Trials and Tribulations of a Single Mom - A VERY Long Weekend of Many Mother-Son Moments...

Enjoying rich Indian food at a restaurant, not bathroom painting, is high on Baku's agenda as he "enjoys" his summer with me.

This July 4 long weekend has been a very long weekend in more ways than one. Ashim aka Baku is home for the summer and while we have been enjoying an as easy and as close a rapport a mother and son can have, helped greatly by the fact that he is the lord of the lower level which is his domain and I am the queen of the top-most level of our home, we also have our moments. (I highly recommend this living arrangement as one of the keys to success in any lasting relationships where each person has his/her own space and yet is within easy distance.) Anyway, my long time and persistently ignored request to my son to help me with painting our bathroom and touching up our light colored walls in the house brought into play many of these moments this weekend- all at the same time- amusing, aggravating, annoying, educational and heart-warming, depending on when you recall them.

A Bee in My Bonnet about Painting
My home walls and ceiling had for some time been inexplicably peeling in different places. The reason is not a mystery anymore. The previous owner, burned by callous tenants, was so motivated to sell that along with lowering the price, he understandably (contrary to popular opinion- I can look at the other side's viewpoint also) had hastily slapped on poor quality paint without a primer. I discovered this painfully after calling the plumber who must have made the easiest money that day just for the couple of minutes he took to check our walls for seepage.

Our Dismal Store History
Once reassured that the bathroom tub was not going to come flying down into our dining room as my son had feared, he had become extremely laid back about the patch-up paint job we had to do. Finally, I laid down the law this weekend - no painting – no car on the campus. The paint job preparation miraculously speeded up, but not without the predictable rumblings and grumblings that I pretended not to hear. A few trips to Home Depot were made for different reasons, the key one being that Baku came back back with pure white paint instead of the eggshell white walls we have –this despite the paint chips I packed so well for him. He drove me crazy insisting that at the end of the day white is white. He had insisted on going alone as he is phobic about going shopping with me even to a hardware place. His phobia is well-justified due to the interminably long shopping trips, I took him as a child when he waited endlessly for me after I had bought him his token pair of jeans and then rewarded myself with what I thought were well deserved trips to the fitting room while the saleswoman humored him. Now wiser, he insists that we go in two separate cars for any shopping need. But I digress…

Indian Sons Don't Have a "Mouth"
Finally by the time we got the right paint – the tension was thick at home. Every question I asked was answered by an icy shrug and "I don't care". I don't know how other parents feel, but this canned response to any opinion request, just drives me up the wall much to my son's barely concealed glee. You see, I finally did go to the store with him where it was seemingly understaffed and busy as always. There Baku and I got into an argument because I took umbrage because he called me “annoying” in front of another customer who fled as fast as possible sensing the mother-son combat mode. Right there, I decided to give him a stern lecture emphasizing Indian cultural mores on parental respect about how respect must be given even if as he said, the parent was asking annoying and silly questions of a much harassed paint-mixer at the store while other customers were shuffling behind us impatiently. And this litany of Indian wisdom was given while the other customers continued to wait impatiently behind us-it probably gave them some humorous respite watching Baku, now act as the ideal long-suffering Indian son - finally! (He knows better than to argue with me when I am on a finger-wagging India March. Essentially his expression said "WHATEVER!!")

Is This a Gender or Mother-Son Issue?
At home, another argument ensued because of our different work-styles. I believe in getting the general idea and getting on with it–which does result in some mishaps but the job is eventually done whereas my son is methodical and diligently followed each and every instruction interspersed with breaks every few minutes to watch Wimbledon followed by yells of “sick” and "tight match" and similar cheering while I was standing there ready to burst a vessel. Finally we divvied up the work. Put in charge of priming the walls which would allow the "epic" match to be over, I went on a rampage touching up everything in sight while my son kept up with a running commentary and statements like, "Mom why are you doing such a ghetto job" and "You are dropping paint all over", "the texture is different" and "where is the tape to protect the edges" and on and on... I truly believe that I was the epitome of filial love as I continued ostensibly unruffled like a poker-faced saint in the face of such provocation...

The Crowning Moment...
The crowning moment came when I went to take a much deserved nap while Baku was painting (during commercial breaks only I suspect) while the Wimbledon match continued, when he called me from our home number on my cellphone. Since folks normally call me on our home number unless they have to really get a hold of me, I grabbed my cell only to hear a cheerful, “Yo mama – is there anything to eat in the house”. "Where are you?” I asked in my sleep-heavy voice. "I am downstairs watching Wimbledon- an epic game is going on – am checking the food situation.” Counting ten backwards in a dangerously steely tone, I sweetly told him to climb one flight of stairs to the kitchen to check for himself… My prince was calling me telephonically because as he explained to me patiently later, he doesn’t like to yell and this is logical means of communication. In retrospect, I think, he has a point but I obviously I didn't think so then.

Lesson Learned
Needless to say, only about half the bathroom and the touch up job in the house have been completed and we are currently not speaking to each other... Polo our sanguine basset is sniffing the paint stuff scattered around and is in seventh hound-heaven at the feast of amazing smells. I have learned once again that while ostensibly young adults, nineteen year olds are at the end of the day essentially half-child and half-men to whom the logic of touching up a perfectly fine home and causing all this work/stress is beyond their comprehension. My son truly believes that I need to get a life and not such bees in my bonnet. He is a great kid who takes care of other much-needed stuff for me, so going forward, I think the best money I am going to be spending is on a professional painter as reluctant sophomore college sons are just not “primed” for the job!!!