When Little Billy goes to school, he and Alexis always ride the bus.
There is entirely too much that goes on around the On The Upside household for Little Billy's mother to take the time to perform parent pick-up or parent-drop off, everyday!
NOPE! All the kids take the bus.
Little Billy's mom loves the public school bus system!!
She started sending Little Billy to school on the school bus, when he was 5 years old - Kindergarten.
She made sure he attended school everyday for 6 years - all the way through 5th grade. This is a total of approximately 190 or so days a year; 1140 days over the course of 6 years - that she has been putting him on the bus and sending him off to elementary school.
That is, with the exception of one day.
His LAST DAY of school.
The LAST DAY of elementary school.
The LAST DAY of 5th grade.
On this day, he asked to be driven to school by his dad - in the Corvette - and be dropped at the front door of the school (parent drop-off) - to mark the occasion.
His dad happily obliged.
Little Billy's mother was up early, getting herself ready to go to the ceremony at the school that morning. She was locked away in her bathroom - when her son was chauffeured away to school by his father.
Little Billy's mom managed to make it to the school just in time for the start of the ceremony.
She found a seat.
She prepared her camera.
And ... settled in with all the other anxious parents ... for the commencement to begin.
As the children began to file in - to take their seats at the front of the auditorium - IT WAS THEN THAT ... Little Billy's mother REALIZED that ... she had....... FORGOTTEN SOMETHING!
She'd had 6 years ...
1140 days ...
Many, many mornings and many, many bus rides ...
Leading up to this day.
This LAST DAY of school.
This LAST DAY of elementary.
This LAST DAY of 5th grade.
This DAY OFGRADUATION!
Why then?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why had she not prepared more properly?
Planned more thoroughly?
Why would she have ALLOWED her 11 years old son - the GRADUATE - the namesake of the On The Upsidefamily - to step up on that stage ...
To accept his certificate and recognitions for "A Honor Roll", The Presidents Award For Educational Excellence (90 GPA or above all year long) and the Citizenship Award ...
WEARING ...
CAMO?
Not a suit and tie - like most of the other 5th grade boys.
Not nice attire like all the 5th grade girls.
Nooooooo ...
Little Billy ...
The family's namesake ...
The pride and joy boy-child of the On The Upside family ....
was ...
WEARING ...
CAMO!
CRAP!
CRAP!
CRAP!
This was all Little Billy's mom could think as she focused on her son through the viewfinder of her camera - CRAP!!
On The Upside ... Hey - Billy's Mom!! What are you going to let the boy wear when he walks across the stage for his high school GRADUATION - Surfer shorts, a muscle shirt and FLIP FLOPS? (*Little Billy's mother hangs her head in shame*)
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*
The On The Upside family has had a fabulous summer!
The kids are now back in school and as much as the mom should be happy about some time alone - she is not ready for school to begin.
Alexis was ready!
She coudn't wait to start 2nd grade!
She didn't even look back.
Little Billy headed off for his first day of middle school. I must have told him 100 times to make sure he takes notes - write EVERYTHING down!
"I got it, Mom - I can handle this," he insisted.
I certainly hope so. He's got 7 teachers this year and ... I do not have the time to spend my days going from class to class with that boy!
Then there were those teenager girls. Courtney and Chloe are juniors this year and driving themselves to school. I was so nervous - I made them call me yesterday to tell me they made it there alright. It's really the parking that worried me most.
They called - they made it! Now they just have to make it there and back again tomorrow and the next day and the next day .......
They are driving the Pathfinder we bought for them to use until their daddy finishes that '69 Mustang. I think they want the Mustang finished, but ... they were awful happy to have their own car to drive to school.
Like I said ...
I should be happy to have the kids out of my hair.
I do like spending my days doing things that I need to do - getting things done while they are at school.
I like the peace and quiet.
I like making lists and getting busy on chores and projects - filling the fall months with days of cleaning and organizing - shopping and changing things in my house.
I like working in the yard with no one yelling "CAN YOU COME MAKE ME SOME LUNCH?"
I like going to lunch with my girl friends.
I like all of these things.
But ...
I like summer ...
BETTER!
I AM NOT ready for summer to end!
It flew by too fast!
We spent a lot of time at the lake, but ...
We never made it to the beach.
We spent many mornings sleeping in.
We watched a lot of movies and way to much TV.
We spent fun times with family and friends.
We didn't do all the things we had hoped we would get to, but ...
Visions of the boy in the school bathroom - hugging the toilet.
Visions of the boy sitting in his classroom - slouched over in a metal chair - whimpering in pain.
Visions of the boy lost in the hallways - searching for a phone to call home.
Searching for the nurse's office.
Searching for the bathroom.
