This past weekend, I was faced with a situation I have rarely encountered since becoming a mom seventeen years ago. The Son of Never Stops Eating and the Dad of No were going to the state Special Olympics swim meet, and the Teenager was going to a band competition that was being held several hours away.
I was going to be home by myself.
This hardly ever happens to me. Several years ago, the Dad of No decided to take the kids to visit his parents, who lived in another state at the time, and I was going to be home alone for three entire days. The morning after they left, I ended up in the ER with abdominal pain which required the removal of my gallbladder to resolve. Instead of being home by myself for three days of introvert heaven, I ended up in the hospital. That was not what I had planned at all.
Also, it turned out the anesthesiologist didn't accept my insurance. That's a whole other story.
This time, I told myself, no hospital. I was going to enjoy the quiet solitude. No one would be complaining about how there wasn't any chocolate milk in the refrigerator, or asking me if I wanted to watch Simpsons videos on the iPad. I could read a book, work on my iNaturalist observations, and eat what I wanted when I wanted. I could go to the grocery store without ravenous teenagers lobbying for snacks with no actual nutritional value. I was going to get a small taste of what being an empty nester is going to be like. It was going to be awesome.
My first home alone project was to declutter the teenagers' rooms. This project required me to confront the reality that both of my kids have hoarder tendencies. One has enough Legos to stock a large toy store, and the other has enough books to open up her own library. This creates an interesting parental dilemma- it seems wrong to say that your kid has too many books. You can never have too many books, except perhaps when you have a small house with minimal shelving space.
I have no idea what she plans to do with these books when she goes off to college, but, after years of encouraging good reading habits, I just don't think I can utter the words "Stop buying books!". Yes, I know, an e-reader would be the perfect solution, but there's just something wonderful about hard-copy books that a digital reader can't duplicate. I think I'm just going to have to accept that there are going to be piles of books in that room for awhile.
I also realized that I wasn't the only one in the house that was used to having other people around. The dog started giving me baleful looks, and then I realized that she wanted her walks. That's usually the Son of Never Stops Eating's job, but he wasn't there. Every time I looked at that mutt, she'd look back at me with that expression that says "I am NOT getting enough attention here! Step it up!".
That dog sulked the entire weekend. Clearly, even though she was getting her walks, I was not providing the high level of service that she is used to. Every now and then she'd look over at the garage door, expecting her real attention-giver to walk through the door at any minute to rectify the horrible situation she found herself in. I was, evidently, a poor substitute.
At least the hamster seemed okay with the situation.
It was really quiet. It was too quiet. I started to miss my family.
Actually, that's not entirely true. I was really enjoying the quiet. I was getting periodic updates from the Dad of No on the Son of Never Stops Eating's swimming successes. I was following the band on Facebook and e-mail updates. I felt like I was still in the loop while reaping all the benefits of solitude. But the house was making weird sounds, and the dog was being judgmental about my dog-walking skills, and the dishwasher wasn't emptying itself. Finally, the Teenager came home from her band trip, and I was no longer alone.
I'm not sure I'm ready for empty-nesting just yet; the family mutt clearly isn't. But I did the grocery shopping three days ago and we still have food, so the weekend did have some benefits.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Sunday, October 8, 2017
Speaking Up
A few weeks ago, the Son of Never Stops Eating started complaining about the sidewalks around our house. He'd tripped on the pavement while walking the family mutt. He came home and pointed out his skinned knee and indignantly informed the Dad of No and I that someone needed to fix the sidewalks because it was hard to ride his scooter and walk the dog.
Don't complain to me, I told him. I'm your mother, not the sidewalk repair fairy. You need to complain to the city. They're the ones responsible for repairing sidewalks.
How do I do that? he asked me. I suppose I could have done it for him via e-mail, but at that moment I realized that I was being presented with a valuable Mom Teaching Opportunity.
It's interesting to ask people what personal skills or qualities they think are most important for children to learn. Often, people will say kindness, resilience, independence, inclusion, how to stand up to bullying, or how to handle adversity. All of these are good and important. As a parent of a young man with a developmental disability, I think one of the most essential skills I need to teach him is self-advocacy. It's important for all kids to learn this, but it's especially important for my son to learn how to speak up for himself, especially as he approaches adulthood. One day his mother won't be around to watch out for him, and he'll need to make his needs and wants known in a world that isn't always willing to listen.
I suggested to him that he go to the next City Council meeting and tell them about the sidewalks. Public speaking is something that makes a lot of people nervous, so I expected him to turn my suggestion down flat. But he surprised me by expressing a desire to do exactly that.
OK, I told him. You'll need to work on a speech. You only have a few minutes so you have to get to the point. You can't ramble or talk about Legos or The Simpsons, and you have to make sure you wear a clean shirt.
