Ms. Fix-It

Every time I see my kids, I want to fix something. Give advice, make a plan, counsel, analyze, and assess. This is a habit that I am trying to break. There are easier things.

Tonight, I had a plan to dash from my class to see Jersey Boys with my son at the performing arts center downtown. We’d agreed to meet at 7:15. We hadn’t seen each other in a while; things happen, you know, that make people want to take a break.

I had already set into motion a series of steps I would take if he wasn’t there. It’s important to keep several steps ahead of things going wrong. Sometimes, I feel like I live in an ‘if-then’ jigsaw puzzle with 500 pieces. An astonishing portion of my brain would be freed up if it wasn’t engaged in extreme contingency planning.

Resigned to disappointment, I trudged up the red-carpeted stairs of the theatre, looked up and saw my son standing at a railing, leaned over, his hands folded in front of him. He had a crisp blue shirt on and his Elvis Presley hair done just so. And I was, at that moment, just elated to see him. Joyful. I felt joy seeing him.

Oh, that’s just Mom talking. Wait until the social worker shows up.

Nope, I beat her back for the entire performance except for a few random inquiries about employment and housing.

Just do this one thing with your son and don’t start looking for problems to solve, I told myself. It’s almost irresistible, like handing a carpenter a pail full of new, shiny nails and a virgin hammer.

Let’s pound some nails.
Let’s fix something.
Let’s build something.
Yes, let’s build something that I want.
That I want for you.

That time has passed. I have to shift from what I want for him to what I want for our relationship. He’s nobody’s project anymore. He’s his own project. I am just his mother.

That’s it. He’s his own person and I am his mother.