It's been quite a week for big news, hasn't it? Especially in our nation's capital.
First, the Supreme Court upheld Obamacare. Hmm. Then the House of Representatives held Attorney General Eric Holder in contempt of Congress. Oh my.
Not to mention that, even before all those beltway bulletins, Germany got stuffed by Italy in the Euro 2012 soccer semifinals, and Anne Curry got rebuffed by the "Today" show. Molto Bene for Italia, and, as for poor Annie, I'm sure the sun'll come out tomorrow.
But here, a little closer to home, there was recently a news flash of a different sort: Local mom becomes invisible!
You see, I have just learned that I possess the incredible superpowers of being completely unseen and unheard by the human eye and ear, respectively. Well, at least to the ones attached to my nearly teen son, anyway.
In fact, in a strange ironic coil, I actually become less visible and audible the more actively and loudly I project myself. I swear on a stack of Bibles!
For instance, the other day at Kyle's swim meet, I was flailing about and screeching my head off as I proudly cheered him on as the anchor of his Freestyle Relay sub team.
"Go, Kyle, GGGGGGGG
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed, just in case he forgot his objective after hitting the water.
And just like that, POOF! I was no longer being seen or heard by my li'l buddy and his posse AT ALL.
As near as I can tell, with merely a glare from his countenance, my superhuman capacity for obliterating the barriers of both sound and light are activated. It's not altogether unlike the process by which the Wonder Twins morph, remember? Only with my particular super skill set, it's sort of like: Form of NOTHING! Shape of PLEASE GO AWAY!
OK, OK, so I'm a little super-enthusiastic. So I cheer loudly. So I hired the Blue Angels to perform a fly-over as he climbed out of the pool. Is that any reason to deny my very existence?
It's official. My kid hates me. He no longer openly acknowledges me in public. Ever.
"What, you think my boys even glance in my general direction?" commiserated my friend Beth Wharton of Hubbard in reference to her two sons. "I am basically a chauffeur service for them until they get their own driver's licenses they only tolerate my presence because they need the ride."
But, friends, the indignity doesn't end there.
I'm going to give a few more examples of this odd phenomenon but the players' names have been omitted to protect the irritable - and their scorned mothers.
"I know, I know, my 14-year-old makes me drop him off at the far end of the parking lot whenever I take him anywhere. Then, when I pick him up, I have to wait until he texts me that he's alone," said one fellow wounded Mommy, while another blurted, "That's nothing. My 15-year-old actually DENIED that we were related, right in front of me, when some girl asked if I was his mother!"
Oh, the humanity.
At least my husband is in the relatively same boat - oh sure, he might be a few seats closer to the bow on the whole "parental coolness" cruise, but I'd say we're both pretty much viewed as unhip and ancient by Kyle and his mates.
And just when I thought all hope was lost. A glimmer.
As Kyle emerged from the pool at said swim meet, breathless and tuckered out after his big event, I saw him silently scanning the crowd. And for one brief shining moment, he locked eyes with me - then his father - and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
Let LeBron have his stupid ring. The fact that Kyle is secretly thrilled to have us by his side at his sporting events is better than an Olympic medal.
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist. Contact her with brags about YOUR baby at zoominternet.net.