Recently, in a conversation with a friend of mine, I mentioned that neither of my boys had ever said that they wanted to grow up and marry me when they were little. (And when I went home and related that conversation to my boys, both of them looked at me and said "Um, eww, Mom. That's wrong. Just wrong.") I thought about that for quite a while, actually, as I've heard more than one mother of boys say that their son, when he was little, wanted to grow up and marry his mama. So what was different in my household? Why didn't my boys want to marry me?
Which led me to thinking about the relationships I've got with my boys. Pretty darn good relationships, actually. We don't fight all the time, I like them more often than I don't, I can trust them despite the hormones to do what they're supposed to do. All good things. On the flip side, they seem to like me more often than they don't and they can trust me to uphold my end of all bargains as well. And none of us avoid one another.
My Friday evening was spent with the Teenager, shopping for track shoes. (Side note: we totally scored! Between coupons, sale prices and gift cards, we walked out of there with a pair of running shoes and a pair of track cleats for just a little over the regular price of one pair of running shoes!) Despite feeling so yucky and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a blanket on the sofa and let people take care of me, I let myself be talked into agreeing that we just couldn't wait, and had to go right then. At eight o'clock at night. When apparently there was only one shoe salesman scheduled to work and every parent of a 6-year old soccer player with at least three younger siblings in the tri-city area also felt they had to go shoe shopping and couldn't wait any longer. And I did this because I love my son, and he asked. He asked.
Turns out, that asking? Proves a few things.
On the drive home, we talked about a variety of things. Including his circle of close friends. One friend in particular, as this friend was potentially facing a move because his new step-father had just recently experienced a job change. Jock very casually mentioned that it wasn't really going to affect his friend; he'd just live with another friend like he mostly has all through high school so far.
Me: You mean, because it will be his senior year?
J: No, I mean he hasn't really lived at home anyway. He and his mom can barely stand each other. He only talks to her when he has to. He's basically lived at JR's* for the last two or three years, anyway.
Me: Huh. I wouldn't have thought that, since she's at all of his football games.
J: Well, she's his mom. They don't have to be getting along for her to want to come watch him play. (Thereby proving to me that football is held completely separate from any other part of teenage boy-hood)
Me: Ohh-kay. Still sucks that they're not close. I'm glad that we are. *pause* Wait. Do YOU think we are????
J: Well, duh. Of course we are. Think about it, Mom. I talk to you. I even go shopping with you.
Well then. How could I ever question that? Of course we're close. The shopping proves it. Even if he didn't want to marry me when he was five.