Madre

My wife, the mother of my son, will tell you that we officially have a teenager. You know the kind: sullen, uncommunicative, periodically despondent. To be fair, these symptoms don't occur on an every day basis. On the contrary. We've been very lucky on this particular front. That doesn't mean that we still don't have to fight the periodic fight or give lengthy lectures to a person who has already figured out how the interaction will end and the number of words simply add to the frustration level for all involved.
It's a chore, sometimes. That's why my wife, the mother of my son, deserves a day all her own. She manages the schedules of three humans and a dog. She copes with the ever-shifting sands of commitments and interests. She keeps track of our various locations, rarely resorting to GPS. She does it with love in her heart and a smile on her face.
Until it's used up. There are days when all that good Mommy Mojo runs a little thin. It never runs out, but it's a tough job and she's got to do it. I think of the times when I tested my own mother's patience and wonder how she managed to keep it together through all three boys' adolescence. When we were all five, my son included, all we need to know was "potty, jacket, lunchbox." Out the door we went to whatever adventure was in front of us. Then came the report cards and play dates and all the attendant others. The friends and their families and eventually the girlfriends.
Girlfriends? Well, our son is still making inroads in that arena. He's testing the waters and that means another rite of passage. What we never knew about those passage rites when we were going through them was that our parents got to go along for the ride as well. That's tough. But my mom did it with admirable aplomb. And so is my son's mother. It takes a great deal of inner strength and patience to make it look like you know what's going to happen next, even when at times you're making it up as you go along. Thank you Mom(s). Happy Mothers' Day.