Honored

A quick note- I wrote this originally back in February, but for some reason it didn't post. So I'm posting it now. Why? Because I can. 

I'm a pretty lucky parent most of the time. My kids are pretty well behaved (well, except when around each other for more than a few minutes at a time. But we haven't had bloodshed in, oh, minutes!), they're pretty well liked, and they do pretty well in school. And that last part? That's pretty important to us. It's not so much the grades, but that they are performing at their own personal best. Sometimes it can be a struggle, beating back the procrastination beast, letting a few things slide for a while. It's a lesson our 13 year old is beginning to learn as advanced classes and a social life battle for supremacy. Somehow, though, he made it work, and here we are again at honor roll awards night. 

Secretly I'm just in it for the awesome bumper stickers... HOW I LOVE THOSE BUMPER STICKERS!

I made him dress up this year, which pretty much turned me into a mix of Stalin and your choice of North Korean leaders. He almost had a reprieve when we discovered not a single Mom-Approved item from HIS closet was going to work, unless the Urkel look has come into fashion. 

I should have known. He's taller than my 5'8" these days. But discovering that he and his dad have the same inseam was a little much for me. Upside? No last minute shopping. That was an upside for both of us. His father owns enough button downs and pairs of dress slacks to outfit the entire seventh grade. His closet space is twice that of mine, for crying out loud! OK, I'd better stop before I start retribution shopping at Gap.com

These nighttime assemblies move pretty fast, given the amount of kids they go through. Sixth and seventh grade go in the evening. Eighth grade gets breakfast. I wonder if they'd switch that to a lovely after-school snack for my sake? I don't do well with mornings. Ah, well, the things we do for our kids....

"Maybe if I don't look the principal directly in the eye I can stay under his radar
and avoid turning into stone..."

Nine semesters in a row of straight A's, Kid. Not too shabby... not too shabby at all. 

The Sounds of Silence

I’m at that point where, like Uncle Jimmy says, I need to take off for a weekend just to try and recall the whole year. Is it seriously the end of August? Despite my best attempts to bury my head in the sand, the
proof is in the institutional pudding. Summer is fading and fall is fast approaching.

Clue one: my house is silent.

No arguments over the television, no fights about Halo 3 or whatever the hell it is they’re playing now (that’s their father’s arena. I don’t do video games… well, except Lego Pirates of the Caribbean. I mean, Jack Sparrow actually MOVES like the movie character. How the hell do they DO that?) There are no chicken nuggets to be baked, no playdates to be arranged. School is back in session and, once more, the hours between 9 and 3 become my own.

I know a lot of parents get misty eyed when their kids go off to school, and I will admit I’ve had my moments. I made the critical mistake of watching the 5^th grade graduation photo slideshow the day
my new middle schooler went to enroll. Sweet suffering on a water buffalo, that was a bad idea. Pictures of my son’s smiling friends hamming for the camera flashed by, accompanied by heartwrenching music about friendship and memories. The cloying sentimentalism got to me, and soon I was snuffling and dripping all over my keyboard. Attractive.

When the day actually came, though, I was pretty chill.  Chris got himself up at 5:30 (bless that child, where the hell did he get the early morning gene from?), showered, dressed, and even deigned to take the yearly “before school” photographs. When the bus came at 8, he was standing nonchalantly at the stop sign, chatting with a friend, waiting to go on to the next part of his life while I hid in the bushes, watching him go.

Can we just get this over with?

"Pretend they don't exist; maybe they'll go back inside."

No, really. I hid in the bushes. I mean, damn, don’t you remember middle school? If I were eleven, I would have wanted me hiding in the bushes too. You know what I mean.

Yes, those are leaves at the edge there. Don't judge me.

So it’s quiet here, and for the first time in 83 days my house is my own. Today marks the first Monday back to school, and it’s business as usual, I’m sure. No one has called home in hysterics. Zack has managed to
navigate his way to first grade without the assistance of his big brother that was there last year. Chris has yet to be shoved into a locker. They come home with smiles on their faces and stories to tell. Mostly about lunch, but I’ll take what I can get. In the meantime, I blast some Buffett, drink another cup of coffee, and wait for them to come home.

No worries here

Because, honestly? I kind of miss the noise.

Kind of.