What emoji do you use when your kid hates college?


“Whoever said college was the best time of your life was lying.” — The Dude.

This was followed by the poop emoji.

How quickly things change. Just a few weeks ago, he couldn’t wait to leave. He was ready for college.

He is ready for college. He may have had a few unrealistic expectations, that’s all. Those unrealistic expectations will get you every time.

He has a nasty cold. I’d send him chicken soup if I could. He’d like that too, since he says the food sucks and isn’t very healthy. I’ve suggested vegetables and salads, but he isn’t taking advice at the moment. If there was a stone wall emoji, he’d use it.

Over nineteen years, we’ve made it through colic and croup, new math, buying a jockstrap, “Medieval Day”,The Iliad, Homecoming, driver’s ed, and the first and second transgressions that will not be named. I thought I was old hat at this, but when he’s unhappy, it twists me worse than a telephone cord (I had to use that analogy before it became irrelevant. I think I only had a few minutes left.)

He texts my husband about more mundane matters, like money. My husband says that’s a sign that it’s not so bad. I am parent A, the one that does out cookies and sympathy. Parent B tells the child that this is life, suck it up and soldier on.

So much of his life is going well. He has a terrific roommate, who he likes and gets along with. They were paired at random, so this was not a given. He’s playing intramural sports and has joined a couple of clubs. He’s even learning how to play golf. Classes, however are harder than he anticipated, and the old high school habits aren’t enough to get the grades he’s hoping for. My sage advice draws nothing more than a “maybe.” I have a feeling I know what emoji he’d use if he could find it, but he’s smart enough not to use it. I’m the one with the cookies and sympathy, after all.

His friends at other colleges have it so much better, he says. Life is one big party for them, and he has major FOMO. He doesn’t consider that they might be embellishing. “Why would they do that?” he says. He believes people are inherently truthful. Cute, isn’t it?

I tell him that I begged to transfer halfway through my first term and my counselor told me to hold tight and it would get better. I tell him that it did, and I stayed where I was. I knew it wouldn’t be any better somewhere else. It was not the time of my life, but it set me on the path I wanted to be on. There’s a lot to be said for not peaking too early.

He’s forgotten how long it takes to build friendships and how long it takes to feel at home somewhere new. He’s forgotten that he once said moving to Virginia, the place he so longs for, was the worst thing that ever happened to him. Patience is not his forte. Neither is perspective. After all, he is a nineteen year old. It’s exactly what he needs, though, along with some decongestant and a perhaps a box of pop tarts.

I text to ask how he’s doing and he answers “sick.” I suggest he visit the health center, but he’s “busy.” I won’t even bother suggesting he go to CVS. I tell him to go to Noodle and Co and get some chicken soup, and if he’s running a fever, by all means go to the health center. He texts back “How do I know if I’m running a fever?” I ask if he’s hot and achy. He answers “My dorm has no AC. I’m always hot and achy.”

I know this conversation could go on forever. He has made up his mind to be miserable, and there is nothing I can do to change it. I ask my husband if he’s heard anything from the Dude. My husband just laughs.

Overcome with motherly concern, I break down. I know it’s unhealthy, like a drug addiction. I do it less often than I did in the beginning, just after he left. I’m down to once or twice a day. I open the Find My Phone app to see where he is.

He’s playing golf. I guess that’s why he’s busy.

I send him a blowing kiss emoji and say I’ll check in later, then put together a gift package; decongestant, a thermometer, tissues and a box of pop-tarts. We’ll both make it through another day.

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GOP Debate in Haiku

By popular demand…..

GOP Debate

Ten dudes, one chick, one handler

And one big ass plane

__________________________

With them all lined up

Looks like a beauty pageant

Trump owns this one too

__________________________

Carly’s not alone

Don thinks Rand is ugly too

Chris Christie you’re next

___________________________

To deal with Russia

Trump goes golfing with Putin

And shows his big balls

__________________________

We have a winner

Planned parenthood and Iran

Best non sequitur

__________________________

When the Donald speaks

He tells us what “we all know”

Even if we don’t

_________________________

I don’t remember

The Reagan years like they do

Which of us was high

____________________________

Marco Rubio

Sounds like a movie trailer

For disaster porn

_________________________

I wonder if Jeb

Swaps tales with Eli Manning

Little bro syndrome

___________________________

Senator Graham’s troops

Look bigger cause they’re metric

Need conversion chart

_____________________________

Jeb says he smoked pot

And now I like him better

I feel so dirty

______________________________

“We all look alike”

Fiorina shakes her head

Not from the waist down

______________________________

Let’s save our children

From Islamic terrorists

Ban science projects

_______________________________

Donald Trump believes

His code name would be “Humble”

My bet? “Combover”

_______________________________

Sex drugs rock n roll

GOP, just outlaw fun

And make it simple

_________________________

I’m three hours in

So our “official language”

Is all adjectives?

