mathmom

My younger son has gotten tired of waiting for me to make apple pie (I got apples for it over a week ago). He's busy cutting up apples now, I can't wait!

bethievt

It's so much fun to watch them grow up! My dear son surprised us with very thoughtful birthday presents this year and then surprised us again by his very mature career thoughts. He's a first year at a SLAC--he has plenty of time, but why not try some jobs out now?! You go, guy!!

justhismom

The other day S and I had a wonderful phone conversation, about all the things going on in his life, upcoming finals, summer employment, his next semester and classes, etc. When I hung up with him, I thought to myself what a nice young man he is. I realized that he has grown up so much this first year of college.

dmd77

Okay, my kids have graduated from college and are somehow managing to support themselves, although occasionally they do things that make me wonder about them. BUT... my son astonished me when he needed to get his car repaired and managed to talk the repair shop into cutting a huge amount off the price--and then they told ME what a pleasure he was to deal with.

My daughter sold her car (she's using the money to fund a post-graduate gap year) and bikes everywhere. She recently decided to come home from Portland for a few days--so she biked home. 230 miles. Took her three days.

zebes

My first year son turned down an opportunity to go all expenses paid to the consumer electronics show in Las Vegas (his part time job) because it would have meant missing, essentially, his first week back after Christmas break. He made the decision on his own. Thankfully, he chose the way he did; his second week of the semester he caught that horrible flu that laid him up for eight days. He'd have never recovered from all that time missed.

zebes

TimeCruncher

My family was in the process of relocating out-of-state. My daughter and I flew ahead to apartment hunt in our new community while another family member began transporting our belongings over the road. We arranged for a confirmed two-week stay at a centrally located, independently-owned, “graciously appointed” vintage hotel which had been glowingly described and highly recommended by several esteemed travel guidebooks.

My daughter and I arrived to discover that the once-gracious hotel had become a rundown dump. One side of the dump catered to homeless transients (who, I later learned, were mostly male convicts recently released or paroled from a nearby state prison); the other side of the dump catered to “regular” guests, primarily conventioneers. Because my family had requested an extended stay, my daughter and I were assigned to the dump’s transients’ side. Our room was adjacent to a room housing a group of loud, rowdy men and women we could easily overhear arguing, fist-fighting, and breaking liquor bottles and other objects, including what sounded to be hotel lamps and chairs. I was certain the hotel staff could overhear the rowdies’ noise as well, and I figured they’d respond and throw the rowdies out. They didn’t.

The following morning, my daughter and I carefully snuck out of our room (to avoid being seen by the rowdies) and went down to the front desk, where I reported what I had overheard the previous night. I then requested a room change. The hotel’s surly desk clerk and equally surly manager flatly refused my request. The manager also told me that the large two-week prepayment my family had made was nonrefundable. My daughter and I returned to our now-stiflingly hot second-floor room, which had no windows, but only a door leading to a small balcony separated from the rowdies’ balcony by a concrete wall. I cracked our door open to get some fresh air into our room, and promptly overheard one of the rowdies (who was standing on his balcony) hiss to his roommates, “Hey, there’re people staying next door. After they leave we can climb around the wall onto their balcony and break into their room." Our balcony door had only a cheap spring-locking doorknob. I had to take action.

I looked in the Yellow Pages and, with the aid of a map, discovered that a small mom-and-pop hardware store was within walking distance of the hotel. I wedged a chair against our locked balcony door, and my daughter and I quietly departed for the hardware store, where I prepared to buy multiple rubber doorstops, a heavy-duty chain-latch, and some tools (including a pricey hand-operated drill). I told the hardware store owner why I needed the items. He listened quietly and then asked my daughter to describe the situation; she solemnly and precisely confirmed what I had said. The hardware store owner told us to wait while he went into the back room. He returned with his own personal toolkit--including a manual drill--which he said I was welcome to borrow and return to him the following day. I offered to pay him a security deposit and to give him my ID, but he refused; he said he trusted me. He charged me only for the doorstops, the chain latch, two screwdrivers, and a hammer (for protection). My daughter and I returned to our hotel room where I installed the chain latch on our balcony door. She and I then promptly returned to the hardware store with the owner’s tools and a thank-you note from both of us.

In retrospect, I think the hardware store owner made some discreet phone calls on my daughter’s and my behalf, because that night at around 4:00 AM, several police officers--accompanied by hotel staff--showed up at the rowdies’ door, pounded on the door, and demanded entry. The police claimed to be looking for a parole violator they suspected was staying in the room. The police ID’d everyone in the room. Hotel staff promptly removed all unregistered overnight “guests,” and warned the registered residents that their residency would be terminated if any unregistered overnight “guests” were found in the room again. From that point on, the rowdies’ noise and activity level dropped to practically nothing, and whenever my daughter and I walked through the hotel lobby, the staff smiled fawningly at us. (They practically clicked their heels and bowed to us!) Regardless, my daughter and I continued to be quiet and cautious (we took turns listening through the wall to keep an ear on anything the rowdies might be up to), and we were relieved when our two-weeks-too-long stay at that horrible place came to an end.

Throughout that two-week ordeal, my daughter’s conduct was above and beyond exemplary. She understood the gravity of the situation. She cooperated with me by staying calm and quiet, and by following my every direction without once complaining, whining, or crying. She behaved like an adult. She was less than four and a half years old.

jym626

^^^ Can I adopt your daughter?? Better yet, if she isn't dating, I have a few fine young men I'd like to introduce her to!

TimeCruncher

To jym626: On behalf of my daughter, thank you for the compliment. She’s a legal adult now (and doesn’t need adopting), and she says she doesn’t plan to be socially “available” for quite some time--at least not until she’s got her Ph.D. in hand! Thanks again!

jym626

Ph.D. is good! I've got 2 bright, eligible gentleman (one is probably close enough to her age to be in the running..)

lderochi

When my son turned 16 and had his drivers license -- and hence some limited freedom -- we told him that we wanted him to do some volunteer work. Not for college app purposes, but just because it was the right thing to do and to keep him from lounging around doing nothing after school. We figured he'd go to the local humane society or senior center and ask to answer phones or something like that. He immediately headed down to the local volunteer fire company, went through several full weekends of training at the fire school and answered his first call within a week after getting his basic Firefighter I certification (much to DW's horror to see her baby go charging out of the house TOWARD a fire rather than AWAY from it as any sane person would do). His Senior Year in HS his station named his firefighter of the year, one of their youngest to get the award.

Since then I have had no reason to doubt his maturity. He's a freshman now and, while he can still do typical goofy teenage things, he's pretty much already a perfectly responsible adult. He also makes his own money as an EMT during breaks and really, really hates relying on us for money. If he could somehow figure out how to make enough money to pay tuition without breaking the law, I have no doubt he would do it in a heartbeat.

So he's earned the right to call his own shots and make his own mistakes, several years earlier than I was ever prepared for. It's a little sad, really, but I am very, very proud of him.

momofnewP

This is just something that I thought was funny. I was sitting on the couch and my son, who is quite tall, was standing up near me. He seemed to be looking at my hair, so I asked, 'Is a lot of gray showing?'. His response, "What gray?" I thought: this kid will go places. He really made me laugh.