Wrestling with a deadline

IT’S 7:30 a.m. and I’m
sitting in my office this
morning with a cup of
tea, mulling over ideas
for this column.

Because of tne long week-
end, there is an carly deadline,
but the timing for me is lousy
since this is the very day that
my oldest boy is heading off
for university in Victoria.

It's not like I'm not ready
for the kid to go. P'm so ready
for him to go. We've been
talking about this since he was
a baby, which seems like about
a week ago. And Lord knows,
he’s been his own man for
long, enough now that any
mothering Ido these days has

mostly to do with cash
advances. Still, I feel very
unsettled this morning. Can't
seem to knuckle down to
write.

8:30 a.m.: Haven't accom-
plished much yet. Went out-
side for some fresh air with the
dogs. I'm dog sitting fora
friend, and now have three big
black Labs following, my every
move. At night, they sleep on
the floor around my bed, and
if I move, even slightly, their
tails pound the floor happily in
anticipation of a group outing
to, say, the bathroom or the
kitchen. During the day they
pad along behind me, like
ducklings after their mother,
looking at me with those
hangdog faces, waiting fora
dog biscuit, or a walk.
Reminds me of when my own
kids were litte, and toddied
along behind me everywhere |
went. I miss those days.

I've really got to get at this
column.

9:15 a.m.: Sixteen-year-old
daughter just pulled into the
driveway in her father’s car.
She is driving the departing
student to the UVic campus
today. They decided on this
plan without consulting me,
and I know why. They don’t

_ want any scenes. They think
PI be a blubbering mess as [

_ say goodbye, even though
that’s completely ridiculous.
. Hell, I'm excited for the
kid. He’s embarking, on an
exciting new phase of his life,
and although he’s a litde ner-
vous now, I know he’s going
to have a blast. Besides, we've
been saying goodbye fora few

* days now, I would have been
just fine if they'd let me come.

The kids and I went over
to dinner at my folks’ house
‘last night. It was kind of a

home

“Last supper.” The food was
predictably fabulous; we had
fresh crab, prawns, and a sam
pling of the big saimon my

_ dad caught a couple of weeks

ago.

After some Purdy’s choco-
lates, my dad brought out the
measuring tape for the routine
height competition. Tommy,
my youngest son, has grown
about a foot this summer, and
now towers over the Nelson
men (uncles, grandfather, and
his own brother).

“He must be 6° now,” says
my dad, “because he’s as tall
as 1 am and Pm 5°10 %”." My
dad might have been that tall
in his dreams, but, when we
measured the boys, Tommy
was 5°9”, making my dad
aimost 5°8 4”.

“Youre certainly taller
around the middle, dear,” my
mother reassures my dad, who
can’t believe his shrinkage.

“He may be taller than
me,” says my oldest son, and
then the conversation really
degenerated, “but P'm bigger
where it counts.” What is it
about mien, that they do that?
I mean, you never hear a
woman bragging about how
big her sexual apparatus is.
Raucous laughter and foolish
gesturing ensued, until | put
my foot down by saying,
“Look, Pye seen you all, and if
I were you, Pd be quiet now.”

God, it’s after 10. Pd bet-
ter get cracking on the col-
umn. I'll make some tea.

Llam.: The kids are just
pulting out of the driveway
now, It. was a bit frantic, get-
ting the odds and ends togeth-
er for the boy. He remem:
bered to pack all the impor-
rant things like his stereo,
Nintendo, and snowboard
posters, but neglected to think
about things like towels and
bedding, I padded along after
him, the dogs after me,
reminding him to brush his
teeth, save his change for laun-
dry, and call home.

“Pm expecting a phone call
every Sunday night,” I said.

“You'll get it,” he said.

“And Wednesdays too,”
added, hopefully. “fT can’t
promise Wednesdays,” he said.
“Bur Cl ry” And then, just
like the kids predicted, it hap-
pened. The big lump that had
been in my throat all morning
erupted, and [ sobbed out
loud, tears spilling down my
face as I hugged the boy
goodbye.

“Don’t worry, mom,” he
said, hugging me back. “I'll be
OK.” Maybe [ wasn’t as ready
as [thought [ was. E held on
to that hug for as long as |
could, erying into his shoul-
der. [let go, and he was gone.

Noon: Pim OK now,
Stood for almost a half hour ia
his bedroom — which looks.
pretty empty except for his
old, worn-out stuffed animals
— thinking about how much
joy this motherhood gig has
brought me. Then remem-
bered that [ have to get this
column in by 3 p.m. Pd better
get atit.

—shannun@telus.net

AAT EDEMA TW CWE STE

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