OMG OMG OMG.
Can I say that again??
Someone pass the oxygen. Now. Please.
It’s bad enough that Big Brother’s been a lady’s man since he was 13, but now my little one? My baby?
16 year old son: Mom, can I have a friend over this afternoon?
Graying mother: Sure, but your brother’s packing for college in the living room. And the house is a pig pen. Who is it?
(Graying mother assumes it’s one of the usual suspects, most of whom I’ve known since they were five, most of whom are male, and most of whom don’t give a damn if the house is a pig pen.)
16 year old son: Julie. (Name changed to protect the identity of hot new mystery woman.)
Graying mother: Who’s that?
Son: A girl.
Mother: (now wanting to smack him) A friend from school? Someone I’ll have to pick up, or does she drive? A little data please.
Son (smiling): From another school. She drives.
Mother: Fine, but pick up the clumps of dust off your floor, and all the toilet paper and dirty socks. And go wipe the toilet in your bathroom in case she needs to use it.
Son: Mom! She won’t care!
Mother: I care. Besides. GIRLS notice filth. Just do it.
Son sighs, and complies.
Two 19-year old friends arrive on the scene. Guys. Pals of my older son. They (seem to) live here, intermittently. They’re polite. One sleeps on my couch; the other in the storage closet-guestroom. They’re part of the all-night-music-making of late.
Older son is on his laptop, sitting on the edge of the couch, researching the cost of shipping a box of clothes 900 miles away. He’s in mid-laundry-mode, folding and muttering. His friends are beginning to arrive for the evening, like witches and warlocks. Minus the cauldron. Are they a coven?
I’m picking up dog hair as fast as I can. And asking his friends to remove their guitars from the one spot not covered with clothing. We’re shoving bills and drawing paper under the chair. My younger son is plunking on the piano in the other room, nonchalantly, then peeking out through the blinds to the street. Then it’s back to Chopin.
Not the first time, exactly
It’s not like he hasn’t had beautiful girls here before. Lots of them. Just like his brother. And it’s crazy how quickly 14-year old and 15-year old girls mature – way ahead of the boys. But he wasn’t interested. I could tell.
Hey, I’m the mother.
One of the girls who is a “regular” is his texting buddy, and was his portrait model this summer. There were a few others, met at the mall for a movie, whom I’ve seen here and there. They travel in groups. Packs really, or so it seems. But most have “boyfriends,” too. These are kids I’ve known for a long time though some seem unrecognizable these days.
Our story continues (OMG OMG OMG):
Mother: You guys – there’s a girl coming over, so help me pick up, ok?
Friend of older son: No problem. Girls notice stuff like that.
Everyone joins in. The floor re-emerges. One red armchair as well. The dog sulks and disappears, as there’s a knock on the door. In walks a bombshell. I mean, a genuine 16-year old blonde bombshell – stacked, smiling and utterly adorable.
OMG OMG OMG
I introduce myself. “I’m the mother,” I say.
She laughs and shakes my hand, and says “Nice to meet you.”
She’s at ease and polite, and OMG, a blonde bombshell. Did I say that already? I did, I know. OMG, now my son is grinning, but oh-so-cool. Not even breaking a sweat. Now he’s making small talk. My quiet one. My baby. OMG, he’s charming, and funny, and she’s laughing. The girl laugh. The hair-tossing-I-think-you’re-cute laugh.
I can’t believe my eyes. Or my ears. I’ve seen my older son at this, but my little one?
I’ve never heard him, seen him, imagined him so totally comfortable with a girl… and here it is, right in front of me. (His brother and his brother’s friends are looking on, hungrily. One of them is giving me a thumbs-up behind the girl. He’s impressed. Hell, I’m impressed.)
OMG. I need an Excedrin. A drink of something. Open a window, a door, break down a fucking wall! Call 911! I‘m whoozy!
OMG OMG OMG
I’ve discreetly removed myself from the scene. More or less. Watching, peripherally, from the kitchen. This one – my younger son – has literally grown up overnight.
Now Julie’s looking at his artwork – much of which is on the walls. Amazing stuff. She’s gushing. Little did I know I was helping with his love life by providing such a good display, not to mention professional framing.
When he pulls “come up to see my etchings,” it’s no joke. And seems he’s going to be a babe magnet.
Damn, who am I kidding. Apparently he already is.