Grousing a Little

Parents do a lot of thankless things for their kids. It starts with poop-filled diapers and carries right on through until the time they leave home. (Possibly beyond, but I can't think that far ahead. Note to self: ask Dame Judi). Among those thankless tasks performing taxi service ranks high...especially when in the midst of preparing for a particular event like, say, oh...the spring musical.

I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo over this and the show hasn't even gone up yet (opening night is Thursday). Tonight, for example, rehearsal goes until 8. That's right, 8 in the p.m. Which means for the second week straight The Spouse and I are eating without her, I have to leave the house during prime TV viewing time to fetch her and then feed her warmed up whatever-we're-having (tonight it's lamb chops with gremolata and white beans because that sounds very spring-y to me). Tuesday and Wednesday she rehearses until 6pm (only slightly better) and then there's the the whole picking her up AFTER the show. (Although, to be fair, I only have to do that 2 nights because other people are helping out).

I swear, if that child ever wins a Tony or an Oscar she had damn well better than thank her mother, "without whom I wouldn't be here...at all".

SNOWPOCOLYPSE 2011!

It happens every time...

Some meteorologist sees snow a'comin' and the word hurtles through all channels. "SNOW IN THE FORECAST! How will it affect your commute?"

And we all know better. That snow is going to gently waft over the bunny slope on Mt. Rainier and then it'll rain in the lowlands after the run on generators and toilet paper at the local Walmart.

Except, of course, when it actually does snow. And in these parts, as little as 3 inches of snow can shut down the city. Last time it snowed (in November), I was caught about 5 miles from home and it took me 3 hours to return to the domicile...and that after abandoning my car half a mile from home because I couldn't get up the second to the last hill.

So when it was reported this morning that up to 3 inches was expected in the late afternoon and that it was advised that people leave work early if at all possible (so's to prevent the cluster that was the evening commute on aforementioned November evening), all I could think was how buggered I would be if it really did snow because The Child had rehearsal and needed picking up at 5 pm.

My choices were these:

If the snow came as predicted, risk life & limb to fetch her and spend 6 hours (or more) stuck in traffic with a sullen teenager

-or-

Tell her to come home after school, on the school bus, and miss rehearsal thereby assuring an evening at home with a sullen teenager.

I chose the latter.

It started snowing about an hour ago. And the anticipation of a potential snow day has erased, at least for now, all her anger at my over-caution preventing her from pursuing her chosen career.

Sweet 16. (OK, Not So Much on the Sweet Right Now But I Guess That Goes with the Territory).

16 years ago, right this minute, I was wearing a very unflattering but serviceable hospital gown and cracking jokes. No, really. In between contractions, it was a big ol' laughfest in the delivery room. Months later I ran into my labor nurse at the hospital and she told me that in her entire career she'd never laughed as much as she had at The Child's delivery. I like to think that the fact that there was more laughter than pain at her birth has some sore of significance.

I am feeling much more sentimental today than I expected. Probably because last night The Child, with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, delivered the "you don't believe in me, you never support me, blah blah blah" speech. I really hate that speech. Especially delivered on the eve of an occasion. Like her 16th birthday. A moment which, let's face it, I had something to do with. And yes, I am well aware that this goes with the territory and yes, certainly, I would much prefer The Attitude, born as it is of strong will and spunk, to the alternative. Like sex and drugs and alcohol and smoking and truancy and running with the wrong crowd or dating someone menacing with a name like Butch and a motorcycle. There is a lot about my 16 year old that I will put up against any other 16 year old and I'll do so with a whole lotta pride.

But when your baby turns on you, especially when you know that nothing you were saying to her remotely smacks of a lack of support, especially when you know what you've done to get her to this moment, yeah...it smarts a little.

And I was going to say, "but enough about me" and try to conjure up some sentimental crap about motherhood and the milestone of a daughter turning 16 and then I remembered, "This is my bloody blog and if I want to write about how I was, once again, told that I truly am 'the worst mother in the world', on the eve of my child's 16th birthday no less, and how it smarted and how it still does and how truly annoying that is, well then, that's what I'm going to do". So there. Pft.

