18 years ago, when creating a personalized Warhol knockoff meant hours of graphic design prowess, my husband made a poster featuring various faces of my son during his first three months of life. Colic got the best of him those first few months it got the best of us, too – still, the combination of photos in a gigantic frame was a reminder of what we overcame. Over the years, it was always the talk of guests who went into his room. It’s been on the same wall, unmoved, since he was a baby.
When kid number two came around – a quiet, passive baby – she got an oversized poster as well. Great conversation pieces, friends would frequently compare them and we’d laugh and joke about their different personalities.
When child number three came along, we ran out of energy. Poor kid. “No poster for you,” just a CD with the images we would have used if we’d only had the time.
Over this recent Christmas break, after my soon-to-be graduating son cleaned his room, gave away his drum set and moved the furniture around to make room for a couch (which he can’t afford, but dreams will someday provide lounging fun for friends), I found his coveted framed poster facing the wall in the hallway.
He didn’t have to say anything … I got it. If I were him, I probably would have pulled that poster down long before my 18th birthday – a reminder of dependent days gone by. Because at 18, he’s now a man. Time to grow up, create a less kid-like space, head to college, open new chapters and pave the way for his siblings to do the same.
I don’t know where to put this 3-foot-by-4-foot photo image (I told you it was big!). Our house has limited storage and if I know my middle daughter, it won’t be long until she pulls down her baby “Warhol” and replaces it with an Austin Butler poster. When that happens, I will have two giant framed posters that need to go somewhere other than facing backwards in the hallway. Those nine squares will be relegated to some unknown location – perhaps the garage or sitting on top of the fluff of insulation in the attic.
I suppose there always comes a time when kids choose something of deep meaning to their parents and set it aside, almost hauntingly.
If these items we hold dear could only talk, the stories they would tell. How can a thing, a created item, bring up such feelings? Feelings I admit I do not like.
I already told my son that he should just ignore me when I burst into tears about random things relating to his leaving. I’m allowed – I earned it after surviving five months of colic and 18 years of knee-breaking prayer, which I would happily do again if I had to.
I may cry for every single time he made me laugh, which is all the time. And not because I’m sad that he has grown up, but because that crazy, frustrating, exhausting, hectic, hurried season that wove his life with mine will soon pass, never to return.
So, I say I’m allowed. I may do it quietly in the shower so no one knows or embarrass him at graduation with bloodshot eyes, but either way, I have to grow up, too – and that’s sort of exciting in a strange way.
I promised myself I would not write a sad column, but somehow, I can’t find the funny in saying goodbye to what was. If you are a parent whose got a kid knocking on college’s door, you feel me. Sorry if this turned somewhat sappy, but what good would a family column be if I only doled out advice and ideas that always have a neat little bow tied around them?
Having said that, here is my “bow,” because I am a glass half-full person and I can’t help myself. I do have something very funny to share and if I don’t do it now, I will lose my “hook.”
This month, I had intended to write a “look back” at my most popular columns of 2022, which included “Are your kids ruining your sex life?” That article enjoyed a ton of response on social media. In fact, an old friend from Alabama read it and messaged me with a story I know you will appreciate.
“My husband and I were enjoying some quick morning alone time when we heard our son calling through the house. He finally made it to our closed door and knocked, asking for me. My husband said through the door, ‘What is it, Buddy?’ He said, ‘I just wanted to show Mom my new wart!’”
Yup, warts and all … a new chapter awaits us all this year.
When wearing her work hat, Lisa Mozloom is a media and presentation training coach and PR practitioner at The M Network, but at home she is a woman passionate about raising three teens, loving her husband, and finding ways to extend hospitality and hope to those around her.