Searching his mind for reasons to ... get out of ... going to the rest of his classes.
The boy's father called me ...
"The boy called - he's sick. Can you go pick him up?" he said.
"It's the second week of school!" I exclaim. "He can't come home."
"He's sick - he called me," the boy's father explains.
"Where'd he call from?"
"The nurse's office. I gotta go," and he hangs up.
I call the school.
"Is my son in your office with a stomach ache?" I ask the nurse.
"What's he look like?" she asks, not recognizing his name.
"He's small, with dark hair," I offer.
"Oh ... he was here a bit ago - I sent him back to P.E. to get a pass," she says.
*I am stillin my pajamas.*
*I am happy in my pajamas.*
*I am not ready to get out of my pajamas.*
And ..
I am only into the early morning of my 7th day at home without children - enjoying my coffee - not yet READY to give up this new trend we have going - this ... back-to-school-for-the-kids-which-means-plenty-of-alone-time-for-mom - trend!
And ...
I am not so convinced that the boy is as sick as he is ... more likely ... tired.
"He's not one to miss school," I explain to the nurse, "If he's called home - he must not feel well. But ... it's the first of school ... I need to encourage him to stay if he can."
"Yes," she concurs.
"I guess he broke some rules," I suggest - realizing he hadn't gotten a pass - realizing he called from the gym - realizing he just sort of left his class and likely roamed around until he found her office.
She laughs. "It's okay."
"He's just wandering the halls - not good," I say, and giggle.
"He'll get it. They are all lost for a while. He is cute, though," she laughs again.
"Was there blood coming from his ears?" I then ask.
She hesitates.
She answers ... "No," and then chuckles nervously.
I guess I shouldn't have asked that.
On the upside ... She never called back. He never called back. He went on back to class and ... I'll bet, if someone were to ask him, he'd have to admit that .... he got that telepathic message I sent him ---- "SON, IT'S MOM.I'M STILL IN MY JAMMIES.UNLESS YOU'VE GOT BLOOD OOZING FROM YOUR EARS ...GET YOUR CUTE SELF ... BACK. TO. CLASS! LOVE YA - OVER AND OUT!"
I went - because my parents made me - those were the rules!
I sometimes can not believe that I actually made it through some of the classes I was expected to take, like geometry, government, chemistry, algebra - I can't even easily spell a few of these words, let alone remember a doggone thing I supposedly ever learned.
Sometimes, when my kids get to arguing with me about not wanting to work hard enough at something, I will say, "What do you want to be - a loser - like I was?"
They often come to my defense and get sympathetic looks on their faces and say, "You aren't a loser."
To which I reply, "Well ... I'm not a loser now - but I was when I was in school..."
And ... I was - with a BIG OL' - L.
I must have had the favor of a few teachers - looking back on it now - otherwise I'm sure I would not have made it through.
So .....
Little Billy, is writing a time-line on a large piece of white paper on the floor of his room. He has his History book flipped open to the pages that he is working from. He stops, runs down the hallway, runs up to me at my desk and he says, "Mom - When was the start of the Civil War?"
Uh Oh!
"I don't know the exact date, Hon," I say.
"Well ... what year was it?"
*I DON'T KNOW THIS ANSWER!*
I say, "I don't really remember, Hon. Go ask Daddy, maybe he remembers," and off her runs.
Shew ...
A little later on, he runs back into my room, "What was the end of the Civil War, Mom?"
*CRAP!*
"I don't remember that either, Son."
"Just tell me when it was over," he begs - like rewording the sentence will help.
*I DON'T KNOW THIS ANSWER!*
I say, "I don't really remember, Hon. Go ask one of the girls - surly they remember," and off he runs.
Again ... he comes back, "Why was it so important that Lincoln was elected President?" he asks.
*FOR THE LOVE OF HEAVEN! *
*I DON'T KNOW THIS ANSWER!
I mumble, "I don't remember."
He, again, attempts a new tactic - certain that this will help jar my pathetic memory and he says, really loudly, like he is talking to someone from FOREIGN country, "YOU. DON'T. UNDERSTAND. THE. QUESTION. WHY. WAS. IT. SO. IMPORTANT. THAT. LINCOLN. WAS. ELECTED. PRESIDENT?" He says all of these words very slowly, so NOW, I will understand this question.
I understood the question - the first time.
*I DO NOT KNOW THIS ANSWER!*
I say, "I do not know this answer! I can't remember this crap! I don't think I ever learned it when I was supposed to learn it when I went to school. I DO NOT KNOW THESE ANSWERS! If you go get your book, I can help you find the answers - how about that?"
Off he runs, "I'll go ask Dad - or the girls," he yells, as he is half way down the hallway. "That's okay, Mom ... I forgot ... you were a LOSER when you went to school."
