Those of you who read my last column know that it was about my life as an empty-nester whose baby bird, my daughter, Francesca, is home from college for the summer. But there are two sides to every story. I thought it would be fun for you to hear her side, and so I wanted her to contribute to this column. I hope it will help my fellow parental units to see how our college-age kids (sorry, adults) see us. So, the following is from Francesca:
Now that I'm older, I imagined that living at home with my mother would be different. Not that it needed to change; we've always had the best relationship. I can honestly say that my mom is my best friend. But now that I'm 21, I figured our dynamic would be more mature.
Not exactly.
My childhood nickname was Kiki, and my mom always had hundreds of nonsensical pet names for me. The days of BooBoo, Baby Bumpy and Mocha JaMocha are over. Or so I thought.
We were in the shoe department, trying to be cool (we both inexplicably get dressed up to go to the mall) when my mom looked up from the sandals and said, "Hey, Bumpy! Look at these!" I resorted to the oh-so-teenage, "Mo-om." We totally blew our grown-up cover.
Back home, one change in our interaction wasn't due to my age, it was due to hers. She'd read that she should drink red wine for her heart, so one night, she poured herself a glass and offered me one, too.
This alone was a big step. My mother doesn't drink, and when I was younger, she decried the perils of alcohol with Prohibition-era ferocity. So, as she poured me a glass of wine, I felt as if we had turned a corner in our new, mature relationship.
I made sure to not drink more than one glass, but I wasn't the one who had to be worried. After just a few sips, she started up: "Oh, I feel it. I can feel it already. Can you feel it?" she asked, excitedly. And before my mom had even finished the glass, she was triumphantly declaring, "I'm drunk!" like a frat boy. My mom's night of boozing (still only one glass) quickly turned sour. She complained the whole night: "Ugh, I have a headache from that wine. I'm sleepy from that wine. I can't sleep from that wine." She required more post-party care than my freshman-year roommate.
Jeez, Mom, grow up.
