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  • Writer's pictureTina

Foreshadowing...




I have had a bad week, dear reader. Actually, it is going to be a bad ten days. My bean, my buddy, the Laverne to my Shirley, has been off galavanting around New York with her BFF for the past several days. I am grateful she has a friend who includes her with a family we trust who also includes her. I am thrilled she gets to make memories that will last a lifetime. I am happy she is experiencing life outside our farm and small town. However, I can't help but feel like this week foreshadows things to come. Sigh.


When The Bean asked our permission to go on this trip, very clear stipulations were put into place...mostly by me... okay, it was all me. I wanted her to A) decide on a new phone. B) purchase said new phone. C) come to terms with the fact that she will have to part with her hard-earned money to buy said new phone. The phone situation has been a bone of contention for quite some time. We switched providers, and our bomb-proof phones, which weigh ten pounds and are the bane of my teenage daughter's existence, no longer work with our new provider. Jordan wanted an iPhone. The Bibbed Wonder and I do not support iPhones for many reasons. It's a matter of personal preference. We left it up to The Bean to decide what phone she purchased, iPhone or Android, she could decide. That was several months ago. She has not settled. She has terrible service with her old phone. She cannot text with said terrible service but is okay because she can send Snaps to her friends and watch that Godforsaken TikTok.


I wanted to be able to communicate with my child while she was five hours away. I feel like that is a reasonable demand. She waited until the last minute, decided on a phone, bought the phone, bought an Otterbox (also my request), and then left a day early without the new phone because it had not arrived. Okay, she technically met my demands, but it didn't play out the way I envisioned. I cannot reliably communicate with my child, but she can send me Snaps and do video chats. She pinky promised me she would call me every day. She swore on my life would check in with me daily and let me know she was alive and well. She also told me she would miss me.


This dear reader, was a collection of falsehoods. My darling bean sits upon a throne of lies and feels no thorns. She is truly a Benedict Arnold. She is no longer my Laverne. She is now Bambi, Laverne, and Shirley's arch nemesis. I am six feet under, buried alive with no grave bell. The Bean's pinky promises mean nothing. Nothing. To add salt to a wide, gaping, gushing wound, she doesn't even miss me. Not even a little bit. Nope. I'm not sure how this little traitor sleeps at night.


We have had two conversations if you can call them that. Both exchanges combined have totaled a whopping four minutes and fifty-two seconds. She mostly repeats what I say and then talks to her friends. She then rudely informs me she has to go and doesn't even say I love you like she means it. She says it like an afterthought and an annoyance. I don't even get real pictures of her. I get stupid pictures, like the car's roof or sidewalk. Why do I want a view of the roof of the vehicle? The family has decided to extend the trip by two days. I asked The Bean if she was okay with that, and she responded, "Yeah, IDC." I don't even get real words! IDC, I had to look that up. It means I don't care. Obviously, she doesn't care. Sigh.


Not only did she lie about calling me, missing me, and checking in with me, but I also made her pinky promise that she would wear a life preserver while she was kayaking. It's a safety thing. I hate water. She knows I worry about her around water. She is a strong swimmer, but bad things happen. Perhaps exercise an ounce of prevention? Her friend Ray sent me a picture of my daughter in a kayak. Yes, her friend sends me messages but not the child I would move mountains for, oh no. She's too busy. Guess what The Bean was not wearing while kayaking? Yep, a life vest. Again, her treachery knows no bounds.


I asked The Bibbed Wonder if this is what it's going to be like when she goes to college. Is she going to ignore me, tell me what I want to hear, break her pinky promises? He put his arm around me and told me it would be okay. She is a normal, healthy teenager having fun with her friends. Sigh, I miss my baby, who would call me several times a day to check in if she stayed overnight with Grambarb. Her tiny little voice on the other end of the line said, "Hey, Mommy! What are you doing? Do you miss me? I miss you, love you, bye." Those were the good old days. How can they be so long gone?


I have become "that" mom. That mom who calls at the worst time to annoy her child. That mom who nags and nobody wants to talk to because she frets and worries. That mom who waits like an overly excited, expectant child to get a scrap of attention from their kid. I am that pathetic mom who gets her silly old feelings hurt by being ignored. I am pathetic. I have decided not to be that mom. I am playing it cool. I told The Bean I would talk to her when she got home on Sunday and to have a good time. I'm not going to nag or beg. I will paste on a big fake smile and send her pictures of Buster and me eating ice cream and watching Gilmore Girls. I will send her Snaps of me doing fun stuff without her. I will eat Taco Bell and send her pictures of Buster eating tacos with me. Two can play this game, Bambi. I see your stupid picture of a sidewalk and raise you a Taco Bell wrapper. Ha!


Meanwhile, I will go into her room and look around sadly at her picture books; all boxed up and ready for storage. I'm going to sit on her bed, be annoyed at all the clothes on the floor, and miss her. I will hug Teddy and think about when she couldn't sleep without him. Sigh. I am pathetic. I miss my kid. I'm not looking forward to college. Nope, not at all.


On this steamy July day, stay safe, be smart, don't be that mom, fake being calm, cool, and collected, plot your revenge for ungrateful children, eat tacos without them, and of course, wash your hands. Faking being a cool mom is messy; wash your hands.


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