On the upside ... Yes. I. Was!
You would think that I could listen up now - learn a bit of U.S. History from my kids - learn some of that stuff I never quite got when I went to school - but, Nooooooo! I didn't want to learn it then, and ... I CERTAINLY DON'T WANT TO LEARN IT NOW! I don't have enough room in my brain to store Civil War details - NOPE! I've barely got enough room for months, days and seasons. Well ... seasons, I meant. Alexis is keeping track of the months and days for me now (*sigh like a big ol' LOSER).
The little boy that I know is confident, happy and very sure of himself.
But ... on this one night, right before he went to bed, I went to him and told him that his father and I would be going to his school the following morning, early, to see the school's flag ceremony. These ceremonies are held at his school, once every couple of months, and it is in these ceremonies where children from each class in the school, are chosen, for awards. These awards are called The Pillar Of Character Awards (Trustworthiness, Citizenship, Caring, Fairness, Responsibility & Respect). When I told my son that we would be attending the ceremony - he began to cry.
"I don't know why you're going," he sobbed.
Sitting down on the edge of his bed, I said, "Daddy and I want to go - we haven't been to a flag ceremony in a while."
He continued to cry. "I'm not going to win. I never win," tears were streaming down his face. "I haven't won in five years. There's always someone better than me," he was very sad.
I tried to console him, but he was inconsolible. "Maybe this time you will win. And even if you don't win, we still want to be there - to recognize everyone else that will - right?"
I had never heard him voice concern, let alone sadness, over not having ever won one of these awards before. I was sad for my sweet son.
But I left him, eventually, and he settled down and went to sleep. I was hurting for him, but at the same time I was very happy. For ... I knew ... he would receive an award the next day.
His teacher had phoned me and asked that we make sure that we attended the ceremony - as, Little Billy had been chosen from his class, to receive an award.
So, we went and we saw and we were proud. He was proud. He could not have been more proud. It was a fine moment for our sweet boy.
Walking out of the ceremony with my son, a little boy walks up behind us. He is a Downs Syndrome child and he seems to know my Little Billy.
The boy moves close to my son and tries to capture his attention - I step back and watch.
Little Billy is talking to one of his other buddies, but hears the voice of the other boy and turns to look at him. As soon as he sees this child ... he lifts his arm - without one moment of hesitation - and he puts his arm around the boy's shoulders and pulls him close.
They walk out in front of me ... my sweet Billy, with his shiney medal around his neck, and his little buddy, Jack.
He looked back in my direction - still walking with his arm around Jack's neck - and I smiled.
When Little Billy got home that afternoon from school, I asked him, "Do you know what made me most proud today?"
He smiled a great big smile, grabbed ahold of the medal around his neck and said, "My medal?"
I grabbed him into my arms and pulled him too me and squeezed him tight and said, "No. I'm proud you got that medal because I know how much you deserve it. But ... I was most proud for the kindness you showed to Jack."
He pulled back and looked me in the eyes and I could see that he was confused.
I said, "When you hugged him - in the hallway," explaining what I had seen.
My confident, happy and sure of himself boy turned and started to walk away. Before he left, he turned back and looked at me and said, "Well, he's my friend," with the sort of nonchalance you would expect from a boy that had just received an award for "Fairness".
It took 5 years for my son to get that medal, but ... on this day ... I do not believe they could have chosen a better boy!
As most of you know - I have teenage twin daughters, Courtney and Chloe.
My girls are juniors in high school and fixing to turn 17 this April *sad face*.
One of the things I have most enjoyed about having teenagers around my house is seeing the friendships they have developed with other kids their age. They often brings their friends to our house and I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know all of them and being around this great group of kids.
One of the friends my girls made this last year at school is a girl named Becca. Becca is a year older than Courtney and Chloe (she's a senior) and yet they have become especially close and my girls just love her. They played basketball together for their high school's varsity team and hung out a lot after school and on the weekends (she's coming over today, as a matter of fact). Becca has not only been a wonderful friend to both of my girls, but a fabulous influence. I know they are going to miss her tremendously when she leaves in the fall to head off to college at Texas A&M - but we are all very proud of her and wish her only luck and happiness and love.
The reason I tell you all this is because I found out this morning that Becca has started her own blog called The Leaves On The Ground.
Becca
I know several teen bloggers and just love their blogs, their stories and their perspective of the world. I am certain that Becca's blog will be fabulous as she is a great girl and also takes amazing photos.
It would be so nice if you went over to welcome my special friend, Becca (The Leaves On The Ground) into this wonderful blogging world - show her how much we love teen bloggers and encourage them to be part of our community.
I can't even begin to describe the amount of stress we have been under in the On The Upside household during these first several weeks of school.
Man, oh man!
