Baltimore.”

‘In her Honda Fit no less,’ I thought. ‘It’ll be either great or terrible depending on whose music we’re listening to.’

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Stop-Light Memories of Soccer Games Past

I was waiting at the intersection for the signal to turn green.  Suddenly, I heard sequels of laughter from the car next to me.  I turned and saw a Volvo station wagon full of girls in soccer uniforms.  They were about eleven or twelve chattering among themselves.  The mom driving was oblivious to the noise coming from the back seat of her car.

At first I was relieved it wasn’t me behind that steering wheel.  I couldn’t imagine driving one more carpool to one more soccer game.  For years I drove my two girls and their teammates to games all over the San Francisco Bay Area.  I spent many a weekend at tournaments, but one of the perks of endless hours of sitting through those games was comparing notes with the other moms about the whereabouts of our daughters. 

As our girls entered their teen years and boys and drugs circled their lives, we grew closer as a community of moms.  We began to rely on those weekend morning soccer games to review events from the night before.

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Daughter Does a Good Deed, So Does Mom

I sort the clothes into piles of colored and white.  I’m going to have to wash this stuff first before I pack it up.  What was this girl thinking?  That’s the point  – she wasn’t thinking.  I mean how many sweaters, pairs of pants and T-shirts can one girl have?  She’s got more clothes than her sister and I put together.

             I’m trying to make some order in my twenty-four year old daughter’s bedroom.  I kick my way through the multi-colored array of shoes scattered around her floor.  Really, how many pairs of heels does one need?  Of course, I have only a couple of pairs myself.  

“You could use some heels, Mom,” she once chided me. “Kind of update your look!”

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Mom Tries to Retreat

I spent the first day of my writer’s residency settling into Jacqueline Mitchard’s home on Cape Cod.  It was a beautiful fall day and I could see the leaves beginning to turn shades of red and orange from my bedroom window overlooking the garden. 

I had ten days to write without distractions or responsibilities.  My two adult daughters, ages twenty-three and twenty-four, were taking care of the house and cats.  I no longer had to worry about underage drinking brawls if I was away from home.  It seemed about as good as it gets.

For the first twenty-four hours everything I did was a “pinch me” moment: from writing at my desk in my cozy bedroom to walking down the streets of Brewster with my housemate, Sarah, an eighty-year old retired journalist from Wisconsin.  This was her first experience, also with time alone to write. Before becoming a grandmother, she had been a working single mom like myself.

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Sex, Freedom and the Older Mama

Recently, I went to see the film version of Sex and The City with a friend who, like myself, is a mom in her sixties.  She said the movie is about sex.  I said it’s about freedom.

A few years ago I sounded just like my friend, until I watched the HBO series with my daughters. 

“Mom, you’re not going to like it,” my twenty-year old tells me.

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Musings on Mother’s Day 2008

“Happy Mother’s Day! Want a cup of tea?”

I awake to see my oldest daughter, Kate, standing in my bedroom doorway.

“Annie and I are making breakfast for you. Do you want to sit outside?”

“Kate, give me a minute! I’m not quite awake.” I can’t help but smile at her eagerness to get me up.

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The Boyfriend and the Dog

Being a mom of adult children is so hard sometimes.

But being a mom to my daughter’s boyfriend and his dog was not what I signed up for. Yet, in spite of this, I told my youngest daughter, who is twenty-two, she could have her boyfriend stay for awhile until he found a place and, of course, his adorable chocolate lab puppy could stay, too — for awhile.

Over the months I grew fonder of her boyfriend who helped me fix things around the house. And his dog, Chuck, who chased my three cats for play, left dog hair in every corner of the house, and begged me in the mornings for walks, won my heart despite my complaints.

“Someone else needs to walk Chuck,” I’d say three or four times a week, but every morning I’d look into those big brown eyes and dissolve, “Okay, Chuck, let’s go. I’ll take you,” and I’d grab the leash, a few plastic doggie bags and off we’d go.

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Still a Mom at Sixty

I’m standing in the middle of my daughter’s living room with debris and clutter everywhere. The moving boxes are still unpacked. It’s 7 a.m. and I’ve just flown to Los Angeles for the day to help her pack up and move back home.

Actually, I’ve come to make sure she doesn’t bring everything she owns back and use my house as a storage unit. As I survey the scene I see hours of work ahead of me. My daughter, Annie, is moving home after four years at college. I’m not sure how long she’ll stay, but I’m thrilled to have her for as long as I can get her.

It’s hard to believe that one week ago almost to the day I was standing in this very same living room amidst a crowd of her friends and their families celebrating their college graduation.

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Graduation

Dear Mom,

I wish you were here. Your youngest granddaughter is about to walk across the stage for her college diploma. You’d be so proud! She’s graduating Cum Laude in biochemistry, no less! I just want to jump up and down here in the amphitheater and yell at the top of my voice, “You did it, girl, you made it. We made it!”

I know, Mom, you worried that I wouldn’t have enough money to send one of your granddaughters to college, much less two. You worried about me, not them. You knew they’d be okay. I kept telling you not to worry. I know better now. . . you can’t tell a mom not to worry!

Oh, I wish you were here to take in this proud moment with me. I’m sitting next to your oldest granddaughter who graduated college last year. She’s already working in a real job, making real money.

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