So a happy birthday to my rotten, ungrateful child. I love her very much. I know she was put on this earth to do great things. And that's true whether she believes it or not.

Obligatory First Blog Post of the Year

Lord knows I love the holidays but it's nice that a little window of normal is opening up before the not normal of the family being temporarily being increased by 1.

The Child will not get up happily this morning, of that I am quite sure. She went out on New Years Eve and had a sleep-over with BFF #2, came home around 5 on New Year's Day and then went to a birthday party on the 2nd which also included a sleep-over. She was veryvery tired last night and veryvery grumpy about my "forcing" her to finish the paper on Macbeth that she had all holiday to work on. (To be fair, it was mostly done but for the tidying up of editing but still). Point is, she will be suffering from the cummulative effects of her weekend.

The Spouse is just now leaving for his first day back at the office in 2 weeks. I think he's ok with it, so long as he can make coding seem like playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare or Fallout.

On Saturday I was feeling a little resentful about my minimal amount of holiday time and about having to spend the weekend running errands, per usual, while The Family played and thinking about how I always have to spend the weekend running errands, per usual, while The Family plays and then it hit me. "Hey! I'm earning leave". So I decided that I'm going to take one Friday off every month. And those days are going to be just for me and whatever I feel like doing. (MAB won't like it. She hates it when I'm out of the office. But that's okay because I hate it when she is out of the office). The very thought of such a plan immediately brightened my mood and I finished all my errands quite happily.

So that's my number 1 resolution for 2010. The other is to keep using my wonderful little Wii Fit to get myself ready for meeting Michelle Obama in May. (Meeting Michelle Obama is resolution #3). I love playing with my Wii. I love that I've already lost a pound and am feeling more limber. I love that it is easy to stay committed because it's fun. Technology is a good, good thing.

So we're "back to normal" for a bit. Until Friday, when we receive our Australian exchange student for 2 weeks. The Child and I connected with her on Facebook and her mum friended me. We've had some delightful chats. I knew it was meant to be, though, when she referred to herself as "the worst mother in the world". "Oh, no you're not," I replied. "I am the worst mother in the world and I have the theme song to prove it!"

Act II

You've seen those flash mob things on YouTube where, for example, people in a train station will suddenly start doing precise choreography to "Do Re Mi"? Or the Black Eyed Peas thing for the opening of this season of Oprah? Or even the wedding party that dances down the aisle?

Those are all very random and nice but this crazy play that started last weekend seems to be trading on that phenomenon, only without the wit or charm. I'm all for avant garde theater but this is getting ridiculous.

Today, out of no where, I was suddenly in the middle of Act II, Scene 1 of "NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!" and it was all to do with the reasons why the main character is failing to meet her obligations, except all the reasons one way and another have to do with the mother in the piece. But the thing is that the mother basically can't win because if she takes an interest she's accused of smothering the child but if she leaves the child well alone she's accused of neglecting her. Once again the illogic of the piece left me completely baffled and wondering why they don't sell drinks in the lobby.

Oh. Wait. They do. Thank God.

Dramatic Opportunities

I saw another theatrical performance this weekend. It was a pre-matinee show. To be honest, I couldn't follow the plot very well. It was about a girl and her fraught relationship with her mother...that much I figured out. And it started in a very prosaic way, as so much modern work does these days...with the mother asking the daughter to get up because they have to go to church.

The mother and father in the piece then went about doing ordinary things...drinking coffee, looking at their computers, showering. I wasn't sure at first what the playwright intended, unless it was to lull the audience into a false sense of domestic calm. Yes, that must have been it.

The mother had a line which she repeated over and over...."Get up, honey", "Get up, honey" and then, as the play built toward the end of Act I, the line became more hurried, less delicate. The "honey" was dropped as the urgency built. And then, the daughter entered from off stage, tousled and wrapped in a blanket. The actress, who was very good despite her obvious youth, immediately launched into a tirade against the injustices of parents, the weight of expectation, the exhaustion of being a teen-ager. "I can't go to church," she wailed. "I'm exhausted! No one understands how hard it is to be in a play!" (Was she breaking the fourth wall or was there a play within the play?) The character of the mother was, at this point, clearly left with no patience. "You knew the commitment you were making, you said you could handle it".

