February 22, 2008

Once a Mother, Always a Mother

My kids haven't been "kids" for years. This year my baby will be 30 and his older brother, 33, but just because they have chest hair, deep voices and real jobs doesn't mean they are not children. Therefore, when they visit me I am still responsible for their comfort, just as I was when they were still drooling into their sippy cups.

Last weekend Tom was visiting from Indiana and my mothering instincts, long dormant, were awakened like a daffodil bulb in a stretch of unusually warm weather.

My first question to Tom, before we had even picked up his luggage was, "Did you have anything to eat?" He described the $8 sandwich he had bought onboard, knowing that I would be interested in all the details, just as I had listened raptly to his descriptions of his mornings in kindergarten.

The state of his stomach wasn't the only thing I worried about. Had he secured an aisle seat so he could stretch his legs? Was there enough time between flights? Did he bring something warm to wear?

Tom was very patient with me, but honestly, I embarrassed myself. The guy is 6'5" and has a beard. He has been on his own for years. I just couldn't keep myself under control.

On Saturday we drove into the City to hang out with Jason, my older son-the one who escapes excess mothering my screening his calls.

We decided to go to the Mission. Tom, a mechanic and a weekend drag racer, was the natural choice as chauffer. Jason was the navigator, this being his turf. I sat in the back with Keeper, concentrating on keeping my mouth shut so as to not allow the words, "Look out! There's a pedestrian!" to escape my lips.

Miraculously, we found a parking spot and walked toward Valencia, two by two, the boys in front. I noticed how they fell into step, both having inherited their father's distinctive gait. They were laughing and joking around. We walked behind, silently watching for crazy drivers who might snatch away their young lives if I relaxed my vigilance.

We arrived at Paxton Gate, a store on Valencia that moved Jason, on his first visit there, to whip out his iPhone and send me a picture of the taxidermied creatures on the wall. I've been wanting to see it for myself every since.

Paxton Gate is a banquet of the bizarre, a paean to the peculiar, a warehouse of the weird. There are cat skeletons on display in glass cases, bowls of badger claws and bird beaks, and carnivorous plants. All are for sale. As they roamed the store, Tom and Jason kept calling out, "Mom! Look at this!" Jason came at me with turkey claws as big as human fingers (eeek!). Tom said the fish floating in formaldehyde reminded him of the fetuses on display at the Science and Industry Museum in Chicago (ewww!). They led me over to the glass case containing dead mice costumed and posed as angels, bride and groom, and circus acts (only the two-headed ones.) I reacted predictably.

Okay, so I have a hard time not acting like a mother to my grown children. But hey, deep down they're still little boys who like to gross out their mother. I'd say we're even.