MISSING SOME THINGS

As I sit here, tickled to death watching Isaiah's complete re-enactment of winning his first touch down yesterday, I am also a little sad and feeling a touch guilty.  I missed it.  I missed the football game for a bloggers conference I attended this weekend (Blogalicious '09).  It was a fabulous conference.  I learned a lot about social media and now have a very long to-do list.  The wealth of conference swag and the parties (especially the one put on by the Blog Rollers) was awesome, haven't danced like that in a while. And India Arie made a very quick cameo appearance at the party--SO COOL.  And I met Denene Miller and Nelson George--two writers whose work I deeply admire.  Wait...what was I saying? Oh yeah....my wonderful, amazing son ran his very first touch down and his mommy wasn't there.  I know that there will be many other firsts but I really hated that I missed this one. 

I am a working mother.  I have to work. I am single so of course mine is the only income coming into this house.  (So unless you want to share with me next week's Mega Millions numbers--don't judge me okay?)  I was working when he took his very first steps (again gleefully re-enacted when I picked him up from day care.)  I cried of course, cause I'm a sappy mom who tears up over things like that.  I know it seems strange, but in a way, being a working mother makes me more conscience of the time I spend with him and making it count.  I can't always volunteer for all the school trips or serve on the PTA board but I can and do make his Halloween costumes, his birthday cakes, and am there for many, many other firsts.  Now I have to go.  Isaiah's having a fake wrestling match with some pillows and I have to play the "announcer". 

TRY A LITTLE TENDERNESS

Okay so that’s the second time in a week that another adult has had to gently pull my son away from me; this morning it was his teacher and then this past Saturday at his football game. I will state in a completely honest assessment of my parenting style that I don’t attempt to “baby” him (well not too much). But sometimes the comfort of your mother’s arms is just where you want to be. I’m 30-ish (smile) and I still feel that way sometimes. At times you have to give them a gentle nudge back out in the game. “You gotta suck it up son, football is tough,” I said. But then the next play he falls down and a couple of kids step on his hand—in cleats! That would make me cry for my mother too. I was frozen actually, not sure exactly what to do. He's screaming and holding his hand, do I rush out onto the field?  Just then he breaks free of the crowd of coaches examining the hand and comes over to me.  So as he’s sitting on my lap on the sidelines while I try to determine how much soothing is necessary, a coach, in all his mercy senses my cluelessness with just how much tenderness to show a boy, comes and takes Isaiah by the hand, tells him he’ll be okay and promptly puts him back in the game.


I was relieved of course, but there was that instinct, that voice that screams I NEED TO GO GET MY BABY! And there’s the other voice that says mishandling moments like these are how 40 year-olds end up living in their mother’s basements. As a woman raising a man it’s so hard to tell sometimes when to apply the tenderness and when to get tough. So please tell me, how do you know how much comforting is too much and when to take a hard line and send them back out into the game?