"I CAN handle it," cried the daughter. "I just can't handle being tired".

And this is where the scene devolved into a mess of illogical mystification. And shouting. Quite a lot of shouting. Although, I must give credit to the actress playing the mother, because she played this bit with a veneer of calm over a seething mass of frustration...so real it was palpable in the audience.

The first act ended abruptly and due to a variety of circumstances, the 2nd act of "NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!" won't start again for a few hours.

I'll let you know how it turns out but to be honest, I'm not sure this is a work that I find particularly enjoyable. I was discussing the 1st act with a friend at church. She too had seen the play, many times, and noted that she has even seen it enacted with a 22 year old player.

I did not like the sound of that at all.

How I'll Spend My Summer Vacation

Forks, Washington is a little, tiny, podunk town on the Olympic Pennisula. It is notable for not much of anything except being very, very wet and podunk.

That was before Twilight and the rest of Stephanie Meyers' ouevre. (OK, it's not yet accurate to call it her ouevre. But it would be if she were, God forbid, hit by a bus tomorrow. I just like saying ouevre).

You people don't even want to know how much I just paid to book a 3 day, 2 night excursion - including a 3 hour tour* of all the locations mentioned in the books - for The Child and meself.

Of course, I did pay to stay in a "Twilight" room (black and red decor, posters from the movie on the walls) and the tour includes sandwiches.

You know what? I am so NOT the worst mother in the world.

*("A three hour tour...")

Creature of Habit

Remember that on Monday The Spouse and Child had the day off. So things got "back to normal" yesterday. At 6:30 I went into The Child's room, turned on her light and gently said, as I always do, "Time to wake up, Sweetie". Then I walked away from her room to do a thing or two in the kitchen, at which point I realized something very important and hustled back to her room, turned off the light and said, "Oh man, I am so sorry...go back to sleep!" and closed the door.

Because, you know, she's on Easter break. All week.

Sometimes I really am the worst mother in the world.

There's ham sammies on the table. Help yourselves.

Musical Epiphanies, Part 1

Lent begins in a couple of weeks and I feel like I'm collecting a basketful of pieces of things to contemplate, think about and pray over during that time. One of the shards in said basket would be all the attendant schtuff around raising a teenage girl. Because let me tell you, for the last few months The Child has been busting my damn chops. Like, to the point where I have seriously been depressed with the thought that we have totally frakked up as parents, that she will never amount to anything, that in a few short years we will be foisting onto an unsuspecting society this completely lazy, entitled, self-absorbed person who, on top of everything else, believes that the floor is a place to store stuff.


It's been a little depressing, to tell you the truth.


Rewind to Monday night.


There was a school concert. I was not excited. After 9 years of school concerts I'm pretty much over watching other people's kids stand and scratch while mumbling the ABC song, accompanied by the lead pellet of fear in my belly that it'll be MY kid who scratches the most or pukes or hits such a high and horrible flat note that it'll be heard in space and it'll be all over CNN.


I pretty much had to beg The Spouse to go with me. Because he is over it, too.


But we made it a date. We had a lovely dinner in a nice place and walked over to the concert hall and they were, thank God, serving liquor. (Sometimes it soooo pays to be Catholic). We had our cocktail and we looked around the lovely concert hall and steeled ourselves to do what parents do: which is go to these things and fake enthusiasm if you have to because you love your child and support her and want her to grow up and do something meaningful with her life (even if at the moment you seriously doubt you've given her the tools to do so).

Then everything began to shift. This was, I realized, a big deal. Turns out, it was the 10th year for this particular event - "A Festival of Catholic High School Choirs". It was a sold out show, emcee'd by a local celeb, attended by the Archbishop...like that. Plus, Benaroya is just a freaking fabulous place for a concert. Suddenly, I sit up a little straighter.


The first half of the show was each of the participating high schools doing one or two numbers. And of course, The Child's school is the last on the program. But the performances ranged from quite good to excellent. So it was enjoyable. So enjoyable that, even though we were at this point listening to other people's kids, The Spouse turned to me with tears in his eyes and whispered, "Thank you for making me come to this".

