I'm not the type to pull strings or call in favors unless I absolutely have too.
Okay ... It's not like I'm this suburban-mafia-mom that has tons of useful connections, meets covertly in dark alleys to make deals with shifty looking hoodlums, keeps a mental tally of favors owed to me or have a list of people that find me favorable by which I could pull some strings with.
I have no connections.
I know no hoodlums (except Little Billy and he's harmless, he's my son and he's only 12).
My mind is far to cluttered and feeble to keep track of what the actual day of the week is, let alone if I've ever accumulated favors owed to me.
And ... most people do not find me favorable.
But ...
I am wise in the ways of the world! I've been around long enough to know the games, watched carefully to try and understand how to play some of these games and, from time to time, have enlisted this aforementioned, accumulated knowledge to PLAY THE DAMN GAME!
I am on the board of the PTA for my twins' high school.
On Monday morning - the first day of school, mind you - I crawled out of my comfortable bed and quiet, kid-free house - the bed with the cozy down comforter and the house that was noiseless - to help at the high school, alphabetizing their AGR (an acronym that I have no clue what it stands for - something to do with registration - something to do with the first day of school) cards
Before I left my house, I began to receive numerous text messages from my Daughter Courtney - HER AND CHLOE'S SCHEDULES ARE SCREWED UP - HELP MOM!!!
I tried to appease my obviously highly-stressed-frantic-freaking-out-of-her-mind daughter by replying casually to her text messages with, "Don't worry about it, Hon - it'll all work out," sort of responses.
That didn't fly.
She continued to text message after message, interrupting me from getting ready to go - she NEEDED me to step in and help figure out this screw-up for her ---- PLEASE MOM! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!
I stopped my primping, walked out of my bathroom and called the counselor's office. I was pretty quickly told they will not be addressing scheduling issues until after Labor Day, the girls will just have to stay in the classes assigned until then. Mind you - these girls spent 5 hours, two weeks ago, up at the school on Prep Days, working out their Senior year schedule and now the school has made an error by changing the schedule. The error is the school's error - not my girls'. This I conclude only too quickly.
I sigh.
I change my outfit (I was wearing something conservative - I change into something less conservative. There is a reason for this well-thought-out wardrobe change. I won't tell you what I changed into because I wouldn't want you to think badly of me. Okay - I'll tell you. The new outfit consisted of a shorter shirt and a tighter, lower cut blouse).
I grab my purse.
I grab my coffee.
I leave my nice quite house and drudge up to the school.
I go by the counselor's office and am told pretty much the same thing - "So sorry your daughter is upset but there's nothing we can do today." So, I ask to speak to the head counselor (I'm going to go up the ladder now) and am told it wouldn't be possible until late afternoon to meet with her - she's far too busy helping register new students. In the meantime, my daughter's are attending classes that will not be their set classes and Courtney is BEYOND hysterical this is all screwed up - she is still texting me constantly. I am informed by the counseling department that nothing can be done for two weeks.
I texted Courtney and told her to meet me near the counselor's office.
"Did they say for me to meet you?" Courtney texted me - I can sense her fear.
"I SAID FOR YOU TO MEET ME." I'm the tax payer and the mom here - what I say goes.
After her first period class ends - Courtney - visually distressed - meets me in the breezeway near the counselor's office.
"Courtney. Now, you have to tell me if this is SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU WANT ME TO MAKE A STINK TO GET THIS FIXED. Because if it is not that big a deal and you can wait until after Labor Day, you have to tell me now." I have no clue from one minute to the next what is REALLY important and what isn't when it comes to teenagers. What I think should be important - isn't. And, what I think is piddly-isn't-worth-the-worry-or-stress-or-making-your-mom-a-nut-case-until-the-issue-is-resolved sort of issue - they think is important. But ... as I am talking to her - trying to decipher the true worry about this scheduling-screw-up issue, I see the trauma and stress all over her face.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks and she is not a crier - she is my tough child.
She NEEDS this issue resolved and I, as her advocate, agree. She is a student and going to school is her one and only job and she is highly successful. It does not seem reasonable to me that she should be forced to remain in the "wrong" classes for two weeks - she needs to be put back in her "right" classes so she can start this school year stress-free and happy. (Happy is really all I'm aiming at here).
"Okay - it's a big deal," I say. "Let's go," and I begin to go toward the counselor's office - set on sitting in there until they do something to fix my daughter's schedule (all the while my anger is riling up and honestly, I intended to "dare" them to make me wait longer than I deemed reasonable. I wasn't sure how long that would be - it would all depend on how long they made me wait). But ... Courtney doesn't want to make a stink in the counselor's office - she had already been in there earlier and they chased her out, telling her they were too busy today to address her scheduling problem. *More tears*
I agree. I got nowhere with them either and was, while I didn't let on to my daughter, a little fearful myself to return to the lion's den. I say, "Okay. But, then we're going to have to go to the Principal." I'm pretty sure this will scare her to death and she will reject this idea.
She is good with this plan.
She knows I know the Principal and that the Principal of this school of 3000 students knows me well and knows her well.
"Where is he - let's find him," she says, her spirits a little higher now. Me - my heart is beating so fast it might just jump from my chest, land on the ground and trip me in the hallway.
We head off to look for the Principal.
We round the corner in the outdoor courtyard and there he is, standing with two other administrators that I also know well. I adjust my blouse, straighten my black and red floral shirt, cover my mouth with my hand and whisper to Courtney, "I'm going to need you to cry.""What?" she asked, her eyes shifting nervously.
"Tears. Turn on the tears," I instruct, perfectly aware that this is one of the few times my daughter has witnessed me attempting to manipulate a man. Watch closely Dear, you will see how it is done.
We explained Courtney and Chloe's situation to the Principal. Courtney teared up (easily, because she was truly upset). He immediately took care of the situation.
Not ten minutes - TEN MINUTES - later, Courtney and Chloe's schedule was back the way it should be, Courtney gave her mom a big hug and bounced off to class - not a care in the world.
YES - I used everything (while not all that impressive or threatening or at all useful in everyday situations) in my arsenal to help my daughter. And, I didn't even have to scream and yell to get it done.
Courtney, quite impressed with her mother's talents, came home in the afternoon, all smiles. I questioned her about her schedule and she informed me that it was fine - everything was correct - "THANKS MOM, for your help".
Then ...
She went on to tell me that she repeated this story to several people at her school, one a teacher I know well, but in her story she impressed that she'd gotten the schedule changed back ... by crying.
"Did you tell them that I was the one who told you to turn on the tears?" I asked, astonished that she was taking credit for my sneaky plan.
"No," she admitted easily, and then shuffled on out of the room.
For the record - I was the administrator of this well-thought-out covert operation. But, I'm okay with my daughter taking the credit. I know only too well that she's too young to realize that that was part of my plan too - tee hee. (Okay, not really, but it will come in handy if I ever have to deny I played a part of this manipulation). And, for the record - I could have kept on my original outfit. I'm pretty darn sure it didn't have a thing to do with ultimately getting this job done *hangs head pitifully*
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