I know what to do, Mom! You don't have to tell me everything! he told me, in his best exasperated adolescent voice. I even got an eye roll.
I thought he'd probably forget about my suggestion, but when I reminded him a few weeks later that the council meeting was coming up, it turned out that he'd been practicing at school and that he had a speech all prepared, which he recited for me. He was really serious about his sidewalk cause.
Do you think there will be a lot of people there? he asked me. I told him I didn't know, and asked him if a crowd would make him not want to speak. No, he told me. I still want to do it. Even if there are a lot of people.
We went to the meeting, filled out a speaker card, and he waited patiently for his turn as we watched our city government at work. When his name was called, he went up to the podium, said what he'd come to say, and sat back down. A city employee came over and talked to us about the area of concern. I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating how he felt now that his speech was finished, and he told me he felt like he'd done a good job and that he was happy it was over.
I was full of Mom Pride. I recalled to myself that when he was a toddler, he barely spoke. It wasn't until after he started public preschool and began getting speech therapy that he began to talk. Now here he was, several years later, voluntarily speaking in public to a room full of people about something he was concerned about. He was learning that he has the right to speak up for himself, and to have his concerns heard. It was a very important learning experience for him.
I actually suspect he might have enjoyed it just a bit. I wouldn't be completely surprised if he decides to take up another cause dear to his heart: more Legos for the library, a 24 hour Simpsons cartoon watching marathon in the town plaza, or a later start to the school day so that he can sleep in. Watch out, world- here he comes.
Don't complain to me, I told him. I'm your mother, not the sidewalk repair fairy. You need to complain to the city. They're the ones responsible for repairing sidewalks.
How do I do that? he asked me. I suppose I could have done it for him via e-mail, but at that moment I realized that I was being presented with a valuable Mom Teaching Opportunity.
It's interesting to ask people what personal skills or qualities they think are most important for children to learn. Often, people will say kindness, resilience, independence, inclusion, how to stand up to bullying, or how to handle adversity. All of these are good and important. As a parent of a young man with a developmental disability, I think one of the most essential skills I need to teach him is self-advocacy. It's important for all kids to learn this, but it's especially important for my son to learn how to speak up for himself, especially as he approaches adulthood. One day his mother won't be around to watch out for him, and he'll need to make his needs and wants known in a world that isn't always willing to listen.
I suggested to him that he go to the next City Council meeting and tell them about the sidewalks. Public speaking is something that makes a lot of people nervous, so I expected him to turn my suggestion down flat. But he surprised me by expressing a desire to do exactly that.
OK, I told him. You'll need to work on a speech. You only have a few minutes so you have to get to the point. You can't ramble or talk about Legos or The Simpsons, and you have to make sure you wear a clean shirt.
I know what to do, Mom! You don't have to tell me everything! he told me, in his best exasperated adolescent voice. I even got an eye roll.
I thought he'd probably forget about my suggestion, but when I reminded him a few weeks later that the council meeting was coming up, it turned out that he'd been practicing at school and that he had a speech all prepared, which he recited for me. He was really serious about his sidewalk cause.
Do you think there will be a lot of people there? he asked me. I told him I didn't know, and asked him if a crowd would make him not want to speak. No, he told me. I still want to do it. Even if there are a lot of people.
We went to the meeting, filled out a speaker card, and he waited patiently for his turn as we watched our city government at work. When his name was called, he went up to the podium, said what he'd come to say, and sat back down. A city employee came over and talked to us about the area of concern. I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating how he felt now that his speech was finished, and he told me he felt like he'd done a good job and that he was happy it was over.
I was full of Mom Pride. I recalled to myself that when he was a toddler, he barely spoke. It wasn't until after he started public preschool and began getting speech therapy that he began to talk. Now here he was, several years later, voluntarily speaking in public to a room full of people about something he was concerned about. He was learning that he has the right to speak up for himself, and to have his concerns heard. It was a very important learning experience for him.
I actually suspect he might have enjoyed it just a bit. I wouldn't be completely surprised if he decides to take up another cause dear to his heart: more Legos for the library, a 24 hour Simpsons cartoon watching marathon in the town plaza, or a later start to the school day so that he can sleep in. Watch out, world- here he comes.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Looking Younger Every Day
Last week was not the best week for the Mom of No- it could have been worse, of course, but it was not a sparkling diamond in the crown of 2017. For the first four days of the week, I was home sick with some nasty respiratory crud which resulted in a horrible cough that could probably be heard for miles around my abode. Finally, last Thursday, I felt well enough to venture from home and go to work.