Then, finally, it was time for The Child's school. I got a little nervous. I remembered The Child lamenting earlier that they weren't prepared enough (even after 2 solid days of rehearsal capping off 3 months of practise). What if they sucked? I thought.

But they didn't. Oh, they so didn't. They were, in fact, quite the best choir in the concert and I'm not just saying that. They were so good I wished I had snuck in a camera and recorded the performance so I could show it to you.

Quick intermission and then the choirs combined...first all the boys for 2 songs, then all the girls, then everyone together. More loveliness ensued...especially when the girls sang "Heart, We Will Forget Him"...which I had never heard but is just gorgeous. And I watched my daughter sing, her posture perfect, her attention focused, her mouth moving and I was proud of her; proud of all her hard work, proud of her for being old enough to essentially be away from us for 2 days preparing for this moment, happy that she has found a niche.

But the thing that was most profound was when the choirs combined...nearly 700 kids. (OK, not kids...young people who are this close to being adults). Because I could still see The Child. And for the first time in my life I looked at her and saw myself. Which was very weird because people have always told me that she looks like me but I have never seen it. Monday night, half a concert hall away and surrounded by other young people, I saw it. And it astonished me because she looked so beautiful and grownup and purposeful. After weeks of feeling depressed about my failures as a parent I suddenly felt a rush of hope. Maybe she's going to turn out alright after all.

Sometimes, you get gifts when you aren't expecting them.

An Epiphany on Epiphany

High school Christmas concerts are never cancelled, only rescheduled.

If you've been a particularly bad mommy (who is sooooo over going to student productions and celebrated mightily when the concert was originally "cancelled" because of the snow) then the rescheduling could well be the second night after the kids return to school from Christmas break and you'll find out only because you happened to check the school website to see if there was a weather-related late start. Which there wasn't because the snow is all gone but good thing you checked, right? Even though this now means that you will not be doing with you 12th Night evening anything like what you hoped you'd be doing, which included but was not limited to eating the Hoppin' John you still haven't made for new year good luck, baking a 12th Night cake and getting ready for the exchange student who will be in your house in just a few days because some major effort will be required to make The Child's room accommodate a 2nd person, not to mention that tonight was the night you were going to take down the Christmas decorations but you obviously can't now because you won't be home until way late due to the concert that you really, really, really don't want attend tonight any more than you wanted to go last month but obviously even the worst mother in the world isn't exempt from karma. Or high school choir teachers.

---

When reading a website announcement, always be careful to read each word and absorb the correct meaning before running off half-cocked and writing a run-on post about having to go to a concert because there is a really good chance that you WON'T have to go because it's just for BAND AND ORCHESTRA.

The Child made me so happy when she told me this.

Hoppin' John, 12th Night cake, Christmas un-decorating and room readjusting are all back on.

Whoo hoo.

Well, It's May Day. Again.

This morning began as does every first of May, with The Spouse planning his parade of tanks and missiles in Red Square. I hope that I can someday buy him some armaments. He'd dearly love to have a tank. And some Marines. He really wants to have a rank of Marines standing at attention when he walks in a room. Who doesn't?

I had to put together the Maybaskets as The Child was indisposed yesterday. When we first bought our house there was very little in the way of flowering bits for our first May Day. Not to mention we had only met a few of our neighbors back then. But much has changed in 10 years and so even though I am quite a neglectful gardener and despite the first 6 weeks of "spring" being wretched and cold, there were enough blossoms to create these:


I think they look very pretty.

The Child, as was to be expected, tried to get out of going to school today. I mentioned that since from 4pm yesterday she was fit enough to argue with me, I suspected she could handle school. She countered that there was a test today for which she had not studied, to which I replied that if that was the case perhaps she would have been better served studying yesterday afternoon rather than watching "Return of the Jedi" for the 412th time.

"Oh, fuh-ine, I'll go to school," she huffed.

Sing it with me..."she's the worst mother in the world"...waah, waah" ...

