THINGS THAT ARE ON MY MIND TODAY

Two very different things have captivated me today.  I've referenced it before, but I will write it again, as my box from a good friend notes:  "The writer must write what he has to say.  Not speak it."  So here is what I have to say today.

NOT A TOSS-UP

Tonight at my children’s elementary school there will be a Ham Toss.  We are not participating.  We will not be there for a few reasons, the most important of which is the idea does not intrigue me at all.  I do not see the entertainment, humor or athletic benefit to this family outing.  My children do not know it, but there are school activities that they do not attend because I am not interested in it for myself.  It sounds selfish, but I can only sit in an elementary school cafetorium so many times a year and call it quality entertainment.  I pick and choose what events seem the most reasonable for the family as a whole.

Second to not being interested, I do not know the purpose of the event, i.e. is it for fun, fundraising, spirit building or something else completely different that tossing hams in a gym signifies.  I am an information snob:  if you do not give me enough of it ahead of time, I shut down and have no interest to pursue the facts any further.  This could be an event that sponsors, or supports, a great cause but because that information was not on the flier that came home, I am unaware and uninterested.  Logic would tell me that since there was no clear charitable recipient to this activity, then it is for fun.  That takes me right back to reason number one for not participating:  I do not see this as a fun event.

Reason number three flooded into my head this morning as I was getting dressed.  Despite the fact that I have no interest in participating in this evening’s activity, I found myself obsessing about its pending occurrence.  My first thought is, what an incredible waste of food!  Maybe I do not understand the actual event, but the flier did say that it was a ham toss.  How else can I expect the activity to run, except but to assume that people will be tossing hams?  In addition, once said hams have landed on the floor, do the organizers and participants expect those hams to be picked up, brought home, baked and served for dinner?  Am I unaware of a pre-Easter food drive?  I would rather purchase my ham at Stop & Shop than bring home a beaten, floor-strewn ham.  Additionally, how can anyone justify the blatant misuse of food at any time of the year, but particularly heading into a religious holiday weekend?  I think anyone’s God would disapprove of such sloth and squander.

Following closely behind reason number three is reason number four:  where is PETA when you need them?! I cannot help but think of all of the pigs that were slaughtered SPECIFICALLY to be eventually consumed by humans.  Instead, these poor pigs gave their lives to be cured, maple-glazed and then thrown around a gym, only to be tossed in the trash.  If that is not animal cruelty, then I do not know what is.

I am sure I am missing the true spirit of this activity, but for now, I will leave the ham tossing to other Sturbridge residents.  I will continue to be an information snob, concerned with the fate of the pig, while avoiding telling my children that they are missing a town event that they never even knew was on the calendar.  Instead, our family will toss a ball to our dog, have a tossed salad with dinner, and maybe my husband will toss one back with me after the kids go to bed.  That is all the tossing that this family will do tonight.

 

MY BABY, MY SON

I always knew that the day would come that my son was taller than I was, stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Clause, and started being more concerned about society’s impression of him than his mother’s impression of him.  I just never figured it would all happen in one eight-day period.

Last Tuesday, March 12, 2013 my son, my first born, my Mini-Me, stood behind me at my parents’ house, and judged by his father while his grandfather wielded a level, discovered that he was indeed a scoche taller than his mother was.  I turned and hugged him, with a smile on my face, and sadness in my heart.  I knew it would come someday, but you never really know how you will feel when you have to reconcile that not only is your child growing into an adult, but that this child, who is still more than one third my age, is now someone else I have to literally look up to.

I am fortunate enough right now that Jakob has never been a behavioral problem child.  I hope that he never will be.  At least for now I am not concerned about how to “handle” him now that he is taller than I am.  He is respectful, lovable, and sensitive and for some reason still loves to spend time with his mom.  I could not have asked for a better son.  He amazes me with the amount of conversation and time that he seems to enjoy with me.  At least as recently as a few weeks ago, he was not embarrassed when I showed up at the bus stop on a snowy afternoon to offer him a ride, and I was delighted when he actually hugged me when he got in the car.  I hold onto those moments, praying that moment is not the last of its kind, and there will be more.

Along with gaining a quarter inch on me, my son has also managed to grow out of his childhood appearance and expectations.  It was Wednesday or Thursday of last week when he pulled at his shirt in such a way to reveal his pants slung down lower than usual, his boxer shorts visible just above the waistline of his jeans.  When I asked him why he was wearing his pants that way, his reply resembled that of any TV pre-teen answering his mom’s questions.  It was brief, barely audible and conveyed the notion that that was what kids do.  It was clear to me at that point, why he had not cut his fingernails, despite two requests from me to do so.

In addition, his last baby tooth came out on Wednesday, March 20, the first day of spring.  How ironic!  My son’s last week of winter at twelve years old brought new height, new fashion and new permanent teeth into his life.  With that comes new revelation.  After losing his tooth, he danced around saying, “Money, money, money!  I can’t wait for you to put money under my pillow!”  I could not even look him in the eye when I asked him why he thought I would be putting money under his pillow.  Again, his reply:  “Because that’s what you do.”  It was a standoff moment and a bluff, but in the end, he had the truth, crest-fallen for a moment, but also even more secure in his position that he was indeed getting older.  When he followed up with, “I suppose now you will tell me that there isn’t a Santa Claus,” I took a different route, expounding on the virtues of believing in magic, wonder, fantasy and beautiful sentiments in life, regardless of what reality actually dictates.  It was not a yes or no answer to the Santa Claus debate, but a mother’s last futile attempt at holding onto something that had already surely slipped away from her.

“Well somebody better tell me the truth at some point.  Because one day I will grow up, get married and have kids.  And if we all wake up on Christmas morning and there are no presents under the tree, I will be just as surprised as they are and I won’t know what to tell them!”  It was not sad, it was sweet.  It was not regret, it was acceptance.  It was not annoyance, it was humor.  It was Jakob.  It  was the perfect coming-of-age moment that any mother could have with her son.  He is not a baby anymore, but he will always be my baby.  Taller, wiser, more socially aware, he is, and always will be, my son.