It’s just like that song
There’s so many things I wanted to tell you about our camping trip, but somehow I got stuck on a title. What could possibly convey the depth of emotion in just a few words? How could I make it clear what these few days meant to us?
Somehow Paradise by the Dashboard Light got stuck in my head, and then I started thinking that “Pigs and Cards by Mosquito Bites” might work, but then you’d have to know that I was thinking of the song, and also that it’s a very different kind of paradise, and… yeah, it got kind of complicated. Just trust me that IN MY MIND that all made perfect sense.
In the meantime, I just went over to Alpha Mom and wrote about the little joys in hanging out with our special needs tribe, because it was really fantastic. (Also: really, really loud. Boys! So many boys.) Come on over and take a look.
The giant calendar will save us all
Today is the first day of Monkey’s last year of middle school, such as it is. (“Such as it is” because homeschooling does not include the typical hallmarks of those hallowed middle years such as gum on the underside of your desk, stolen lunch money, and being knocked into the lockers every so often.) This is a sacred and serious occasion, which we are marking by… ummmm… well, I should probably wake him up and then figure that out. I am TOTALLY on top of things, as you can see.
His online classes “open” today, and then our new homeschooling co-op starts next week, and everything feels familiar yet different and I am very busy NOT NOT NOT thinking about what we’re doing next year for high school, which of course means I am obsessing over it to the point where if it was a scab, I would be a bloody mess with MRSA by now. (You’re welcome for that visual.)
But before the start of school, we decided to go have one last hurrah in the woods. As you do. read more…
My own series of bumper stickers
As an added bonus to my usual case of return-from-flying-the-friendly-skies-in-a-giant-germ-filled-metal-tube plague, both kids appear to have… something… as well. As in, they were sick before I got home, so I didn’t give it to them. No one is deathly ill, we’re all just ill-ish (is that a thing? I feel like if I were cooler, ill-ish would actually be a compliment, no?) and grumpy and SUPER FUN TO BE AROUND. Also, shut up and stop looking at me.
Needless to say, this has made that whole getting-back-into-the-swing-of-things endeavor even more painful than anticipated. Because what now? We’re out of milk? And you can’t have cereal because there’s no milk? Why don’t YOU go to the store for more milk? The fact that you’re not old enough to drive is not an excuse. Wait, you ARE old enough to drive, but your meaniepants parents won’t let you get your learner’s permit? It’s probably because they want you to die alone, carless, and without any milk. Clearly.
A couple of days ago Monkey started the day by flinging himself down on the floor of my room while I was in the shower, and when I emerged he told me he felt “really sick.” I assumed he was dying, but it turns out he just has sniffles and was really sleepy. Still! Points for identifying feeling yucky! read more…
I don’t know how this happened…
… but school starts next week. I mean, that should be illegal, right?
Monkey is embarking on his last year of middle school (!!!) and Chickadee will be a sophomore at the high school. I… may need a moment here. It never seems to matter that I’ve been with them for their whole lives, the fact that they’re lurching towards adulthood always surprises me. Like, isn’t he just four or five? And she’s only seven or eight, I swear.
Anyway. The back-to-school dance feels a little more serious this year, so of course I wrote about it for Alpha Mom. We have some big decisions to make, soon. And really, how am I supposed to do that when my kids have rudely grown up against my explicit instructions??
[Unrelated, but kind of not: Yesterday marked a milestone that delighted even Mr. I Never Want To Grow Up, maybe because it struck him as hilarious. Guess who’s now taller than his therapist? Summer growth spurts are amazing things.]
Oh, how I wish I could draw
While everyone else in the world is returning from BlogHer and waxing poetic about the people and the city and the knowledge and the experience, I am just wishing I had some—any, really—artistic ability. The two things I wish to share with you really require visual aids, but lord knows I can’t even draw a straight line. So instead I will have to try that whole PAINT THE PICTURE WITH WORDS thing even though I suspect it will be insufficient.
The first thing I need to tell you about is how excited I get when I go somewhere that requires pretty shoes. We all know I like pretty shoes, yes? And yet here at home I mostly wear… no shoes at all. (I’m a conundrum, inside an enigma, wrapped up in lazy.) I do have a few (ahem) pairs of good-looking fancy-schmancy heels, though, and I love wearing them when the opportunity presents itself. I brought two pairs of platform heels and commenced wearing them.
I looked great. (Also: modest!) Let’s face it, everyone looks good with their feet bent in such a way that the attached calves look thinner and stronger and also somewhat magical for continuing to work given the angle of the ankle. Whatever. read more…
Bad blogger! No cookie!
I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy getting myself out the door to BlogHer, which (apparently) involves things like buying groceries and remembering while grabbing milk that I haven’t packed any socks, and then chanting “socks, socks, socks” under my breath all the way home, where I then throw socks into my suitcase and resume normal life. An hour later I’m all “EYELINER!” like the fate of the world depends on it, and I totally sat up in the middle of the night certain that I’d forgotten to put my hair goop into an airline-approved-size container.
In other words, it’s hard being me. (Not really. But I think it’s hard to live with me, when I’m in squirrel mode like this.) (Or always, whatever.)
