They mean well. They really do. Possibly they’re overcompensating for Dad not being in the picture or hardships suffered along the way of growing up. Or possibly they just can’t see that their innocent Little Man isn’t five any more.
It’s really bad if you’re dating the son of a S’Mother. Like, really bad. For these are among the mothers who give mothers-in-law a bad name.
I dated several Sons of S’Mothers in my time. It made what to avoid easy to spot.
Does he call his mom a little too often and talk a little too long? Do the phrases, “My mother wouldn’t like that” and “My mother says” show up a lot? Does his mother insist on being there for anything and everything, including when you two are spending an intimate weekend somewhere? If you answered yes to more than one of these questions, you may be involved with a Son of S’Mother.
There is a cure. But it usually takes an outsider to bring it about. I technically cured a World Class S’Mother. Well, ‘cured’ might be stretching it. Got her to recognize that her son was a grown young man might be more like it. But it was still a Herculean effort.
My friend, Roberta, lives out of state and her son, Robert (yeah, honestly), lives within the same metro as me. Her son is a twenty-something, so not a child at all.
Roberta called me, hysterically. Seemed Robert and his girlfriend had gotten into a fight and she had kicked him out. Roberta has never liked said girlfriend. Most likely because she was near the Little Man and so had to be evil and bad news.
So, after she sobbed out this story, Roberta wanted me to race 45 minutes across town to rescue him.
It was the middle of the day, on a weekday. I was working. Not only that, I was confused. “Is he hurt?”
“No.”
“Is he sick or injured?”
“No. But his cell phone is dead!”
“Then…how did he call you?”
“He called from her phone.”
“So, um, she let him use the phone to call you?”
“Well, no. I called him, and when I couldn’t get through on his cell, then I called her.”
I got an inkling of how the fight had started. “So, he’s still at her place but she’s thrown him out.” I let that one slide. “In the middle of the day. With the buses all running and the businesses all open. Right?”
“Right. But he’s alone! And has no phone! And --”
“And, I must ask…does the Foot-Mobile no longer work?”
“Huh? Foot…you want him to walk?”
“He’s twenty-freaking-one years old! Are you seriously telling me that he’s incapable of calling a buddy from her phone that she’s letting him use, walking to the nearest Denny’s, and having a soda while he waits for said buddy to pick him up? Do you really think he wants me to jump in my car, drive across town, and pick him up, like he’s a little kid?”
“But…but…he is a little kid.”
I laughed. “You are such a S’Mother.”
Roberta was quiet for a few long moments. “Oh, God. I am. He’s an adult, isn’t he? And I’m acting like he’s a child.”
“And you’re acting like a lunatic, but I’m used to that.”
We shared a good, long laugh. And Robert, shockingly, had a buddy pick him up. He called me later to thank me for the save. I told him it was no problem -- with gas prices how they are, I’m not driving across town for any emergency lower than loss of limb.
But then, I’m the mother of a girl. It’s cool. I raised her right, and I expect her to be resourceful enough to handle anything that comes her way. She does, too.
Of course, should anyone make my Little Darling cry…well…there’s another kind of mom.
Ninja Mom is not amused by Little Darling’s tears. And all Sons of S’Mothers and Sons of Bitches are now put on notice.
The Great Corrupter
Not to diss anyone’s dear old mum, but I’ve really noticed there are certain types of mothers. You have the ‘fun mom’, the ‘cool mom’, the ‘embarrassing mom’, and the ‘strict mom’ -- and sometimes these can all be the same mom. And many other types of mom, as well.
