Explicit Instruction Needed

Parts of life here in Sunnyville seem to speed by at 100mph, I look around and think wait! How did we get here already? Sometimes I handle the changing needs with grace, and other times - well we seem to muddle through. Teen buying her first car falls into the muddle events.

See, Teen had earned a truck from the neighbors for babysitting last summer. It was a nice truck, but would need some work. As excited as she was to own this vehicle, there was definitely some trepidation about fixing it and making it her own. Consequently, she sold it - for cheap. Then she promptly got a job to earn money for a car. She has been saving her money well, though you don't make much working at the local ice cream shop, and felt she was ready to buy a car - Hubby and I were not so keen.

Daily she brought cars to our attention, and daily we found flaws and issues until it dawned on me that this was a futile exercise. She would buy a car. She would grow-up. It is pointless to attempt to halt the practice. So, I began to help. Then she found it. An old sedan that met all her requirements - cheap and good gas mileage - and she was off. She researched the KBB value, the car, and what to look for when you are buying a used car. We went for the test drive.

Is it old? Yes. Does it run well? Yes. Does the AC work? Yes. Her questions were answered. She drove around accelerating and decelerating quickly with no rhyme or reason to test that it shifted well and even checked the oil and for leaks - she was doing well. Until it was time to settle on a price.

Let me start by saying I am not laughing at Teen (and myself as well), I am laughing with her. Yes, there is a difference. The three of us stand around the car; me, Teen, Seller. I asked a few questions they were answered, Teen stated she wanted the car.

I look to Teen and say, "Well, now is when you decide how much you are will to pay for the car."
"Okay, well, I have $1200 in the bank..." DOH!! Yes, she really said that aloud to the seller...who was asking $1200.
Trying for salvage, I laugh and make a joke before reminding her, "Okay, but consider how much you will have to spend to fix the tail pipe and how much you will have to pay for title and tags..."
"Oh! But you said you would help with those for my birthday."
Yes, I am not kidding, it was like a bad comedy of how not to buy a car!
Thankfully, Seller was a nice guy, who laughed and said "You are supposed to rehearse this stuff you know!"

We all laughed and Teen got the car for $900 - not too bad for her first attempt and the rocky start...
sometimes there is grace, sometimes there is blindly groping in the dark and sometimes it is a bit of both. Plus, now I know, explicit instruction in haggling is needed for my children. Maybe this summer we'll haunt some flea markets...

Pets Decrease Stress - Right??

          Youngest had been complaining of unfair treatment for months. Her sister had a snake, her brother had a lizard of some sort and here she was forced to share the 2 family dogs and cat with well, the family. After hearing her adamantly stating her case, I’ll admit it, I caved.

          

In a few agonizingly long weeks she received the absolute satisfaction of a tiny 6-week-old dwarf hamster. The adoration was instantaneous on her side anyway and she loves the hyperactive biting machine in a way only pure-hearted 7 year-old’s and cats are capable of maintaining.

         

Needless to say cat shooing and chasing has become a primary pastime for Youngest as the cat is sneaky. By pushing the cage over the cat has freed the hamster on 2 previous occasions, resulting in mass panic and general pandemonium.

So, as soon as I heard a crash in Youngest’s room last night I directed Teen to check it out. She opened the door to spilled shavings scattered around a flipped cage. “Griselda! Get OUT!”

And out she went, her sleek black mass prancing by with a white mustache…wait, white mustache? Before she knew what was coming I pounced, she released her prize and I was in hot pursuit of the tiny beast. After snatching it to safety, I relinquished the would-be victim to Teen who concluded it needed to move into protection in her room until a suitable situation can be found – much to the annoyance of Youngest.

Happily; however, she received some generous gifts for her First Communion, so after work today we will be heading out to purchase a new, hopefully cat-proof, cage…

Spring Has Sprung

Even without the traditional hallmarks of seasons that grace the majority of this country, there still exist sure signs of spring here in Sunnyville. If you happen to have teens at home these signs are clear, and if you happen to work with these pubescent creatures the signs are neon, flashing, and practically scream at you on a daily basis.

My first inclination of spring stems not from trees budding and flowers blooming, that happens here all year. No, instead it sprang forth from showering. Yes, showering. Anyone who has known or been i would assume a young teen boy knows showering while important for hygienic reasons, is not a top priority in the average 13 year-olds life. So, when Boy began showering without prodding or reminders everyday before school, I noticed.

