I am "That Mom"

My boy is entering high school in less than two weeks.  As most moms will agree, it is a milestone met with a mix of emotions; I am so happy he has grown up to be such an awesome kid but I am so sad he has grown up.  Not that I can consider him a grown up, but when the package now comes with underarm hair and a voice lower than my father’s, he is well on his way. 

Yesterday morning was 9^thgrade orientation. 

“Hey mom, we need to go,” he yells to me from the front room.  I hear the urgency in his voice.  I honestly forgot that it was “the day”.  Maybe I was subconsciously blocking it- I don’t know.  At any rate, I jump out of bed, throw on the clothes I wore the day before, secretly praying I don’t run into anyone who saw me in them,  de-smudge the mascara from under my eyes and run some goo through my hair, all in a foul attempt to look presentable.  I notice him noticing my less than perfect form and so I give it one last shot by applying some lipstick and part with the mirror as well as my vanity understanding sacrifices must be made to ensure our punctuality.

We hop in the car and are on our way.  “Are you nervous at all? I ask.

“No,” he offers with a scoff as if I was a total dumbass to even think he would be.

“This is a big step, you know- high school.  The school is going to be so much bigger and so many more kids and…” he interrupts me to ask if he could change the radio station.  All of a sudden, I am oddly aware that in this moment I have legitimately lost my “cool parent” cred.  I am never normally this awkward.  What is it? A Lack of coffee?  A serious generational gap that has thrust itself between us in the course of the past 8 hours?  I decide it’s best to just shut up and drive.  “Sure, go ahead and change the channel.”  I say.

When we arrive at the school, it is swarming with people, with cars driving both in and out of the parking lot and lines of kids streaming out of various buildings.  We make our way to the gym where the orientation is to take place.  We are shuffled in by one of the students running the show.  Upon entering, we see a sea of people in the stands.  After nearly stepping on the mascot’s black panther tail and nudging my way toward a small space I am eyeing three rows from the top, I realize my boy is no longer behind me but rather sitting two rows over with some friends.  I politely ask a young student if she could scoot over a bit.  She looks at me in a way that confirms my suspicions that I have indeed lost my cool parent stature and moves her tiny size 2 ass six inches over. 

It’s okay, I say to myself, internally justifying the fact that my son has totally ditched me.  From 50 feet away, I admire his handsome looks and his warm smile and I am filled with pride. 

The panther tries to encourage the crowd to do the wave.  The music is loud and the chatter is louder.  I continue to take it all in, slowly coming to terms with this next phase of his life and that girls can wear shorts that barely cover their groins because there is no dress code in high school.  

As I briefly stand for our section’s turn to wave, I notice there are so many kids.  Actually…all kids.  I do a mega scan and all I come up with for adults is a woman who is probably in her 80’s and a Hispanic man.  My heart quickens.  Holy shit!  Am I the only parent sitting here apart from the one that obviously needed to sit and one that probably didn’t speak English enough to understand the rules?  Where are all the parents?  Was there an email that said “Parents, don’t even think of coming to the orientation?”  I look over to the old lady to gain some sort of alliance.  I notice she has egg stuck on her cheek.  A quick check with the Hispanic dude and my hunch is confirmed as he is discussing something with his son in Spanish.   Coming to grips that I apparently did not get the “no parents allowed” email and that I am clearly a dumbass like my son had alluded, I now need to plot my escape. 

I try to alert my son that I am leaving.  He doesn’t so much as turn an inch toward my direction.  At this point, I don’t blame him.  I figure I will just text him later. Trying to leave the stands will give more attention to my day two attire and goo-filled hair than I would like but it’s better than hanging in the stands with the egg face and sticking out like a sore thumb.   I scurry down as fast as I can, keeping eye contact to a minimum.  Once I am down, my awkwardness subsides until I meet up with a parent in the hall who gets a chuckle at my expense.  Whatever!  These are the moments that you just have to own up to and hope it doesn’t cause irreparable damage to myson’s cool factor. 

Once in the car, I call my husband to share the fact that I was officially “that mom”- the one who totally embarrasses her kid by the simple virtue of being a mom.  I honestly was not trying to hover, but sometimes it’s hard to know where and when to let go.  We both get a good laugh about it and my husband suggests that I don’t post my epic fail as a status update on Facebook (all the while I am thinking, hell no! this humorous blunder is prime for Skirt!).  Just then I get a text.  It’s the boy.

“I am done now.  Why did you leave?” 

I smile to myself.  I guess being “that mom” isn’t always that bad.