Things I Don't Do Anymore

1) Delude myself into thinking that the week before school starts I will get The Child (and myself) back on a "school night" schedule or likewise, kid myself into thinking that the return to school will signal a return to "normal".

School starts on Tuesday. Preparations have been made. The Child has all her school supplies, the necessary bits for her uniform and has read all her summer books. I have scheduled the annual Bloody Marys with ChouChou. That's as ready as we're gonna get. It's probably as ready as we need to get.

There is a smidge of trouble on the horizon, a teeny cloud that could either blow right off or gather into a bank of thundering trouble. The Child has 3 reports to write. She could have been done with at least 2 of them by now but she's been more or less left to her own devises for the last 3 weeks and let's just say that she's not made writing a priority. I do not judge her for her procrastination for lo, she got that gene from me. But she's had a whole languorous summer before here and the merest bit of daily effort could have put her in a much better position than she is right now.

I could feel bad about the fact that I wasn't here for 3 weeks to nag her to do her work but 2) I don't nag her about school. It's not my job anymore. There was a time when I took her success in school as seriously as if it were my own. In fact, I guess I kinda thought it was. You know, if she's turning in her assignments on time and writing swell papers and passing tests then it must prove what a great mom I am. But especially since the dyslexia diagnosis, I've learned to back way off on all this. Of course I want her to be successful but I also want her to want it. And frankly, if she doesn't care, then why should I?

No. Really.

My caring about how well she does in school or how well she applies herself or all that stuff won't change a lick. It won't.

Of course, while I can't make her care, I can give her consequences. Starting the last year of middle school already behind does not appear to have any weight with her. Not going out with The Boyfriend on Saturday if they aren't done might. And she's already been told that going out this weekend is not an option if the work isn't finished. Further, if by the end of the weekend she still hasn't managed to finish, well then, she's not going to do any extracurriculars fall trimester, either. Bollocks to that.

I was just talking to Nicole and we were lamenting the stupidity of kids. Really. We were both procrastinators too, but we were the sort of kids that could pull it off in the 11th hour. And even now we regret the ways that such procrastination short-changed our experiences; imagine the things we could have learned had we actually troubled to apply ourselves.

And The Child...the thing about this that is so maddening to me is that she's a smart kid. She says she's no good at math, for example, that she hates it. But the times when she troubled to study for tests in math she got As. Hello? She tells herself that school is hard and certainly it is challenging for someone with dyslexia. But it's not impossible. And the reality is that people with dyslexia often tend to be really intelligent, geniuses sometimes. I wouldn't say The Child is a genius, but she's far from stupid or incompetent. Yeah, she has to work harder than someone who isn't dyslexic but that's not a bad thing. It's not like she has to slave for hours just to get a passing grade. She could soooooo do this. Problem is, I'm not the one who has to believe that.

Anyway, she's working right now. Not happily, but she's working. And I? Well, I have every intention of enjoying this day off. I'm going to fiddle about with bits of things that have been neglected in these last weeks so that at least one of us will have the feeling of starting the new year fresh. Maybe my sterling example will inspire The Child.

Or not.

One More Chicago Related Story and Then I'll Shut Up About it For at Least 2 or 3 Posts

Thursday last ended with a show and dinner, but it began with a reunion. As we were fixing on taking off, Nicole et famille arrived in the US for a 3 week holiday. And, in a display of rather incredible friendship, they drove the 45 minutes or whatever it is from Jolliet, where they are staying with family, to meet up with us at Navy Pier. It wasn't only the drive from Jolliet, either. It was that they had just arrived the night before, were completely jet-lagged and had been up since 5 a.m. That is some serious dedication.

Navy Pier is the quintessential tourist destination, with it's Disney-esque influence, people in pirate costumes, carnival rides that cost entirely too much for what they are, shops selling all manner of useless memoriablia and all sorts of restaurants and kiosks full of food, food and more food. It is, in short, absolutely the sort of place I hate most and have the least need to ever visit.

Navy Pier does, however, afford some pretty kickin' views of the city.
It was also a comfortable 10(ish) block walk from the apartment. When we arrived, there she was, standing at the gate, waving.

Nicole and I have known each other for about 15 years, meeting shortly after I was married. We became instant friends and have managed to remain close despite her falling in love with a Frenchman, marrying him and staying in France to raise 2 bilingual babies. She claims we last saw each other in 1999, after she was married. That's a long time. So it was positively heartwarming to see her beautiful face. Although, I'd best get this out of the way: she hasn't changed a bit. So I kinda have to hate her now.

We went to some jazz themed place for lunch. Which was, for The Spouse and I, just salad because we really were all et out. The Child succumbed to baby back ribs and it was fun to watch both Nicole and her cheri ordering their lunch. She went for a BBQ sandwich. He wanted something "very American" and opted for a hamburger. And then the questions started, because you can't ever just order a hamburger, can you?

"Cheese on that?"

"Sure".

"Cheddar, Swiss, American, pepper jack or blue?"

He looked at me with his tired puppy dog French eyes. (Oh, those wicked eyes of his. He turned them upon me many years ago and said, with thick French accent, "I know you are afraid to fly, Lorraine, but it would mean so much if you would come to our wedding". I am a sucker for zee accent and zee puppy dog eyes. I digress).

"You want Cheddar", I said.

"Cheddar".

"Onions and mushrooms?"

The eyes again.

"Go for it".

"OK, sure," he says.

Poor guy. As if he wasn't already tired enough. 'Cause he also had to decide between french fries, soup or salad.

Lunch was fine and then we wandered off. We pursuaded Boy 1 to try Dippin Dots. "Are they good?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Everything in America is good". (He's 5. And lives in France. Moving on).

Boy 2, however, insisted on proper American chocolate ice cream.

We admired the views.


The menfolk decamped to a beer garden (where there was a live karaoke band who included "Twist and Shout" in their repitoire and The Spouse, who didn't have his cell phone with him, kept waiting for us to return so he could have his Ferris Bueller moment. It never happened. He was sad).

The women folk and children wandered off to look at arty things and poke around in tourist shops.
We took the children off to ride on things.

This is a very huge Ferris wheel that looks very frightening, which is why I enlisted Nicole's niece to ride with The Child. What I didn't realize is that it is a very slow Ferris wheel that makes one revolution and then you get off. Kinda lame for $6 if you ask me but The Child thought it was super fantastic to be up so high.

And despite the heat, the crowds and my general lack of affection for such places, you can't beat the sight of truly happy kids.


The environment and the situation were not exactly conducive to the sort of heart-to-heart I was hoping to have with Nicole. They were accompanied by family members, who were very nice but had their own claim to the clan plus she was dealing with very sweet but quite tired enfants. There really was no possible way that we could have any sort of deep, meaningful conversation in the midst of all that. Which made me a little sad, just because I never, ever see her. But even if we couldn't be ensconced, just us two, in some little sidewalk cafe with a bottle of wine and all the afternoon stretching before us, it was still lovely to see her again, to be with her and to feel the comfortable ease that has always been the tenor of our friendship, no matter how much time or distance has spanned between us.

Sometimes just being together is enough. And when it isn't, you talk to your therapist.

"And how do you feel about that?"
"'Twist and Shout'. I just wanted to sing 'Twist and Shout'".