The yelling has been going on for several weeks now, and this morning, I was almost at my wit's end.
I will love you as my own daughter, if you will let me. If you're close to your mom, I am not going to try to replace her; you don't need two moms. You might, however, be interested in having a mother-in-law who might be a friend. All you have to do is ask.
It doesn't matter if your boy is 4 or 14 or 24. Start now.
I watched the woman at the airport security checkpoint as she silently counted my three sons with her eyes. I knew the question was coming.
Your Cupid's arrow has bulls-eyed me, my sweet Sammy. Before I had you, I didn't understand how the bond would be any different from that of the precious one I share with your sister. But not only is it wonderfully different, it's one of the best adventures to ever grace my life.
My eyes blurred as I held my son against me, my awareness of how numbered these days are so piercing I couldn't have spoken without sobbing.
When my son was younger and deep in the throes of a textbook Oedipal Complex, he looked at me with all sincerity and said, "Mom, why did you marry Dad? Why didn't you wait for me?"
I was worried that all the ways we have tainted youth sports made me lose my taste, my joy for competition; my first true love, my first lesson in mindfulness, my first meditation.
My mom was shot twice in the face: once in the eye and once in the cheek. Considering everything she has been through, she looks fantastic and is in the best of spirits. On our walk today, I realized just how lucky I am.
Talking is always good, and the mother-to-son conversation is especially important. It's our job as mothers to counter the asinine and inappropriate media messages our sons receive and teach them to respect and admire women.
Can we heal our inner rift of the negative internal parent so that we can get a few minutes of reunion with your little darlin' in front of you?
With my son leaving home, it's as if my job description suddenly hit planned obsolescence, and like that aging salesman who's walked gently to the door with a gold watch in hand, I'm unclear of my relevance in this new era of child development.
I love that my house is messy. Wherever I look, I see signs of my boy, that six-foot-five fella who has been scarce around here because of that college thing he has going on.
Seeing my mother die, experiencing the stages of cancer that drained her of life, made me come face to face with my own mortality. And so I knew I needed to continue experiencing life for everything that it was.
A friend told me that she asked her 13-year-old son what is the most important thing about being a boy. He said: "Taking care of others." She asked h...
