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Show f 3- .rl?5t0 fph I by Teri Gomes ffijy She ain't heavy, she's a mother The time has come. Each summer for the past eight or so years the pattern is repeated with variations. After several weeks with their natural father, it's time for the children to return home. I have decided this year to drive out to Tahoe and pick them up myself. This will allow me a few days to visit with old friends. A few hours to stare into the most beautiful body of water in the world. A few moments to gather myself before seeing what has become of my babies. Mothers are protective by nature, it's true. Mothers once divorced are even more protective. Regular readers of this column know the scenario well. For infrequent readers let me describe the process. There is a certain mentality which takes over a grown man when he is only called upon to father on a semiannual semi-annual basis. It is a "Slurpee-for-breakfast" mentality, an "I'll buy it for you, darling" mentality. This is known in my book by the textbook term, Disneyland Daddy. Disneyland Dad need not live in Southern California, or in California at all, for that matter. Simply look around here on any given Sunday during the ski season at the father and child reunions. Don't you ever see the adult with the "life is an amusement park" persona? That's what I'm talking about. In the case of divorce, you have children who quickly learn the fine art of playing one parent off another to a Master's degree. Clear choruses of "But (insert here the parent you are not currently with mother or father) ALWAYS lets me do it ! " No doubt using this rationale in the past few weeks (if past experience is any indication), my adorable adolescents have not had to do anything as distasteful as make a bed, wipe a dish or move a garbage bag to its ultimate destination. In addition, they will have seen several R-rated movies, eaten out or had frozen pizza or steaks most nights, and both children will most certainly come home with black outfits for school. (A color I'm admittedly not crazy about for 11-and 11-and 13-year olds.) And as if all this weren't enough to look forward to, there is the matter of The Mouth. Suffice to say, for at least the first few days back with Mom, little snakes and toads will leap out of their lips. But this passes with time. What I really resent the most about the whole thing is the bad rap we mothers get. Once home, it's not nearly as much FUN, FUN, FUN as at Dad's. There are dental appointments to keep, beds to make, peas to be eaten. Routine. Now, it's quite true, one need not be divorced to get anointed with the title of "mother the heavy." Bill Cosby in an HBO special described the morning his wife elbowed him in bed and said. "You go fix breakfast for the kids." The Cos had a hangover and the idea of fixing anything for the chirping little beaks was nearly more than he could bear. Until, until his eye fell upon something made up . of eggs and butter and milk and flour. That was good enough for him, so he cut up the chocolate cake and fed it to the little darlings for breakfast. At this point the kids broke into a little chant, "Dad is great, He feeds us chocolate cake ! " Repeated, of course, several times with varying degrees of intensity of pitch. All is going fine until, as Cosby says, "SHE walked down the stairs." Once again, Mom becomes the villain. Never mind, I'm ready for the little darlings to come home. I can take the punches. Not that there haven't been just a few advantages to their absence. Like buying food on Wednesday and still having most of it on a Thursday. Like sleeping in on a Sunday morning. Like going out for dinner or cooking a couple of steaks just for the two of us, or watching a few R-rated R-rated movies, or crawling into something black and slinky. And it strikes a vein with me that the older we all get during this process the more similar and important our time apart becomes. And while it will be nice, mostly, to return to the norm for us all, and I think ultimately the kids need and appreciate that, I may just hedge my bet. Next Friday morning when we hit the road we'll find a nice little cafe for breakfast and we'll all order chocolate cake. I can hear the chants now. "Mom is great She feeds us..." |