Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Blake: Phone Home

So really ... I can't remember the last time I wanted a boy to call me so badly. I think it must have been about 1992 when I met Brett on a wayward Thursday night.

But this time, it's the cute soon-to-be sixth-grader with the dimple in his right cheek when he smiles. The phenomenal soccer player. The bookworm. My son.

It's the end of Day 2 of soccer camp and Blake STILL hasn't called home.

The kids weren't allowed to bring cell phones, but he has a calling card for the pay phone. And I should emphasize
THE pay phone. Brett said he only saw one phone on the third floor of the college dorm where the boys are staying.

I thought maybe he'd call last night after the nightly scrimmage was over at 8:00. No call.

Today the day flew by and I tried to not think about when and if he might call. Zach and Allie were at pre-school and it was Mom-and-Nick day. We made chocolate chip cookies and read books, then braved the heat to see the Incredible Hulk and suck up long overdue Jamba Juices (I sure miss having one just blocks away like we did in Elk Grove).

So I thought that maybe being out of the house for a few hours would do the trick. You know the one -- you leave and when you get home you see the little red light flashing. You push the button and it's the call you were expecting. No such luck.

Brett gets home and asks if Blake's called.

"I'm going to be mad if he doesn't call," Brett says.

"Mad?" I ask, mulling over his statement.

While I want Blake to call, I don't think I'll be mad if he doesn't. And it all boils down to the simple fact that I'm realizing with increasing clarity that Blake is so much like me, it's scary. I KNOW he loves us, maybe even misses us a bit. He's enjoying his independence. Savoring a new experience that likely involves pillow fights and boyish pranks I probably don't want to know about. Realizing he's maturing and can be on his own in short bursts. Doesn't want to stand in line for the darn pay phone. Feels like if he calls he might just realize he misses us.

I not only understand that, but I breathe it like the muggy monsoon-riddled Arizona air.

But still ... it would be nice if he called. Sigh ...

1 comment:

Some People Call Me Mom said...

My oldest is 10 and I don't think I'll be able to be as mellow about all this growing up stuff as you. Maybe I can take lessons or something.:)

Enjoyed your blog!