She was over it by the time she needed to deliver her fleurs.



The Rabbi's Wife saw us as she was returning home from her work-out and gave a friendly wave. She knew what we were up to. But otherwise, the mission was accomplished. And when I mean "mission accomplished" I mean that the flowers were delivered on time and, with that one exception, in secret. You know, accomplished successfully. I clarify, less you be confused by the infamous moment which today celebrates its 5th anniversary:

To paraphrase Inigo Montoya, "I do not think that phrase means what you think it means".

Or in the sentiment JP once gracefully penned, "George Bush is a jackass".

Returning to happier, more May-like thoughts. My lilacs are in bloom.
I adore lilacs. And over at the coffee shop you'll find a video which is my theme song for the day.

It's a beautiful morning, full of blossom and chirping and that odd but insistent bright orb in the sky which seems to be trying to coax my roses. I think it's a good omen.

Not Exactly What The Spouse Had in Mind

Just some evidence that she will weather this just fine. The painful crying/bleeding mouth stuff has subsided and the only real reason she's being remotely pathetic is, I believe, in an effort to squeeze one more day off out of the deal. But tomorrow is Silent Day (part of the on-going 8th grade pre-graduation "retreat" experience). I think she'll be just fine for that.

Maybe.

Also, the sound is a little loud. Sorry about that. Stupid sound guy.

Another One Bites the Dust

I swear, as long as I live I am never going to understand things like this. What is the disconnect in the mind of a person whose entire political career has been predicated on ethics and busting the bad guys thinking he can hire a prostitute and not get caught?

Gov. Spitzer is yet another casualty of the "above the law" syndrome.

I don't get it.

Every six months there is another politician who goes down in flames because he or she did something wrong. Do all the other politicians read those stories and say to themselves, "Yeah, but see, I'm too smart to get caught"? Do these people not understand the term "cautionary tale"?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

(shakes head and reaches for a piece of pie)

"Well, politicians are human, too," says you.

"Human, schmuman," says me. "I understand making mistakes. I understand losing your temper, misplacing your Blackberry, doing 35 in a 30 mph zone. Geez, I'll even forgive late filing of your taxes. But for heaven's sake, if you're gonna live in a glass house, not only should you not throw stones, it would be a good idea to get curtains".

---

The Child has a cool social studies assignment. For the next two weeks she's engaged in a "Constitution Scavenger Hunt". She has 3 pages of questions about the Constitution and has to seek answers through reading, research, thinking and interviews. I've already put the call out to folks I think may have some expertise in this area but if any of you have any Constitutional Law experience or are a naturalized US citizen or work/worked in government, would you email me if you're willing to help out?

I told her teacher that I think this is one of the best assignments I've ever seen and that if more teachers taught the Constitution we'd probably be in a slightly less sorry state than we are right now.

Last night I was looking for the copy of the Constitution that I gave The Spouse for Christmas a few years ago. (I believe I inscribed it with something along the lines of "Now more than ever"). I couldn't find it and asked if he knew where it was. "I think the President took it to wipe his butt." he replied.

Yeah. Probably what happened.

---

So I'm back to being the worst mother in the world. The Child is totally mad at me because I asked her to make sure to get an update from her teacher on her progress report.

"STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS, MOM! YOU'RE REALLY FREAKING ME OUT!"

Dude, you want to shut me up? Bring home a progress report that doesn't have any zeros on it.

I do not know how to get her to figure out that worrying about her grades isn't going to solve anything. She has the power to control this situation. And while you're explaining the whole "above the law" thing to me, explain how someone can do work and then not turn it in. Please.

I went in to school to give her teacher a head's up that she might be a bit, oh, dismal this morning. (She was crying in the car). He wasn't in the classroom so I went to the teacher's lounge and found the 3rd and 6th grade teachers...who are both superfantastic women.

"Have you seen M?" I asked.

"I don't think he's in yet," replied 3rd Grade Teacher. "Why? You want me to kick his ass for you?"

That was funny. "No, his isn't the ass that needs kicking".

6th Grade Teacher said, "Let me guess, your ass doesn't need kicking either".