It is no secret in my house that I do not like:
Rising early!
Enforcing bedtimes!
Packing lunches!
Supervising reluctant children to do their homework!
Communicating with teachers to get things straight!
Packing lunches!
Rising early!
Supervising reluctant children to do their homework!
I am way better as a summertime mom - I am!
Or a Christmas-time mom!
Or a Spring-break mom!
I try to be calm and chipper and ... calm ... but, I am STRESSED!
And ... I am not chipper.
I don't know how long or when, if ever, I will land back on my feet and feel as though I am - we are - LESS STRESSED - but ... I hope it is soon.
I hope that Alexis will soon relax about what we pack in her lunch and quit analyzing each and every item that goes in there! It's a process I can do without. It's taking up way more time and far more energy than I want to devote to any one task - EVER! And ... we are doing it every night - packing Alexis' lunch - just PERFECTLY! "Can you pack me pasta?" No. "Why don't you ever pack me pickles?" Get the pickles out of the fridge. "Can I take a chocolate pudding and a butterscotch pudding?" No. "Why didn't you pack me a snack?" I. Don't. Know!
I hope Little Billy eventually brings home his gym clothes to have them washed - I'm not asking that boy one. more. time! I hope he doesn't make enemies with those "bad kids" he's been telling me about - especially that one that said he 'wants to punch in somebody's face'. I hope he eventually figures out, at some point soon, that ... he is going to have to write his name at the top of EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF PAPER HE EVER HANDS IN - FROM HERE ON OUT!
And - Courtney and Chloe - I don't even know where to start, but ... I just hope we all survive their junior year in high school and that they continue to get to and from school each day -safely and without any accidents!
I'll settle down in a couple of weeks - I think.
It always takes me a minimum of 6 weeks to get back into the swing of this school thing. I won't ever actually "like" it or be all that "good" at it - but ... I will eventually adjust and adequately create the illusion that I am okay and in control.
I might even get my chipper back.
There's really no guarantee of that.
Right now ... I am just aiming at landing back on my feet, a heart rate that is more normal, stocking up on plenty of pickles and ... breathing without swallowing my tongue.
On the upside ... I'm in survival mode - like a Ninja warrior.I'll work on the chipper later.
I'm not the best mom and I'm not the worst mom. I'm somewhere in between. In between those moms that take their children lunches to school and eat with them at least once a week and those other moms that send their little ones to school with $1.25 in their pocket to purchase the tray of "yummy" school lunch food (while I've done this too).
Courtney and Chloe make their own lunches for school.
Courtney was quick to point out to me recently that this was not what "good mothers" do for their kids.
She went on and on about how the mother of a friend of hers would not only make her daughter special sandwiches with actual lettuce with the lunch meat - but often include sweet little notes in her specially decorated bags. Sometimes, this same mother will make an extra sandwich for anyone that forgets to bring their lunch (*loser mom throws head back and laughs hysterically - bahahahahahaha*).
She also told me of another mother that prepares these little snack bags (chips, juice box, cookies) and keeps them in her car to hand out to the beggars on the corners that hold up signs that they are homeless.
Okay ... I'm not doing any of these things. No special bags of treats (while a great idea) for the homeless and no lettuce, notes or decorated lunch bags for my teenage daughter's lunches.
I either have too much on my plate, those other mothers have too much time on their hands or something ... somewhere in between.
On the upside ... One day I am going to surprise those girls and make their lunches again - I might just even put actual lettuce on top of that bo-logna! And ... a little note inside their bag that says, "Hey Girly - it's me - Mom. If you don't like this sandwich - maybe you can get that EXTRA ONE from your friend's bag - eat it - and then save this sub-standard sandwich to put in a little gift bag to give to the homeless man on the corner down the street. Bye Sweetie - See you when you get home. Love, Mom."
My husband owns an Electrical Contracting business.
My husband wears jeans every single day to work.
My older daughters pretty much wear jeans every single day to school.
I'm not crazy about jeans, myself.
My son, however ... is just like his father. He wants to wear nothing but jeans! He has many, many pairs of other sorts of pants hanging in his closet, but he is not happy when I pull out a pair of Dockers to wear to school, a pair of corduroys to wear to school, a pair of khakis to wear to school ... he's not happy with anything but blue jeans!
The other day, when I was complaining to him about this aversion, he said to me, "Jeans are the best pants ever. And ... that's not just my opinion ... that's a fact!"
On the upside ... when he's right, he's right!
Oh ... wait! I like jeans - silly me (*wipes drool running down chin with sleeve and sighs deeply .... like a silly teenage girl*)!
Courtney and Chloe would be juniors in high school.
Little Billy would move on from elementary school to middle school and join his friends and 7 new teachers in 6th grade ...
