My son Virgil just started Middle School. His math homework is about 13 days from being beyond me. Truth is, I already have to strain to help him. But I get there eventually and I feel pretty damned triumphant when I figure out the pre-algebraic equations (sequences, terms, arithmetic patterns... ahh!)
The word problems are particularly difficult for me. They always have been. My head twists up with the to's and fro's and then I get fuzzy and have to start over at the beginning because my brain vision blurs making the sentences meaningless. But then I get fuzzy again. And I get this agitated uncomfortable feeling akin to shortness of breath and then I fuzz out completely, disconnect from the problem, so that I can breathe calmly. Putting the words and numbers out of my mind returns my equilibrium.
But I force myself to focus to help Virgil out. Shortness of breath is no match for this mother's desire to help her son! Alas, soon even my secret focusing powers won't help us. He'll be on his own.
Which reminds me...he'll be on his own soon enough. He has fewer years ahead at home than he's had behind. That is not right. I just got to being able to talk to him about real stuff and he's going to go and hate me (teenager), then leave me (college student), then tolerate me for brief phone calls (20-something). How did this happen?
Makes me want another kid just to extend the parenting gig. In fact, I've wanted one for a while now. Not a small matter of dispute with my ex. I realized recently, I can have one if I want to. Wow! I don't need to ask anyone's permission, or for anyone's input or perspective or sperm even. I can get myself some store bought sperm. Or adopt. Presto change-o family with three kids.
I raised the subject with my two already living children. Wyatt, the youngest, was excited. "Yes! A girl! Let's get a girl! Maybe a Chinese one?" (Maybe he's reading too much US Weekly, too many Brangelina articles?) Virgil was less enthusiastic. "Hm. I don't think so." When I asked him why, he couldn't say other than he just didn't want another sibling and that he felt badly saying so. "Am I being selfish, mom?"
I told them we'd discuss it some more before deciding anything. I need them to feel they have a vote. They've been through plenty in the last year, they don't need some unwanted infant stealing my attention and patience. But I want a bigger family! I told them they had a say and now I'm thinking, how can I let these children - these children who are going to take off before I can likely manage to arrange my shoe closet - decide the fate of my motherhood? I suppose they already have in that they made me a mother to begin with. But how much say should they have really?
I know they'd embrace and love a child that was real and not just a conversation starter. I know Virgil is partially asserting some will in a family situation that affects him in an effort to overcome the helpless "Hey what about me? I didn't get a vote" feeling that must have overwhelmed him last year when I moved out of our family home.
And just like the way in which Virgil adjusted to our new home by having a say in the decor, he will come to embrace the idea of a differently shaped family, provided he has input and a voice. Or he won't. And we'll be a jolly threesome, then a twosome, then me. Just me. Anxiously awaiting their arrival on Thanksgiving and Christmas, enthusiastically accepting (remember collect calls?) their terse phone calls and pining pining pining for the days of parenting small children.
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