In jokingly making a comment about a possible crush leading to the showering, I inadvertently triggered a blush reflex in Boy that began at his feet and traveled up to his scalp. Of course, being the respectful mother I am I let it go...okay no way did that happen. After some teasing and jest the confirmation that there was not only a crush but a "girlfriend" came to light.

I did a brief - okay 3 day - freak-out and then took Hubby's counsel to heart. A girlfriend at school and on facebook is not dating. So, I am somewhat at ease...and thankful that they are not in classes together.

In the classroom these signs are more overt and often related to giggling glances and note passing. Yes, paper and pencil notes still exist despite the best efforts of technology. So, it should have been no surprise when I watched a young lady trying to inconspicuously pass something to a young man seated in front of her.

Guessing it was a mint or candy of some type, I stopped the lesson, looked directly at them and waited. I was 3 feet away and still she tried to unburden herself knowing I was watching. I announced, "Well ---, go ahead and give it to ---- so we can all move on." "Really? Ok," she replied and handed him an intricately folded piece of paper.

"A NOTE?" I gasped in my best shocked-at-you voice. I really did think it would be a candy or mint.

"Not from me!!" She replied, "I am just the messenger!!"

Of course the boy in question was quick to offer to throw said note away and the girls-in-the-know were quickly spreading word of the contents of said notes between giggles while the boy tried his best to shred all evidence over the recycling bin.

In the space of a minute the entire class knew what the note said, except me - though I could guess. This is when one student stage-sneakily made her way to the bin and brought me a piece of the offending paper. Then as she was handing it to me she stage whispered that --- had asked ---- to go-out with her. To which the note-writer yelped, "It was a dare!"

Aww. Isn't spring grand? Only another month of hormones until summer.

Shame and Solution

It started slowly, a problem here or there. noticed.Startled by this new development, I began looking for ways to hide it from my peers, Then as the shame grew, I cast about for something to blame. Certainly I had to be the one at fault, this couldn't be happening to my friends as well or I would have As the shame grew, so too did my need to pinpoint and alleviate the problem. It was all in vain. The problem continued.

Then in utter frustration I finally called out to some friends, and realized it wasn't just me...The shadow of shame lifted as we discussed our futile attempts to fend off this ever increasing problem. I learned that I was not alone in my fear of leaning against counters, or bulging belt buckles. We had all been battling this with vague ideas that the problem was of our own creation, possibly by opening bottles with our shirts, or over-filling washing machines. The problem however, is not of our making it goes well beyond us.

The problem of the little holes that magically appear in new shirts after wearing them as few times as twice is hounding not just me, but many women in this country. Coming clean helped me to realize this, and has allowed me to move beyond shame into problem solving.

As we discussed the tormenting pinholes, the conversation also led into the alarming, and continually increasing, sheerness of the shirts we are forced to buy because nothing else is available. This in turn brought to mind fabric and sheets eventually halting at the idea of thread counts. People are willing to pay more for better thread counts in sheets, knowing that the product is more durable and will give lasting quality. So too am I willing to pay a few dollars more for a shirt that is not disposable after one or two wearings.

I believe I am not alone in this. We do not want throw-away clothes. We do not want to continuously shop for the same items, and after finding a top we love we do not want to see it ruined after one use. So, I challenge the manufacturers - give us options! Let us know the quality of your products! Label our shirts with thread counts so we can choose for ourselves!

Do I Look Like a Teacher to You?

Students - they're everywhere! Now, don't get me wrong, I love my students. They are quirky, often silly, and surprisingly insightful at times. During an average day, we laugh together usually at me and sometimes I even manage to teach them something. I understand it is my job to model sound morals as well as elements of literature, but during my off hours I want to be me and not role model extraordinaire.

So when I am trooping to the beach with the kids and maybe a beer or two in the cooler, I am glad I live 20 miles from my work. Trust me on this, no teacher wants to run into a student and his parents while wearing a bikini - a fate a dear colleague had to endure over break; or while putting a 12 pack into the cart at the grocery store - different friend same mortification. I hear these stories and sympathize, thankful I have my buffer zone to shield me from such interactions - and allowing me to be just a person at home. But do I?