The year was ... 2008.
Alexis arrived home first - all went well.
The twins drove themselves home later in the afternoon - all went well.
Little Billy ...
............ had a story to tell.
"How was your day - Little Billy?" I asked as soon as he walked in the front door.
"Fine," he said, and threw his new back pack on the floor, kicked off his shoes and then he headed for the pantry.
"What was it like?" I follow him into the kitchen.
"No big deal," he stands in front of the pantry with his back to me - eyeing the Little Debbie snack cakes and bags of chips.
"Did you see any of your friends?"
"Yes."
"Did you like your teachers?"
"Yes."
"Did you find your locker?"
"Yes."
"Did you remember the combination?"
"Yes."
"Did you take notes."
"Yes."
"Did you bring home any papers for me to fill out?"
"Yes."
"Did you eat your lunch?"
"I had two lunches today," he offers casually, while pulling himself up on a bar stool at the kitchen island.
*blink blink*
"You took two lunches - you ate two lunches?" I ask.
"No," he stuffs a handful of Lays potato chips into his mouth, "I only ate one lunch - but ... I went to lunch two times," he's stretching his neck to see the TV behind me.
*blink blink*
"Wwhat? What are you talking about?"
"I went to lunch and then after ... I went to my Art class. When I got there - they were all going to lunch - so I went again," he's munching on chips and straining to see the TV - he's very calm.
"Why did you do that?" I move to stand between him and the TV - trying to make him focus on our conversation.
"I made a mistake," he confesses. "I was supposed to go to Advisory first and then to lunch and then back to Art. I went to lunch first - by myself. When I finished and went to Advisory - it was over and they were all going to lunch - so I went again," he thinks this all makes perfect sense - he's a bit agitated having to explain it.
"What did your teacher say?"
"To go to lunch," he emphasises the word lunch like ... lun-CH and then rolls his eyes.
"I mean about you not showing up for Advisory?"
"Oh ... she said, 'Where've you been ... Little Billy?'" he again is trying to see the TV.
"Was she mad?"
"Nope."
"Didn't you wonder where everyone else was - during lunch, I mean?"
"Nope."
"Who did you eat with?"
"I ate by myself."
"Don't do that again tomorrow - m'kay?"
"Okay."
On the upside ... All I could think of was him sitting there in the cafeteria eating all by himself - thinking he was where he was supposed to be. And then ... headed off to class and walking in like nothin' was up. I would have loved to have seen the look on his teacher's face when he said he'd already been to lun-CH! I know him well enough to know that he just strolled into that classroom and even when he realized he had screwed up interrupting his schedule that ... he still acted very cool. I think he would have simply turned around - gotten in line behind the other kids and --- headed off for lunch - AGAIN! *Little Billy'smom can't stop laughing*
I'm not the best mom and I'm not the worst mom. I'm somewhere in between. In between those moms that take their children lunches to school and eat with them at least once a week and those other moms that send their little ones to school with $1.75 in their pocket to purchase the tray of yummy school lunch food (while I've done this too).
Courtney and Chloe make their own lunches for school.
Courtney was quick to point out to me recently that this was not what "good mothers" do for their kids.
She went on and on about how the mother of a friend of hers would not only make her daughter special sandwiches with actual lettuce with the lunch meat - but often include sweet little notes in her specially decorated bags. Sometimes, this same mother will make an extra sandwich for anyone that forgets to bring their lunch (*loser mom throws head back and laughs hysterically - bahahahahahaha*).
She also told me of another mother that prepares these little snack bags (chips, juice box, cookies) and keeps them in her car to hand out to the beggars on the corners that hold up signs that they are homeless.
Yesterday ... The Boy and I got into it after school about his homework. Needless to say, the conversation escalated to the point that I was talking very loudly (screaming). This does not happen routinely with The Boy, especially where he screams back. He's usually pretty easy-going and does much of what he is told. But ... yesterday he was screaming back because he absolutely DID NOT want to do something that I felt he should do. We went round and round and round - for at least twenty minutes.
I began to get very very very very frustrated with him. I threw down the papers and yelled, "Fine ... if you don't want my help, fine! I don't care if you ever do your homework. Go back to school with it not done - fail for all I care." These words, however loud and inappropriate, did not phase him. He kept right on yelling. He WAS NOT going to do what I felt needed to be done.
I was not handling this situation to the best of my ability (obviously). I was a bit out of control (just a tad). And so was he. Worse than I've ever seen him. I did not think I was going be able to get him to back down - to settle down - to AGREE with me. So ... at some point in this heated discussion I said, "If you refuse to obey - do as I say, because this is my house and if you're going to live here, you are going to do what I say ... well then, I will just have to send you off to military school. That's where they sometimes send boys that won't listen to their mothers." Yep ... I said it. You should have seen the look in his eyes.
