Curfew

by Patti


I was out with some girlfriends a few weeks ago for a long-planned night out, when mid-swig of wine my cell phone alerted me to a voice mail. I checked it, and heard S's clipped voice:

"Mom. When are you coming home? I hope it will be at a reasonable hour."

Was my 10-year daughter giving me a curfew?

My mind flew back to my teen aged nights when, after a late night out, I would sneakily turn off my headlights and pull up as silently as possible into the driveway of my parents' house, only to see the dreaded Living Room Lights of Doom on.

And now? My kid is those living room lights.

She stalks me constantly: "When are you coming home?"; "Didn't you already go out with your friends last week?"; "Shouldn't you be home by now?" I'm ashamed to say it: I sometimes screen her calls. When I see her little face light up my phone screen, I might just slide it up and out; I "ignore". If there is a voice mail, I of course listen to it right away to be sure there is no emergency. But I know that every single time it is just her, turning up those living room lights as brightly as she can, scolding me.

But then, whenever I grow impatient or feel suffocated, I remind myself: one day, I'll be stalking her. Yes, one day I won't be her world anymore and I might be the one desperate to get a glimpse into her own world; to know what is going on in there, to know her friends, who she is with, what she is doing. I will be the one waiting up for her to come home with the living room lights turned up bright.

I forget this sometimes. In my haste to try to maintain some of myself, some of my Patti-ness, throughout my journey of being a mother, I forget that my "Patti-ness" IS being a mother. It's not all I am, but it is without a doubt in every fiber of my being.

So the next time I pull up to find the living room lights turned up bright, I will try not to become frustrated or annoyed. I will instead do my best to remember: the lights are on because somebody loves me.