A few weeks ago a much anticipated movie was released, and after coming to terms with the fact that Teen and Boy were going to ditch me to watch it themselves I made plans with Sister2 to see the show with her on a Saturday afternoon. Upon our early arrival to the theater we were disappointed, but not surprised that the theater was very crowded. I was sitting beside a gregarious young man who was quite disposed to chatting with me as we waited for the film to begin, and for Sister2 to return to her seat. He was asking if I had read the book upon which the movie was based. Of course I had, but this young man hadn't and he was talking about how his teacher had highly recommended it to him. Being a mom, and a reader, I strongly seconded this recommendation. We talked a bit more I said we were early and he asked, "Did a lot of your students read this book?"

Huh?!? I am sitting in a crowded theater in my favorite ripped up jeans and T-shirt. As far as I know there is no sign declaring me a teacher stamped upon my head...I took a moment to respond and he followed-up with, "You are a teacher, right?" I told him I was, the previews began, and I thought to myself there is no buffer. They don't have to be my students - apparently any middle-schooler worth his salt can spot me for a teacher a mile away...

Gut Punched By Reality

I was recently watching a movie with Youngest and the concept of risk/reward was introduced. Youngest being the empath she is stopped the movie to say the girl in the movie should not take care of the dog knowing it will leave one day. "But think of all the great memories she would be missing, memories she can make by taking care of the dog," I told her. "If we don't risk being hurt, people would have no memories." She considered this, watching her eyes I could see the gears turning in her head weighing a life of no memories with one of possible pain. I knew she had reached her conclusion when she said, "And memories are the only things we can keep forever, so that's good." She pressed play and the movie continued, happy ending and all.

After another court date for Baby K, with another continuance, the reality that this will never end (or will possibly end badly) struck me square in the gut. Along with my breath I lost my perspective and positive attitude in one well-placed jab of reality. Throughout lunch I was sullen despite Hubby's best efforts to keep things in perspective and not to take a fatalistic view. I needed to process. So, alternating between melancholy and frustration I withdrew into my thoughts, thankful I was driving my own car and could take the 30 minute drive home to dwell without further upsetting him.

Sadly, no epiphany moment struck jerking me back to my happy medium. Instead it was a culmination of little things. Baby K blowing raspberries a trick she has turned into a language all her own in response to a kiss, A song that played on the muszac while I was picking up a prescription that reminded me my loved ones who have passed are watching over me, the beautiful tree growing in the yard that has been around despite all the puny problems of man, and remembering Youngest and I talking about memories. 

This is real life and there is no guarantee that things will end happily, or even well. But there is a surety that despite whatever outcome the future holds we are building memories that will always be dear to us. And like my thoughtful daughter decided, "memories are the only thing we can keep forever, so that's good."

Moment in the Sun - Eclipsed

Not being particularly crafty, I was quite pleased with myself for embarking on a new Easter craft Saturday. The kids and I would not just dye eggs, we would go a step beyond and hand blow a few to keep.

As I outlined the process for the kids, using my tablet to reference the site that inspired this idea, Boy said, "Oh, I have those directions somewhere - we need an empty egg for school on Monday." Huh? It is Saturday night and we would be picnicking at the beach most of Sunday...when would this information have broken if I hadn't begun this craft? my best guess is Monday morning Well at least I had Boy bought into the project. He was assigned a girl egg baby, so he got busy dying an uncooked egg in acceptably boyish girl-colors.

Everyone was gathered around the sink to watch the process of draining the egg. I had not only Boy and Youngest completely focused, but also Hubby, who was resigned to my way after I told him he could not drill through the egg to make the hole and the neighbor who happened to be over and decided dying eggs sounded good to him. My moment in the sun so speak.

I have the holes done, and am referencing the directions for the next step, and I notice I am being nudged. Hubby is slowly sneaking into position. He leans in and takes the egg, to "help" with the blowing part. Before I even know what has happened I am behind the crowd gathered at the counter and Hubby is working to drain the egg of its goop!

Completely puzzled I look around at the guys all discussing the best way to empty the egg, laughing at the goop, I see my moment has passed and say, "Great, I have a fun idea and it's stolen."

Youngest hears this and responds, "Oh Mom, they aren't  stealing your idea...they are embracing it."