I was, at first, proud that I had found "the words" (I am forever unsure what they will be or if I am capable of finding them) to back this child down. Then ... I was sad. Sad that I had threatened "sending him away" and sad that he believed me (I can certainly look and act pretty scary - been working on those techniques for 15 years). He became immediately quiet. As did I.
We proceeded, after "the words" to have a very productive homeworking session. He was settled, I was settled and we got through it - together - not another raised voice or mean word.
Later, I went to his room and hugged him. I said, "Thanks for working so hard on your homework. Thanks for getting it all done. Thanks for doing what I think you should do. And ... I would never send you away to military school - unless you were REALLY out of control - like on drugs or hitting me and stuff (I'm an idiot). And, you are not out of control. You are a good boy." He hugged my neck tightly and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you too."
I'm just wingin' it over here - I am telling you. Sometimes the words that come out of my mouth .... sometimes the anger I am riled to (Dr Phil would have been so ashamed of me - not that I really care what he thinks - if he'd have been there, I'd have likely kept right on yelling and then been invited to be on his "Really Bad Mothers" episode in the near future).
God ... put your hand over my stupid mouth and give me that patience I have been praying for ... FOR YEARS!
On the upside ... It did work - he did do the homework (I know, I know - not the best way to go about it, blah, blah, blah...).
*Note: The child in the picture above, sticking his tongue out at the camera ... that's The Boy, only he's now 8 years older. He still has a sweet little face and smile, but it was not the 2 year old I was yellin' at - just so you know.
She tries to remember every important thing you ever say.
She often wants a candy while at the grocery store and always asks for one for her brother, as well.
When I buy her a new pair of shoes - she will beg to buy a pair for her cousin.
When my mother is over around dinner time - she always begs for her to stay and eat.
When someone is wincing in pain - she is the first to run to their aid.
So ...
I was not a bit surprised when she asked, "Can I buy my new teacher some flowers?" just before heading out the door on the evening of Meet The Teacher Night at her school.
"I guess we could do that," I agree.
Then ... it began to pour the rain.
It rained buckets.
It was a sloshy mess.
"I don't think we will be able to go to the store for the flowers - in this rain," I tell her.
She gets a glum look on her face.
"Why don't we just go on to school and we will make sure to buy her some on Sunday night - that way you can take them to her on the first day of school - on Monday?" I suggest.
She seems happy with this idea.
She smiles.
We go to her school.
We enter her new classroom.
We meet her teacher.
While sitting at her new little desk - putting her supplies in her desk and writing her name on Crayon boxes and folders and rulers - she steps real close to me and she whispers ...
"I don't want to buy her flowers anymore," and she bows her head.
"Why?" I ask.
She just shakes her head, but refuses to elaborate or offer a reason.
I let it go.
On the upside ... Alexis may be a sweet girl, but ... if she thinks you iz ugly ... you ain't gettin' any flowers.
*******************
Disclaimer: I posted this story on the evening of 9/2/08 and then pulled it - as the content offended one of my readers. I am now reposting it - as this is my blog and this is a funny story.
Just for the record --- Alexis never said that her teacher was "ugly". Her teacher IS NOT ugly. As a matter of fact - she is quite attractive. Upon meeting her new teacher, Alexis was obviously a bit disenchanted and it was clear by the look on her face and then later in her words. I wrote this post the way I saw the situation. It was not meant to impress that the teacher was actually "ugly". What does a 7 year old know of "ugly", anyway. If you are not wearing a crown on your head and sparkly shoes on your feet - you might not quite fit what Alexis believes is "magical". She's 7 - I think she was looking for crowns and glittery shoes or a second grade teacher that walked on air or floated above the room. When she saw that her new teacher was different than she expected - she was no longer enthused about giving flowers. Once she gave her new teacher a chance (which I had every confidence that she would) ... she fell in love with her. She hasn't stopped talking about her. This post was meant to be a funny little story as seen through the eyes of a mother watching her 7 year old. It was not meant to be taken literally or meant to hurt anyone. If it did - I am sorry. I come from a long line of teachers and have tremendous respect for all teachers - especially those of my 4 children and even ... the ugly ones!
When he was small, he followed after me everywhere, just like his sisters. He clung to my leg when he was confronted by strangers. He was on my lap and in my arms for the beginning days of his life and seldom wanted to leave my side.
But ...
Somewhere along the way, he found himself a pair of child-sized scissors and ... he cut those apron strings and off he went to find his daddy. And, the only time he really looks for me now, is to help with homework or ... late in the evening when he wanders into my bedroom, crawls up on my bed and begs me to rub his back. I am always happy to oblige.
