Yesterday The Child and I went out to do a little shopping. It was one of those times when we were anything but in sync. It didn't really matter what we were talking about; I'd say something and she'd debate the point. Even when there was no debate to be had.
At one point I exclaimed, "Geez, Child, you are arguing with everything I say!"
Interesting times with The Child these days. You know how she was in academic arrears with all sorts of missing assignments and freaking out about high school? Well, since she got her letter of acceptance to Second Choice she's been diddling around on the make-up work. Every day it's a new excuse...I left it at school...I could have sworn I brought it...I have the worksheet but I need my textbook...which is at school... But of course, anytime she was chastised, disciplined, or restricted for such excuses I'd get the quiver lip and a wounded "why are you pressuring me" thing.
Pressuring? No, that would apply to the parents who publicly reamed their daughter for not getting into the all-girl school they intended for her since birth. Pressure is demanding all As all the time.
But apparently, in the mind of a 14 year old, "pressure" is also defined as having to turn in assignments, having to study for tests, having to make up missing work.
We're the worst parents in the world. Waawaa.
The other morning I asked her why she wasn't taking this more seriously. Didn't she want to get into First Choice? "I don't know about that anymore," she replied. Ah ha! Of course she wants to go to First Choice. She's been talking about it for 2 years. She loved it when she toured. But now that the pressure is off, now that she's been admitted to Second Choice, she's taking the path of least resistance. Why work her butt off for First Choice when she has a school, right?
Except that all high school admittance is predicated on the assumption that one's grades will be as good or better than they were in the first trimester. If she starts pulling Ds and Cs again, Second Choice isn't going to want her, either. So even if there was a sea change in her choice, she still has to step it up. (Funny. Once this was pointed out to her, First Choice was back in the running).
Bottom line, she is now grounded until the work is done. Until she makes up all her missing assignments she is not going anywhere and no one is coming here. She gets no television, no computer usage (except for school work) and is this close to losing her iPod and cell phone. If she hasn't made up her assignments by the end of the weekend, not only is she grounded for the rest of the trimester but she's going to be pulled out of volleyball.
Sing it with me: we're the worst parents in the world. Wawa.
We now pause for this important message:
Wow. That handheld camera thing is unsettling, isn't it? Also, there is a top to my head.
Anywhine, just when I was ready to knock her into next week (a line I used, btw) she got all compliant and perky. I hate when she does that. There I was, with a good ol' mad on and she starts getting the message. Rats.
From the day she was born, The Child has pushed boundaries. She never met a rule or restriction that didn't look ripe for the fighting. The bulk of our parenting has been spent holding the line against her fierce determination. Once she realizes we really aren't going to budge this time either, she relaxes into the knowledge that the world is as safe as we can make it and she has only to cooperate to find some peace and satisfaction in her existence. It's a crazy game. But I'm very clear that all her energy and will simply must be channelled for good and not evil. If we don't teach her how to work within constraints, how to pick her battles, how to use her energies to accomplish her dreams rather than thwart them, then we have failed. Her strong will can be a tremendous asset, but only if she learns how to regulate it. And that is our job.
Right. So later in the evening we had to tell her some bad news. Her long-planned trip to France has been put on hold for a year. Her "host family" is going through a difficult patch right now and we've determined that it is selfish of us to impose The Child on them at this time. I was braced for quite a hullabaloo but when she was presented with the facts of the case she was completely understanding and showed a ton of empathy for our friends and what they are dealing with. In other words, she could have looked at it entirely in terms of how it affected her but she didn't.
The Spouse and I gave each other a high five later; stuff like that almost makes you think you're doing a decent job as a parent. And we have to celebrate those moments when we get them.
Wish me luck this weekend. I expect it could get rather loud around here. Crockery may be heaved. I should make sure we have gin in the house.
Meanwhile, here's a song by another determined young lady.
We stood in the green tiled hall, outside the office. Every time another parent came in we'd smile a polite greeting, maybe nod, then quickly look away. We were all waiting for our 8th graders to finish their tours, waiting to hear how they had liked First Choice High, full of questions and hopes.
But we didn't speak. Instead, we occupied ourselves with the display case, examining the awards for Student of the Month, searching the large black and white photo of the class of '58, the first graduates ofFCH. We looked at the large and looming paintings of 3 dead and gone bishops, looking stern and pre-Vatican II in their red robes; searching for a hint of humor in their eyes.
We didn't speak and I was glad of it. No sense in getting to know each other. There will be time for that if we wind up at the parent mixer during freshman orientation. Not that I'm any good at those things anyway. I'm never the one to make the first move. All the friends I've gained from The Child's school years made the first move. I'm painfully shy in those situations, largely because I've never had much facility for small talk. The mere fact of having a child in the same school has never been enough for me to scrabble together a decent opening line.
