The Smooch-Mobile

It's been a strange week in the Boehme Hoehme. Our dearest firstborn -- the illustrious Jonathan -- has been at camp with his Youth Group all week.

Dang, it's been quiet around here.

I've always known that he's a noisy kid. Especially now that he's drumming. The word "peace" is difficult to comprehend these days. Yet I have to say that the absence of just one child out of four makes a profound difference.

I've spent the last four days cleaning Jonathan's bedroom. This has been no small task, I assure you. I have vacuumed up everything from fish food to dried-up worm bits to three petrified minnows (have you ever seen the painting "Silent Scream?" That's what their little faces looked like.). I only screamed twice, which is pretty good, considering what I was dealing with. Eric had suggested that we just blow the entire room off of the corner of the house and be done with it, but I thought a more prudent approach was in order. I'm not sure Jonathan is going to recognize his room when he comes home tomorrow.

Needless to say, I am brimming with a huge sense of accomplishment this evening.

You know what else? I seriously miss my not-so-little guy. Yes, he's loud -- downright obnoxious, sometimes. But we are kindred spirits; we understand each other. And I love him intensely. He has added indescribable richness to my life. I am bursting at the seams to see him tomorrow.

Naturally, I will have to act like a "cool mom" and give him a high-five or something when I pick him up. I was instructed under no uncertain terms that I was not to hug him good-bye in the church parking lot when he left, so I'm sure the same rule will apply at his homecoming. I know he loves me, though -- the hug he gave me before it was time for him to leave was beyond what you might expect from a thirteen-year-old.

I really love my son!

Twenty-four hours from now, my ears will be ringing again. Jonathan's drum teacher speaks highly of his natural talent, so I do hold my tongue. I am, after all, a passionate musician myself, and I'd never want to squelch that in my son. Why he couldn't have chosen something quieter, I don't know. A penny whistle might have been nice. Or finger cymbals.

Have I mentioned that I love my son?

I've done well with this separation -- really, I have. Eric will vouch for me. I didn't even cry when he left. I might cry when he returns, though. Loving someone this intensely always leads to tears at some point.

I'll be sure to let you know how the "reintegration process" goes. Exit peace and quiet -- enter one of the most awesome thirteen-year-olds I've ever met!



The Smooch-Mobile


I didn't make the term up. It was written, in an eleven-year-old's handwriting, on a piece of paper. And you won't believe where I found it.

Eric and I had some errands to run. Namely, we had to pick up our van from its quarterly oil change at the dealership, drive separately to Tires Plus, and drop off the van for some repairs. It was fairly early in the morning, and we had driven about half a mile from the dealership when we realized that we were supposed to be driving separately to Tires Plus. (This sort of thing happens rather frequently.)

So we turned around and headed back toward the dealership. As we approached Eric's parked BMW, I saw something fluttering on the back of the car. Upon closer examination, I saw that the "something" was a piece of paper, folded in half and taped with masking tape to the trunk. On the paper, in several different colors, was written, "Smooch-Mobile."

Eric and I had driven all the way to the dealership with the word "Smooch-Mobile" displayed on the back of our car.

Let me explain. My daughters, for some reason or another, are obsessed with kissing. Not in the, "Oh, I wish someone would kiss me" sense, but rather in the, "Eww! Kissing is so gross!" sense. They have even coined a rather interesting word for describing a long, romantic kiss: they call it "Owming." And when they chance to catch Mommy and Daddy in the middle of a lingering smooch, one of them is bound to exclaim, "They're owming! They're owming!"

An "owm," naturally, is an open-lipped kiss. The term was first put in use to describe the kiss scene in Disney's "Beauty and the Beast." Let's face it -- that's an awfully steamy kiss for a children's video. And since Belle and the prince's mouth look like they are forming the word "owm" while they smooch, my creative children decided to call kissing "owming."

Of course, if Maggie had written "Owm-Mobile," nobody would have understood what she meant. So, at big brother Jonathan's instigation, she wrote "Smooch-Mobile" instead, and Jonathan taped it to the car.

Eric and I left the "Smooch-Mobile" sign in place while we finished our errands. We get a kick out of things like that, and besides, the sign had an awfully romantic connotation. The girls squealed with laughter and delight when we returned home with the sign still firmly stuck to the car.

I find dozens of drawings of people kissing these days, too. Prince and princess, maiden and lad, ballerina and handsome sidekick. Most of them are the artistic creations of dear Maggie, who is definitely sorting through the whole idea of "romance" right now. I only hope that Eric and I are providing her with a good model.

We do try not to "owm" in full view, though. At least not very often. There's something a little disheartening about the "ewwwws" that assault us.

I can say with absolute certainty that I never observed my own parents "owming." Wee smooches -- pecks, really -- on the lips are all I ever saw. "Romance" is not something that comes to mind when I think of my parents. And, really, I think it's good for kids to see their parents romancing each other. So in that sense, Eric and I are doing something right.

And our reward is a trip in the Smooch-Mobile.

Some day, "owms" won't seem so icky. In fact, the word "owm," with its negative implication, will probably cease to exist. In the meantime, I think I'll enjoy this odd little "kiss phase" in my daughters' lives. I'll tuck the word away, safe in my memory, until their wedding days. Then I'll be more than happy to say, "That was a lovely OWM, my dears. I'm sure you'll be doing lots of OWMING tonight!"

With my luck, the girls won't remember what I'm talking about, and I'll doom myself to "ditzy mother-in-law" status in a heartbeat.

Oh, well. I think I'll go take a spin in the Smooch-Mobile.

REMEMBER

You are doing something wonderful and you're not alone in the doing. Loving your husband is a wonderful way to love your children. So don't hesitate to show your wee ones that daddy is the love of your life. They are going to absorb more than you'll realize!