"Did you come in here to tell me something?" I ask my son for something like the tenth time this afternoon.
"No," he groans.
"Oh, come on, it's funny. In an annoying sort of way," I say.
I don't think he's convinced.
"I'll come out and tell you something at 3:00," he says before disappearing into the office to play another round of whatever video game it is he wastes so much time on.
I've been waiting on pins and needles all day. Since yesterday, actually, when he told me that one of the colleges he applied to sent out a notice that decisions would be released at 3:00 today. That's not exactly accurate either. I've been filled with nervous tension ever since he sent off his college applications. In November. That's a long time to be left hanging, not knowing what's going to happen. It's no wonder I'm chomping at the bit.
My son, on the other hand, seems casually cool about it all. Which is kind of irksome. Why isn't he more excited? Nervous? Checking his email every second like I would be if I knew what his email address was?
One could think, maybe he's nervous about going off to college; that's why he's not making a big deal about it. I'm pretty certain, though, that no one could be more nervous about his heading off to survive on his own than me. I'm his mother after all. It seems inconceivable that my baby is old enough to live on his own. Besides, I've seen the way he makes his way through life. Surviving on his own seems a bit of a stretch.
Still, I can't take my eyes off the clock. I want to know and I want to know now. Maybe the difference in our behavior is I'm just impatient and simply hate waiting, whereas he's able to kick back, knowing that all will be revealed in due time. Maybe he's content knowing the future is going to get here, and getting all anxious and wishing time would move faster and make this moment pass isn't going to do a damn bit of good. What's going to happen is going to happen, so we might as well be chill.
And given these crazy, uncertain times when we all seem to be holding our collective breath and waiting (for what exactly, we're not sure), I can't help but think maybe my son has the right idea.