And I fear the direction those opening conversations might take. I've mentioned before that my generation of parents tend to be very competitive. I feared talking to "that parent", the one who would list her precious baby's myriad accomplishments: the straight A's and bountiful civic awards. I didn't want to talk about how competitive all this business supposedly is and how lucky they are to have a personal recommendation from Benedict. I was perfectly content to appear self-possessed and smug about my child's chances for being accepted to First Choice, and Second Choice, for that matter.
I am (finally) more confident, of course. The Child has a B average, with a nice ledger of activities and service, stellar recommendations, a principal and teacher who will do everything in their power to get her into First Choice. But I didn't want to talk about that with these strangers, even if they too were just as concerned and hopeful for their babies as I was.
Then The Child rounded the corner, her eyes shining.
"Mommy, I just toured the drama department. It's so awesome!"
If you came to me with a million dollars in a cute Kate Spade bag and said, "You can have this if you will relive one year of high school," I'd say, "Do I get to keep the bag?" and you'd say, "Sure," I'd say, "Can I pick the year?" and you'd say, "Yeah, any one of the four" and I'd say, "Could I have the bag in red?" and you said, "Sure," and I'd say, "Um, no. But thanks". Not for a million dollars in a red Kate Spade bag would I want to relive high school. A day, maybe, if I could pick the day. But not a year. Thank you, anyway.
I hated high school. I hated being a teenager. I hated being a pastor's kid. I hated the jocks and the soshes and the stoners and the a/v geeks, who broke my heart because they were even less cool than I was. I loved my little group of friends and the good, clean fun we had but I rarely had any classes with my buddies. I hated biology. I loved English. I hated PE (except when we learned square dancing). I hated being in love with the wrong guy and the way his sister tormented me when we weren't together. I hated not being allowed to go to dances but I probably would have hated dances because I was skinny and gawky and wore glasses and had a bad shag haircut (it was the 70s) and when I had a boyfriend he was older and didn't go to high school so I wouldn't have had anyone to dance with even if I'd known how to dance, which I didn't.
I wasn't pretty . I wasn't cool. (Golly, I was so totally the opposite of cool). I hadn't learned to value any of the things that were awesome about me, like my sense of humor or my compassion or my talent. I didn't fit in my skin and high school was, in short, nothing I'd want to do again for a million dollars in a red Kate Spade bag; not even knowing what I know now.
It is my fondest hope that it's going to be different for The Child. Grade school hasn't been a picnic for her. Between the bullying and the dyslexia and the struggle to fit in once she transferred from the bully school and the drama queens in her current class, she's had a rough go. She's paid her dues, people. I'd like to think that she's going to start high school, fresh from a life altering summer in France and armed with the self-possessions she's gained from all her hard knocks and will, consequently, find her niche, snuggle into her niche and rock it. I don't have dreams of her being a cheer leader, ASB president, homecoming queen and starring in every play. But I like to think that she'll find some nice friends, settle into her school work, get involved with the drama program and feel like she belongs.
I know. It's a bit much, considering that very few people I know speak with adoring fondness of their high school experience, but I still hope that for her. And when I hear people I know talk about the two schools to which she's applying, I think it's possible. Because they all speak fondly. I was wearing the sweatshirt for First Choice High at Trader Joe's one day and a clerk stopped me and said, "I went to First Choice. It was the best four years of my life". From her lips...
Today and tomorrow The Child is touring both schools, all day sessions, paired up with a current student, going through the paces and living the life of a high school student. She's psyched. She picked out an outfit (after carefully studying the dress code), put herself to bed at a decent hour, got up on her own and hit the shower (hello?). She is currently watching the news and eating a banana-yogurt-granola parfait. She's got homework packed in her messenger bag and money for lunch.
Saturday was the last of her placement exams. She feels really good about both of them. She said she finished every section before time was up (a huge accomplishment for little miss Freak-out-during-timed-tests). She said the math portion was really easy and she even felt good about the essay she had to write (pick a hero from literature and tell why you admire that person. She picked Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter books, because she respects her work ethic. "Way to suck up," said The Spouse). Having those tests behind her is a huge relief. Did I mention she had a very decent report card? And that she's written a fine essay about why she wants to attend First Choice (which will be adapted to argue for why she also wants to attend Second Choice)? I haven't written my essay yet. Oh, yeah, I have to write an essay about why I want her to attend these schools, too. Lordy, lordy, there wasn't this much paperwork involved when I applied to college. Letters of recommendation have been requested, the Pastoral Associate at church has written to confirm we are parishioners in good standing, forms have gone to the teacher and principal, lists of awards and community service and volleyball championships are being compiled and once all the i's are dotted and t's crossed, the whole bloody mess will be submitted (by January 17) and then we wait to see if she's accepted. Which of course, she will be. Who wouldn't be thrilled to have a kid like The Child in their student body.
