On Becoming an Adult: Part Two

I was late. I'm always late, even when I arrive 20 minutes early. Don't ask how that's even possible.

I arrived at the Back-to-School night just in time to miss out on the sugar and nitrates, having chosen instead to prep myself by gulping down a glass of wine with dinner (who's anxious??) and hit the Starbucks on the way (must be an alert nervous semi-drunk).

The announcement went off: Time for period one. According to my son's quickly scrawled notes, I was headed to room N35. The "N" stands for "north." As in, the north campus. This effing school is so huge it's broken into quadrants. Luckily, I wore my stylishly ugly leather sandal-y shoes to aid in my hoofing-it. I had comfortable shoes, I had Starbucky goodness, I had instructions. I was all set.

So naturally I headed south. Directionally challenged am I. Upon reaching the end of the south section (some 40 miles later), I realized my mistake and turned around, heading north. Once at the most northern tip of the school I again became convinced he's told me his classes were on the other end of the school, nearer to where he insists I drop him off every morning. Following the instinct that has gotten me thus far in life, I headed back south.

Five minutes later I arrived back on the southern tip of the school, internally crying about my abysmal state of affairs. Where the hell is N35?? Why isn't it in the S section?? That's when I actually heard myself crying out loud, whining, calling for my mother.

Oh wait-- no. That was the lost 4 year-old boy I found, wandering tearfully screaming for his Mommy.

Almost nothing scares the crap out of me more than worry for a lost kid, thinking of a lost kid, imagining being a lost kid, or the topper, losing my kids. He was wandering tearfully, calling out, and was followed by a series of curious onlookers in the way that people follow geese at the park-- a careful, interested distance.

I fear no goose. I walked over to him just as he let loose an ear-piercing wail and wrestled himself out of the arms of a well-meaning leadership student, and started in with every reassuring platitude that I could think of. "We're going to find your mommy. Come on, baby. This way. You're safe and your mommy loves you and is looking for you, too. And we're going to find her. I'm a safe person and it's okay and you're doing a really good job. You're being very brave." Meanwhile, all the kid is doing is crying profusely while screaming "Mommmeeeeyyyy!"

I ushered him forward, telling him we were headed to the principal's office. The principal, who was the boss of the whole school, had a big microphone and would call for his mommy and no matter where she was, she would hear the principal and go to his office. The crying paused. I think it was the boss-of-the-school line that got him.

Aaaaaaand that's when his fearfully exasperated mother saw him and rushed forward with that oh-my-gawd-I-am-so-happy-I-am-going-to-beat-you look in her eye. I so did not want to see the "WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU" moment, especially over the five year-old and baby in the stroller she was pushing (Back-to-School night with 3 five and unders? HOW??), so I kept saying, "He did such a good job, he really missed you, he wouldn't talk to anyone, just insisted that he head to where he saw you going last." She didn't yell. She was kind. She hugged him. Thank GAWD.

I fear mean parents as much as I fear lost kids.

Regardless, I somehow ended back at the north end of the school, on my cell phone to Trevor. He wrote the number down wrong. It was S35. South. *sigh*

I still got lost. After hitting the wrong class and a befuddled trip to the guidance counselors' office for an official print-out of his class schedule, I arrived at first period English just as everyone was leaving.

Classic.

On Becoming an Adult: Part One

Two nights ago I went to my oldest son's freshman version of high school Back-to-School night. This would be my first Back-to-School night ever as the parent of a high schooler. Let it be known that I'm just now getting over the exhaustion-- both mental and physical-- of it all.

To recap, the evening's order of operations went like this:

* Child writes down school schedule.
* Parent arrives at school, stands in hot quad area as school band, upbeat teachers and a chipper student leadership team welcomes them.
* Parents are offered and expected to consume copious amounts of free hot dogs and soda.
* Once pumped full of sugar and nitrates, an announcer relates that it is time to begin the death march to each class.
* Parents attend each class on an intensely modified PA announced schedule and sweat profusely as they feign interest in the class's grading structure.

I learned a lot from this experience. I think it important to impart the wisdom.

For starters, I learned it is considered rude to:
* Arrive late;
* Yawn, or conversely, show any signs of being out of breath;
* Count the number of teacher's "uhms" uttered per sentence.

