"We Need to Talk.............."

Whenever I hear those words my heart plunges, my breath quickens, the colour drains from my face as I await to hear news of a possible horrible illness, jail time, new piercings or tattoos, or that we have run out of coffee. So it was with trepidation and cold jagged fear when my eldest son said "Mom, we need to talk."

Sitting across the table from him, looking into his serious and earnest face I took a deep breath and summoned the strength to remain calm and positive. (Calm and positive? Ha ha ha ....already I was becoming delusional). He proceeded to ask me for my blessing. It would mean a lot to him. Blessing? For what? New living arrangements? He was moving out?!? Hell, he could have my blessing, my chipped china, my frayed towels, and help with packing! Blessing for becoming a monk and moving to Asia? Nah, he would never go for wearing that rope-like belt. Blessing for a radical change in dietary habits? Nope, he knows I would celebrate any excuse to have to cook less. Blessing for marriage? Well that would depend; would this involve him actually moving out?? Because then the blessings would be of a celebratory nature. (see above.) Blessing for a new found love of country music. Never. I could never do that. And neither could he.

He continued to emphasis how much my blessing would mean to he while I speculated as to what and why he wanted my blessing. He finally revealed that his girlfriend and him were planning to spend Christmas in Hawaii. I have always told my sons that as long as they lived at home I expected them to spend Christmas day with their father and me unless they were in a hospital or in a jail. Since lying on a beach didn't meet either criteria, he was concerned that I would be upset. And before you assume that I am some kind of domineering holiday Mother who tries to control her family's festive activities (like there is anything wrong with that) let me assure you that I am not. Not quite. I have absolutely no problem with them spending Christmas or any other holiday somewhere else whether it be because of jobs, location, spouses, girlfriends once they have left the nest. But until then, they are mine. Possessive? No, why do you ask?

So now I was being asked to consider this new holiday scenario. And his heartfelt appeal was getting to me........but being a Mother, being Italian, being middle-aged he was no serious match for me. I had the guilt card on my side. And I knew how to play it. I had already of course given him my blessing in my heart but figured I could probably make him sweat a bit first. Besides, if I played my cards right there could be a cool gift with 'Mom' on it from Hawaii in all of this.........

The tears got to him. They really did. He did offer to come back on the 24th but I waved that suggestion off. Martyr like. Even noble. Besides, maybe, just maybe, on Christmas morning when he awoke in some functional but sparse hostel, without hot coffee, presents under the Christmas tree, his stocking full, Christmas music wafting throughout the house, and his brothers horsing around, he would feel for a moment wistful and never ever again think of leaving at Christmas. Maybe he would even reflect on this as he was lining up to use the shared communal shower with the 30 seconds of tepid water. (A mother can only hope).

The day he left for the airport it snowed hard. Big, fluffy snowflakes. Now I could multi-task in my ongoing job as a Mom. Worry about one child getting home safely on slippery roads and worry about the other one getting swept out to sea on a surf board. Thank goodness for Corey, all I had to worry about was him finding the covertly hidden Christmas baking and scarfing it down before the holidays actually began.

A few days before Christmas the doorbell rang and I received an armful of flowers from a florist. They were from Kyle who had selected them himself before leaving for Hawaii. The gorgeous bouquet included Hawaiian flowers intermingled with evergreens. And best of all, was the card he had written with it before he left.

He arrived home a few days after Christmas and called me almost immediately at work. And what did my grown son want to know????? If he could open his stocking. Now.
So apparently you can take the son out of Christmas but you can't take the Christmas out of the son.

Thank Goodness.

Now, about all the post holiday clean-up, I am going to summon my family and begin with "We need to talk..........."

All I've Got is an Empty Wrapper or Fifty..........

So Halloween has come and gone. And apparently so has the 375 chocolate bars I bought as well. Gone. Vanished. Disappeared faster then able bodies when the windows need washing. I hauled out the boxes from their hiding place last night in preparation for the trick-or-treaters and discovered a small hole in the corner of one of them. And 50 (yes, I counted) bars missing. That is right. MISSING. What do I have to do???? Hide the freakin' boxes in my underwear drawer???!! Maybe I should have hidden them next to the window washing equipment....
Fortunately I had bought lots and there was enough for our little treat-or-treaters.

Corey decided this would be his last year trick-or-treating. I have fond memories when he went out as a cute little lion, and even cuter mouse, a swashbuckling pirate, an interesting mad scientist but this year 'cute' was not on the agenda and he went out as a very scary creature. Gene Simmons in full KISS regalia. He created his costume mostly from odds & ends from his brother's bedrooms and Bruno painted his face. If anyone has need for black lipstick, black nail polish, or studded bracelets...CALL ME!!!

Corey, interestingly enough, was not 'hungry' for dinner tonight. I am sure that the 63 empty candy wrappers in his bedroom wastepaper basket had nothing to with it.

But back to me.....I went to the dentist today....some specialist with a fancy medical name but a plain boring office with outdated magazines. Apparently they meant it when they said four years ago that I needed a root canal. Who knew? Now there is an ugly accompanying infection which will require multiple appointments. (My name really should be CathyEmily Queen of Procrastination but I have never gotten around to changing it). But hey, the earliest they can fit me in is next year. Which leaves me with this pressing question: Can I or can I not eat the Halloween candy???? Thank you. That's why you are my friends. Those of you who may have replied with a cautious 'You'd better not' should go back and read my initial post about tofu-soya-kelpsmoothie-flaxloving-Birkenstock wearing folk.

I realize that Halloween has now passed, though barely; I can still smell chocolate on most people's breath and let's face it, those aren't soya nuts in everyone's lunch bag today, BUT at work this morining they were playing CHRISTMAS music!!!! WTH???!!! NOVEMBER 1st??!!! Rudolph should really be trying to book an appointment with Dr.Phil not guiding Santa's sleigh around this freakin' early. And Frosty is still way up high on some mountain top not frolicking around in the centre of town annoying traffic cops. I think someone must have complained (probably the PMS'ing lady in accounting who is dieting and abstained from chocolate) and thankfully, blissfully, the following hour the Christmas music was gone and the generic blend of 'feel good' music was back.