Don’t Blink
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Moms & Sons

To prepare for motherhood, I read all the current books by Dr. Spock, Penelope Leach and T. Berry Brazelton. I spoke to new and “seasoned�?mothers and received a wealth of information and parenting tips. But one piece of advice I wish I had received was, “Don’t blink.�?BR>
One morning I was delighting in listening to my toddler son’s chatter as we talked on his Fisher-Price telephone―I blinked―and one afternoon I called home to realize the deep voice saying “Hello�?was my son.


I helped him when my preschooler begged me to turn on Sesame Street―I blinked―and my teenage son was the only one who could operate the multiplying number of remote controls for the TV/DVD/Cable/PlayStation/Stereo system.

I gave my son colorful Playskool keys to play with on our way to the grocery store, the park and the zoo―I blinked―and our Toyota car keys were taking him places to explore on his own.

I spent wonderful hours helping him learn the alphabet―I blinked―and in high school he learned new and frightening combinations of those letters―SAT, GPA and AP.

Many a day I commiserated as my little boy complained that there was no one to play with since only the girls in our neighborhood were home―I blinked―and he was asking for my advice on finding the best dozen roses to send his sweetheart for Valentine’s Day.

On the first day of kindergarten, I dropped him off and worried for three hours until I could rush back to pick him up―I blinked―and I was dropping him off at college, knowing I wouldn’t see him for three months.

When he was in first grade, I packed a bag for him to take to a sleepover two houses down―I blinked―and he was packing his own luggage to spend six months studying halfway across the world.

On a spring day I took the training wheels off the shiny new bike for my determined four-year-old―I blinked―and an even more determined young man had saved enough money to buy his own shiny new car.

Surely it was only last night that I was tucking him in and heading for bed myself at 10:00 P.M.―I blinked―and my bedtime now coincides with the hour he’s heading out the door for a night out with his friends.

I photographed his adorable end-of-preschool pageant when he donned his paper-plate mortarboard and proudly accepted his graduation certificate―I blinked―and he was striding confidently to shake hands with the university president and accept his college diploma.

I always bent down to give my son a bear hug and smother him with kisses―I blinked―and now I reach up to show this young man my love.

I relented when, as a sophomore in high school, my son made an impressive case for why he absolutely had to have a cell phone―I blinked―and as a sophomore in college he was the first family member whose cell phone finally reached me on 9/11 to be sure I had made it out of the World Trade Center. “Mom! Are you okay?�?BR>
So to all the new mothers, take it from this seasoned one. Don’t blink.