The one (and just about only) thing that brings me joy at Christmas

Sometimes, I can get into the spirit of Christmas (light in darkness, hope for the future, the kindness of strangers, etc, etc.), but this year was not one of those times.

I have just felt angry and resentful and frustrated and generally not-too-happy.

However, there is one thing that consistently brings me a bit of happiness during the Christmas season, and that is the ornaments I have bought (or others have bought) for my children.

Of course, there are the baby ornaments, which are sweet, but the ones I like most are the ones that show my children's interests throughout the years and the ones I have purchased for them from vacations and trips we've gone on.

For example, these are the ornaments I got for the boys from our three trips this year: Kennesaw National Battlefield in Atlanta, GA; Washington Park Zoo in Michigan City, IN; and Cape San Blas, FL. They are never excited to get ornaments, but I think they like pulling them out all the years later and remembering our adventures.

These are others...

Sanibel Island, FL

Grand Lake, CO

Rocky Mountain National Park

and Quebec City, where D and I visited for our 20th wedding anniversary.

Edisto Island, SC (pirate),

Tiana from Disney, and Sleeping Bear Dunes in Michigan. 

When I haven't been able to find actual ornaments, 

I've made do with magnets that I glue ribbons on. 

The E.T. one was from Universal Studios in FL.

And then there are the ones that show the kids' interests, even if, at the time, they made no sense to me. When G was 2, he loved any kind of car or truck, so the red tractor made sense. When N was 2, she picked out a school bus.

Then there was when N was big into dancing and being a ballerina.

When G was heavy into dinosaurs, I got this one for him. 

By the time the kids are out-on-their-own and have trees, they will have plenty from their childhoods to take with them.

OCD treatment, Part 1

Along with my medication, I have found motherhood to be a pretty good way for me to deal with my OCD and its incessant desire to have certainty.

There is nothing certain about motherhood, which is why I nearly lost my mind 15 years ago.
You can do everything "right" and your kid is still a mess or gets sick or is an asshole.
Also, what is "right" when it comes to parenting a kid?
Who knows.
There are no guaranteed "rights" or "wrongs."
What I do that is "right" for my oldest is a definite "wrong" for my middle or youngest.
Or vice versa.

I have become much more comfortable with the certainty that I cannot control my kids or their outcomes.
The only certainty I have is that it is all uncertain.
I have to be ok with doing what was in my power to do, even if it is not everything and even if it doesn't work.
I have to be ok with saying "I tried."

I keep reminding myself of this as G and I work on his OCD treatment.

This past week was the first in which G had homework for his OCD, and it has been a doozy.
If G defined this homework, he would probably call it torture:
He had to wear pants for 2 hours every day and tie his shoes "the standard way" and wear them 2 hours every day. (The "standard way" is the bunny knot, possibly a double knot; not his convoluted tucked and rolled travesty of shoe-tying.)

He (and I) tried every day.
Some days he could wear shoes for 2 hours and some days he could wear pants for 2 hours, but he could only tolerate uniform pants for 20 minutes tops.
And he struggled with doing both at the same time.

For someone who does not have OCD, this all sounds absurd.
"Put on pants and move on with your day!"
But there are people for whom throwing on a pair of pants is like....an ordeal.

The whole not wearing pants thing and only wanting to wear one pair of shorts is a relatively new phenomenon; last spring and summer he wore whatever.
I think middle school had something to do with it--the uniforms, the new place, the weirdness of middle school boys in the bathroom, having to change clothes for physical education class.

Some of it is his changing body.
He is in that awkward stage where it is hard to find clothes that fit.

Unfortunately, in dealing with OCD, we are making it very unhappy, which means G has been having bursts of anger and irritability.
No one likes feeling anxious, which is why the compulsions begin....to make the anxious feelings go away.
But they don't go away for long, which means the compulsions get worse and more involved.

At the moment, we're pissing G's OCD off royally.

Books Read and/or Reread for 2019

Total of those pictured: 86

Also, reread the following 11 books:
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Across Five Aprils by Irene Hunt
Belle Prater's Boy by Ruth White
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Long Day's Journey Into Night by Eugene O'Neill
The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead
The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Then Again, Maybe I Won't by Judy Blume

Still reading the following 2 books:
Circle by Madeline Miller
Six Years by Harlan Coben

Right now, my total that I've completely finished is 97, but by the end of the year, I should hit the 100 mark.
Woo-hoo!

Seeking additional treatment for OCD

I have sometimes thought that G's OCD may require me to seek additional treatment for my own OCD.

I can feel my own internal anxious discomfort increasing when he does his compulsions.

After watching him straighten and fix something repeatedly, I have to fight the urge within myself to start fixing things in the same room (albeit things he wasn't fixing).

Partly, I stop myself from fixing the armchair covers when he fixes the couch cushions because of the mental picture of the two of us in my head. It just seems absurd...us OCDing in circles around each other.

I also have to say to myself, "Fixing stuff is not going to restore order into your life or his. You just have to feel the discomfort and deal."

G has been on medication for his OCD since he was 6-years-old.
While his dose has increased over time a bit, I'm not 100 percent convinced that his dose shouldn't be increased even more, but his psychiatrist has seemed hesitant to up it.
I like his psychiatrist, but I got the feeling that since G's grades are ok, everything is ok.
As if grades are all that matters.
But G's issues have never affected school, really.
While this may not always be the case, G has always struggled more with functioning at home.

School provides more routine and structure than what life outside of school provides, which might be one reason why I always loved school.
The whole reason I wanted to be a teacher is that I liked the idea of organized chaos---there was a bit of unknown but there was a whole lot of the same old stuff happening.
I sometimes wonder if the same isn't true for G.

My feeling that we were missing something that we could be doing for G led me to discover that there is a clinic locally that deals with nothing but OCD.
I took G for a consultation after he asked again when he could see the psychiatrist because his symptoms (like rewriting his "rs" and "ns" on his schoolwork) were driving him crazy.

