The Squooshy

I am on a mom-son trip with my son—Daniel (age 15). It is our first time out of country without my husband—the logistics planner extraordinaire.

The dynamic is different in so many ways. I’m enjoying stretching myself—well—I’m not enjoying all of the stretch. I find that I am anxious without my travel partner. He is the one that usually does the planning and knows how to get from A to B. He also makes contingency plans; he’s extremely resourceful.

Also, when I travel, I get a little anxious about every little bit of tummy trouble or lightheadedness or an unexpected ache. It’s hard to settle when you are so far from home AND when you are the adult in charge. But. Anxiety is a beast to be tamed, no? Maybe what I am enjoying is the confidence that I am building.

The boy

What I am most enjoying is the one-on-one time with Daniel. When the kids hit high school, they are just so many places at once. And when we do have downtime as a family, it’s usually shared downtime. This trip opens up so many opportunities for conversations between the two of us and for noticing new things. We’ve talked about his future. His mentors. His strengths. His challenges. His friends. Who he wants to be. Who he is. Such a blessing to be able to talk to your kids.

Big Apple

On the first leg of this trip, we had a day in NYC. I drove Daniel nuts by taking photos of every little thing; because that is what moms do. I had some plans for us, but Daniel expressed an interest in going to the Met. So. Off we went.

I would summarize our day at the Met this way:

Boobies. Buddha. Jesus paintings, and musical instruments.

I am certain my friends are shocked to know that my irreverent-self giggled at every little naked statue and painting. After our fill of statues and relics, we took a break in the atrium for a snack and an episode of Schitt’s Creek on the iPhone. I love that the humor of that show lands with Daniel.

My favorite memory in NYC, though, was walking with my boy, my hand in the crook of his arm (as we always do), one AirPod in each of our ears, listening to and singing folk music as we walked through Central Park. We did stop every now and then to greet a furry friend with the abundance of glee required.

Mini-Me or Mini-He?

Daniel and I are fairly attuned to each other. He has a bit of the “Squooshy” and he picks up on nuanced emotions. Wonder where he got that from….

Sometimes, that attunement reveals itself in ways where he speaks truth to me—observing where I leave myself open for pain or places where people walk on me. Or sometimes, prophet Daniel (as I sometimes call him) will convict my heart with a soft admonishment about spiritual things. Or waste. Or treating others kindly. I just look at him and quietly thank God, for speaking truth to me through my kids.

But on this trip, I have seen a side of Daniel that I get to see less frequently at home. I see the leader in him; just like his papa.

Scary Airport

Sometimes, when I have an influx of sensory inputs, I go to a place of overwhelm. It’s not the kind of overwhelm that looks like Moira Rose; I’m not hiding in my wig closet shouting hysterics. For me, it looks more like decision-paralysis. The “great unsureness” takes over and I slow way down, afraid to make mistakes.

At our layover airport, this showed up bigly. I was jet-lagged and a bit nauseated from motion sickness, and I was facing my great nemesis: the airport map. Nothing was sinking in. Daniel seemed to recognize what was going on and, wordlessly, seamlessly, he just took ‘front position’.

In the moment, I stopped being parent and started trusting his instincts for where we should go and how we should get there. I could not help but notice how much like his dad he is in that way. At home, Dave just goes, and we follow—fully trusting.

Daniel had such quiet confidence in the airport. In some ways, he is the best of both of us—sensitive Rhonda and leader Dave. Dave and I can sometimes get wrapped up in each others’ reactions and the stress has the potential to become a volcanic situation. But Daniel seemed to take over without any outward stress.

The great enigma

I couldn’t help but step back and watch—marveling at him. Mom-goggles I suppose. Often, Daniel is 40 on the inside and 15 on the outside; wise beyond his years. Sometimes, however, his under-developed prefrontal cortex shows his age:

No, boy, don’t light that on fire.

No, boy. Don’t open the door car door when we are still moving.

But. On this trip, I saw the man inside my son—like a little window into the future.