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From Mom to Foe


Rinn calls Travis “dad”.

Travis and I discussed “titles” when we made the decision to marry and his exact words were “I don’t care what he calls me as long as he calls me.” Reason #5849 I decided to put a ring on it.

Rinn started by alternating between “Travis” and “Elvis” and I just crossed my fingers that Travis had been serious about not being bothered by names because even I cringed every time Rinn shouted “Elvis” at Chick-fil-A. Shortly after we had all been living together we had to be on the road for a gig and after Travis’ performance, being totally unfamiliar with our roll in all of this, Rinn and I hung out in the shadows while throngs of women swarmed Travis for photos, autographs and overall praise and admiration. Then much to my surprise those throngs of women swarmed Rinn.

“You’re as handsome as your dad.”

“Are you going to be Elvis like your dad someday?”

and “Was that your dad up there?”

Rinn responded with thank-you’s, sheepish grins and “Yeah, that’s my dad.”

Since then it’s been “My dad (this)”

and “My dad (that)”

and “I’m just like my dad, ain’t I mom?”

Let’s ignore the “ain’t” for the time being, we know Rinn’s grasp of the English language is still a work in progress; more importantly though, the use of “ain’t” is just another one of Rinn’s attempts at emulating Travis.

Rinn’s affinity for his dad is unreal and he utters the phrase above regularly, daily in fact. Often enough that I sometimes question whether or not he’s biologically mine. I find myself thinking “I could have sworn I had a baby, I mean how else do you explain these mom boobs?”

I know what you’re all thinking “Oh but Rebecca, he loves you too.”

Of course he does, but only a fraction of the amount he loves his dad; his exact words “I love my dad with 67% of my heart, and you 24%”. Ouch. I didn’t bother asking what he loved with the remaining 9%; probably his Papa, his Uncle Brandon, watching Avengers movies and making me cry myself to sleep.

It’s fine, really. I don’t cry myself to sleep THAT much.

But in all seriousness, if I had to choose between feeling like Christina Aguilera at the 2003 MTV VMA’s all the time (you know, when Britney and Madonna cast her as the awkward third wheel during their iconic on-stage kiss) and an alternate universe where Travis and Rinn didn’t necessarily care for each other’s company, I’d opt to be Christina EVERY. TIME.

My only real complaint is that Rinn often declares his allegiance to his dad by snitching on me.

If we get home from shopping:

Travis: “What did you two do today?”

Rinn: “Mom spent too much money.”

If it’s early in the morning and I’m still half asleep doing school drop off:

Travis: “How was school today?”

Rinn: “Mom wasn’t paying attention and almost dropped me off at the middle school.”

“Mom snuck vegetables into the Hamburger Helper.”

“Mom hit a curb with the truck.”

The list goes on and on.

Ironically, it was over dinner one night that Rinn informed us that his teacher doesn’t condone tattling. I was thrilled, (also confused but mostly thrilled) hoping we could put an end to him singing like a canary about my every move.

Me: If your teacher doesn’t allow tattling in school, why do you tattle on me at home?

Rinn: Because I’m dad’s little camera

Nothing like going from “mom” to enemy foe.



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