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April 5, 2007
Bad Mommy Moment
Okay, so call me a Bad Mommy. One week ago my 17-year-old son Spencer left for Nicaragua. In another week, he’ll return home. Truthfully, I don’t miss him. Don’t get me wrong. Yes, I love him very much. But I know he’s enjoying his trip to Ometepe, sister island to Bainbridge.
In the past, when Spence travels away from home, I start to miss him after a week. Just a little. Usually he’s in some exotic or remote area and not reachable by phone. If I could call him, I would probably call just to hear his voice, hear what he’s been up to. I wouldn’t have a lot to say since there’s not much different around here, except that he’s not home.
Last night I experienced not one but two Bad Mommy Moments. The first moment occurred at a meeting of the parents whose children are participating in the Omepete project. Asked to introduce ourselves, give the name of our child, and the village in Nicaragua where our child was living, I froze. “Well,” I said. “Um, hi, I’m Elizabeth Coplan. My son is Spencer and I am having a bad mommy moment. You see, um, I have no idea where he is!”
The second opportunity to embarrass myself came later in that same meeting as other parents explained how much they missed their children. When it came my turn, I offered, “I must admit, I’m enjoying the peace and quiet, and I guess I miss him.”
You see, I know he’s having a great time. I know he loves working with the village children. Hell, he’s probably already organized a soccer tournament with whatever is easy to kick around, a bottle cap, a round rock, even a ball if one is available. By now, he’s probably demonstrated a new way with rice and beans given his culinary talents
Let’s be truthful. Do I miss him? Well, his music still blares on the stereo thanks to his brother. His bedroom is used for a staging area for the laundry. In fact, now that I think of it, the volume of laundry is down. Way down. And the dishwasher only runs once a day.
And tonight, when go to sleep around 10 p.m., I won’t need to leave my light because he’s not here to awaken me when he comes home from work at midnight.
Truthfully, I guess I would call him today, if I could. Just to hear his voice. And maybe he’ll tell me abut his day. And maybe he’ll ask me about mine. And maybe he’ll say he misses me. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell him I miss him too.
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