The Homecoming Hangover

It's been a week since homecoming. The preparation! The anticipation! The pageantry! Now it's just a dim, fond memory. Wait a minute! Am I the parent or the student?

Cole was excited about homecoming this year. He skipped his sophomore year, because, well, we all know that your sophomore year is usually the worst. (Alex skipped that year too.) But now he's a junior. And he had a date!

A few weeks before the big weekend, we had to figure out clothes. My first inclination was to revive his confirmation garb. Then he told me, politely, that he had worn that same gray shirt/black pants combo for his last several dress-up events. True, true, true. (I never would've considered having Alex wear something she had worn before. Shame on me.)

So, one afternoon we went shopping.

At first I wasn't convinced of Cole's wish to do black on black. (Black pants. Black shirt.) But after accessorizing with the royal blue bow tie, suspenders, and colorful checkered socks, he won me over. He looked cute. He didn't disagree. As he stood admiring himself in the mirror, I had a flashback. Homecoming dress shopping with Alex. If only she would've admired herself in the mirror! But as is typical with almost every female I know, she focused on parts she didn't like about herself. And there was nothing that wasn't beautiful about her. Every girl needs to adopt Cole's sense of self.

Moving on.

Spirit week had arrived. And since Cole is officially an upper classman, he decided he needed to participate this year with the theme days. He usually doesn't! So I was refreshed by his energy! I was excited about the week. Of course, I had some ideas to contribute to his outfits. But my attitude soured the first night after the vollerama. He claimed his keys had been "stolen." I had to pull myself out of bed to bring him an extra set. I hate, hate, hate getting out of bed. I thought it strange that the culprits stole the keys without stealing the car. And as it turned out, Cole discovered the next day that one of his best friends had them. How he had forgotten this, I do not know. But I don't like to hold a grudge, so I moved on. There was more fun to be had.

Then, the next morning I received a text that made my heart fall. My friend, Ann, (mother of another one of Cole's BFs) had sent this:

"OMG! Kate said the WORST thing ever last night!!!"

Context: Kate is the cute little sister of Cole's buddy. My heart raced. What now? It was morning, so I wasn't getting an immediate response. I waited. And waited. Then heard the ding.

"She said, "Mom, you should've seen Cole yesterday. He dressed like a nerd. But umph... he was like a hot nerd!!" Double angry emoji.

That made me laugh. And breathe a sigh of relief.

In truth, Cole has a decent amount of nerd in him. (He gets this honestly from me.) As a matter of fact, one of his soccer buds suggested he complete his nerd look by carrying around one of his many comic books.

Anyway! Back to homecoming. The day of the big dance came. We went to take pictures at the designated spot. After getting a few shots and maneuvering the crowd of kids and parents, I lost sight of Cole. Apparently, he had left. When I texted him to say that he was missing out on some pictures with his friends, he just said, "We had enough pictures." I didn't disagree. But again, I had a flashback to Alex's homecoming days. There were never enough pictures with friends.

It was all wrapping up. The kids were off to dance in their new duds. The parents were off to partake in a few adult beverages, taking any edge off the worrying. Would they have fun? Would they be safe? Of course they would, as my husband would aptly remind me.

That evening I got a text from my old college roommate. She sent me a picture of her pretty daughter going to homecoming for the first time. I'm sure she was feeling the same anxiety and pride as every parent. Homecoming has a way of filling us with nostalgia. It seems like yesterday when were pinning corsages on our dates. Then we get a glimpse of our kids transforming into young adults. We want them to have great memories to share with their children someday. Maybe their kids will lose their keys. Or find their inner nerd. But one thing we know with certainty. The kids will shine.

The Climb

The other day we (meaning the Bank) needed to replace a communication radio on a tower. (Dang lightning storms.) As I watched a contractor gingerly climb a momentous pillar, it occurred to me that my son could perhaps put his wall and tree-climbing skills to use for this lucrative career in tower scaling. Then I slapped my forehead. How could his own mother suggest such a career? A career that could cause him to fall and suffer horrific injuries? Or worse??

