Last year of teens

Dear N,

You have now embarked on your last year as an official teen, although your life is already very different from what it was a short 12 months ago.

It has been a strange year because you are learning how to navigate life as an adult, and I am learning how to not be a part of everything. This is not bad, for either of us. I have not once missed field hockey or high school events; it is totally ok that I'm not getting emails from school or having to fill out forms for you. This is the progression that every parent (every rational one, anyway) welcomes.  

I think you've adjusted to college. You were anxious your first semester, but you managed to pull all As and seem much more relaxed about second semester. You are enjoying your Philosophy in Science Fiction class (which I, your ever wise mom, recommended you take). It is fun for me and your dad to hear you talk about your classes. College can be a really cool time for you to figure yourself out (or at least begin a process that, if you're anything like me, will take until you're about 25 before you have a clearer sense of what you really want). 

You have gone through the friendship transition that takes place for most people after high school. Everyone goes in different directions, and you learn to make new friends or hang out with yourself for awhile. Those friendships were meaningful and served their place and time, but they often fade away. It can feel sad, but it can also feel liberating. I think for you it felt like both. 

I hope you know that I think you're a pretty marvelous young woman. You're bright and friendly, responsible and good-natured. You're the type of person it is easy to be around. You are, like me, a little addicted to books, but if this is your worst habit, I'm a lucky mom. We share weird cat videos via Instagram all the time; it is our love language, I think. I'm excited to go to Scotland with you and the rest of the gang this summer to explore and see some amazing things. I love that we are travel buddies, with you always happy to send me suggestions for the "next place."

Continue to work hard, be yourself, and try to think things through to their logical progression (which can be hard when that prefrontal cortex is still cooking). 

I'm really glad you came into my life 19 years ago.

I love you,

Momma

A first for this family: ISAP

When I was attending Catholic school, ISAP referred to In-School Atonement Program, but now it is In-School Adjustment Program. Whatever the acronym, my kid has it. 

Last Friday, before I'd fully pulled the car in the garage, before the motor was off, M had his head sticking out the door. Now this isn't necessarily unusual; he sometimes pops his head out if he has just beaten me home. The clue that something was up was the verbal diarrhea that was coming out of him.

It went like this:

M: "Did you get a call from school?"

I knew something was up. 

Me: "No, why?"

And so the long story of what went down with his table of goofy-ass 7th grade boys proceeded. It involved a milk carton and a fist. And stupidity. 

The entire time he was telling me the story of the assistant principal and his Social Studies teacher and what they said to the boys, I was thinking to myself:

YES! YOU ARE AN AWESOME FUCKING MOM BECAUSE THIS KID LISTENED WHEN YOU SAID THAT IF YOU EVER GOT A PHONE CALL HOME FROM SCHOOL ABOUT SOMETHING STUPID HE DID, YOU WOULD SHOW UP AT SCHOOL AND SIT NEXT TO HIM. HE KNOWS YOU FOLLOW THROUGH ON STUFF SO HE TOLD ON HIMSELF. THIS IS A VICTORY! 

When I didn't hear anything from the school on Friday or Monday, I wasn't sure what the situation was, and he wasn't sure what the situation was, but I could tell he was upset about a possible pending disciplinary measure. So I emailed the AP.

And after chatting with her, I talked to M about when he would get his time in ISAP and whether he really wants to get in trouble for other kids doing stupid stuff. (Technically, he touched the milk carton since the boys passed it around the table. He said he barely touched it because he knew it would explode if he hit it hard. I said to him, "You touched it; you're an accessory. You gotta do your time."

I'm hoping that this is a one-off because I was getting pretty used to coasting with my kids. I'm too old and tired to deal with 13-year-old boy hijinks.