Today, he did the first part of the assessment to determine his OCD subtype, and he will soon begin exposure response prevention therapy.
It is hella expensive, but I'm hoping that seeking treatment at a place that does nothing but OCD will help him (and us) find more peace.

("The Types of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder," Owen Kelly. https://www.verywellmind.com/what-are-the-different-types-of-ocd-2510663)

Teachable moments all around

I try to remain calm in the face of teachable moments, which can be embarrassing as fuck.

A case in point:
The mother of M's friend texted me with screenshots showing M's messaging his friend (her son) on Google Classroom things like, "Suck suck suckety suck your ball."

My first instinct was to laugh because I'm childish.
My second instinct was to think, "Yep. That's a 10-year-old boy."
My third instinct was to think, "Dear god, I'm embarrassed."
My fourth instinct was to think, "This is a good teachable moment for M."

So I replied to the mom that I would talk to M, and that I suspect his middle school brother's influence was having an impact.
She was mostly concerned about it being on Google Classroom where it could pop up in front of teachers, which I didn't even think about.

When M came home, I asked him about it.
I told him he can't type stuff like that on Google Classroom because other people, like his friend's mom and possibly teachers, might see it.

I did not give him hell for typing, "Suck balls."

My hope is that in talking to him as I did, he will
1. listen and abide
and
2. know that he is human, makes mistakes, and can fix them.

Some of my students are struggling with plagiarism, and so I hope to take a similar tact.
Rather than lambasting them and making them feel ashamed, I'm hoping to talk about it and how it can be a very complex issue.

It occurred to me while I was thinking about plagiarism how often teachers, myself included, inadvertently plagiarize.
I don't know a single teacher who doesn't regularly go online to get lesson plan ideas, questions, activities, etc.
Teachers use these and unless the worksheets they use are copyrighted, there is little or no indication of where the lesson plan, activity, etc. came from.

I have asked teachers if I can have a copy of their worksheets, but I don't give them credit for it.
And the truth of the matter is that I don't know where they got it.
Did they create it or did they get it from the original person or did they get it from someone else who "borrowed/stole" it from the original person?
One worksheet I use on how to embed quotations didn't have any sources cited (a local high school teacher had used it with her students, and I liked it so borrowed, but I changed it up a bit.)
I ended up looking for it online, and the only one I found online said, "stolen liberally from a variety of sources."

This is one of those super gray-area issues that make me unable to give any student hell about what they are or are not doing.

My goal is to have a very open and honest conversation and guide them so that they can avoid making similar mistakes in future (when the consequences might be much harsher).

The dress code as it nears possible change

Yesterday I attended the SBDM meeting about dress code.
This was not a "vote" but a first-read of the changes that parents and students would like to see made.
There will be a second read next month followed by a vote.

I have mixed feelings about the whole entire thing.

On the one hand, I'm glad that many of the dress code proposals are being discussed.
A discussion is needed.

One of the SBDM parents who has worked with other parents on developing the revised code was very clear about what the thinking was behind the changes and what concerns exist.
She was an effective advocate.
It helped that there were a handful of parents attending who could bear witness to the conversation and the discussion.
The news media was there, too, which doesn't hurt.

I watched a TedTalk today about how important it is to ask questions.

Last night's meeting was a good reminder of why it is critical to ask things like, "Why do we even have this rule? What were we thinking when we made it in the first place?"
Because sometimes the reasons why a rule was created no longer exist or they exist in a different way and because we haven't thought about why the rule was created, we don't revise it when we should.
We get stuck in a "that's the way we've always done it" routine.
I saw that in action at the meeting.

But I'd be lying if I said that, given everything I know, I don't feel that getting a new dress code is cause for celebration.
I will not feel a sense of victory when all this is said and done.

What I noticed with my own eyes and ears is that there is a palpable fear on the part of teachers (or at least those on SBDM) about what these dress codes will mean, and I'm not sure I understand it.

It is hard for me to empathize because dress codes are not a hill I choose to die on.
I didn't spend one second focused on what kids in my class were wearing when I was in the classroom full-time or when I'm in a classroom subbing.
My focus is 1. are they learning and 2. are they respectful in the ways that truly matter.

I nailed kids on lying to me and cheating on homework because that matters.
I nailed kids on not doing their work because they could do it, and I knew it, and that matters.
Whether they had rips in their jeans at the thigh matters not one iota.
I personally believe that some kids who know a teacher makes a stink about dress code will actively violate the dress code for the pleasure of seeing their teacher's head pop off.
(This sounds like something I might do, to be honest.)

I'm not saying their fear is unwarranted; I simply don't get it.

What I heard with my own ears is that some teachers look at this incident as "an unhappy parent complaining to the media" (which I think means me).
And I know that this same song was said to parents at the district's showcase of schools.
Things like, "Oh, the news reports are overstated. It was just one angry parent."

So in the same way that I don't "get" their concerns, they don't seem to "get" parents' concerns about girls being disproportionately impacted by dress code restrictions.

And what that says to me is that there is a culture issue, a climate issue that cannot be remedied by changing a dress code.
The dress code may be changed, but the mindset will not.
And so if this ends up being a "victory," it won't really feel like one.
While I think I knew this would be the case, it still feels a little disappointing.

Year 22

Things I've learned in and/or realized after 22 years of marriage.

1. You do get to the point where you don't actually remember how many years you've been married. I think after 20, you lose count. Sorta like how you stop counting months at some point when the newness of your baby wears off.

2. My parents have been married for 48 years. Every year, they ask each other if they want to do another year. I think that is probably a really good way to look at it.

Because the idea of forever, especially when you're in a thick funk of "Why in God's name haven't I run away from this person and the children we created?" is just not appealing.