Two days ago she was an itty bitty baby with chubberchubber cheeks and now she's going to high school.
On Friday The Child and I went to Trader Joe's for the weekly shopping. I grabbed my purse and it felt too light. My wallet was gone. I knew I'd had it and she'd just seen it when she was frantically digging through my purse to find my cell phone so she could call Radio Disney. So we started searching the car. (We found the wallet...not the point of the story).
I was digging under my car seat and felt a weird prick or sting. I pulled out my hand and the middle finger of my left hand was immediately swollen and stiff...just like when I've been stung by a bee. I didn't think too much of it. The Child scrapped my finger in an effort to remove any potential stinger and then I just walked around the store holding a packet of frozen Dover sole to the ravaged digit.
By the time I went to bed the swelling had started to go down. There was never any fever or nausea of dizziness or other things that signal anaphylaxic shock so all was well.
Saturday morning my finger felt just fine. But it was bruised. Practically the whole finger. No swelling, no pain, I could move it just fine, but it looked like it had been smashed with a hammer. And it's still bruised.
I went on line to check it out...always a dicey proposition because every time you look up anything medical on the interwebs it appears that your condition is not only life threatening but exceedingly rare. I was able to confirm that a) I'm not dying of a mysterious bug bite and 2) bruising is a normal reaction.
But still. It's weird.
Last night The Child was very busy in her room. She's very excited about the fact that Uncle Buck is going to be here in 3 short days and she's beginning the process of making her room comfy for him. After a while she came out, big grin on her face and said, "Mom, you should blog about this".
"What? That you're cleaning your room?"
"No. That I'm making it super nice for Uncle Buck. You know how when Uncle JP was here all he had to look at were a few High School Musical posters and the Cheetah Girls? Poor Uncle JP. Well, Uncle Buck will have Miley and the Jonas Brothers and all kinds of stuff".
Seems she completely decimated the Tiger Beatish magazine I'd purchased for her earlier that day and donned an entire wall with every pop star currently in continuous rotation on aforementioned Radio Disney.
Yeah. Uncle Buck is gonna love that.
The volleyball championship game was on Saturday. The Child actually saw a fair amount of court time, all things considered. In fact, Bad Coach even subbed her in to serve in one game. That has never happened before. Probably her most glorious moments were when she was playing at the net. Twice she managed to get to balls that would have just rolled down the net, bumping them straight up so someone else could spike them. Both times they scored the point. Her serves were spot on, too. She did really well. The team won both their games. Guess that makes them the champions. Again.
I'm super proud of The Child for giving her best effort in every game, plus playing with grace and sportsmanship all season. It wasn't easy, what with Bad Coach being his typical bad self. It's hard to keep plugging when you're not getting any positive feedback or encouragement. But she did it, putting up with the negatives because she loves the game so much. She told me that she definitely wants to play CYO in the spring, even if Bad Coach is "coaching" (and really, we have to put it in air quotes because he's so bad) because she really wants to play in the new gym (which is going to be ready by next month).
Hat? Hat? Come back here, honey...I'm not going there. Oh, honestly, where did she go?
Politics
"Mom, today we were talking about elections and stuff. I knew how many years a representative serves before they have another election and how long a senator serves. 6 years, right?"
"Yep. Good for you"
"And then, Mom, Mr. D. wrote '01-20-09' on the board and asked if anyone knew what that meant and I shot my hand up and I was waving it and waving it and Joe was too but Mr. D called on me and I said, 'That's the last day Bush is in office' and you know what happened then, Mom? Everyone started screaming and cheering and it was like Mr. D had just announced that there wasn't going to be anymore homework for the rest of the year".
Those of you counting down the days (440) will no doubt appreciate that little tale but here's what I found significant.
As you know, The Child attends Catholic school. Now, Catholics are as mixed a bag as any other denomination...you've got your no-war-social-justice-care-for-creation-dialoguing Catholics over here and you've got your you-can't-vote-for-a-Democrat-and-be-Catholic-I'm-so-pro-life-that-I-could-kill-you Catholics over here and then, as should be expected, a nice little hodgey-podgey all up in the middle here.