As I sat at the kitchen table, eating my usual toasted raisin and cinnamon English muffin for breakfast, I felt something crunchy moving around in my mouth. That's odd, I thought; these muffins are usually rather soft. Maybe part of the crust was a little extra-toasted. My brain still wasn't functioning at its optimal speed, so it took a few seconds for the message to get from my tongue to my brain: that crunchy bit wasn't English muffin. That was part of a lower front tooth.
Awww, crap, I thought. Just what I need.
I was informed by the dentist's office that they had an available appointment at 3 PM, which I gladly took. My brain was working rapidly on producing extreme dental scenarios in which the rest of the tooth broke off at some point before dental rescue could take place, initiating much uncomfortable and expensive dental work. As far as I was concerned-and I am no fan of going to the dentist- 3 PM couldn't come fast enough.
Finally, after a day of obsessing over the hole in my tooth, I was in the dental chair being prepped by the assistant. While we were talking, a young man walked in, greeted me, said he'd be back in a minute, and walked out.
Who's that? I asked the dental assistant, thinking to myself that whoever that young man is, he looks like he's in high school.
That's the new dentist, she said. He's going to come back in a minute and look at your tooth.
I was taught as a kid that it is rude to ask about how old people are, but I really had to know, and the Grandma of No wasn't around to give me a Mom Look. I turned around and looked at the assistant and asked her. I think he's 28, she said. He really does look young.
Yes. I am old enough to be my dentist's mother. Even more than having a daughter about to graduate from high school or a son who is six inches taller than I am, that makes me feel like I am getting old. The entire time he was working on my poor busted front tooth, my brain abandoned the "worst case dental scenario" thought process and started working on "This guy is a dentist and he is young enough to be your son and that is really giving me some angst".
I probably need to start getting used to it, because sometimes the new employees at work look really young to me, and then I find out that they were born two years after I graduated from college and I'll think, hey, young whippersnapper, I've been working longer than you've been alive. Or I'll say something about the Soviet Union, or that a certain 80's song was the theme of my high school class, or that I had to type college papers on a typewriter, and I start suspecting that the other person, who was probably born after I got my first e-mail address, is thinking, wow, this woman is practically ancient history.
The Son of Never Stops Eating, who is currently obsessed with The Simpsons, asked me several months ago if I had ever seen The Simpsons. Sure, I told him. I used to watch that show when I was in college.
Wow, Mom, he said, sounding impressed and awed. You're older than Homer Simpson!
Yes. I'm older than Homer Simpson, I remember life before the Internet, and I'm old enough to be my dentist's mother, but hopefully I still got a lot of good years left in me.
As I sat at the kitchen table, eating my usual toasted raisin and cinnamon English muffin for breakfast, I felt something crunchy moving around in my mouth. That's odd, I thought; these muffins are usually rather soft. Maybe part of the crust was a little extra-toasted. My brain still wasn't functioning at its optimal speed, so it took a few seconds for the message to get from my tongue to my brain: that crunchy bit wasn't English muffin. That was part of a lower front tooth.
Awww, crap, I thought. Just what I need.
I was informed by the dentist's office that they had an available appointment at 3 PM, which I gladly took. My brain was working rapidly on producing extreme dental scenarios in which the rest of the tooth broke off at some point before dental rescue could take place, initiating much uncomfortable and expensive dental work. As far as I was concerned-and I am no fan of going to the dentist- 3 PM couldn't come fast enough.
Finally, after a day of obsessing over the hole in my tooth, I was in the dental chair being prepped by the assistant. While we were talking, a young man walked in, greeted me, said he'd be back in a minute, and walked out.
Who's that? I asked the dental assistant, thinking to myself that whoever that young man is, he looks like he's in high school.
That's the new dentist, she said. He's going to come back in a minute and look at your tooth.
I was taught as a kid that it is rude to ask about how old people are, but I really had to know, and the Grandma of No wasn't around to give me a Mom Look. I turned around and looked at the assistant and asked her. I think he's 28, she said. He really does look young.
Yes. I am old enough to be my dentist's mother. Even more than having a daughter about to graduate from high school or a son who is six inches taller than I am, that makes me feel like I am getting old. The entire time he was working on my poor busted front tooth, my brain abandoned the "worst case dental scenario" thought process and started working on "This guy is a dentist and he is young enough to be your son and that is really giving me some angst".
I probably need to start getting used to it, because sometimes the new employees at work look really young to me, and then I find out that they were born two years after I graduated from college and I'll think, hey, young whippersnapper, I've been working longer than you've been alive. Or I'll say something about the Soviet Union, or that a certain 80's song was the theme of my high school class, or that I had to type college papers on a typewriter, and I start suspecting that the other person, who was probably born after I got my first e-mail address, is thinking, wow, this woman is practically ancient history.