3. In the moments when I'm not trying to make my brain better and stronger, I read People magazine. I recently read about a long-term non-married couple that broke up (Andrew Cuomo and Sandra Lee). Their statement was: "Over the recent past, we have realized that our lives have gone in different directions and our romantic relationship has turned into a deep friendship."

When I think about the couples I know who have been married 20+ years, they don't ooze romance; but they are deep friends.

It always makes me sad when couples split up, even though I know these breakups are truly for the best for these people as individuals (and for their families).

4. It is important to keep your expectations of marriage on the higher end of low.

I do not wear sexy underwear or dress like a French maid or say particularly nice things to my husband. I would not, under any circumstances, be defined as a fantastic wife. But my husband would not be defined as a fantastic husband.

I think people expect an awful lot out of marriage, which is fine as long as both people and the circumstances they are in make those expectations attainable.

What I am finding though, is that as children get older and you push toward age 50 and beyond it, you start to encounter all sorts of body and health and hormone-related issues that make life far, far more complicated than you ever dreamed possible. (Especially when you can still remember complaining about how hard it was to raise little kids. And it was hard except for that their toddler and young child problems were colors of sippy cups which were cheap and easy to solve.)

5. I have realized that

• the grass isn't greener
• the road not taken is littered with brambles
• the glass slipper is uncomfortable as fuck.

After 22 years, I'm going to have moments where I love him and moments where I want to bash his head in with an iron skillet (why didn't I take one of Papaw's iron skillets after he died?)

He has these moments with me.

It doesn't matter who I was with. And there are some people I would want to bash their heads in after 22 minutes seconds.

We're compatible.
We make each other laugh.
Those things are pretty good, so why spend a lot of useless energy wondering about what might have happened if.

Am I the only person who sees the problem with this?

Prior to the first day of school, I checked the district's bus finder app to determine where my son would catch the bus on the first day (when I made him ride in both the morning and afternoon).
He stood at the stop, the bus came, and then the bus completely blew past him and went to the other side of the neighborhood.
It didn't slow down. It didn't stop. It didn't collect $200.

And my response to myself was, "What the fuck?"
Because the bus finder app shows the only stop for this bus and our address is the intersection closest to our house.

So I called the bus compound, and they radioed the driver who came back to pick up my son.
His response was, "I've been driving this bus for a long time, and I've never picked up here."
My response to him was, "Well, the bus finder app shows this as being the stop so I guess ya'll better figure out your stuff."

G has been dropped off at the correct intersection (per the bus finder app) ever since.
Until the other day, when he was dropped off in front of our house.
Which was weird.
And then today he was dropped off on the other side of the neighborhood (see first day of school story above).

So I checked the bus finder to see if it had changed, and it has not.
Same as before school began.
Same as on the first day of school.

I called the compound and was told by some lady who wasn't especially nice, "Your kid can walk. There's no permanent bus driver."
So I called the compound OVER that compound and said to the nicer lady who actually listened to what my issue was:
1. I know bus drivers have difficult jobs.
2. My son can walk; that is not the problem.
3. The problem is that whether the bus driver has driven a bus for 10 years or 10 minutes, shouldn't the bus driver, whether permanent or temporary, follow the map that PARENTS FOLLOW PER THE DISTRICT BUS FINDER APP?

Because my kid is old enough to walk a block or three home, but what if he was in first grade?
What if he was autistic or had some issue that made it difficult for him to deviate from a routine (and, honestly, OCD is kinda that way).
What if a grandparent was supposed to get him from the bus dropoff but the bus driver drops off on the other side, and the grandparent doesn't know about it.

I know, I know.
I'm too focused on this whole "consistency" thing.
I'm beginning to think that it is I who has the problem.

If I develop a drinking problem, it's my middle child's fault

In my 15 years of mothering, I've gotten pretty good at feeling like I sorta know what I'm doing.
The kids have survived all these years, right?

But I have decided that getting my middle child through middle school is going to result in me developing a serious drinking problem.
I can't even begin to think what a nightmare getting through high school will be.
I think at some point, I will move into an apartment and leave my husband and G to their own devices, figuring out how to fix dinner together.
That's assuming the stress of raising this kid to near adulthood doesn't actually kill me.

I love my son, but he is an ass.
Some of his assness is because he is 12.
Some of his assness is because he has OCD/anxiety and takes his frustrations with these out on the people he knows will love him no matter what.
Some of his assness is simply his personality.
He is the trifecta of assness.

Tonight he did one question in an ELA packet.
One question took one hour, mostly because he was being an ass.

He wants to mansplain how to write open-response answers with text evidence like I have no freaking clue what I'm doing.
Like I haven't read and annotated this book--which I have.
Like I haven't taught this book to middle schoolers--which I have.

He asks for my help and then argues with me while I'm trying to help him.

It's like all the stuff I learned about parenting my daughter doesn't actually count because she and G could not be more different.
I didn't worry about her getting through middle school.
I didn't become one of "those moms" that get notifications from the grading portal all the time.
I didn't have to go to conferences on non-conference days to figure out why the actual heck my male child cannot seem to get his paper turned in when the kid doesn't even use his locker.

I am now all of those things, and I hate it. 

You're so zen now that you're ten

Dear M,

It's hard for me to believe you came into our lives a decade ago.

N had just started kindergarten.
G was a slobbery, mumbling baby himself when you arrived.
I was an energetic 36-year-old (which I only realize now that I'm a less energetic 46-year-old).

You were, and are, such an unexpected gift.
A perfect bookend to your equally chill sister to balance out your prickly brother in the middle.
What a weird and wonderful pack the three of you make.

N and G fight like crazy, but they both adore you.

At 10, you now wear braces to rid yourself of that darned genetic underbite.

You've been such a champ about wearing headgear at night.
You have your first male teacher, or "boy teacher" as you called him the first day of school.
You continue to go commando all the time, and I've just given up worrying about it.