________________________

Is it my tv?

The Donald’s face is redder

Than Huckabee’s tie

________________________

Trump has more haiku

Than the other candidates

Just like his air time

__________________________

All the candidates

Compare themselves to Reagan

The big ass plane wins

Momaiku – The freshman drop off edition


How can this much stuff

All fit inside the Prius?

“Don’t open the doors”

_______________________

Sure you’ve got it all?

“What could I be missing, Mom?”

I’m sure we’ll find out

___________________________

“When you clean my room

Please don’t look under the bed.”

Wouldn’t dream of it

________________________

And the trunk closes

I can’t believe we did it

“Where am I sitting?”

_______________________

“When will we get there?”

At best, a 12 hour drive

“Just wake me for lunch.”

________________________

So here is your dorm

“It looked better in pictures.”

Most things in life do

_________________________

Don’t be afraid Dude

The RA will not tase you

Unless you earned it

__________________________

“You can hug me Mom.

I’m sure nobody’s watching.

It won’t hurt my cred.”

________________________

I don’t shed a tear

Until we’re all the way out

Of our parking space

________________________

“There are no parties.

This school sucks. I’m transferring.”

It’s been five hours

_________________________

Was today better?

“Yeah! I met a guy who knows a guy.”

LALA  can’t hear you

________________________

“I’m doing laundry!”

Separate your lights and darks.

“Yeah, whatever, Mom.”

________________________

“My tee shirts are pink!”

Washed your red sweatshirt, did you?

“How did you know that?”

__________________________

“The Wifi here sucks.”

Use the ethernet cable

“The whada whada?”

__________________________

“Forgot nail clippers

Can you Amazon Prime some?”

Can you CVS?

—————————————-

“My dorm room’s spotless.”

I’m sure your roommate thanks you

(I give it three weeks)

__________________________

I text, I love you

He texts “Please send me food.”

It means the same thing

_________________________

“Classes start Monday

I hope they don’t cramp my style.”

If they don’t, I will

______________________

“How do you and Dad

Manage without me around.”

We have lots of sex

________________________

“Very funny Mom.”

We cry from morning ’til night

(We have lots of sex)

_______________________

So that’s all I’ve got

Until I get the next text

Two, three hours, tops

It’s our fault. We taught them to share.

Eleven days left

Until I claim his bedroom

Paint the mother pink

_____________________

Not that I’m eager

Go ahead–count those chickens

What could happen now?

______________________

Damn, I had to ask

Mono outbreak in his squad

Grad party whiplash

______________________

Tracing through the snarl

Of who has hooked up with who

Dating duck, duck, goose

______________________

Rumors burn the wires

His prom date is patient zero

Glad he’s got no game

______________________

So the lesson, Dude?

Keep your tongue in your own mouth

Until you’re thirty

______________________

Can’t breathe easy yet

He and his sick best friend have

Shared “water bottles”

_______________________

Calculate backwash

From a “water” pong tourney

Twenty kids, two cups

______________________

Google Hail Mary

Can Fireball kill off germs?

It tastes like it can

______________________

The answer is no

But it makes good antifreeze

It tastes like that, too

_______________________

You haven’t had it?

Think of a bowl of Red Hots

Steeped in Jack Daniels

_______________________

“The symptoms?” he asked

I said, “You get real tired–

I’ve had it for years.”

_______________________

“I have to be fine

Welcome week is important!”

(It has the parties)

______________________

Sleeping in all day…

When teenagers have mono

Can you really tell?

______________________

So far he’s okay

Luckily the health center

Is next to his dorm

So Funny I Forgot to Laugh


The Dude and I stayed up late and watched television. I’m not normally a T.V. person, but the Dude leaves for college in two weeks and I don’t want to miss anything good. He keeps telling me he wants to get as many “lasts” in as possible. Last meals at home, last parties with friends, and of course, last philosophical arguments with Mom.

We both love The Daily Show. I thank Jon Stewart for making current events and politics relevant to the younger demographic that traditional news outlets have left for dead. I am dismayed, however, by reports that his show allegedly had a working culture that was unfriendly to women and minorities. I voiced my disappointment to the Dude.

“But he’s so progressive,” said the Dude, and I agreed.