Following, for so many years, in his father's footsteps, has led Little Billy to many places he would not have experienced if he had stayed home, close by my side.
It has offered him a life filled with exciting adventures and manly errands. Of fast cars and dirty finger nails. Of time spent under the hoods of cars, in the aisle ways of Ace Hardware and Auto Zone, searching for parts and tools. Of time at the end of a pier with fishing lines strung into murky waters. Of peering through slits of deer blinds in the coldest part of the morning. Of sharing the front seat of a truck with his dad and engaging in manly conversations.
Little Billy's daddy grew up in rural Texas. He was a country boy. He learned to hunt and fish and aim a sling shot at glass bottles lined up on the railroad tracks. He learned to work on cars and trucks and did not worry that he smelt of grease and oil. He was not coddled by his parents and was allowed a childhood that encouraged roaming and wandering and adventure.
Little Billy's daddy does not coddle his son. He allows the boy to climb trees and is content to stand below the branches and smile up in amazement and pride. He hands his boy the largest rock he can find and encourages his son to toss the rock into rivers and streams and sometimes at the broad side of a barn. He stands over the boy's shoulder and steadies a man-sized rifle.
I often worry about Little Billy. "Keep him away from the alligators," I will insist, when I hear there are Texas gators in a nearby tank. "Make sure he watches for snakes - I am not going to be happy if you don't bring him home alive!" My fears and worries are never ending. "Make sure you quiz him on his spelling words," I will scream as they climb into the truck. "He's got a spelling test tomorrow." I think they laugh at me as they drive away.
Not too long ago, the phone rang in the early morning - I was still in bed. It was Little Billy calling from school.
"Hi, Mom," his voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
"Hi, Sweetie. What's up? What's the matter?"
"Nothing's wrong," he says, "Guess what I got on my math test?" He sounded very calm.
I sat up in my bed, "What? What did you get?" I hoped for good news.
"I got a 100," he said proudly.
I went on and on about how proud I was and then asked where he was calling from. He informed me that he stopped by the office to make the call, on the way to his next class.
"And ..." he went on quietly, "Dad wrecked the Corvette this morning," he offered nonchalantly. "But, you didn't hear it from me. I gotta go, Mom - see you after school."
On this morning, his dad had driven him to school early to complete a math test he had failed to finish the prior afternoon. On his way out of the driveway, he ran the rear end of the Corvette into the corner of a trailer - the damage was minimal.
I smiled a big smile when I hung up the phone that morning. While I was a bit worried about my husband's Corvette, the worry was replaced quickly with pride and smiles. Proud of a boy that took time out of his morning to call his mom. Proud of a boy that felt pride of the work he had accomplished. Proud of a boy that even though he would prefer spending his time in the woods or in the bed of a pickup truck on a back country road, he finds time to be aware that his future is dependent possibly on the worth of an A on a math test. A lesson his mother had been trying desperately to teach him. A lesson she was not certain he was grasping or embracing.
I also found it interesting that he switched sides - if for only a moment - to rat out his dad about the Corvette.
I think there might still be a bit of a bond between Little Billy and his mom. I might not know how to load a shot gun or clean a catfish, or be comfortable when I see my son on the top of the roof or slinging razor blades at a bull's eye painted on a sheet of plywood, but ... I do believe he might just be looking to me to help guide his little butt through school. He might just believe he will do good to achieve scholastic honors along with ... antlers he can mount on his wall.
HAPPY 12th BIRTHDAY, LITTLE BILLY!
May your life always be filled with adventure.
May you always realize how lucky you were to have such a wonderful father.
May you never forget that the part of my heart that is yours ... is overflowing with love and pride for my precious son.
When she can spend the night at her cousin's house
What she will wear to school
Toys she wants for Christmas
She is always planning something!
She came home from school a couple of weeks ago and said, "My teacher says that I will celebrate my Birthday at school on the 27th of May," she has a great big smile on her face.
"That's good," I say and smile back - knowing how important this is to her - her Birthday (not really until July)!
"I want Sonic," she informs me.
"You want me to bring you lunch?" I ask.
"Yes," she looks at me like I should have known this.
"Well, I guess I could do that," I giggle.
"I'd like popcorn chicken, chili-cheese fries and a root beer float," she begins to ramble off her order.
She walks over to my desk and returns to my side with a pad of paper and a pen and she hands it to me.
"What's this for?" I ask.
"To write down my order," she says and begins to repeat, "Popcorn chicken ......"
That child.
On the upside ... She OBVIOUSLY has no clue how busy my life is!
I wrote down her order and stuck the piece of paper in my pocket. She turned and went on her way. Sometimes, I need her to believe that I take her seriously - you know - even if what she is asking me to do is RIDICULOUSLY! Generally ... I would wait to take her order - oh - just before I was actually going to go to get the food - ya know? Not ........... THREE WEEKS AND FOUR DAYS OUT!
