Mom2Mom, Feb '12
Ugh, I'm just too tired to even bother looking presentable,” I said to my 17-year-old daughter as she was driving and singing along to the radio. It was early on a Saturday morning and we were on the way to Atlanta.
I grabbed my make-up bag anyway and pulled down the windshield visor. Lifting the cover on the little vanity mirror, I got a glimpse of my makeup-free self: “Wow! I look at this face and think…”
“WHAT happened??” Maddy interrupted! She was all amused at herself for finishing the sentence I was absent-mindedly saying out loud.
“Thanks a lot!” I laughed.
At least she talked to me, I thought to myself.
Zack was home from college over the holidays, but he spent more time with his friends on Skype than he did talking to me. It made me so sad!
Even my baby is slowly crossing over to the dark side.
“Mom, help!” Sky said frantically. “Where are your Christmas vests? I need to wear one to a Tacky Christmas Sweater party.” Did she just call my clothes tacky?
I've drawn a couple of conclusions about this new loneliness I feel around my teenagers: My kids want less to do with me as they get older—while their friends seem to have these really engaging moms who share all kinds of excellent advice that couldn't possibly come from someone as completely in the dark ages as their mother!
The new loneliness must have been tugging on my heart when I unexpectedly met a handsome guy named Ace. He's got dark eyes and curly black hair, he's very affectionate and he makes me feel like I am the center of his universe.
Ace is a 10-pound toy poodle that made his TV debut in an Adopt-a-Pet segment on NewsChannel 6. When that little guy looked at me and cocked his head, it was all over. Sky and I signed the papers that afternoon and brought him home.
So now I have another baby…one who loves to cuddle up and be held, who races to me like I'm a rock star when I come home and who makes me feel like I'm the coolest and most engaging mom on the planet!
Click here for Augusta Family Magazine. Artwork by Michael Rushbrook.