“But what one does is as important as what one says.” And when one has a platform the size of Jon Stewart’s, what one says is pretty damn important. I don’t mean to single him out. His is not the first man to be accused of running a comedy boy’s club. The same has been said of SNL, and even *sniff* The Colbert Report.

“I hate to say this but…”

This is the Dude’s way of saying “I’m about to say something I know you’ll go batshit over, but I’m right, so I’m going to say it anyway.” I start relaxation breathing immediately.

“Women aren’t that funny.”

He didn’t even say “present company excluded.”

Humor is subjective. I tell myself this whenever people don’t find my writing funny. That doesn’t make it untrue. Humor is largely contextual. The scope of humor can go from one person (Sometimes I am the only person who finds me funny) to universal (Even my parents liked The Incredibles). Would my 18 year-old son appreciate Any Schumer’s “Last Fkable Day?” Probably not as much as I do. But to deem an entire gender not funny?

Based on his expression, I must have had that feral alien cat look I get when he’s said something that hacks me off, like I think feminists are shrill.

“You might not find them funny, but that doesn’t mean they’re not funny. Your opinion isn’t fact. I don’t find Daniel Tosh funny. You find him hilarious. Lots of people agree with you. Just not me.”  Daniel Tosh has his own show. I do not. Maybe not a great example.

“So Jon Stewart hires people he thinks are funny, and people like his show. Why should he hire people that other people think are funny.”

That is the important question underneath it all. Why does diversity matter? I didn’t point this out, since nothing shuts down conversation faster than talking about real stuff.

“I suppose it depends upon his objectives. As a political satirist, shouldn’t he care about half of his viewership?” Actually 46%, according to the Pew Center. “He’s been a pretty good standard bearer for progressive values, but he’s missed an opportunity to speak meaningfully to a segment of his target population by utilizing writers who speak the same language.Diversity ensures you aren’t breathing your own exhaust.”

I’m well aware my audience isn’t teenage boys, so I don’t worry about whether he thinks my writing is funny. I know he wouldn’t. That’s why I don’t show it to him.

“You’re studying marketing, so this is an important lesson. If you drive with blinders on, at best, you miss a large portion of the view. At worst, you get t-boned.” Like the company that made a tablet for women preloaded with apps for shopping, dieting and exercise. I bet they just loved the press they got.

The Dude seemed willing to acquiesce on the larger argument, but had some issues that hit closer to home. The young women in his peer group.

“They make these jokes and laugh their heads off, I don’t get it. Neither do my friends.”

“They are referencing something that is personal to them. That’s what context means.” We repeated this exchange several times. Clearly, he thought my answer should have been that their attempts at humor were just that, attempts at humor.

It was time for him to consider another source for his problem.

“Maybe you should be asking yourself what they know that you don’t.”

“You always said that if I don’t know what they joke is about it’s probably about sex.”

“That was true when you were younger. Now, if you don’t get what the joke is about, it might very well be about you.”

I was wrong. Talking about real issues isn’t the quickest way to clear a room. Guess I’m not so funny after all.

Don’t let Angry be the New Black


A few weeks ago I went to Trader Joe’s to pick up some avocados. I don’t usually shop at Trader Joe’s. Their parking lot was clearly designed by the owner of the local body shop looking to generate new business, but the store was on the way to another appointment so I thought I’d brave it.

I grabbed my avocados and stood in line. The woman in front of the register had two carts of groceries and the most adorable little girl, with whom I played peek-a-boo while awaiting my turn. Just as the cashier was about to ring up my purchase, a woman lined up behind the register pronounced, “I AM NEXT IN LINE. THIS WOMAN CUT IN FRONT OF ME.”

I was confused. “I only saw one shopper in line when I got here.”

The other woman, full of righteous indignation, replied, “I DON’T CARE HOW MANY ITEMS YOU HAVE. YOU CAN’T JUST CUT IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. YOU MUST GO CHECK OUT SOMEWHERE ELSE.” She sent me off with a pointy finger. The cashier said nothing. I took my avocados a few lines away and made sure she’d left the store before I made my way to the car.

It was my fault. I lined up on the wrong side of the register. It’s backwards from what I’m used to. But I had been standing there with my bag of avocados for at least five minutes playing toddler games. Was it impossible to say to me, “Excuse me, but I’m next in line?” I would have apologized and taken my rightful place. Instead, the woman created her own narrative that because I had one item, I felt entitled to take a spot ahead of everyone else. By the look on her face, admonishing me was the highlight of her day.

I’m just grateful no one videotaped the interaction to post on the internet. Social media shaming is the new planking. Everyone is doing it, but it doesn’t really have a point.