In the mornings, before the bus comes, you like to toss hair ties back and forth with me in the dining room to watch the cats chase it.
You remain my ever-faithful ear twiddler, and you still love cold ears above all else.

You are quiet and a good listener, except at bedtime when you and G decide to be raving, wrestling lunatics.

I can't begin to imagine what our family would be like without you in it.

G would be so lonely.
He and N would be at each other's throats all the time.
N wouldn't have her littlest brother to snuggle with.
Daddy and I wouldn't know the joy of little hands to tweak our lobules.

Even a decade from now, when you're 20, you'll still be my much-loved bonus baby.

Momma

Persona non grata

If there is anything I learned as an economics major, it is that there is no such thing as a free lunch.
There is always, always, always a cost.
To everything.

The cost may be financial.
Or emotional.
Or time-related.
Or professional.

But there is a cost for everything.

First, before I go any further, I'd like to mention that even though I was royally pissed about the band director's behavior back in the summer, I never sent a shrieking email to him or the principal.
I'm glad I didn't.
I wrote my two venting emails on this blog and got it out of my system.

Ultimately, I decided that the band director's reputation as an a-hole precedes him so me sending an email wouldn't be telling anyone something they don't already know.

Not sending that email made me seem less like an irrational banshee when I went haywire about the dress code, which definitely deserved a ranting email.

Even though I'm really glad I stood up for girls and parents about the dress code, I understand there is a cost to me for being "the troublemaker."

I have not been asked to be on the committee addressing the dress code, which has bothered some people who have been asked to be on the committee.
"You need to be a part of this," is what I've been told.

But the cost is that I'm persona non grata among administrators and probably a lot of other staff.
The cost is that I'm not included.
And that's ok with me.
It might even be preferable to "the cause" if I'm not included.
Being included could just serve to piss people off.

This whole shebang isn't about me at all, even though I became, for a short time, the face and the voice of the shebang.
It is about the dress code.
If the dress code is changed to be more inclusive and less arbitrary and less restrictive, then it doesn't matter who changes it.
I don't have to be a part of it at all.

It has also crossed my mind that this event and my speaking out could cost me professionally at some point, should I ever want to work full-time in the district.

But, ultimately, I have to live with myself, and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do what I did.
And I guess that means that I stand up for what I believe in.
And I speak out when things are wrong.
And I put kids first.

There are worse things a teacher can be.

Well, bust my spleen; you're a total preteen

Dear G,

This 12th birthday was a non-event.
You were feeling puny as a result of your flu shot on Tuesday.
I have been thick in the dress code drama that began on Saturday at your sister's school, plus she had three games this week.

On Friday night, however, you had rallied, so Mamaw came over, and we celebrated in a low-key fashion.
We ate the "12" cookies I had picked up.
You opened cards from your grandparents and the gift from me and Daddy.
We watched the N, G, and M show and found our favorite videos of you being cute when you were a wee one.

I don't tell you nearly often enough how proud I am of you.
You have always followed the beat of your own drum.
Some of that drumming has been the result of your OCD, and that hasn't always been easy.
Some of that drumming is your own unique personality that you share with others without too much thought to their opinion of it.
It took me many years to get to the point where I didn't worry about what people thought of me, so I admire you for being that way at such a young age.

I worried (and still worry) about how you are adapting to middle school, but you seem to be doing fine.
You aren't complaining about the uniform.
Your grades so far are good.
You have friends.
You have adjusted so much better than I expected.
I'm not too surprised, though.
I worried about you entering preschool and elementary, and you did fine in both those places.
I can't understand where you got all your anxiety from.
Har-har.

As you get older, I enjoy you more and more (although those cute videos of you when you were a toddler, preschooler and young elementary school child make me long for those days a bit).

With all the dress code stuff, you told me, "You're a Karen, but a good one."
You make us all laugh on the regular.
Here are some of your recents:

--When you talked to N about being nervous to start middle school, you told her you were worried about getting lost in "hidden corridors," which I thought was pretty funny since you aren't going to Hogwarts.

--When Slips got into a Calvin Klein bag, you said she got into a Calvin "Clean" bag.

--Daddy was going through a phase of watching Babylon 5. You called it "Baby Lon 5."

And you remain the king of misheard lyrics, although your brother is catching up with you.

I hope this year is a good one for you, a year that sees you develop and mature.
A year that you discover new skills and talents you have.
A year you continue to be compassionate to others.

We love you bunches and bunches,

Momma

The reflection after the drama

So I've done four interviews about the hullabaloo at the school.
I have tried to state the facts to the best of my knowledge, with my knowledge including things that I was told after Saturday, like how parents tried to get the school to relax the dress code.

I have tried to stay away from social media because it makes me second guess myself.
The people who say things like, "You knew the rules and didn't follow them."

But then, before I doubt myself too much, I'm reminded of other rules that people in other times and places have been supposed to follow.
They were posted, and if people didn't follow them, they should just suffer the consequences.
They told you, and you didn't do what they said.

Like segregated water fountains.
And interracial marriage.
And the ability to be gay and love who you want.
And the freedom to worship as you want.
Not that I even remotely equate a dress code to these, but the way these rules, including a dress code, make people feel is the same.
Less than.
Not worthy.
Inadequate.
Inferior.

I have always been a rule-questioner, which is why organized religion and I don't always get along.
I have always tried to ask myself, "What is right?" with rightness being determined mostly by the Golden Rule.
Treat other people the way you want to be treated.
I have never, in my life, had my clothing measured unless I was paying someone to alter them.
Why would I want anyone to measure my daughter's clothing to tell her whether she was appropriate enough to attend a school dance?

