 |
MOTHERING:
A REALITY SHOW
At 2 a.m. my cell phone rings.
I leap out of bed, put the phone to my ear
And hear my son’s voice – in tears.
Mom. I think I’m breaking up with Jen.
I try to orient my fuzzy head—
It’s the last night of my son’s sophomore year at college
And it’s the middle of the night.
He left a message earlier that he could not call
Because he had a final paper due
And a critical philosophy exam at 8 a.m.
My biology goes into panic mode
As I confront the obvious.
With all this stuff due tomorrow, why is he breaking up
With his high school sweetheart tonight?
I’m just not excited to talk to her any more, he says.
Inside, I scream: Oh my God – lets not have him lose
A year’s good work because of one traumatic night.
Outside, I say calmly, Do you need to do this tonight?
Don’t make any major decisions tonight.
I’m talking to her right now Mom
What? ---She’s on Instant Messenger.
I am speechless. We three are in this together?
Our own Reality show---featuring the philosophy exam,
The son, the girlfriend and the befuddeled mother?
We’ve both changed Mom.
Our course you’ve changed!
I’ve changed, we all change, Life is about change.
I want a big wedding Mom.
Why are we talking about weddings?
I think to myself – isn’t that the girl’s line?
Or am I just hopelessly old fashioned?
She just wants to go to a registry office.
Honey, you've got to graduate, get a job . . .
I think (Please don’t tell me she’s pregnant!)
And she doesn’t want any children.
She doesn't want any children?
I am now Fully Focused.
To hell with being calm and cool.
Unfolding simultaneously on Instant Messenger
My son is
balancing Life's Important Decisions--
His final exams, a 20
page paper, his girlfriend
(And culturally challenged
mother)
With a cellphone and the click of a mouse.
It's obvious to me that I am not keeping up with the times.
This mother is struggling mightily to be cool.
To go with
the flow. To observe from the sidelines.
I resolve to work
much harder at morning meditation.
A DELICIOUS COOKIE
I grapple with the aroma of fresh baked cookies,
As I sit writing at Sawmill Spa.
Renee, the German woman who runs the tiny café
Knows how to bake the perfect cookie.
Tantalizing oatmeal raisin, peanut butter,
Old fashioned sugar, and chocolate chip.
I am replenishing my oxygen with caffeine
After a rigorous 6 a.m. workout
With a twenty-something instructor
Who knows everything about young muscles
And nothing about mine.
Two men rush through on their way to work.
I’ll take a yogurt and coffee, Renee.
And Ill take three boiled eggs and water the other says.
Yuk. I can hardly stand it when
Renee brings out another batch of oatmeal raisin.
Everyone deserves a delicious cookie,
Once in a while, I think as I drink my coffee.
A young woman with not one ounce of fat anywhere on her body
Arrives: Renee you baked fresh cookies just for me!
Renee smiles, she grew up with Kafe und Kuchen.
The young woman inhales a cookie. I feel annoyed.
How does she stay so ridiculously fat free?
And now I have to endure her eating this delicious treat.
She squeals and coos and licks her lips
In a disgusting display of cookie orgasm.
Why doesn’t she just get on with it?
TAKE A BITE FOR GOD’S SAKE!
She looks at her watch, and suddenly rushes off.
Thanks for the aroma Rene! she giggles.
I am furious. How dare she resist that cookie?
One cookie would not add a pinch of flab to her sleek shape.
I know what I’ll do. I’ll eat it for her!
DECONSTRUCTING MY BODY
As I grow older my body has taken on a mind of its own.
Every lump, bump, scar, and hair follicle
Has its own story to tell.
It used to be a thing of beauty.
With each part contributing its assigned task.
A well oiled machine, minus a few loose screws.
But at 50--- I had to face the facts:
No amount of touch up paint will cover up the body rust
Of this beloved car and return its former glory.
After 60--- the rusty spots are taking over.
I deconstruct my various body parts and realize
The whole damn thing is falling apart.
Like my feet, for instance---
They’ve endured a pounding over the years.
Tap, ballet, jazz, tennis, basketball, hockey,
Hiking, jogging, aerobics, step---
So now I am at the foot doctor wondering
About the ugly lump that protrudes next to my big toe.
It’s a bunion, he says. And your feet are far too flat.
You’ll have to wear inserts.
Those years of 5 inch heels have taken their toll.
I cheer up when I find cheap inserts for $19.99
On one of those irritating infomercials.
Instead of $390 the nurse said I would have to pay.
They are ugly, plastic, and incredibly rigid.
I slip one under each foot as I take a step
Cringing at the foreign object in my shoe.
The inserts massage the sole of each foot.
OH. OOHHH. Ooooooooooo. What’s going on?
A tingling sensation travels up my spine.
Its VERY pleasant. OOHHH??? Its almost sensual.
Each step unlocks shivers of pleasure.
My body is shocked into delightful surprise.
Maybe old age isn’t a total bust?
Is this falling apart--- a secret Rite of Passage?
Do unexpected pleasures lie ahead?
Oooh, AHHHH, OOOOHHH---
Hello Operator? Yes---I love your product!
Yes--- I want to order SIX pairs of inserts.
And send them by overnight Express!
Jane
Celehar,
Mevelyn Estis,
Jo Fell,
Shiow-Ling Ko,
Dotti Lipetz,
Joy Reilly,
Marlene Talbott-Green,
Tatyana Yassenov