They Start Young

When the kids first came to live with us, we lived in an impressively tiny three-bedroom apartment. As small as you can get and still have three areas where there are beds surrounded by walls.

There was one bathroom.

It was so small that when I moved in, I only unpacked my clothes, and not even all of those.

The main area was a living room that ran into the kitchen, all open together, and the kitchen floor was another place for the kids to hang out (because the bedrooms were so small, this was one of exactly three places they could hang out, unless you count the outside, in which case there were four).

One day I was in the kitchen pretending to make dinner and #5 was spinning around on the floor. He was four years old. Suddenly, he started screaming, “Owie, owie owie!!!” and grabbed his head. Because I didn’t see him hit his head and had been a parent for about nine days, I knew that he was having either a stroke or an aneurysm and would be dead within seconds, and I bent down and grabbed him in a blind panic.

“What’s wrong buddy? Can you wiggle your toes? Blink if you can hear me!”

He stopped crying long enough to reach up and grab the zipper on my sweater. Let me clarify that: he grabbed the zipper of my cardigan, underneath which I was wearing nothing (and I mean nothing) and yanked it down, and thus, wide open.

Then he snickered.

And that’s the story of how #5 faked a head injury in order to look down (around? through?) my shirt.

He went on to successfully perform variations of this trick on my mother, one of his cousins, several well-endowed babysitters, and probably a few people I don’t know about.

Here’s another post about him getting a head start: Confidence Is Everything.

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.