No one tells you about the perpetual vortex of angst that motherhood reels you into. Perhaps my worries are irrational, but it simply can't be helped. It's innate. Or so I explain to my hubby when he's rolling his eyes and allaying a fear if a child hasn't made it home timely from some fracas, such as a birthday party.

Anyway, I had sort of a breakthrough in Kansas City at Worlds of Fun. First let me explain that Doug has brainwashed our kids into believing that they have a penchant for roller coasters. (For the longest time, they were on my side  of the fence.) Ugh.  So, after surviving "The Prowler," (which is merely fast) the Kramer's (sans Mom) insisted on riding THE MAMBA - doesn't this look ridiculous?

Well, how could I sit and watch, helplessly, while my husband and two children plunged to their death? I'd have to join them. We'd all die together.

As we inched up the rails, I asked myself, "what kind of parents are we?" And as we whirled down the incline (with head in hands and eyes closed), and kids screaming with joy, I had to admit, it was kind of fun. My hurl reflex was well within check. And it seemed within sixty seconds, we were safely on the ground, laughing. Nervously, albeit, and perhaps with a bit of relief, but laughing.

Anyway, the morale of the story is...I'm not really sure. I still worry about my kids. A lot. But perhaps I'll just try to ride the roller coasters with them when I sense a great amount of danger ahead. They'll love that.

When I Grow Up

Doug and I often ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up. "Artist" and "rockstar" have been the predominant responses the last few go-rounds. I guess we might as well toss doctor or lawyer out the door. And apparently they're not enamored by ma and pa's positions - neither banker nor farmer have gotten any nibbles. Go figure.

We're always encouraging Al and Cole to pursue whatever interests them. "Follow your passion." Thus, music and drawing emerge as career choices. Logical. The hole in this theory, we fear, is the simple economics of making a living. Our kids have no idea what it means to struggle, i.e. to be broke. Not that I would mind if they occupied our basement forever, but somehow me thinks they should experience something beyond my awesome tator tot casserole.

The good news is that they're still young. No need to panic yet, right? I've been brainstorming a few tactics to better prepare the kids for the real world:

1-Practice frugality. Just say no to unnecessary items. Think plain vanilla. (Do you need a kitty playing a guitar on your school notebook for $3.67? Can't we just get the plain yellow one for 49 cents?) This will really teach them some lessons in hardship now, won't it?
2-And let's explore new, specialized skills that could end up paying big bucks. Such as:

Butterfly Whisperer

Monkey Imitator

Any other ideas? I know there are a few other clever parents out there...

Can You PALEASE Sit Still?

Yesterday was open house for our Catholic Schools, so before we made ourselves sick on pancakes we visited each of our children's rooms. As a 7th Grader, Alex wasn't quite as eager to show us her artwork, although her barn quilt design was quite cool as she showed us symbols that describes her values and characteristics. Cole was amazed that Alex was able to locate her desk without having her name labeled on it...

Cole, as a second grader, had plenty of art projects to show us. In one particular piece, he had covertly created a butt. (Teehee.) But I was most interested in where Cole's desk was located...you mothers know why. Was it near the teacher's desk? Was it in front?

When he showed us his desk in the back of the classroom, I smiled with a bit of relief. Then his teacher stepped in to tell us why Cole's desk is in the back.

"It's so he can stand."

"What? So he can what?"

"It's so he can stand during class. Apparently, he can't sit down."

Oh, dear. I've wondered how the kid made it through the day, but figured it must not be a problem since I'd never heard otherwise. There's a reason he only weighs sixty pounds. He never sits still. Can you imagine a teacher back in the 1970's allowing us to stand? As Doug pointed out, maybe to slap you...

Mrs. Robinson explained to us that she realizes that all kids learn differently - some don't learn well while sitting. I was very happy to know that my son's teacher is a bit progressive in her thinking - Cole does well, but how well would he do if he had to sit all day? He might do well...as long as he was learning on a DS.

She did mention that at times, his fidgeting is distracting. Really!! No doubt. I would think a kid standing at the back of the classroom would be distracting and unnerving. Actually, an entire classroom of second graders would probably completely unravel me.

Thank goodness for teachers. Now, do you suppose we should allow Cole to stand up while he's eating? I just lectured him the other day for taking laps around the house between bites. But perhaps he's on to something.