Dawn Is Me

Today, I traveled a little over 20 miles with my youngest son and his alto saxophone in order for him to participate in the New York State School Music Association (NYSSMA) solo festival.

He performed there (solo: The Hunter’s Chorus, scales and sightreading) before a single judge and he did very, very well. In fact, he scored 27 out of 28 points, earning an Outstanding rating.

Mom was right beside him for as much of the performance as she was able — they kicked me out during the sightreading segment of the performance — because that’s what Moms do, isn’t it?

We’re there for the band performances and the chorus performances and the NYSSMA solos and the All County Festivals. We’re there for the school plays and the parent-teacher conferences and the IEP meetings. We go to the honors ceremonies and the games and the graduations.

We support and encourage. We beam with pride at their accomplishments. And we’re there to offer a hug and a chocolate milkshake after the team suffers that knuckle-biting loss.

We have full dance cards.

I’m an old hand at all this, of course. Richard is the youngest of four. I’ve already watched two of them graduate from high school; next year, I’m looking forward to watching the first college graduation.

But one of the neatest things about being a Mom is when the shoe is on the other foot.

I got to live that last week. Two days before my trip with my youngest son, I took a different trip with my two daughters. They sat in the audience and cheered me on when I received the Lewis Henry Morgan Award in Anthropology (awarded to the first-year Anthropology major with the highest GPA) during the Honors Convocation at Hartwick College.

I don’t know if they ‘get’ this or not but having them there meant everything.

We do more than support them while they build their lives. We also show them how we live a certain set of having-a-life options. They might never choose any of those options for themselves, and that’s okay, too. But, among other things, if I’m busy having a life of my own, I can leave them be to develop lives of their own.

That is as it should be.

So, right now, as I embark on the terrifying task of rebuilding my life, I can make it a little less terrifying by reminding myself that I am more than a safety net. I am also a model. And I am beyond blessed because my kids are there for me just as I continue to be there for them.

I don’t really have the time to make a list of all the things about parenting that it make so rewarding but one of the best things about being a parent is that you have kids. If you do your job in such a way that your kids know that you love/like them, then eventually you reach a certain point at which certain aspects of the relationship get to be mutual.

That’s when Momming gets to be more than just rewarding or fulfilling or even fun. That’s when it gets to be amazing.

That’s when Mother’s Day gets to be a family affair. And how kewl is that?

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I AM A WOMAN ON THE VERGE

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I learned something today.

I learned that Ricky, that 11-year-old male child, likes cleaning the bathrooms.

He told me, very seriously, that people are happier when they live in a clean environment.

I can die happy now.

Just to show that he is not entirely abnormal, he also told me that he really likes snowstorms.

“Oh,” said I, “you like snow, huh?”

“No,” he replied, grinning. “I like snow days.”

Yep. Mostly normal.

Hey, Ricky! Hey, Ricky! (Yes, I know it’s supposed to be ‘Mickey’ but, as a parent, I am allowed to occasionally take liberties with song lyrics.)

So, yeah, that’s enough of that dreary stuff.

Before I do anything else, I feel I must make my baby welcome to the blogosphere. Yes, that’s right, Ricky now has a blog. It’s another Christmas present but I didn’t get it finished until today because I’m just occasionally lame like that.

I probably should have gotten him to think of a different name. Sometime around the time he’s fifteen or sixteen, when it becomes terribly important to him to be terminally cool, he’s not going to want that domain name anymore.

Too bad, baby!

Meanwhile, I think I need to get myself out of the habit of going to bed at 8 a.m. That’s going to get inconvenient when school starts again. It’s going to make work tough, too.

So, today, I’m going to bed an hour early, at around 7 a.m. If I’m lucky, by the time I get up later today, Ricky will have started blogging.