Oh Jesus. It's dress code bullshit again

N's high school decided to attempt to enforce it's dress code at homecoming dance last night. I say attempted because dress codes are subjective and difficult to consistently enforce. Because I recognize this and had such an impossible task last year when trying to find a dress for my 5'8" daughter to wear that came down to 2 inches above the knee, I saved photos on my computer of girls who were let into last year's dance as evidence (if I ever needed it) of how arbitrary the dress code is.

I had those photos and a sign that said "Down w/ Sexist Dress Codes" when I went up to her school last night after getting calls/texts from my daughter and mom friends who said girls were being measured with RULERS at the dance.

Many were told they could not come in. Many students were milling around the parking lot waiting on their parents to get them when the police told them they were trespassing and had to leave. Many were kids I stood with on the sidewalk and waited for their parents to come since no high school staff waited with the kids. No police waited with them either.

I called my school board member. I emailed the principal. I encouraged the students to politely email the principal. I encourage everyone whose son didn't go into the dance because his date wasn't allowed into the dance to email the principal.

Below is my letter to the principal and the board member. It is followed by the letter my daughter sent her teachers and staff to let them know how it affected her. It is a little heartbreaking, and I don't have much of a heart to begin with.

My Letter

I understand that EHS has the right to establish a dress code. 

However, the problem with dress codes is that they generally affect female students, and they are horribly subjective in nature. An identical dress that comes to 2 inches above the knee on one girl may be 4 inches above the knee for another girl. 

EHS has been completely inconsistent regarding dress codes to dances. I have photos of dresses that were allowed into the homecoming dance in 2018. These dresses were above 2 inches. They look, in terms of length, IDENTICAL to the dresses of girls that were not let into the dance this evening. I am happy to provide these photos to you so you can see just how inconsistent EHS has been. 

I spoke with one young woman tonight who was not allowed in because of cleavage. Her friend, who had similar cleavage, was allowed in. This student provided me a photo as well. 

A young man not wearing a tie was not allowed into tonight's dance. Another young man wearing jeans WAS allowed into the dance. While girls received the bulk of the inconsistency from ESH administration, some young men felt it, as well. 

You may say "we have posted the dress code regularly since time immemorial," and that is the truth. However, having a dress code and consistency enforcing a dress code are two very different things. 

Additionally, I'm not sure EHS staff understands that parents purchase the dresses that are available to purchase in stores. I don't know a single mother who wouldn't love to find the "Hit at the Kneecap" dress shop, but this shop doesn't exist. 

With all due respect, the homecoming dance was a complete shitshow. 

By the time I arrived because my daughter was scared of all the hullabaloo and called me, the police were there and told everyone, including groups of students waiting for their parents to pick them up, that they must get off the property. No EHS staff members came out to supervise the students as far as I could see, therefore another mom and I stood on the front sidewalk on OS Road to ensure the kids got picked up. As far as I'm concerned, this went from a dress code issue and became a safety issue for these students. 

At the very least, there needs to be a community discussion with EHS staff and parents to try to resolve this issue that has angered many, many parents. 

Her Letter

In this email, I have included teachers that I had last year and now have this year, and administrators. Please share this with other teachers who want change about this pressing matter. 

You’re probably aware of the chaos that took place tonight at the homecoming dance, but I would like to tell you about my experience and spread the word. It would mean a lot to me if you read this whole thing and could understand what happened. 

I was so excited to spend time with my friends this year at the homecoming dance. We spent lots of time doing our makeup and hair beforehand and lots of money for our outfits. We were eating dinner when we received texts from friends about the administrators using rulers to measure dresses and being super strict. 

When we arrived at school for the dance, there was a large crowd of people outside the doors in the upper lot. We had heard that they weren’t letting many people in because of the length of their skirts. I was even told that some guys weren’t allowed because they weren’t wearing a tie. I stood outside with my friends for over an hour, waiting to get through the doors. We didn’t even make it inside the building until a long time after the dance started. 

While we were waiting, I witnessed many groups of girls exiting the building, some even crying. They had been told to leave because of their skirt length. The rule was to the knee, but people received an email that stated “dresses must be no more than 2 inches above the knee.” I understand how some people weren’t allowed in, but most girls with respectable and completely appropriate dress lengths were discriminated against. 

I have attached pictures of me and my friends, all in our dresses that me and many other people think are appropriate. I also attached the email that I received. After groups of people had left the building, they were standing in the parking lot waiting for a ride because they were just kicked out. The police had parked a car in front of the sidewalk, (picture attached) and had ordered people to leave the property. I know a group of girls who had stood on the sidewalk somewhere, and my mom drove up to come wait with them until they got picked up safely. (Picture attached.) 

When my friends and I finally made it inside, I did the breathalyzer and stepped up to the ID table. They acknowledged my friend as being a teacher at school’s daughter, and allowed her to proceed without measuring. My other friend asked if we could be measured before showing anything or paying. We were told to just show our IDs and then we’d get measured, so we did. 

I stepped up to the administrator and her immediate reaction was a scowl. She told me that I wasn’t going to cut it. The administrator then told me to pull my dress down to the longest length I could, and measured it from there. She told me that I “barely made it,” and told me I was okay. I turned around and started bawling. At this point I knew I wasn’t staying, but I needed to hear it anyways. Someone hugged me and my group then turned around and left. We were absolutely horrified, and felt embarrassed and violated. We had just been told that covering our bodies was more important than having fun. My friend was not refunded her $10 after we left, and now the sophomore class will not have enough money for our senior activities. This dance was our main source of profit for these activities, and our night was completely ruined. We had been looking forward to this for awhile, and were very let down by our school and the administration. 

After this awful incident, me and many others are asking for change. I know many girls who wasted money and time to dress up for this dance, and a number of guys who were angry and upset because their girlfriends or girls they knew were objectified. This was many people’s first date, first high school dance, or last high school homecoming dance. This whole situation makes me sick to my stomach and even hours after, I still feel nauseous. Everyone is upset, and I am not going to let this go until change is enforced. I hope you can understand, and maybe try to bring more attention to the subject. I am now scared to go to school on Monday because of the consequences that might be awaiting. Thank you for your time, and have a good night. 

