Dearest P,

I'm certain it's only been 24 hours since you made your hasty exit to London for the month long vacation only Europeans seem able to justify, but I really need your immediate opinion on a matter at home.  You most certainly know my firm belief that people who speak glowingly about children and time spent with them either don't have them or have only a hazy recollection of it.  You also know I have a strong commitment to summer camp for, well, all these reasons.  Why should my life be so radically different when the weather is warmer and the children become less educated by the minute?

That said, I somehow find myself with too many children home too many days this year.  My usually sharp organizational skills seem to find themselves occupied with the transplant of mon pere to the village and I now say, with tears in my eyes, that I am surrounded.  So, today, when teen cherub announced his intent to begin a project, I was thrilled.  It forced him out of bed by 11am and all he asked was that I drive him to a store not very far away so that he could purchase some supplies.  Dutifully, I rounded all those other cherubs in my family I could locate and began the trek northward.

What I failed to discover, having left the details to said son, was the store he desperately longed to enter no longer existed–having only a boarded facade and fading address.  He brightly suggested there was another location and it was "only" about 30 miles away.  As you do know, in DC, thirty miles requires the beltway and traffic and sheer insanity.  Which is why, naturally, I consented immediately as I so admired his tenacity (and mine) in the face of adversity.  This time I did have him call first.

Upon arrival at the store, and more specifically upon ascending the very creaky steps in my perfectly preppy Lacoste sundress, I suddenly awoke from my maternal slumber.  My teen son was intent upon a hydroponics store bc he wanted to build his own greenhouse. In a sudden flash, as I gazed upon the stoners surrounding us, it occurred to me that he must want to grow marijuana.  Remembering  my own parents' obliviousness to the trash can sized bong in my brother's room, I now knew how it could happen.  After all, most of us only want our children to learn to make their way in the world and, most fundamentally, perhaps, leave us alone to lead our own lives.  

You'll be proud to know I maintained my relatively calm demeanor and asked darling son what he intended to do with his grow light.  My sweet youth calmly pulled packets of hulless popcorn and catnip seeds from his pocket and said he really just wanted to know how things grew since he had so little connection to the earth living in the city. 

After I hugged him (we were miles away from home and none of his friends could possibly witness it), I was also a little sad.  Though I certainly didn't want this cherub growing or using marijuana, he has always been a very entrepreneurial kid and I realized that, just maybe, I secretly hoped he was attempting to create a budding empire in his very own bedroom.  Certainly I am not alone in this town for believing that my child has more potential than most but do you think, even by DC standards, I have carried a mother's passion too far?

C. 

Dear C,

Wonderful to hear how the green shoots of economic regrowth are sprouting up in the Village in my absence, especially since the talk here in London is all doom and gloom these days, and that's not just when the locals are discussing the weather. May I be the first to place an order for the fruits of eldest cherub's first harvest? Speaking as someone who can barely keep her own children fed and watered, let alone a houseplant, I find it admirable that your son appears to take such a keen interest in horticulture; and even more so, that you would be so willing to drive him to the back of beyond in order to nurture his budding talent. Like me and everyone else in the Village, you must have noticed the strange, jungle-like growth and midnight lights emanating from the garage of our neighbor and renowned conservative columnist; the man who likes to preach the folly of government-sponsored bailouts for GM, while apparently engaging in a little healthy GM crop activity of his own? Surely, it would have been easier and cheaper to ask him to lend a hand to eldest son's admirable engagement in private enterprise, rather than bothering yourself? The latter approach might also have the additional advantage of absolving you of any responsibility, when the Village police call round, as they inevitably will, to inquire whether son has the necessary licensing and permits. I think even our columnist friend would agree that Mother Nature can more easily afford to lose an aspiring member of the local food movement than your father and the remaining cherubs can afford to lose the woman who does everything for them.

P.

P,

As the mother-in-law was visiting this weekend, I took the opportunity to take her to lunch today for her Mother’s Day gift.  I think the real present was my sincere expression of gratitude for helping her son become the man I love today–or most days, anyway.  What I failed to mention are the times I pejoratively call him by his mother’s nickname and accuse him of taking her dark side to an extreme. 

You may not know that my mother-in-law and hubby are obsessed with tradition–you know, family habits that no one enjoyed the first time but must be replayed endlessly so they may be recounted in therapy later.  I prefer to set aside tradition and spend endless holidays in a morose and despairing state, roused only by a strong cosmopolitan. 

I’m fairly certain my way is better only b/c it prepares my children for all the failed expectation soon to follow in their lives.  Innocence and fun really only offer the naive the belief that things may turn out o.k. in the end.  Why not offer them a taste of reality while young and impressionable so they may be sent into the world cynical and slightly soured on life.  It seems, dearest P, that anything good that happens after that is only icing on the cake, right? 

Do tell me, P, if anything I’ve suggested is off base.  I’m headed right now to tell the cherubs dinner is canceled and they must forage for their meal.  Oh, won’t they appreciate me more tomorrow night when I put any old thing on the table?

Faithfully,

C.