DIANE MAKAR MURPHY My son's New Year's Eve plans set off my alarm bells

My son Josh is home from The Ohio State University, still 19, still a kid who leaves dishes in the sink and sleeps in until noon -- but now also a man who earned an impressive 3.75 for his first semester's GPA and a guy struggling mightily to get out from under Mom's thumb, cause, frankly, he does quite well on his own now, thank you.
This, for many of you parents who have evolved suitably with the maturation of your children, wouldn't be a problem. But for a natural "helper" (butt-insky, fixer, make-it-better person) like me, this is a Mount Everest. (I remember Josh once saying to me, "Mom, you can't make everything better." To which I replied, "I know, but I can try.")
Take, for instance, New Year's Eve.
"Mom, we're going to go to New York City to watch the ball drop!" Josh said. His father stood there at the kitchen peninsula, smiling. He obviously didn't understand what our son had said.
Motherly instinct
Josh was talking about going to New York City to watch the ball drop! To stand with frozen fingers shoulder to shoulder with frozen strangers, on his feet for a good six hours. What was I missing? Was some part of this supposed to be fun? Hearing about a plan like that just made me want to take a hot bath, wrap up in flannel jammies and go to bed.
I just smiled. "Really?"
"We're going to fly in on New Year's Eve," he said. "We'll get a hotel room for the first."
"The first? Where will you stay on New Year's Eve?"
"Are you kidding?" Josh said, looking at me like I was an idiot. "We won't need a hotel for New Year's Eve."
Alarm bells going off, motherly instinct kicking in, hairs on neck rising, butt-insky hormones flaring ...
"You're going to stand outside in 5-degree weather ALL NIGHT? Where are you going to go when everything is over?"
"It's New York City!" he said with obvious irritation.
Reality check
Obviously, this little troop needed a reality check. You know, somebody to stomp on all those happy little dreams we have as young ... No, no! That is NOT what I was thinking, though my son would tell you otherwise. I was thinking about how cold your feet can get when you've been in subzero weather and how they start to feel like little boards. And how they can ultimately turn black and fall off.
I was thinking about the phone call I might get on New Year's morning ... "Hello, is this the Murphy residence? This is the NYPD. Your son was picked up for loitering. We've given him a rousing strip search and now he's is in a holding cell with four prostitutes, a pick pocket and a wino dressed as Father Time ..."
I was imagining Josh and his friends standing in Times Square after everyone else had left. There were pounds of confetti and spent poppers, party horns and noisemakers. Sanitation workers pushed huge brooms along empty roads. And a quiet but seemingly friendly man who looked a lot like Anthony Hopkins in "Silence of the Lambs" came along and offered the guys "a place to stay for the night."
My husband, on the other hand, was doing none of these things. He was eating popcorn. My son was planning a trip that would end with a body part in a refrigerator, and John was completely at peace with it.
Last resort
I started attacking the Internet, searching for hotels, checking out flights, and reading about Times Square and Dick Clark. I relayed information to my son who grudgingly accepted some of it, though in his heart he knew he was encouraging my most annoying attribute.
In the end, Josh and his friends decided to save money by driving, to use the savings on a hotel room for both New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, and to only ask me for help as a last resort.
Post Script: I read this article to my son for his blessing. Josh said, "I'm going to pull an all-nighter now and not use the hotel, just on principle."
He's joking, right?
murphy@vindy.com