Advice to my daughter: Be careful what you wish for

In July, when N tried out for field hockey, she hoped to make the varsity team.
She got her wish.
Like many wishes, she is realizing that the "dream" of the wish is different from the "reality" of the wish.
This is similar to the "dream" of career, marriage, and babies; what you envision rarely pans out to match reality.

N has not played in the last two games, and last night it brought her to tears, especially since her grandparents came to the game.
Now, N is not alone in not getting as much playing time as she wants; there are at least 5 other girls on the team who haven't been getting much time.

It is hard for me to walk this tightrope with her.

The part of me that abhors sports just for this reason is saying (inside my brain), "Told you so. This is why sports suck. It is win at all costs. Winning is more important than confidence-building or skill development or general enjoyment of the game."

When she complained about playing so many games in a row, I did actually say to her, "Well, N. This is varsity. You wanted to be on varsity, and now you are."

There is another part of me that knows she isn't playing up to how she did last year.
The untrained psychologist in me thinks this is due to 1.) her ankle injury and 2.) being back on a team with girls she played with in middle school who are really good and really aggressive.

Even if her ankle isn't actively hurting, she knows that spot is there, and she is being careful with it. But careful isn't an asset in a game; focusing on an ankle takes your mind off the ball.

And N seems to have reverted to that "let the other girls lead" thing that she had in middle school.
Last year, on JV, she was able to assert herself more.

I think N is letting her own head get in her way.

I have tried (gently) telling her that.
You can't tell a 15-year-old much.

As my children get older, I am, more and more, missing the days when the worst problem they had was that I gave them a green sippy cup instead of a blue one, and that was the sole focus of life's disappointments.
Even though N's problems then were as annoying as N's problems now, I could at least do something about them. 

Anxious mom sending her anxious child to middle school

Here is what rational brain keeps saying:

You worried about how he'd do in preschool, and he did great.
You worried about how he'd do in elementary school, and he did great.
You are probably worrying about how he'll do in middle school, and he'll probably do great.

Irrational brain, however, is over here beating this drum:

He's going to be miserable. His OCD will go off-the-chain. He is going to start failing classes. It is going to be an even bigger vat of suck than what middle school already is. 

I think part of the reason I haven't been crazy gung-ho for school to start is because of G starting middle school and just not knowing what this is going to mean for him, for me, and for our family.
This year I have been happy to live in a little bubble of avoidance.

G's modus operandi has always been to do great at school, to hold it together there, and then lose his freaking mind at home. Become tantrumy and belligerent.
This is not unusual for kids with anxiety.

He had gotten to a point where this wasn't happening other than a rare episode.
I don't want to start this again, even though I know we have a physician in place now to help us.

So with this school year, I'm not over-the-top exuberant to have my house to myself again because even though I have been able to clean with the peace of knowing that it will stay clean until approximately 2:45, I'm an anxious pile of goo at the prospect of how G is, how he's feeling, and how he will react or decompress when he gets home. 

Why do these situations happen to me?

I wrote about the band director not too long ago.

I failed to mention that this awkward situation came on the heels of two other incidents on the same day that had "worked me up."

I don't even remember now what the first one was, but the second one was when N and I were on our way to field hockey in traffic, stopped at a light. A man in a white truck next to me waved for me to pull forward. When I rolled down my window to see what he needed, he informed me that I needed to pull up closer to the car in front of me to allow more people into the lane.

I told N, "I think he just mansplained driving to me."

Sometimes I can come across as a complete bitch, and I hate to even say that word because what I'm actually coming across as is a woman who is assertive when things are stupid. A woman who doesn't just sit there and allow stuff to happen around her but speaks the truth/common sense when it needs to be spoken. 

Like telling the band director the cones weren't up so how could I possibly mindread and know his plans for band when they weren't practicing outside when I parked. 

Yesterday, something fury-inducing happened.

I went to D's work clinic to pick up a prescription, but the pharmacy had failed to deliver it to the clinic (as they were supposed to). The clinic nurse called them, and they said they had it.
So, I went to pick it up from the pharmacy.

Let's be very clear and specific here: The pharmacy screwed up so I drove from where I was supposed to pick it up to the second place.

When I got to the pharmacy and asked for it, they said they didn't have it and I'd have to get it the following day.

It was at this point that something resembling smoke came out my ears.

And so I got on my phone and called the clinic. I spoke to the clinic nurse (whom I had just seen seven minutes prior) and asked her who at the pharmacy she had spoken to that told her the prescription was ready.

This individual then went to the back of the store (where the original girl had gone and found nothing) and found G's prescription, which was there, but still wasn't ready to go out the door.

It had been called in at 9:30 am; it was now 3:30 pm.

I didn't call anyone names.
I didn't tell them they are stupid or inept.
I didn't cuss anyone out.
But I said in an assertive voice, "Wait, a minute. Brittany just told the clinic nurse that the prescription is ready, and you're telling me it isn't ready? I need to talk to somebody in charge who knows what is going on because I drove over here to pick up the prescription that you failed to deliver in the first place."

I spent a considerable part of last night fretting over whether I came across as a bitch.
Do I come across this way all the time?
Are my hormones and general mood instability coinciding to make me a raving banshee?

Of course, I'm biased, but I don't think I'm a lunatic.
I think most people think I'm pretty nice (although admittedly my filter is a little messed up).
Because I don't insult people in general.
I try to be fair-minded and considerate.

I simply won't just "take it" if it is poor service that I'm paying for or someone accusing me of doing something that I didn't do or blaming me for something I am incapable of doing (like mindreading).