"Nope. Somewhere in between him and me you'll find the ass in question".

They were both supportive, not just because they have experienced this with students (including mine) but because they both have kids who have done the same thing. "What is the deal with doing the work and not turning it in?" I asked. 3rd Grade Teacher chalked it up to The Child being one of those really creative kids that always has something else on her mind.

Yeah. I get that. I totally do. But for the love of all things holy, why, why, why can she not get this simple mechanism for success into her dreamy little head? She knows the lyrics to every Top 40 song on the radio. She can discuss in minute detail every nuance of every Harry Potter book ever written. She writes poetry, designs dresses, spikes volleyballs and can say the Lord's Prayer in flawless Spanish but she can't turn in a damn social studies assignment.

Who needs a cocktail?

Golly Peepers

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. Waa waa.

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. Wa wa.

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.

Avril Lavigne "I'm With You"

My Evil Plan

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.



Nirvana "Smells Like Teen Spirit"

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.

ARGHHHH!

I hate when this happens.

Our home server shut itself off. And no amount of button pushing on my part will change that. And The Spouse is in a class all day. And after that he's going to be a complete geek and go to some geekfest and try to hear Wil Wheaton give the key note address at said geekfest. Wil Wheaton is funny. I'm sure The Spouse will have a lovely time. But all this means that he won't be accessible by phone all day and he won't be home until later tonight so I have to live without my email all day.

Why is my Internet working? I don't know. I don't question the gifts the universe bestows upon me.

But you know how I hate to be without my email. On the plus side, it also means I can't open Quicken so I don't have to do any book-keeping today, on this, my superfantastic day off.

Yesterday I officially became a short-timer. Nothing horrible happened. I just really, really don't want to stay at the Little Job. I know the organization does really important work and Judy has assured me that I've made a contribution in my time there but it is such a "can't see the forest for the trees" kind of gig. I work all day and feel like I didn't get anything done because there is always so much more to do. That just isn't a satisfying scenario. I like having something tangible to show for my efforts. I'm selfish like that.

Hey, in really good news, it looks like I dodged a bullet. You may remember that The Child asked to play soccer this year. I've resisted every year of her elementary life for the simple and tres selfish reason that I don't want to spend every weekend of the autumn standing in the rain watching soccer. But I figured I'd toss her a bone this last year so she signed up. Only it appears that there isn't an 8th grade team. Whoo to the hoo! Maybe, if stupid ol' Bad Coach isn't involved, she can play volleyball this year.

On the other hand, she's really more of a music/theater kid than a jock anyway. And the music guy approached me this summer, asking if I'd be willing to have him do some training with her. He's already teaching her guitar and he wants to work on vocal stuff with her, too. I said "sure" because I knew she'd love it. Well, it turns out that his motives aren't entirely unselfish; he wants her to be a cantor for school Masses. How cool is that?

I sang a lot as a kid. My sibs and I had a little singing group and we used to do "special music" at church. ("Special music" was what they called it when anyone outside of the choir performed songs for the congregation"). When we started I was in, like, 4th grade or something so we were all pretty little. We kept it up all through our growing up (how "Sound of Music", right?) and in high school I was in the youth choir at church. Sometimes I had solos. It was always just beyond nerve-making. I did it, but it made me sick-to-my-stomach nervous every single time.

I don't mind singing in front of people. Jamming around a campfire? Fine. Singing karaoke after dinner? Sure. Just don't take me to a karaoke bar. I couldn't get drunk enough to make that work. In a nice, safe setting I'm all over it but I don't sing for strangers anymore.

The Child on the other hand is completely fearless in this regard. She might get the random butterfly right before showtime but put a mike in her hands and she's over it. I think singing for Mass will be superfantastic for her. And I also think that being able to sing well is something that will serve her and bring her joy long after the allure of soccer is past.

Now I have to go pick up my little songbird and do some grocery shopping so that I can enjoy the rest of my day off.

Why I Am both the Worst and the Best Mother in the World

Last night The Child went to play at a friend's house. Right before she was to be home she called and asked if said friend could come home with her and spend the night.

