mother's day

A few weeks ago I ask Alexander if he'll be home for Mother's Day.  His response?

"I have to come home the following weekend anyway so would it be okay if I came home then instead?"

"Sure," I respond. "Or how about mid-June? Just pick a date that's most convenient for you."

He does the right thing and comes home.

I work on Saturday so we meet afterwards. Alexander chooses the restaurant. A little Italian place called Finestra on the UES. 

My son is waiting for me when I arrive. At first he was worried (he later tells me) because all the patrons there were so old. Maybe they were finishing up from their early bird dinners. I arrive, near eight, and by then, the small restuarant is filled with people of all ages.

The food is great. We both order the same fattening meal: shrimp parm with a side of spaghetti. During our relaxed conversation, Alexander casually says,  "I really need to see a doctor. My right shoulder keeps poping out, even when I sleep."  I have no idea how long this has been going on for, but he injured his shoulder in 2009.  His busy life doesn't allow time to watch a one minute youtube video I recently sent him, so I shouldn't be surprised that he hasn't found time to have his shoulder examined. 

Today, Mother's Day, Alexander meets me at work to shop, something he loathes doing. But I wish all my customers were like my son. He's quick, decisive, knows what he wants, and it would never occur to him to return anything.

Despite having to work, it's a nice Mother's Day. 

I consider myself lucky for a lot of reasons. And being mom to Alexander is top on my list.