Well, people keep asking when my book will be out, and I have to confess it’s still months away from being in my hand. Writing and producing a book is sticky business, not an easy task from start to finish. Even with as many players it takes to get it done and to do it right, I’m finding out first hand how challenging it can be for all involved, even when we each have the best of intentions, or when we’re sure we sent one thing, and not the other, and I thought you liked that, but no, not, I never did, one of us is sure to cry. You should see my very untidy files (real and on the computer), the amount of emails; the unbelievable back and forth. And believe me when I say I’m grateful for email and learning how to take screen shots, send pictures, video chat, and the likes, but there can also be great confusion in the bluster. It can very quickly feel like it is just way too much–too much information, too much back and forth, and too many decisions to be made–you name it, we’ve been in it.

But alas, the book really is “running off to the printer” anytime soon. The files are uploaded, being reviewed at the publisher, the high-res images all in place (I hope so), my words stroked and caressed and placed with correlating photos. Overall it looks great. Fabulous really, but still I can’t help myself when I see the slightest thing out of line–it’s in my nature, I guess–fussing over every color, every word, every small slight that’s just not right. It is, though, as my editor says very definitely–time to get it out the door. Sometimes you just got to leave it alone, stand back with a healthy distance and watch it grow and become what it is going to be, all on its own. Sounds a little like raising kids, and we all know how hard that can be. As much for them, as for us.

My son, Trevor, who is 18 now, continues to remind me that he can make his own decisions–no need for me, really, but “hey mom, you got a few bucks?” We have a habit of slumping off into our respective spaces when we are mad at each other–he favors slamming his door when he’s pissed, shutting me out into the sweet, silence of his room and music–then proceed to talk to each other nicely through the door, or ask for favors–”Oh, can you make me a cup of tea, too.” It’s the gauge, I guess, to sense how real our frustration is (I mean how mad can you stay in at best, a 700 square foot flat, with 3). So, what’s that all about?

But, what can I say as I watch him on the precipice, the great mountain that is life, where he stands ready to leap, make decisions that will take him where he wants to go (where he wants to go, is key here)? We’re still in process, not there yet, but on our way. Inside me is a running tape of things I want to say, to remind him of–did I tell him about that when he was growing up, have I mentioned that he should make sure to do this or that first, and what about signing up for your classes, and what about…..a job. Meanwhile marijuana is on the verge of becoming legal–or perhaps not–but he likes to tell me that it is, which is fine by me, but please don’t get any ideas is all I can think; he also likes to tell me about inner workings of films he likes, the newest in fantasy drawings (some of his own), the plot of his favorite books, discuss recent studies on the brain, how fasting is actually good for you–”You should try it, mom”–and that Smart water is actually not just hype. All of this, prefaced by the now understood–”I’m not asking for your opinion, I’m just sharing with you.” Hmm.  Time to take my cue. And yet there were the recent afternoons when he decided he wanted to learn to cook–first it was pesto, then it was fried eggs, and then chocolate chip cookies. So, you see, it’s not really all that bad, and he hasn’t as much as he wants to think so (and that I often want too) flown from the coop. I realize I love it when my kids need me; it’s in fact, much harder when they don’t, even though I tend to think it the other way around. I am told that our job as a parent is actually never done, but like my book–I have to let go some time, and now is the time. He’s going to do fine, and my book is going to be fine too.