“You know more than you think you know, Mom.”

How many times had I said these exact same words to my son?

It’s a rhetorical question, really, but the answer is probably countless:

Standing in the kitchen as he recites a poem for English or practices a speech for history class.  Reviewing flashcards for a vocabulary quiz on Thursday nights.  Asking questions in preparation for finals after studying over a long Memorial Day weekend when the rest of the country was celebrating our servicemen.  Encouraging him before heading out the door to a tryout, a game, a tournament.

You know more than you think you know, dear son.

But alas, now the words were tossed back at me, gently, encouragingly, comfortingly.

A year and a half ago, I set out on a new journey, my Empty Nest Quest, as I like to call it.  The journey started with a creative writing class at a local community college; something to try on for size, get my mind working in ways it hadn’t in twenty years, step outside of my comfort zone.  All the things I encourage my son to try when he is attempting to find his way.  Now I was heeding my own advice.

This small step sparked my dormant, creative juices, and, suddenly, I was committed to generate something bigger.

Dabbling in some writing led to the idea of a blog, but I needed assistance to get this project off the ground.  I needed someone who knew more than I did about creating a website, and considering I knew nothing, I needed someone who could accomplish this feat for me.

Step in my kind, easygoing, savvy son.

It turns out he thought it was a fantastic idea, so cool to see mom ‘go back to school’ and have a project of her own.  His assistance was easy to come by.  His support, heartwarming.

Patience came in to play very quickly.  First, I had to be patient for his availability; second, he had to be patient with my lack of knowledge.  Basically, it was me saying, “Look, Son, can you create this project for me?”  (It was the 3-D science cell project all over again, except in reverse.) That was the scope of my tech ability – zilch.

So, I waited.  Patiently.  For him to come home for Spring Break of his freshman year to assist me with my start-up project. 

So, in turn, he sat.  Patiently.  At my lap-top and created the first run at my masterpiece. 

Patience continued for both of us as he sat even-tempered for a while longer teaching me how to navigate the site:  copying, pasting, emailing, and then copying and pasting some more, to list a few of the skills I needed to get things up and running.

Tenaciously, I sat a while longer as I tried to learn this fancy new world of creating, navigating, and owning a website.  It was a new experience, a foreign language, at least to me.

Through his patience, we made progress.  Eventually the blog was launched, but with setbacks and frustrations, successes and failures along the way.  But throughout the process, my son stuck with me, rooting for me, much the way I had frantically cheered at his water polo matches, changing ends of the pool at the half so I could send my energy – and shouts of encouragement – to him in goal, leaving my spent emotions in the stands after each game.

I’d like to say the blog was easy from the get-go, but I needed to rely on my son a bit longer because of the glitches, sometimes my own undoing at forgetting how to actually post and send my written words to my faithful followers, and sometimes because the site would have an issue of its own.  But through each phone call or Face Time or visit home, he painstakingly walked me through the steps again – and again – often occupying my seat and simply taking over the task.

To me, he is brilliant, able to astutely master what my mind was refusing to comprehend.  He is my steadfast soldier, ready to do battle on my behalf as I attempted to conquer the unknown stratosphere of the World Wide Web.  And if nothing else, he is kind to his mom as his knowledge is greater than mine.

And just like that, with the click of the mouse and the creation of something beyond my capability, the student became the teacher.  He was painstakingly walking me through my worst nightmare because he believed in me, and he knew how to get me to the finish line.

Sure, there were times he avoided the general area of my work space so I wouldn’t try to latch on to him as I feebly navigated on my own or so I wouldn’t  vent my frustration to him over my limited abilities; and yes, there were moments when I sheepishly approached him during his visits home to glean one more tidbit of information, one more nano second of his precious time, one more boost of confidence for my project. 

We found our working balance and proceeded cautiously, finishing with a project in which we are both proud.  To date, he is my number one fan, always ‘liking,’ always encouraging from afar, always ready to generate advice, and always, always reciprocating the love.

As my son was heading back to college and the project was up and running, he casually said to me, maybe even offering a pat on the back, “You know more than you think you know, Mom.” 

He wanted me to be fine in my own discomfort, to let me know that mistakes would be made, and yes, I could manage most of it on my own. 

Because I knew more than I thought I knew.  Thank you, dear son, for believing in me.