This thing has been happening over the past few months. I seem to embarrass my oldest child multiple times a day, in ways that boggle my apparently limited mind. I feel like I'm playing out a script that was written for us way, way, way back, an inevitable back-and-forth that leaves us both irritated and absolutely astounded by the perspective of the other.
The other day I heard myself say, "It can't be embarrassing that I exist. It can't be embarrassing to have a mother. Everyone in the world has a mother."
This was met with muttering and gazing towards the sky through her newly shorn, elegant hair. Then I shot her a look I employ frequently these days that translates as: oh no, oh no no no none of that please. Then she said - Sorry. But Mama, you just don't understand.
See what I mean? I obviously don't. But then today, in my outrageously high spirits, Frances, Gabriel and I went on a bike ride. Beatrice was in the bike seat, freshly stickered with all the odds and ends we've been finding as we pack up the house. I felt sort of like the Queen of the World, in the bright breezy sunshine, flanked by my people.
We should have a bike gang, I said. Let's be the Heritage bike gang. We rule this neighborhood!
Frances looked over her left shoulder at me. Mama, she calmly explained, I do not want to be in a bike gang with a mom who rides around with a toddler on the back of her bike. That is not cool at all.
Oh.
If I am going to be in a bike gang, I want it to be with tough teenagers who ride dirt bikes. No, motor bikes. And they actually go places, instead of riding around the same neighborhood all the time.
I had to laugh. I see your point, I told her. That does sound like a much cooler bike gang.
She made absolutely perfect sense. I understood. Hallelujah! What a great day.
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