There was no way this was going to happen. First of all, she's not allowed to have friends over when I'm not here. (There are a couple of exceptions to this, but the point is moo). Second, the friend in question is a) significantly younger, 2) exceedingly strong willed and 3) a bit naughty. The two of them fight like siblings from time to time and Friend has more than once gotten The Child in trouble because she wouldn't listen when The Child told her they couldn't/shouldn't do something.

The Child begged. "Pul-eeeze, Mom. I swear we'll be fine. It'll be like I'm babysitting her".

"No. You can't babysit friends who don't listen to you".

Friend, yelling into the phone, "I promise promise promise we'll behave. And I'll love you for ever and ever and ever".

No.

No.

No.

In her defense, Friend's mom is doing an internship and the poor kid has to get up at 5 am and be in childcare all day. But that's not really my problem. There have been a couple times this summer when she has spent the night and stayed here all the next day. But I was home. Now I'm not. End of story.

The begging and deal making and promises continued until, yes I did, I told her to get home and hung up on her.

And she called back. (Seriously, I can't even come up with a metaphor for the tenacity of my kid when she's like this. A dog with a bone is more compliant).

Another "No, get home". Sheesh.

She came home in a door slamming fury. Whatever. Like that sort of behavior would get me to change my intractable mind. She would occasionally come into the kitchen to get something, mostly, I think, a pretext for displaying to me how thoroughly disgusted she was with me and how much she hated me. Her very aura screamed "worst mother in the world".

She mellowed some by dinner time. (Who wouldn't over a good juicy burger in an onion bun and a delicious stone fruit salad)? Then, a little more meekly, she asked why Friend couldn't come over when I have allowed B or J to be there.

"Because B and J are older and I trust them".

"But you can trust Friend".

Well, no. I can't. Which I explained. And then she started to cry. And that's when it hit me. (I'm slow on the uptake but I manage to get there eventually). The kid was bored out of her frakking mind. And a little lonely.

"You're getting bored being home alone, aren't you?"

She cried some more and nodded her head, big tears rolling down her cheeks. (It takes a lot for her to muster tears, btw. Always has). "I tried to play board games with the puppies today but it didn't work," she wailed. Oh, that pesky no-opposable-thumbs thing.

So I apologized to her for the timing of this job. I told her that I was sorry there wasn't more notice because then I might have been able to make some arrangements that would have left her a bit more occupied. Then I mentioned that Judy had said I could bring her in to the office.
She brightened immediately. "Tomorrow!" she said.

Between you and me, I think she's going to be even more bored there than she would be at home. No TV. No puppies. It's not like, as I explained in great detail, I'll be able to play with her. "But I'll be with you," she said. "I'm just tired of being by myself".

I must be a working mom now. I feel guilty.

It's not bone crushing guilt. I know this is temporary. And I know that in the main The Child is not being harmed by having to hang out by herself. I also know that in a couple of years having the house to herself of a summer's day will be a luxury beyond telling. But we're not there yet. And let's face it, this whole "working mom" thing, which sounds so good on paper, is as much a challenge and a change for her as it is for me. I've always been around. Now, all of a sudden, I'm not. Yeah, that Joni Mitchell "you don't know what you've got till it's gone" lyric is embedding itself on my brain. Just as I'm having to learn how to manage work and home and writing, she's having to adjust to the reality that while a working mom may mean more money and eventually the possession of the Holy Grail (a cell phone), having a working mom also means that mom isn't necessarily going to be available all the time in the ways she's used to. Welcome to the real world, sweetie.

The Child was ever so organized last night: taking a shower and laying out clothes and packing things for the office. Judy has at least one project for her to do today and I can think of a few things as well. Child labor, baby. Work it. But the point is that she is excited and a little relieved to have a break. And I expect, after one day of being slightly bored at the office she'll be more than happy to be bored at home for a few days.

I told The Spouse last night that these 3 weeks are like boot camp. It's a big adjustment and I'm just exhausted come dinner time. I'm grateful for the experience, grateful that this came when it did and that I can learn some of this balancing stuff in a temporary situation. I trust that it will serve us all well when all those clients start flooding in when I start my business. (They're going to flood in, right?) Balancing work and home, that's one piece. Balancing work and home and family, yet another.

