Glow in the dark planets which once hung from the ceiling have since been knocked down by the giant meteor known as “basketball”, as have any wall hangings I’d thoughtfully placed there. All that remains are a framed Salvador Dali print, Halo wall decals that cover the scrapes in the paint, sports and guitar posters and a Les Paul copy hanging near the bed.
At one point, my son suggested a redo of the nook where his desk stood. His homework is done sitting up in bed and that area had become wasted space in Space.
So we transformed his room into a youthful man cave. TV, futon and ottoman. The result was a veritable Futon/Ottoman Empire.
As I sat watching him blast his way through his virtual world, he turned to me and said “Mom, what are you doing here?”
Me: Um…hanging out.
My Son: Dude! (Yes, sometimes he calls me Dude.) My mom isn’t supposed to be hanging out in my room!
Me: But it’s cool in here. I always wanted a lava lamp.
MS: Whatever. You know what would be great? A mini fridge for sodas.
(Note: That’s not happening until I get a wine fridge in my room.)
I took the hint and left him to his own devices. Literally. I am only granted entrance between the hours of 8 and 3 for housekeeping purposes while he is off premises.
I soon realized a trend was taking place. He’d begun to request meals in the boy cave. A bagel here, a lunch there and the dishes would be left beside the door like room service style.
Shouts from the cave were an indication that he and his online friends would be in the throes of world domination.
When he got his hands on the new FIFA 13 soccer game that I’d often mistakenly refer to as FUFU 13, he pulled an all nighter and the next morning, while he snored, I took stock of the near apocalyptic, frat party after shock. Various foodstuffs were strewn unceremoniously across the floor in front of the futon on which my boy lay comatose. Oreos, popcorn, my Ghiradelli chocolates, wrappers littered about, three empty soda cans, a box of Cheez Its and a glass of water. Glad to see he’s drinking water.
My little boy is growing up and becoming a teen. I can no longer decorate without his testosterone charged approval. I can’t burst in with a book to announce story time. Entrance is granted by invitation only these days.
Then a cool thing happened.
“Hey Mom, you wanna play FIFA?”
Me: Yeah! How does the remote work? Why am I kicking the ball into my own goal? Why won’t my guys run? Why are they diving and rolling when I want them to kick?
MS: You suck at this Mom! Duh!
Me: I’m not an experienced gamer like you. We had Atari…(My version of “Back in the day…”)
MS: Here…I’ll show you. Nice shot! That was an amazing play! You’re actually good at this!
And there you have it. I managed to worm my way into the boy cave.
For just a little while.
Without a vacuum cleaner.
Linda Roy is the wisecracking musician behind the blog elleroy was here. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and two boys who swear she’s the female Larry David. A 2014 BlogHer Voice of the Year for Humor, she has contributed to The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, In the Powder Room, Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, Humor Outcasts, BlogHer, Mamapedia, BonBon Break, Midlife Boulevard and Aiming Low. She is co-author of the humor anthologies Clash of the Couples, Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness, and the upcoming I Still Just Want To Pee Alone, The Bigger Book of Tweets, Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor and Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee. Kvetch with her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Google+, Instagram and laugh at her comic musical musings on YouTube. No wonder her family is always running out of clean underwear.
Latest posts by Linda Roy (see all)
- All the Pompous Circumstances: A Letter to My Not-Yet Graduating Son - July 7, 2015
- My Teen Son is Just Chillin’ in the Boy Cave - March 20, 2015