Outa control

You know, it's bad enough that I can't control my pee, but at least it just drips out, a drop here, a dribble there. In contrast, my verbal peeing constitutes a torrent; my words, once firmly restrained, now gush forth like a creek after the first real thaw, bursting past dams and over levees, pouring foul-smelling water into basements, engulfing innocent passers-by.

Take the other night: Hugh was on the phone to his on-again, off-again girlfriend. Think of a strobe light, a disco ball. That's Hugh's relationship with this girl. Onoffonoffonoffonoff. Sometime Sorta Girlfriend finds Hugh's large number of "girls who are friends" very upsetting. Sometime Sorta Girlfriend thinks Hugh should hang out with only one girl. Ever.

A few nights ago, then, Hugh and SSG were talking on the phone. (For reasons I've never been able to discern, Hugh bellows when he's on the phone. In other words, I was not trying to listen. It was impossible not to listen.) They were arguing. Hugh had gone to the movies the night before with two girls from his church youth group, girls he's known since he was a baby, girls who fill the roles of cousins/sisters in his life. Now I'll admit, I find SSG hard to take and I'm revolted by her "I should be the only double X chromosome in your life" stance.

But what sent me over the edge was overhearing Hugh cajoling, wheedling, even pleading. My confident, assertive, beautiful boy, reduced to sniveling. Plus I was on Hour 56 of the Headache From Hell, and I was tired, and my damned old-lady foot hurt. So, really, is it all that surprising that as I walked past yet one more time and heard yet one more round of this awful, endless phone conversation, that I thought to myself, "Oh, geez, just tell her to fuck off, would ya?" Except I didn't just think it. I said it. Um, well, actually, I pretty much shouted it. Hugh just stared at me, then muttered into the phone, "I'll call you right back," and ran upstairs. I went into our bedroom, shut the door, lay on the bed, and said to Keith, "Really Bad Parenting Moment."

The next afternoon, Hugh came into my home office. "You know last night, when you told me to tell SSG to fuck off?" "Oh, Hugh, honey, I really--" But before I could launch my apology, he continued, "I told all my friends at lunch today. They said, 'Dude! Your mom is awesome!'" And he grinned at me.

Shit. Now what?