I am by no means the life of the party, but I think I’m pretty funny. In fact, sometimes I am hilarious. I crack myself up.
My two older sons, aged twenty and twenty-four, think differently. They have made it quite clear that they do not consider me amusing in the slightest.
But I’ve seen them try and hide the upwards turn of their lips after I’ve said something clever. And I know there are times when they appreciate my humor. And I appreciate seeing them smile.
When I was in college, there was this guy I was crazy about, but he wasn’t as crazy about me. I did all kinds of things to get his attention, and when all was said and done, it didn’t really make any difference. My mother counseled me through this time, and when I came out of the other side, I told myself that I would never, ever chase a guy again. Never.
A few months later, Edward and I started dating, and after getting into some disagreement about something, I don’t know what about, he said words to the effect of, “Well, if you don’t like it we don’t have to be together,” and without batting an eye I said “Okay,” and promptly ended our date and went home. Like I said, never again. (I’d barely walked in my front door before Edward came a callling, by the way.)
But I broke that vow when my boys were born. I’ve been chasing after them for years and I probably always will. Oh, on the surface I’m cool. Christian turns five and says “That’s it. No more kisses for you, Mom,” and I quickly back off. Adam spends more time with his friend’s mom than at home, and I try and be mature about it (sort of). Thomas declares that I am not to call him pet names in public, and I assent.
Underneath, however, I am like a love-struck teen for my boys, seeking their approval and their smiles. And once in a while I get both, and that makes me smile.