Dethel

("It was a good death." ~inane quote from Legends of The Fall)

It is the end of an era: please bear witness to the Death of Ethel. 

 As you may recall, Ethel is my alter-ego. She is the crazy woman who swoops in the minute Bee leaves town and feeds Mr. C sugar and pizza all weekend and lets him stay up waaaay past his bedtime. 

When Mr. C was a 6-year-old, Ethel would take him to a fast-food restaurant to play on the play structure and eat crap for lunch, then take him home to watch a movie together while they binged on Papa John's pizza and breadsticks for dinner.

When Mr. C was a 10-year-old, Ethel would let him pick out a microwave meal from the grocery store for dinner that night . . . then hit up Papa John's on the way home from said store for some lunch.

When Mr. C was 12, Ethel really upped her game: she'd come up with a "menu" from which Mr. C could choose a meal, a movie, and -- maybe -- an extra treat.  (Spoiler alert: one of those meals was always Papa John's.)

weekly menu

(close up)

 

And now Mr. C is 14.  Last month, Bee went out of town for the weekend, and Ethel made her usual appearance, "menu" cards in tow.

"But I'm not sure I want Papa John's," Mr. C hedged.

"You'll choose it and you'll like it!" his mother Ethel cajoled.

So she forced him to get a sausage pizza and a pound of breadsticks, but she graciously allowed him take his half up to his room to watch whatever he wanted while she caught up on "Tiny House Hunters" downstairs.

When Mr. C reemerged from his room several hours later, just as Bee was returning home, the teen announced, "Yeah, I think I'm over Papa John's."

"Is Ethel only about junk food?" Bee asked, eyeing the latest "menu" she'd taped to the kitchen wall.

"No," I said, defensively.  "She's also about watching movies together and . . ." I racked my brains, ". . .  other things."

"So what movie did you guys watch?" Bee asked.

"Ummmm . . ." I said.

"What 'other things' did you do this weekend?" he pressed.

Mr. C shrugged and ran upstairs before he could get caught in the crossfire.

"So, just to clarify," Bee reiterated, "Ethel is about eating junk food in separate rooms all weekend?"

I sighed.  "I suppose.  But it's junk food we don't get to eat when you're home."  (Because, damn it, Bee is a good cook and we generally eat pretty healthily.)

"Uh-huh.  But now Mr. C doesn't even want to eat that junk food," Bee pointed out.

So that's the end of Ethel.

Yes, she served her purpose when Mr. C was younger.  When he was 6 and 10 and even -- to a certain extent -- 12, I needed to be able to step away for a bit and allow myself the freedom to be a "bad mommy" who fed her kid junk and let him stay up late.  Also, I was still in charge of entertaining him, so taking him to matinees or to cheap-food-filled play-places were novel ways I could relax a little when Bee was gone.

But now Mr. C's 14 and fairly autonomous.  He doesn't need me to entertain him anymore.  And he's perfectly capable of finding and squirreling away junk food on his own, thank you very much.  And he routinely stays up past Bee's and my bedtimes every weekend, anyway.

So what's the point to Ethel?

I'm not saying Ethel will never make an appearance again, but I think she's pretty much served her purpose.  And letting go of Ethel can kind of be a freeing thing, too: now, "Ethel" doesn't have to come up with a planned menu and a way to get to fast food restaurants.  Instead, Mr. C can just ask me if we can do something; if it doesn't require me to be away from the couch for too long, I may even deign to make it happen.

That whole "Alone Together" slogan takes on a new meaning once your kid is a teenager.  For now, I find I'm fine with that.  Maybe, in a few years, that will change, and I will push to reinstate "Together Together" time, where we watch movies or go on outings or play games more often.  

Perhaps that will usher in the rise of "Ethel 2.0" . . . and whatever snack food she is currently obsessed with.