The joy is in the journey. The joy is in the journey. The joy is in the journey. This is one of my new mantras, inspired by my experimentation with letting Squish walk around in the out of doors a little bit more — to the train station, to the playground, back home again — and “ride” his bike on occasion. The boy is easily distracted, has very short legs, and a curiosity that extends to every pebble and stick in his path. But if he doesn’t care if we ever get to the playground, who am I to complain? We’re out! In the sun! And there’s so much more to see when you’re walking around than when you’re in a cage with a couple of hundred little beasts and their parents.


Manchild starts school in five months or so. We have no idea where he will be going and did not even bother submitting any applications to charter schools, neighborhood schools, magnet schools or any schools. But we do talk about school a lot, and Manchild has let us know that he is quite excited to attend. He does have one request: he would like an indoor school. Not one of those outdoor schools where all the kids just play on the playground all day.

And after that we had a little conversation about “recess.”


Squish has different opinions about school. And he likes to drive his brother nuts with them. The other week as I was running them around in the jogging stroller, I had a backrow seat to a conversation that went something like this:

“I’m really excited to go to school because school is really important and you learn a lot of things.”

“No, school is not important!”

“Yes it is. They teach you things and you learn what you should and shouldn’t do.”

“No, it’s not important!”

“Yes it is important.”

“No it’s not! It’s not important! It’s not it’s not it’s not!”


Please tell me I’m not the only one who did this, or daydreamed this, or whatever a million times as a teenage girl? Minus the translucent tank top and the twist at the end, of course.


It’s never really crossed my mind to try not to raise “Mama’s boys.” Nor did I ever think it might be weird to have a relationship, in 30 in years, in which my sons and I are in frequent contact, that we would enjoy each others’ company in an environment of mutual respect, that they might come to me with problems and that I might sound them out when I have problems of my own. But this article got me thinking about such things, and I am grateful that even if there aren’t any examples in pop-culture, at least I can look to my husband and his mom to see the kind of relationship I aspire to have with my sons when they are grown.

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