Some philosophies I live by

Now that my friend and I are doing the radio show/podcast, we've been meeting some interesting people. There has been an occasion or two when my friend has felt a little intimidated because the person we're speaking to is a "professional."

Like someone "important."

My almost ten years as a freelance writer means I have interviewed lots of people, some of whom have done some "big" things or have "big money." Because of this, I don't feel this same sense of "whoah" about speaking to certain people.

However, I think what matters most is one of my philosophies in life that I adopted a few short years ago, and it is this:

Everyone has had poop stains in their underpants. 

I don't care if you are the Queen of England or the President of the United States or Beyonce, you've experienced the unfortunate situation of streaks in your drawers.

I won't speak to the reasons for these streaks--whether they resulted from a lengthy laugh or were the result of a bout of stomach flu--but the point is that it is hard to feel that someone is better than you when you keep this philosophy in mind at all times.

And I do.

The other philosophy I keep at the front of mind is

I don't remember what anyone else wore yesterday; 

therefore, they don't remember what I wore; 

therefore, I can wear the same clothing multiple days in a row. 

Occasionally, I go to put on the same outfit I wore the day before, and I momentarily think to myself, "Will anyone notice?" 

And then I try as hard as I can to recall what the people I saw the day prior were wearing, and I cannot recall if they even wore clothes. 

Who knows??

So I don't sweat it.

I wear what I want. 

If some oddball person with OCD notices that I am repeating what I wore, then that person has far more issues on his/her plate than what I wore because he or she is probably three steps away from madness. 

(As a person with clinically diagnosed OCD, I can speak from experience here.)

The other philosophy that is really just starting to fully take hold as I move into my later 40s is the following:

I really don't give a shit what anyone thinks.

About me, specifically. 

(But often in general).

It is so terribly freeing to no longer care, to no longer fret endlessly about whether people like me or think I'm smart or think I'm pretty. 

Because I think I'm smart and as pretty as I'm gonna get considering genetics and aging and my absolute refusal to have surgery unless something is diseased. 

I try very hard not to be a jerk, but I am also done with other people acting jerk(ish) and me worrying whether they'll think I'm a bitch if I respond. 

(See band director post)

I think I'm going to make a really FANTASTIC 80-year-old woman someday!

The big ask (N at the university)

The older I get, the more I realize that asking is the absolute best thing you can do for a number of reasons.

First, the worst someone can say to your ask is no, which means you are still at the same point where you started.
You haven't lost anything.

Secondly, most people don't ask at all.
Sometimes the only reason change hasn't been made is because someone hasn't asked for it to be made.
In a perfect world, changes would be made without asking, but this isn't a perfect world.

A case in point.

When I was still N's Girl Scout troop leader, I contacted the city university to ask if the girls could tour and talk to someone in the psychology department.

That psychology department happens to be a very "female-strong" place, so not only were they delighted to meet the troop, they went on the develop a program and badge for other Girl Scout troops.

Fast forward to this spring after N's college visit (which all freshman did at her high school).
She remains interested in psychology, so I asked her if she would want to volunteer in the university's psychology program if they would allow it.
She said yes, so I emailed the contacts I had made at the university.
The worst they could say was "no," in which case N would be able to vegetate at home in front of her phone all summer long.
But they said yes.

And so, N has been going to the university one day a week to learn about the psychology department, what they do, research, etc.
She is networking with both undergrad and graduate students.
She is making an impression on a university professor (who could, perhaps, help mentor her if she chooses a psychology path).
She is learning about psychological research and helping the lab.
She is gaining confidence.

And all I did was ask.

Band director letter (option #2)

Cooling down.
Revising.....


Hello Mr. W, Ms. K, and Mr. A,

I am writing to ask that the cones that designate the band's practice area in E's parking lot be located and placed in the parking lot before any other activities/sports take place in the afternoons/evenings. Although my child is not in band, I learned this evening that these cones are missing.

When I arrived at E at 6:30 pm for a field hockey booster meeting and field clean-up, there were no cones marking off where band normally practices. Because there were no cones and because my child is not in band, and I, therefore, do not know the band's practice schedule, I parked in the big lot.

At the end of the field hockey meeting, the band was in the parking lot, where a minivan and some trucks were blocking the exits, making it impossible for me to leave the parking lot.

To make a long story short, I had a difficult time getting Mr. A's attention (whether he was willfully ignoring me or not in order to "make me pay for my error" is a matter of perception). When he asked that I not park there, I told him I would not, but that there had not been cones up when I arrived so I had no way of knowing the band's intentions of using the space. It was a rather awkward situation, to say the least, and not one I would wish on another E parent. Thank goodness this wasn't my first impression of the school and its teachers.

Thank you for your consideration of this matter.
C

I'm sleeping on this (will I send or not?)

Tonight, I had a bit of a situation.
I am debating whether or not to send an email to the activities director, principal, and teacher involved.
It is pretty bad when kids in band are texting my kid saying, "The teacher is a dick. He's going to be a dick to your mom."
I am sleeping on it.


Hello Mr. W, Ms. K, and Mr. A,

I am writing to ask that the cones that designate the band's practice area in Es parking lot be found as soon as possible. Although my child is not in band, I learned this evening that these cones are missing. 

When I arrived at E at 6:30 pm for a field hockey booster meeting and field clean-up, there were no cones marking off where band normally practices. Because there were no cones up and because my child is not in band and I, therefore, do not know the band's practice schedule, I parked where I have been parking for the past several weeks when I've brought my daughter up to field hockey conditioning and practices. 

At the end of the field hockey meeting, the band was in the parking lot, where a mini-van and some trucks were blocking the exits, making it impossible for me to leave the parking lot. 

Mr. A was busily directing his students to move around, so I understand why he did not notice me at first when I stood below the crane. After a few minutes of him directing, I then had to wave my arms and yell in order to get his attention (although band students did not have their instruments so noise wasn't an issue; perhaps, him being 60 feet in the air may have made it difficult for him to notice me). 