Having said that, in our small school I would wager that easily half of the families hover somewhere in the camp that I don't hover in. Thinking only about The Child's class, I would definitely say that is true. Which is to say that the cheering and stomping over Bush finally leaving the White House was not coming from a gaggle of kids being raised by pot-smoking-hippies or something like that there. And it either suggests that a) even the more conservative families have grown troubled by the direction of this presidency and/or 2) even if the parents still support Bush, their kids don't. And it'll be 5 years before any of them can vote but hey, they are paying attention. I really, really like that.
The Child, all full of poly-sci-ish fervor wanted to accompany me to vote. She asked questions about precincts and polling places and how I was going to vote if I didn't have my registration card and seemed very impressed that I knew they couldn't prohibit me from voting because I didn't have it and actually even more impressed when we walked into the polls and I went straight to my precinct table. ('K, I was too. I can't actually tell you the number off the top of my head but I know it when I see it. A 3 is involved).
She watched me sign for my ballot and go into the booth and then she said, "This is boring," and took her soda out into the hall so she could slurp on it without me shushing her.
Voting was easy. The Spouse and I had discussed everything and he'd marked the voter's pamphlet while he filled out his absentee ballot so I filled out all my little circles in record time.
I have a strategy when it comes to City Council, Port Commission and School Board. It is a very simple system, developed over years of watching Seattle/King County politics: always vote for the challenger. If the day ever comes when there is someone sitting on one of those bodies who ever does anything but natter, I'll support him or her. As that is not the nature of politics in this hippy-dippy consensus decision making, "let's commission a study to review the results of the bi-partisan panel that proposed a survey to see if we should limit our latte consumption" town, it's safe to say that the challengers will always get my vote.
Religion There was a 30 minute period of bad juju in our house last night. I'm not naming names but 2 people were over the top hysterical and/or passive-aggressively ridiculous while 1 person was trying really hard to get everyone to simmer (and that person did raise his/her voice once but it was only to be heard above the din). It was embarrassingly stoopid. But before the night ended both of the other 2 people came to the 1 person and apologized for the bad behavior and that made the 1 person feel very good about the power of love and the strength of forgiveness. Because if it all doesn't come back to that what the h-e-double hockey sticks are we doing?
See, Hat? That wasn't so bad, was it? Oh. I think she's hiding under the table. I'll just leave this pie here...
Maybe hate is too strong a word. Although I admit that I do sometimes hate them. "Disinterest" in other people's kids is probably better. There are those I can tolerate, mostly because I like their parents enough to tolerate them. There are some that I like pretty fine because they show signs of eventually amounting to interesting adults. And I've even loved one or two. But then there are those others....
There's a girl in The Child's class. She's an archetype. You all had one in your class, too. She's pretty and shallow. All that is sloshing around in the inch or so of her shallowness is her murky ego. She thinks, as the kids like to say, that she is "all that". And she's mean. Stupid mean. Unnecessarily mean. Mean because she can be. She's followed around by her slavish little minions (this week's word, apparently), who don't really like her but who tolerate her because in their tiny little minds hanging around with her gives them some sort of (questionable) cache.
I hate this simpering little fake of a princess. I'd as soon knock the smirk off her face as look at her.
She's on the volleyball team with The Child and of course, she thinks she's the greatest volleyball player known to humankind. Once upon a time she might have been. However, she is one of Bad Coach's pets. In his mind she can do no wrong, even when she does. If The Child misses a ball he yells at her from the sidelines. If Princess Smirk spikes a ball into the net (which she does with alarming frequency) he laughs. She's gotten very sloppy because Bad Coach doesn't coach. I digress.
Yesterday at practise they were playing against the 7th grade team. A ball was coming at The Child. The standard in volleyball is that if the ball is coming at you and you don't have to move, it's your ball. Another girl played up, however, and hit it instead of letting The Child go for it. Now the girl in question is a perfectly nice kid. I like her fine. I suspect she wasn't playing up for any reason except she saw the ball coming and figured she'd go for it. But after this little incident Princess Smirk apparently yelled, "I don't care if you have to knock her out of the way. Pretend this is football. But GET THAT BALL!"
Bitch.
Not the first time she's displayed that sort of attitude. There are only 2 other people on the team that Princess Smirk doesn't play up on. Because she's an egotistical little creep like that. But because she actually put that attitude into words last night it really wounded The Child.