Anyhoo. Off to Chicago I go. If you’re attending BlogHer, PLEASE come say hello, and if you’re so inclined, I’m speaking tomorrow morning as part of the “What You Learn When You Speak Out” session, in which I will be singing the praises of all of YOU (see also: Tamponapalooza.) I’m also one of this year’s Voices Of The Year honorees, and so will be trying to act casual at the VOTY session. I hope to meet some (more) of you.
Also, whatever I forgot to pack, I’m sure I’m going to remember it right after I board the plane.
“All kids do that”
I went through a long (longer than I will admit) period of time when the phrase “all kids do that” made me furious. Irrationally, completely, insanely full of RAGE. It seems to be used, most often, for someone to dismiss a special need or parenting concern with a not-so-subtle overtone of “you’re overreacting.” To be fair, I think many purveyors of this dreaded phrase are trying to be… comforting? Supportive? It isn’t always meant as “calm down, crazypants.” Sometimes it’s meant as a kind of solidarity or empathy, a sort of “I feel you,” albeit one that rings hollow because they don’t, not really.
As I’ve grown older, as my kids’ needs have changed, and as I’ve come to hate people less (ha), I’m realizing that “all kids do that” comes from a place that means well, more often than not. Lots of times it’s true that “all kids do that,” and it’s just that the degree/severity/frequency is the part that’s different and/or troubling. There’s nothing to be gained by believing that my special snowflakes somehow out-special someone else’s. Any common ground is worth having.
That said, you show me an organized teenager and I might have a bridge you’d be interested in buying. Yeah, my kids are probably more disorganized than most, but today at Alpha Mom I’m talking tips for teens who need organizational support, and I think they can be used for just about everyone. After all… all kids do that. (See what I did there…?)
Decidedly un-hermit-like
Wooooo, I’m a social butterfly! (Now everyone who actually knows me gets to laugh and laugh and laugh.)
Okay; fine. Maybe I’m not a true social butterfly, but I am pretending to be one, and I haven’t had a nervous breakdown yet, so I guess it’s working. It’s true that I have somehow developed an enormous cold sore inside my upper lip (sexxxxxxxay, though invisible to anyone who isn’t inside my mouth) (you do not belong inside my mouth) which I am 99.9% certain is from the STRESS of being AROUND OTHER PEOPLE, but to non-hermit-y people this may sound ridiculous. I can assure you that it isn’t, though, because I am just that delicate of a delicate flower and this is the sort of thing that happens to my delicate self in response to normal life events. It is SUPER FUN being me.
It started last week with a girls’ night out dinner, which was long overdue and great fun. We talked and laughed and ate lots of delicious food and had a blast. That’s not stressful, right? Except then a few days later we had a houseful of people. read more…
Two+ loose ends tied up with… something
Once again, life is boring. WE LOVE BORING. Boring is awesome. But not all that great when it comes to blogging material. Still, I’ll take it over less boring. Good for me, not as interesting for you. Let me make it up to you with some zucchini brownies I made. What? You can’t taste them through the blog? Fine, here’s two things I bet have been keeping you up at night (I mean, surely) that I can resolve for you:
Thing the first! I love it when People Have Opinions on stuff I’m dumb about. I read all of your beauty product suggestions and being cheap, decided I really wanted to try the Drew Barrymore Flower BB cream stuff… only to discover that my local Wal-Borg DOESN’T CARRY IT. Woe! Despair! Well, a bunch of you also recommended Bare Minerals and other mineral powder things, so somehow I ended up with some Neutrogena Mineral Powder Foundation For Super Sensitive-ish Skin on that trip, and it’s SO NATURAL LOOKING you can’t even tell I’m wearing ANYTHING. (In other words, it’s useless. Covers nothing.) I am going to try to make it to Target to scout out some of your suggestions there, but it sounds like I need to make a trip into the Big City for a Sephora or Ulta type store. BUT I also bought some Olay/Cover Girl Simply Ageless Undereye Concealer (based on your recommendations) and THAT I like very much. So thank you.
Thing the second! Turns out that the lumps under the pool liner were actually not rocks, but “normal accumulation of something something technical.” (I paid a lot of attention to the explanation, as you can tell.) A guy came and felt around and then dove into the deep end with a mallet and pounded the lumps flat again. Our long national pool nightmare may finally be over. For now. (Maybe; it’s still raining every day so we don’t really know if it’s still leaking or not. Fun!)
Bonus thing (thing the second-point-five?) Summer math is DONE, grades are IN, and I mailed Chickie’s guidance counselor to make sure her schedule was properly revised. Between the math class and a bit of a curriculum mismatch between the semester(ish) she did up north, her desired scheduled has apparently been rendered… impossible. So that’s delightful. Fortunately she is so busy/tired with band camp at the moment, the inevitable freak-out over that has been postponed, at least temporarily.
As you were. Or come over here for brownies. Either way.
Teams for all and all for teams
I’m sure this is going to come as a shock to some of you, and I hope it’s not too devastating, but… I don’t think either of my kids are going to end up at the Olympics. Or getting sports scholarships to college. Weird, right? I mean, I myself am so very athletic… in my mind….
For years I assumed my sports aversion was a (non-genetic!) quirk of mine and tried to help them find their sports. Acceptance came when I made my peace with the fact that I absolutely do want them to have team experiences, and I want them to get exercise, but those two things don’t necessarily have to go together to work.
So that’s what today’s post at Alpha Mom is all about—because I believe you can have well-rounded, well-adjusted teens who don’t play sports. At least, I hope you can (for obvious reasons).