Double Standards

#1 is graduating from high school today. Even though high school for her has been kind of the opposite of butterflies and rainbows (what would that be? horseflies and hail? rabid bats and an ice age?) I am very happy for her, and even proud of her.

Allow me to say that again, in case you didn’t catch it: I AM PROUD OF HER, this #1. She is a remarkable and unique young lady. To say she’s been through a lot to reach this moment would be an understatement; I’ll leave it at that, because sometimes understated is best.

#4 had her fifth-grade promotion on Tuesday. I have to hand it to the class moms for managing to get the ceremony down to an almost reasonable time. They shaved an entire hour off and it clocked in at about an hour and a half.

I mostly cried only at the beginning when they were playing a video with pictures of the little kids all through their years at the school and one of the soundtrack songs was this abomination by Taylor Swift (I had to Google it) called Never Grow Up. Ms. Swift, you shall be held accountable; I went through two Kleenexes. At least the KISS pictures showed up during that song.

The pictures I took didn’t come out well, except for this one, which has nothing to do with anything except to remind you that Jersey Rules:

jerzgrl — Maternity Couture, Jersey Style.

I feel like I’m supposed to mark both occasions with some kind of sage advice or at least encouraging words, even though the very thought of such a thing is hilarious to anyone who knows me.

I discovered that I have contradictory things that I want to say.

To #4: You’re beginning the most important years of your education.

To #1: After today, none of this matters anymore.

To #4: Middle School is the start of your permanent record. Your conduct is important because this follows you everywhere and can’t be undone.

To #1: There’s not much that can’t be fixed with a lot of prayer and earnest repentance. (I got this from My Jewish Friend Jason in a conversation we were having about Jews with tattoos).

To #4: You can be anything in the world that you want to be.

To #1: You can be anything in the world that you want to be. Except, probably, at this point, a ballerina or an opera singer. And also a kid who is laying around the house playing video games with no job come September. Other than that, you can be anything in the world that you want to be.

To #4: Your education is the most important thing in your life.

To #1: Your peace of mind is the most important thing in your life. Never forget that.

In the spirit of peace of mind, and being understated, I’ll be the one in the stands tonight wearing beige and keeping my mouth shut (except to yell when they call her name). I’ll be armed with dark chocolate and tissues and won’t be wearing mascara.

Congratulations, #1!

I used to be smart

The other night at dinner, it became apparent to me that the kids were questioning my intelligence. Not in that typical “My parents don’t know anything” way, but regarding my accumulated knowledge and how I was as a student.

They thought I was dumb.

I was baffled. I had no idea where this was coming from.

Of course I grew immediately defensive. It seemed like the smart thing to do.

Me: I’m smart!

Them: {silence}

Me: Really! I’m smart!

Them: {hard stares at their food}

Me: I was in advanced English my senior year in high school!

Them: {silence}

Me: National Honor Society!

#2: How do you get in to that?

Me: Wouldn’t you like to know! If you’re so smart, you’d know!

Them: {silence}

Me: Top ten percent of my class of 750? 3.8 GPA?

They exchanged the kind of glances that their Dad and I exchange when we’re inwardly making fun of them but trying to give an outward appearance of propriety.

Finally, #5 spoke up.

#5: Then how come you can never check my math homework right?

Them: {Laughter}

Me: Shut up.

We are four and a half school days away from summer vacation. While I suspect I may grow even dumber over the break, I rest comfortably knowing they will have fewer opportunities to prove it to me.

Putting Our Skills To Use

My sister, Beth, left this morning. #5 wants her to come back next week with her whole family, including her husband and Tall Nephew and Super-Tall Nephew. He has drawn up a sleeping plan for our house that involves CC and I sharing our queen-sized bed with my brother-in-law.

Beth put #5 to bed last night while we were at the party. He shared with her his design for a bacon hat and also told her that he is closer to the genetic makeup of a monkey than most people. He encouraged her to have another baby, but this time a girl, and then she could give the baby to us in exchange for him, and she would have five boys and we would have five girls. If she wouldn’t do that, he wondered if she would consider trading Slightly-Larger Nephew for #4.

Separately, #1 asked if Beth would trade Tiny Nephew for #5.

Regarding the party, in case you were wondering (and even if you weren’t), yes, it’s awesome to be at the party of the show that wins. I’ll wait while you imagine glamourous party scenes, like me doing shots with Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

(This is where the people that know me in real life are having fits of hilarity) I actually hate parties, but even I couldn’t hate this one. Here’s reality: I’m both anti-social and socially inept. I don’t drink anymore. A good party for me means I have a place to sit. Plus, I knew like six people there and none of them are famous.

These were the cool things about the party to me:

The front room was like a greenhouse; an entire building’s length of glass, and we watched the Tony broadcast on a ginormous screen that was mounted on the outside of a different building across the courtyard.

They had chrome toilets in the restrooms.

When the broadcast was over and the DJ started and the sound suddenly increased by about 90dB, we put our sound guy skills to use and unplugged the feed to the nearest speaker, making it almost possible to have a conversation where we were sitting.

Here’s a Tony hanging out on a coffee table with a drink. This happened more than once. Think about it: in a normal party situation, if you’re standing around, you always face the challenge of how to hold your plate and your drink and use silverware at the same time. What if you’re a moderately famous person who has an award to deal with as well? How do you eat and drink and shake hands? You set that mother down, that’s what you do.

For the record, the math that makes nine Tonys = nine vodkas is entirely subjective, and not highly recommended.