...7 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:
19.October.2018

 You might think, it being Friday and the whole glorious weekend spreading out like a blank slate before us, I'd have grand plans to share.

You might think, it being Friday and the end of another schoolweek, I'd be basking in the break in homework fever.

You might even think, it being Friday, that I've unpacked his things-reviewed grades-prepped a healthy snack....

And you'd be wrong.

He's curled up in his corner tapping away at a game (likely one he knows I don't want him playing but allow the 'disobedience' anyway because...well...choices), whilst I sit at the kitchen table with melting ice-cream and piping hot espresso and the crunchy remains of a well-intentioned but by no means well-thought-out popcorn battle under my feet.

Yes.

Popcorn. Battle.

Because I'm that mom.

But a handful of minutes ago I was on my phone instead...he was still on his computer...and no more than 5 feet away. And we were chatting. About school. About the weekend. About popcorn and ice cream and espresso. Via Google Hangouts.

Listen.

Words were exchanged. Plans were made. Conversation flowed.

It just did so...silently.

And I, on the sofa staring at the little handheld screen, had a moment of complete joy that my 15 (15!!! Yes, fully teenage!!!) son was so open and free with his thoughts and feelings with...of all people...his mom!

I got the day play-by-play. The hallway gossip. The jokes that boys will tell, and the rolled-eyes (via emoji) that teachers provoke.

He snickered-in his corner-all curled up in his chair. And I giggled, softly, from the sofa.

The parent experts tell you to mark out the line firmly.

I-Parent. You-Child.

Never the twain shall meet.

They tell you to be the guide-the leader-the example-the authoritarian.

Not. The. Friend.

I won't tell you otherwise. I wouldn't presume to tell you what will work for you and your child(ren). But I'll tell you that we're friends, he and I. Of the real, genuine sort. Both invested and interested in one another's trials and tribulations. Both supportive of the struggles and successes. I ask him specific questions about his schoolday when he gets home. He asks me pointed questions about my work. I pay attention when he talks about his interests, concerns and brainstorms. He pays attention to my caffeine level-reminding me to 'top up' whenever I start to slump. We challenge one another...support one another...tease one another mercilessly. And always...always...always...are one another's 'soft place to land'.

Several weekends ago now, we picked up one of his friends for the day and did our usual spur-of-the-moment, play-it-by-ear adventuring. It was a blast! We tramped through historic sites, ate our way through indulgence, and talked our way through the travails of teenage-hood. All three. He, and I, and friend. And when we dropped friend off again, and friend's mother said "oh, next time I'll do it", and friend said (brashly and, admittedly, rudely) "No way! It's only fun with her. She's cool!", I felt a warm glow. Might have been the rush of embarrassment as I tried to cover for his gaffe.

(I literally gasped, then recovered and said "Oh. C'mon now. That's not fair. I'm just obnoxious about my coolness. I throw it in your face. See, look, jazz hands! You can't help but notice it. But your mom? Super cool. And way classier. She's subtle about it. Her coolness has layers. Has depth. You have to let her show you in her own time.")

***Good save, no?***

Anyhow, that warm glow? Bubbled up inside me right there on the doorstep. That *knowing* that the effort I put in to listening and understanding and respecting my son, and his friends, paid off.

That same friend of his told me that same day, in the car, that he likes my blog. ?!?!?! Um...err...well then...

I was actually, remarkably, stunned into silence there. My blog? I mean...wha...how..whe…

Oh, right...my son linked to it on his own site because....we're friends. Because he likes it, too. He thinks I'm "a great writer".

Listen, we can't all be right, all the time. Not even him.

But the thing to pay attention to there, is not whether I'm any good at writing, but that he wants to read what I write. And so does his friend.

Remarkable, no? A real head-scratcher.

Friend went on to share that he likes that my writing "sounded like me" and "made emotional sense". I, likewise, told him he was a genius. No lie! He told me that the way I wrote about my son and his autism and our life was such that it felt familiar and warm and real. He told me that it made him think.

(Meanwhile, I listened and thought....about all the posts I needed to delete before any other teenage boy stumbled across them!)

Here's the thing. I'm full of mistakes. My past is littered with them. My present is bursting at the seams. My future? Well, let's just say that's a mistake waiting to happen.

(Err...that might have been too tangential.)

The point is, there's so many things I do wrong and get wrong. And yes, I've a life chock full of people ready-willing-able to point them out, worry not!

But this?

This parent as friend thing?

This one I'm giving myself.

This one I've done right.