Hi. This is me. Juggling. On a wire. Thank heaven for the net.

The Finer Things

I'm getting tired of the word "fine", particularly as it is uttered by a certain Child who seems not to understand the true meaning of the word.

Moi: "Child, please turn off the television and go put away your laundry".

Child: "Wait. I have to finish this (fill in the blank).

Moi: "No. Now. I've already asked you twice".

Child: "Fine".

or

Child: "May I go play at E's house?"

Moi: "Not right now".

Child: "Why not?"

Moi: "Because I already told you that you weren't going anywhere until your homework is done and your room is clean".

Child: "But M-uh-ommm, I promise I'll do it all when I get back. I just want to have a little fun in my life. (Yes, she really said that). I swear I'll do it when I get back. I pinky-swear promise on my life I will".

Moi: "No, you have to do it now. It's called 'having priorities'. Plus you already pinky-swore promised that you'd do those things first thing this morning".

Child: "But M-uh-ommm, I..."

Moi: "NO!"

Child: "Oh, fine!"

The limitations of the written word are glaring right now. I cannot convey to you with any amount of italics, umlauts or other signs the tone and inflection of her "fine". Except to say that the way she says it is the complete opposite of "fine". She is not "fine" with the judgement that has been rendered or the request that has been made. She is not, in those moments, particularly "fine" with the person who has made the request or judgement.

If it were "fine" she would happily skip to her over-flowing laundry basket and tidily put away her clothes while whistling an exceedingly happy tune.

If she were "fine" with not going to play when there is work to be done she would kiss me on the cheek and submissively tell me that not only was she eager to get to her chores but that her heart was overflowing with gratitude for a mother who is teaching her to prioritize and make good choices.

She is not "fine". My lord, what child could be fine when possessed of a mother who has the audacity to ask her to set the table when her favorite episode of "Hannah Montana" -which she's seen 12 times already- is just starting? Who could possibly be fine when being burdened with expectation of clearing her own dishes, doing her homework on time and going to bed at a decent hour?

Child: "May I play volleyball with the house before I go to bed?" (She bumps the ball up on the roof so she can return it. Resourceful child).

Moi: "Yes. For 15 minutes and then you have to go to bed and read".

Child: "OK"

(15 minutes later)

Moi: "Time's up. Go get ready for bed".

Child: "15 more minutes?"

Moi: "Nope".

Child: "Please, just 15 more minutes and I pinky-swear promise on my life..."

Moi: "NO! Bed. Now"

Child: "OH! FINE!"

So not fine.

(Nearly) Teenage Drama Queen: Epilogue

We all know what I was expecting. The Child would fail miserably, be humiliated and just possibly in the midst of such a tragic fall, learn a lesson.

She competed in 2 rounds. She ranked 2nd in both. She received terrifically high marks. She got affirming, fabulous comments. None of the judges said a critical lick about her presentation, only offering helpful hints for doing even better. In short, no crashing, no burning, no humiliation.

She floated to the car on the proverbial cloud of bliss.

I may be the worst mother in the world, but I am not going to be one of those parents who is so hell-bent on making the point that the bubble need be burst too soon.

So she glimmered and glowed and cooed for a bit. And I told her that I was very proud of her. Then, oh so casually, I began to share with her the conversation The Neighbor and I had about procrastination. ("What's that?" she asked. I gave illustrations from my own life. They are myriad).

And then, as gently and sweetly as I could I asked, "Given what I've just shared with you, is there anything you've learned today?"

"I learned that I can do pretty well!"

Not the answer we were looking for, was it? "Yes. You did very well and I am extremely proud of you. But Child, think about it. You ranked second without practising very much. What do you think would happen if you spent a little time every day on this?"

"OH!" Her eyes gleamed. "I could probably win an award!"

Ya think?

So I challenged her to spend 15 minutes a day on her speech between now and the next competition, which is in 2 weeks. And she accepted. In fact, she started practising right there in the car. A few minutes in she looked up and said, "Mom, I just love speech!"

Color me speechless.