I asked if he could have someone move the van so I would no longer disturb his band practice, and he asked that I no longer park there, at which point I told him there were no cones up, at which point he informed me that he cannot locate them.

I have had many pleasant experiences with E teachers, so I don't wish to assume a teacher would willfully ignore an E parent because she had accidentally parked in a lot that wasn't marked off with cones to designate it as being needed for band or make her feel like an idiot by having to wave her arms and yell in order to get the teacher's attention.  I'm afraid this might backfire and simply make the teacher seem like a jerk. I would hate to think what a brand new parent to E whose child is a freshman might have made of the situation. 

Fortunately, I suspect Mr. A was simply very focused on his band students, specifically where his trumpet players were standing, so I will chalk this up to an awkward one-time situation. 

For Mr. A's sake, mine, and any other parent who parks at E and doesn't know the band's schedule, please make sure the cones are found and put in place as early as possible.

Thank you,

C 

Family milestones (change that sneaks up on your ass)

Various situations of late have helped me recognize that our family is changing.

Now, on the one hand, this is absolutely plain to even the most obtuse person.
Every year we celebrate birthdays, and time moving on means change.
As Billie Eilish would say, "duh."

But it is different from that.
It is that the changes within my kids are impacting the family dynamic.
This has happened before, but it is more appreciably noticeable now.

Much of it I recognized on vacation.
Like N losing her mind because the cell signal was so bad that she couldn't Facetime her boyfriend on the beach when we first arrived.

N losing her mind, in general, is not something she does often.
Sure, she was tired of being in the car for two days with her brothers.
But it was crankiness coupled with boyfriend angst and technology and knowing that she was going to be away from her life for two whole weeks.

I mean, just boyfriend angst alone is a relatively new situation that has pushed me (and the family) into all-new "WTF" territory.

And then there was G who has always loved the beach.
Loved the waves.
Loved the sand.
He's almost 12, and evidently, those days are over.
He even complained about being away from friends for two weeks.

The kids are simply getting to an age where the things that keep them sufficiently occupied for extended periods of time years ago no longer do the trick.
I myself do not wish to sit and play in the sand for hours every day on the beach.
That is a very childlike thing to do.
Adulting, in many cases, means it takes a lot more to keep you entertained.

I've noticed that they are all starting to like more adult things, like Stranger Things, which isn't a "little kid" show at all.
And adult music.

Yesterday, M got braces, which N also had when she was around 9 or 10 due to a lovely familial underbite issue.

When I took both boys for an orthodontic check in early June, M going into braces was not even remotely on my radar.
And now it is not only on my radar but installed and paid for.

This photo just screams, "BABYFACE. I AM STILL YOUR BABY, MOM!"

One hour later

This photo screams: I AM NOW A TEENAGER. OFF TO COLLEGE SOON, MOM.

And don't get me wrong: I'm not sad that my kids are growing up. 

I'm not sad that they can fix their own lunches and stay at home while I run errands.

I'm not sad that they no longer through tantrums because I gave them a red instead of a green sippy cup.

If there is anything I'd hate about being a Duggar-style family, it is being stuck in what feels like a baby/infant/toddler/preschooler cycle for freakin' ever. 

What we're having to do as a family, though, is submit to the changes that are happening and accept their realities. 

Like, in a couple years, we likely won't have family vacations as we have always known them.

We may not even have "vacations" since they may be glorified college exploration trips. 

Once G is off at college and M is home at high school, we may reconsider our "absolutely no friends on vacations" rule. 

Always having had an older sibling around may make M want/need a buddy to hang out with. 

Our family has always been in a state of flux, but the flux is more apparent now.

Vacationing in a post-hurricane locale

We had a two week trip to the beach, which for D was a slice o' heaven.
The children and I would not characterize it that way.
That's not to say it was a bad vacation; it was a good vacation.

The place we went, Cape San Blas, was hit by Hurricane Michael in October 2018, so it was, in some ways, a construction zone. We were fortunate that the main road leading there was completed during our visit.

This is what the road going to the Cape looked like last year after the storm hit.



Here is another shot from last year:


So for the building we stayed in to look like this wasn't too bad (below), although it wasn't the lush, tropical beautiful ideal that most vacationers would like. There were railings missing and blue tarpaulins. Our condo was fine, even though they had gotten over 2 feet of water.

When the hurricane happened, D worried a bit, but my rationale was that the area needed our vacation dollars more than ever. And we had no reference point, so why not go and see?

The beach was lovely, and we were a short walk from St. Joseph Peninsula State Park, which was essentially torn in half due to the hurricane. The northern part of the part is currently unreachable except if you walk there.

Here are pics before the hurricane and after. Sand is now beginning to fill in the space that was breached by the storm.

Here is the road that was destroyed by the storm.

This is the other side where the road continues. 

This is the middle where the road and trees used to be. 

We drove to Panama City one day to break up the beach days and saw Mexico Beach where the eye of the hurricane hit. Obviously, things have improved since this video below was made, but it is obviously in bad shape even eight months later.

In some ways, knowing this place had been through so much made us better, more flexible vacationers. I'm a pretty realistic traveler, but this made me more so.

My parents joined us the first four days, and my MIL got to spend two full weeks watching the dysfunction of our family in all its glory.

My dad and M going into the water. 

My MIL burying G. 

We played ball on the beach with a visiting dog named Hoss.
We took strolls on the beach every night and saw random critters.
We went to Wonderworks, Ripley's, and mini golf in Panama City.
We took an airboat ride in Apalachicola and saw baby gators.
We went horseback riding on the Cape beach.
We watched many episodes of Stranger Things and played Life.
I finished 6 books.
And we were all happy to get back home (except D, although the cats have been snuggling up to him all afternoon so I think he'll be ok).