“Mom, Can I Have Food”
It was never about the bagel. It was always about the checkpoint.
Who knew four little words could hold so much?
"Mom, can I have food?"
During the school year, those words can feel like the start of another round in the never-ending dinner battle. What's for dinner? What sounds good? What do we even have in the fridge? I completely understand why the internet has an entire genre of memes devoted to the torture of figuring out dinner seven nights a week. The scrolling, the standing in front of the fridge, the same meals on repeat... it can feel like its own tiny war.
But summer changes something.
This summer, those four words have become one of my favorite things to hear.
My son turns 17 this week. It's the summer before his senior year, and earlier this summer we went to Bali together. I use the word together loosely because, honestly, the only thing we really did together was Uber to the airport. After we checked our bags, he looked at me and said, "Mom, can we just meet at the gate?" He had a friend with him, and without hesitation I said, "Of course."
I watched the two of them bound off into the airport, excited for an adventure that no longer required Mom by his side. Some parents probably would've wanted us to stick together. I found myself surprisingly happy to let him go.
It was his first trip that far from home, from everything familiar, and it somehow felt right that the experience started with freedom. I have no doubt the gifts from that trip will continue unfolding for him for years to come. And if I'm being completely honest, I kind of loved wandering through the airport alone too. Who knew airport security lines could feel so peaceful? I'm guessing any single mom reading this understands exactly what I mean.
Life gave me a different version of motherhood than the one I imagined.
Not exactly the Hollywood version, that's for sure. There was a time I grieved that. But somewhere along the way, I stopped focusing on what I didn't have and started noticing the gifts hidden inside what I did. Today, I can honestly say I'm grateful for this version of my life because it has taught me to loosen my grip, trust my kids, and find connection in places I might have otherwise overlooked.
Now that we're home, everyone is living their best summer life. My son surfs all day, fishes at night, and exists on a schedule that barely overlaps with mine. We're mostly two ships passing in the night, and truthfully, the main thing I hear from him these days is, "Mom... can you make me some food?"
Well... food or money.
And let's be honest, those are basically interchangeable.
"Mom, can I have money for food?"
"Mom, can you make me food?"
Same thing.
Of course, part of me thinks he should probably have a summer job. Maybe I'll regret not pushing harder. But for a kid who has never fit neatly inside a classroom, who thinks in wonderfully non-linear ways, who comes alive outdoors and thrives with movement, spontaneity, and freedom, I'm all for these short eight weeks of surfing, fishing, sunshine, and flexibility. Summer isn't that long, and I love watching him fully inhabit it.
So every time I hear those words echo down the hallway, I'm oddly grateful.
Not because he needs me to toast a bagel. He could absolutely do that himself, and sometimes he does. But when I make it, I usually make it a little more than a bagel. I'll throw together a smoothie, slice up fresh fruit I know he wouldn't stop to cut himself, or warm up a piece of homemade banana bread. They're just little mom touches, the kind he'll probably never think twice about now but may remember years from today.
Because it was never really about the food.
It took me a while to realize that what I was actually saying yes to wasn't the bagel—it was the checkpoint.
Every kid, no matter how independent they're becoming, still needs one. This is ours.
And if I'm honest, I think parents need checkpoints too. As our kids become more independent, we're quietly learning a new way to stay connected. These little moments in the kitchen have become ours.
It's the few minutes where I get to see his face, look into his eyes, notice if something feels different before he's off chasing waves or heading out with friends. It's where our nervous systems find each other for just a moment. Our little moment of attunement. Our coherence.
There have been summers when our checkpoint wasn't a toasted bagel. It was tears, heartbreak, anxiety, hard conversations, and long nights when none of us were sure everything was going to be okay. This summer, our checkpoint is food, and I will take that trade every single day.
I know this season won't last forever. Someday he'll have his own kitchen, his own routines, and maybe even his own teenager wandering through the house asking what's for dinner. But today, he still walks down the hall and asks, "Mom, can I have food?"
And every single time, my answer is yes.
If this resonated, I recorded a video this week that goes even deeper into this season of letting go, and what it's quietly teaching me about who I'm becoming too. You're always welcome to watch it here.
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