False Alarm

Like every second semester high school senior I know, my son has lost all interest in his schoolwork. Frankly, so have I. I only have a few weeks left to make sure he knows all the things I've been trying to teach him for the last eighteen years, and pre-calculus is not on my list.

I told him that if he can't get out of bed in the morning, he's not going to college. I know it sounds extreme, but for the past four years his alarm has gone off and nothing has happened. That's not entirely true--the alarm goes off but he doesn't get up. What happens is that I go into his bedroom, gently rub his back and say, "Sweetheart, it's time to get up." Then he gets up. But I'm not going with him to college, so he's got to learn to use the alarm clock.

Whenever I point this out, he tells me that he can use the alarm if he has to. But given the choice of his mom coming into the room, cooing softly and rubbing his back, or the alarm clock screaming BEEP, BEEP, BEEP at a high decibel level, he picks me.

Clearly, this has to stop. I won't be going into his room anymore. I'm a Second Semester Senior Mother, and I no longer care if he's late for school. Something much more fundamental is in play.

Now I imagine that your are smiling and wondering how I let this go on so long. Perhaps you are starting to see that this is not so much a story about my son.

When he was seven or eight years old, we started reading the nutrition labels on the food we ate. When he wanted Oreos, I checked the serving size and gave him three. When he asked for more, I apologized and showed him the box. "I wish I could, Sport," I said sincerely, "but the box says that three is the limit!"

He would look at me with those huge brown eyes, and his lip would start to quiver, and just like that I would cave in, and the two of us would be dunking our Oreos and spoiling our dinners.

I always wondered what was the harm, and now I know. I was too indulgent with this child. I should have been firmer in hundreds of big and small ways. He should have made his own lunch, done his own laundry and shopped for his own clothes, but there always seemed to be a reason why it was easier for me to do it. Now I lie awake at night and wonder how he will ever manage.

Children get lots of chances, but it changes when you cross over to our side. Soon the universe will be doling out the consequences, and he is learning that the universe is not the pushover that I am. This final semester is my last best shot to get him ready to be on his own.

My son has a job after school, and today he's forgotten to take a snack, so he has sent me a text message asking me to make him one of my special salmon salad sandwiches on challah bread. The message says, "Please Mommy?"

I know what you are thinking. But he's hungry.

So I pack up the deluxe sandwich, a few barbecue potato chips, some carrot sticks, and just three Oreo cookies.

I arrive at school but he's not where we usually meet, so I get out of the car and walk up the street. I see him talking with his friends, and when he sees me he flashes his magnificent smile that always makes me smile too. I hold up the brown lunch bag and he jogs towards me. The other boys, most of whom I've know since grammar school, yell, "Hey Mrs. Solomon!" and I wave to them, and regret that I don't have more sandwiches. My son runs right up to me, and since he is so much bigger than I am now, he lifts me up off the ground when he hugs me, and gives me a loud smacking kiss. He says, "Thanks, Mom. I LOVE you!" and puts me down, and takes his snack and he is gone.

As I walk back to my car, I imagine everything that could have been different. Even though I may have made some mistakes along the way, I think it's going to turn out all right.