I arrived at the school, Starbucks in hand, and met up with my dear friend, Momologue. Momo's oldest son is also a freshman, and she, having also been black-wearing, long-banged angst-ridden teen, joined me in my overall feeling of "whelmed." Long since past the days of pretending to fit in, being a parent of a high schooler had officially inducted us into the Halls of Adulthood.

Damn.

Happy boy

DSC_0227
Originally uploaded by girlmonkey

Trev started high school a couple weeks ago. His demeanor is so upbeat.

I'm all a twitter

I can so totally tell I am the first person to ever use that witticism.

Check it.

Bush's pooper

I don't like the man.

I didn't need to know anything about his colon.

...a little bit lower now.

First:
"Asked at a June 10, 2004 news conference if he stood by his pledge to fire anyone found to have leaked Plame's name, Bush answered, 'Yes. And that's up to the U.S. attorney to find the facts.'"
MSNBC, July 19, 2005

Next:
"President Bush said yesterday that he will fire anyone in the administration found to have committed a crime in the leaking of a CIA operative's name, creating a higher threshold than he did one year ago for holding aides accountable in the unmasking of Valerie Plame.

After originally saying anyone involved in leaking the name of the covert CIA operative would be fired, Bush told reporters: "If somebody committed a crime, they will no longer work in my administration."

This is a small, but potentially very significant, distinction, because details that have emerged from the leak investigation over the past week show that Karl Rove, Bush's top political aide, and I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, Vice President Cheney's chief of staff, discussed Plame with reporters before her name was revealed to the public. "
Washingtonpost.com, July 19, 2005

Deceit:
"I respect the jury’s verdict. But I have concluded that the prison sentence given to Mr. Libby is excessive. Therefore, I am commuting the portion of Mr. Libby’s sentence that required him to spend thirty months in prison."
Bush, in a statement on June 5, 2007.

This president sickens me.

Photos

This past weekend I went and took my photo for my new Costco card. I look like a bugged-eyed old lady meth head. The photo is all grainy and my jaw is all angly and weird... it's alien in its inhuman representation of me.

I look like an apple doll.

Seriously, I just know that someday I will be abducted or somehow disappear in some kind of strange accident, and the only photo of me available will be my friggin' Costco card photo. The absolute worst, most horrific picture of me EVER will be blasted all over the television and Missing Persons posters.

And I will come back from being tortured and brutalized by my captors, and that photo's release will be insult on top of injury. Because even after the beatings and the starvation, it will still look like some alien, inhuman representation of me.

Age is a state of mind

My beautiful baby girl turned 4 over the weekend. We ate princess cake and she got princess presents, and it was a pink, princess gathering. And she acted like a princess, in all ways...sigh.

In recent weeks I've been mentally preparing for the change. I would no longer be the mother of a 3 year old. As time marches forward, she inches upward. Her vocabulary, like my waistline, expanding ever outward.

We listened to NPR on the way to school this morning, and in the pause between stories, Sydney sighed and announced, "I feel old."

A stunned silence ensued.

Her brothers and I looked at each other, and waited. "I feel old and tired this morning," she continued. "I'm going to take a rest."

This, two days into being 4.

There is so much I could say at this point, so many, many things filtering through my mind; suffice it to note that I hadn't anticipated her uttering that phrase for another 50 years.

We dropped the boys off at their bus stop, and I watched her wistful face in the rear view mirror. She was doing her best to look forlorn. It was working.

It was time to turn the clock backward. Summoning great strength and the power of the Gods, I did what any mother would do. I fiddled with the stereo.

"Here Syd, this will make you feel young again," I assured her. Within moments the jazzy beat of the Bear in the Big Blue House theme song filled the car. A slow, pleasant smile graced her face.

We arrived at her school. Looking and feeling 4 again, she hopped out of the car, ready for Monday.

READER'S NOTE: She watched Howl's Moving Castle over the weekend. See the movie. It explains it all.

HAHAHA!!

HAHAHA!!
Originally uploaded by girlm0nkey.

WRAAAWRR!! Monster Princess!

WRAAAWRR!! Monster Princess!
Originally uploaded by girlm0nkey.