This morning I gave her a little pep talk. I told her that unfortunately there are always people like that in the world but that the difference between her and Princess Smirk is the fact that The Child, despite some of the rocky and painful things that have happened to her at the hands of other kids, has a good, strong sense of self. I told her that fundamentally Princess Smirk didn't have that kind of confidence because if she did she wouldn't have to act like that. I told her that as long as she believes in herself it doesn't matter what the Princesses of the world do and that, in fact, the reason Princess is like that to her probably owes in some part to her recognizing that The Child does feel good about herself and Princess is jealous. I also mentioned that if you believe in yourself you can do anything and that consequently, unless she gets over her bad self, Princess isn't going to amount to much. (Between you and me, I predict she's knocked up by a football player before she's 21 but I didn't say that to The Child).
All I got from The Child was the requisite "I know". But I hope what I said resonated in some part of her little heart and helped.
This has been in the works for thirteen years now and I'm happy to announce that it's ready to launch. I am going to ruin The Child's life. These are the steps by which I will endeavor to do this:
1) I will insist on honesty. Sneakiness, lying and omission of key information will be punished.
2) I will make her do her homework, make up missing assignments and study, EVERY DAY (bwahahaha) for her high school entrance exams. Not only will I make her do all this, I will not allow her to watch television, play on the computer or talk on the phone until she has done so.
3) I will feed her 3 healthy meals a day and allow her to snack on nothing but fruits, veggies and cheese.
4) Bedtime will be strictly enforced. I don't care if she decides that there is a project she simply must finish, a phone call that just has to be made or a television program that she'll just die if she doesn't watch.
5) Not only will I insist that she put away her clean laundry, I'm going to make sure she lays out her clothes for school. Every day.
6) I do not listen to her and I never understand. This is intentional.
7) Even though she is the only teenager in America without a cell phone, I will not give her one until she is in high school. It's not just that she doesn't need one, it's because I'm mean like that.
8) My guiding principle, in all of the above and anything not herein covered, is this: I'm the worst mother in the world. I do not want her to be happy. I do not want her to succeed. I don't care. I don't love her. Being unfair is my modus operendi. Everything I do, from chauffering her everywhere to demanding respect, is predicated on the simple fact that it is my job to make her life miserable and by God, I'm going to do it. Don't believe me? Just ask The Child. She'll back me up.
For the last 2 days I have been sleeping in. Really sleeping in. Yesterday I got up at 9, today at quarter past 8. It's been a very deliberate sleeping in. I stay up as late as I want and then go to bed without setting the alarm. Because I. Don't. Care. I will get up when my body decides to get up. There are no schedules to keep, no children to pick up and deliver, no meetings, no obligations. And it is very nice.
The Neighbor suggested that I take a vacation from doing this week. Which is a nice idea but not strictly practical. Some things must still be done. But I am only doing the barest minimum of those things and otherwise doing pretty much as I please. Like Monopoly marathons with The Child. Today we're going to do a little shopping. I don't really enjoy shopping as a past-time but she does and she has some gift cards from Christmas burning a hole in her pocket so shopping it is.
Then I think we'll come home and play some more games.
The other night we were sitting together watching something, I don't even remember what, and she said, "This is really nice, just being here like this with my mom". And at times like that I think, What if everyone is wrong? What if all those naysayers who keep warn about the teenage years and how brutal they are, what if they are wrong? Or even partly wrong? What if we aren't destined to be at each other's throats for the next 5 years?
Because honestly, she was more of a pain in the arse between 9 and 11 than she is right now. And I remember a friend telling me that her daughter was a major pain during those years and that when she became a teenager she actually mellowed out and they got along great.
Of course there will be issues. The whole business of growing up and away from your parents, of developing independence and naming your own values is a big deal and will, necessarily, sometimes be fraught. But isn't it also a bit cliche to suggest that from now on it will be nothing but adversarial? I think so. In fact, I think that lots of times parents set themselves up by thinking the teen years (or any other period, for that matter) are going to be difficult and so they end up focusing on the difficult ("See? I told you it was hard") rather than just letting each day unfold and keeping an open mind.
All I know is that there is a new level of maturity and general sweetness about The Child right now and I'm enjoying it. And I don't know why I ought not expect the best of her in the coming years, rather than the worst. Of course it won't all be jokes and spa treatments and heart to heart talks. But I don't see any point in setting her up as the enemy, either.
Also, she has now made her bed for 7 days in a row. Just saying.
I was on a mountain road, walking with The Child. It was raining and the road, which was unpaved, was deep with mud. She was naked and pushing her bicycle alongside me. She started to go toward the edge of the road, which of course, fell off into a deep, deep place. I called to her to come back to me and at first she did but she kept going back over to the edge and I was so fearful that she'd slip in the mud and be lost to me forever.
Apparently, I'm handling her transition to Teendom just great.