I'm ready for leisurely mornings where I wander from my bedroom and find happy children lounging with cereal bowls in the laps, Pop-Tart crumbs on their faces, wearing their pajamas on the couch and watching cartoons.
I'm ready to stop stocking my pantry with small bags of chips, Little Debbie snack cakes and juice boxes for all those bagged lunches.
I'm ready for no more homework or worrying about grades and behavior and agendas and reports and projects and assignments and bus schedules!
The time has come again ...
The time when my family spends ...
Evenings up late watching rental movies and cuddling pillows and bowls of popcorn on the couch.
Afternoons in the car ... running up to the ice cream shop for cones and sprinkles.
Weekends at the lake - boating and swimming and fishing and ... watching the stars in the summer sky.
It's time for romps in the sprinklers and trips to the beach!
Time to visit with family and friends and enjoy Bar-B-Q's in the evenings with George Strait singing on the radio and his sweet Texas voice floating on the summer breeze.
It's time for iced tea and smoothies and cold pasta salads.
On the upside ... Okay! So ... it's been in the 90's for weeks, the kids have been swimming so much that they are already bored with it and we've had a Bar-B-Q or two ---- I'm still waiting to pack away the backpacks and file away my PTA binder. I think I am as excited as the kids. I can't wait for SCHOOL. TO. BE OUT!!!! I can't wait for SUMMER!!
When I was a girl - boys wore their hair long - it was the thing.
Now days - boys are wearing their hair long - just like when I was a kid.
It's funny how fads go around and come around again.
Little Billy has beautiful dark hair.
He's gotten to where he likes to wear it long.
His friends wear their hair long.
His sisters say his hair looks better long.
As long as I can see Little Billy's eyes ... I like seeing him in that long hair.
But ...
I don't like it too long.
I want him to be presentable for school - you know.
So ... I let him wear his hair long - especially long - over the summer and told him that once school started that we were going to have to cut that long hair.
The day before school was to start - I went to him and informed him that he had two days and then ... off to the barber.
From the living room - where he was lying sideways on the chair - watching TV, he says, "I'm going to to start up a petition."
"What?"
"I'm gonna have everyone sign it - everyone likes my hair!" he exclaimed. "I'll even let you double the "NO" votes," he yelled, and then he relaxed and went back to watching TV.
On the upside ... I gotta stop teaching that boy - stuff. You know, like about democracy, about fairness, about voting and crap. He keeps using all my lessons against me - UGH!
I went to my son's school to meet with his teacher for a conference.
She is not his regular teacher - she is only his teacher for Social Studies and Science.
I don't know her very well - like I know his other teacher.
She was very nice.
We sat at the table in her room, went over issues Little Billy has been having about not remembering things - like ... when tests are coming up ... reviewing for tests ... studying for tests ... failing tests! (He is going to be the death of me!)
He seemed to understand when his teacher and I impressed that he needed to make sure - from now on - to mark in his Agenda, when a test was coming up.
He seemed to understand when his teacher and I impressed that he needed to - from now on - pay attention during the review.
He seemed to understand when his teacher and I impressed that he needed to - from now on - complete the review sheet in order to receive an extra 5 points.
He seemed to understand when his teacher and I impressed that he needed to - from now on - study for these TESTS!
He says he understands now!
We will see!
So ... we completed our conference and we were all smiling.
Somehow, we got on the subject of students in middle school and high school taking foreign languages. We were telling Little Billy that it would be good if he took Spanish - as we live in Texas and Spanish sure comes in handy.
Little Billy quickly said, "I want to take French."
His teacher and I just giggled and she said, "Well ... that would be good too."
Then Little Billy changed his mind and said, "No ... I really want to take British."
*blink blink*
I look at his teacher and she looks at me. She does not say a word and I can tell she is trying to hold back a smile. She's not sure - not sure, I guess - whether or not I know - that this is ridiculous and so she seems to wait for me to make a move - to smile or something.
I smile.
She smiles.
I look over at my genius of a son, who, by the way, is now speaking in a British accent (that he does very well) and I say, "Hon - you can't take British. British isn't a language. Do you know what language they speak in Great Britain?"
He, in his exaggerated British accent, says, "No I don't - but I want to learn it."
On the upside ... On the way to our car, I explain to my son that they speak... ENGLISH in Great Britain and that ... while his accent is adorable and pretty darn accurate as far as I can tell - to ... not ever say that again to anyone - EVER! He asked, "Why," and I told him ... in my most fabulous British accent, "Because ... it makes you look like a bloomin' idiot, Sweetie." I think he understood.
