The Humiliation

This morning after swim team practice, Braeden had a babysitting job. He was worried about being late for it. I told him we wouldn't be late.

(If you ever stop talking, we won't be late...)

Braeden and Emma skedaddled away from the pool and I was still talking to a recruiter from the Sting Ray swim team. I walked out and found Emma waiting for me.

Where was Braeden?

Was he still in the boys' dressing room from which a cacophony of sounds was spilling forth?

In his impatience had he already gone to the van?

I did what any mother would do. I called into the boys' dressing room, "Braeden?!"

No answer.

I called a little louder to make sure I was being heard.

I called a third time.

Then Braeden came scuttling out. "Stop calling for me," he hissed through clenched teeth.

I said, "Why didn't you answer?"

He said, "Because you were embarrassing me."

So then I said, just so we were clear, "I was calling your name and that was so embarrassing that you didn't want to answer and let your friends know that it was me, the mortifying mother calling you the mortified son? (like they didn't know anyway) If you'd have just said something I would have stopped calling for you. I didn't know where you were."

He laughed a little and realized he was being a bit silly.

As for me, I realized how eternally grateful I am that I am not 12.

And never will be again.