When the heck did everyone get so angry? It’s like we’re all stomping around, elbows out, looking for a reason to let our frustration flag fly. Just this week, the parent of one of the Dude’s little campers went off on a kid he thought had picked on his son. Instead of talking to the counselors, he went Charlie Sheen on a seven-year-old.

With so much ire in the atmosphere is it any wonder that every day we hear about another incomprehensible, random act of violence. We say something has to change, and then we forget until it happens again. There’s nothing we can do, right?

Or is there?

I get it. Life is stressful and complicated, but I believe we reap what we sow. Maybe the woman at Trader Joe’s had a good a story to tell when she got home, but what if she cut me some slack and forgave me over a two minute transaction? What if she pointed out my queuing faux pas then graciously offered to let me go ahead?

The planet is getting too hot under the collar. So starting this week, I’m going on a Self-righteous Anger Free diet. I know it won’t be easy, but it’s good for me, and for the environment too. It reduces my use of fertilizer and conserves energy. We are so careful about what we put in our bodies these days–Sugar Free, Fat Free, GMO Free, Gluten Free. We should be just as careful about how we feed our souls.

If you care to join me, Self-Righteous Anger Free products can be found wherever you shop, and for once, cost much less than their counterparts. You might even find them at Trader Joe’s. Just be careful in the parking lot.

Because I said so, that’s why.


I sat on the back porch swing and watched fireflies chit chat while the bluetooth case of my IPhone occasionally flashed hello in return. At least I’m hoping it was a hello. I’d hate to think I’d confused them.

My Kindle screen had gone dark several minutes ago. The Dude played basketball in the driveway, and I searched for subtext in each thump. My husband said the child hadn’t left the dinner table angry. That made one of us.

It was a stupid argument. His room is a yawning pit of entropy. I’m expecting those British ladies with swabs to show up any minute now to detail how many types of bacteria are festering in his carpet.

I asked him to clean it. He could have said “Sure,” ending the conversation. He wouldn’t have even had to mean it. I’m smart enough to know that an affirmative response only means he heard words coming out of my mouth. As far was listening to them and heeding them, I know there is no guarantee.

He said, “I’m busy.” I suppose it’s true at some level. He hasn’t been up before noon all week, and he disappears every afternoon to play basketball, then hangs out with his friends. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for housework.

Informing me that he was too busy to clean his room, however, felt like a kick of sand in the face. The Dude has been extremely resistant of late. Not that he ever does as I ask. He’s usually not so hostile about it.  I’m usually not so hostile in return, either. He gets around to things eventually. Today was not one of those more reasonable days.

“Maybe I’m too busy to give you the keys to my car until your room is clean.” Take that, you little shit.

With my response, dinner was over and he was gone.

I told my husband that it was about respect. I was not his slave. He’s not above cleaning his room, and he can’t just expect me to do everything for him. What a load of hooey.

The firmament my son and I stand on is dividing, like one of those cartoons where the earthquake splits the earth in two sides with a deep crevasse between them. He is going away to college and I don’t get to come along for the ride. I don’t even want to. That doesn’t make the change in the power structure of our family any easier to navigate.

I remember the summer before I went away to school was much the same. My mother and I argued. She complained I was never home, there was so much to do to get ready for school, and I was being snotty and disrespectful. I thought she was being controlling, stressing over details that I didn’t care about (I mean really, do you really need to comparison shop a shower caddy), and overreacting to my supposed overreactions.

I hate it when lessons I learn as a parent result in an apology for my own adolescent behavior. I’ll add this one to the ever-growing list.

Come fall, I will be a mother without a child to mother, but for now dammit, I’m still in charge. Who told him he was his own master?

Oh wait. That would be me.

I find it ironic that after years of warning that he’d have to take responsibility for his own stuff without my supervision and now that he’s doing it, I don’t like it. It makes me feel…. irrelevant.

It doesn’t bother my husband so much. I guess there’s a reason they call them apron strings and not suspenders. He is more prepared to let go. He is also not the one that will have to don the bunny suit and clean the boy’s bedroom and bathroom after he leaves for college. Just because I’m realize the argument isn’t about the Dude’s armpit of a domicile doesn’t suddenly make it clean.

As the day faded away, so did my anger–enough to let it go and move on. When I came in, the Dude was busy watching television. I could have cleaned my own bedroom. Instead, I sat down and watched along with him.

These next few weeks will be difficult, but I’ll make it a little easier by giving up the idea that I have control over anything, least of all my son. When the time comes for him to leave, we can fall into the crevasse, or we can use the time we have to build a bridge. As long as his bedroom stays on his side we’re good.