The Son of Never Stops Eating, who is currently obsessed with The Simpsons, asked me several months ago if I had ever seen The Simpsons. Sure, I told him. I used to watch that show when I was in college.
Wow, Mom, he said, sounding impressed and awed. You're older than Homer Simpson!
Yes. I'm older than Homer Simpson, I remember life before the Internet, and I'm old enough to be my dentist's mother, but hopefully I still got a lot of good years left in me.
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Welcome to Adulting
The other day I was in the car with one of the offspring, and I was asked, Mom, what did you do at work all day?
Paperwork. I did paperwork.
Apparently I use this answer a lot as a response to inquiries about how my day went, because the questioner (I'm pretty sure it was the Son of Never Stops Eating, so we'll go with that) responded with, Mom! That's all adults do! Paperwork!
Yes, I am the Mom of Ceaselessly Filling Out Paperwork.
Actually, that's not entirely accurate. Adults do other things, too: We stand in lines to submit paperwork. We sit on hold to ask questions about paperwork. We go online to figure out how to fill out paperwork. We search through old documents to find birth certificates and old social security cards to provide supplemental evidence for paperwork. We gasp in horror when we attempt to fill in paperwork on the internet and the computer gives us the blue screen of death just before we press the "submit" button. We sit in meetings that generate lots of paperwork. Other people send us paperwork that stacks up on kitchen counters, unread, until we really need to know what our homeowner's insurance policy really says.
I have filing cabinets full of paperwork that may or may not be important but that I'm afraid to get rid of because you never know, right? Special education moms are paperwork magnets.
The Teenager is in the midst of the 21st century version of paperwork right now, filling out online college applications and applying for scholarships. The other day I applied for my very own FAFSA ID number so I could participate in filling out the very important FAFSA paperwork in October. I suspect that all this paperwork, and the prospect of still more paperwork to come, is causing the Teenager some stress.
Welcome to adulthood, kid. I feel your suffering.
Sometimes when we're in overly stressful situations it's tempting to think that once you have lived through the challenging situation you find yourself in, life will become easier- once you finish high school and know what's next, whether it's college or the military or vocational school or a job, then life will be less stressful. Then you start college, get married, buy a house, have a baby, get a new job that throws you some learning curves, or encounter any number of adulthood challenges and you start thinking, OK, I only have to get past this and everything will be great!
When I was the exhausted mother of young children, sometimes I'd look at families with older kids and think, "once my kids get to be that old, life will be so much easier!". Then I became the mom with the older kids, and I realized that older kids come with their own challenges, so it wasn't really any easier; it was just different.
So, in the last few remaining months that I have to impart my Mom wisdom to the Teenager before she becomes the Young Adult and moves out and away from my constant influence and nagging, one lesson I can offer is this: learning healthy ways to manage stress is one of the best things that you can do for yourself. Parents can stress you out. School work can stress you out. Thinking about the future can stress you out. Financial stuff can stress you out. Relationships can stress you out. However, you are the one responsible for how you respond to that stress, because there will always be something or someone that is giving you stress.
Managing stress is not an easy skill to master; I still let stress get the best of me at times and I'm practically eligible for AARP membership. I find that taking lots of hikes in the woods and nature photography helps me manage stress; other people take yoga or martial arts or sing in bands or take painting classes or run; different methods work for different people. The important thing is to find something that works for you and to make that thing a priority.
It won't get any easier from here; sometimes life will go smoothly and sometimes it won't, but there will almost always be something giving you stress, unless you are extraordinarily lucky or you're one of those few people who are immune to stress. You'll find out if you are one of those people sometime next spring, when you get to fill out your first income tax return.
If that thought is already stressing you out, then welcome to adulthood. If it makes you feel any better, the rest of us are right there with you.
Paperwork. I did paperwork.
Apparently I use this answer a lot as a response to inquiries about how my day went, because the questioner (I'm pretty sure it was the Son of Never Stops Eating, so we'll go with that) responded with, Mom! That's all adults do! Paperwork!
Yes, I am the Mom of Ceaselessly Filling Out Paperwork.
Actually, that's not entirely accurate. Adults do other things, too: We stand in lines to submit paperwork. We sit on hold to ask questions about paperwork. We go online to figure out how to fill out paperwork. We search through old documents to find birth certificates and old social security cards to provide supplemental evidence for paperwork. We gasp in horror when we attempt to fill in paperwork on the internet and the computer gives us the blue screen of death just before we press the "submit" button. We sit in meetings that generate lots of paperwork. Other people send us paperwork that stacks up on kitchen counters, unread, until we really need to know what our homeowner's insurance policy really says.
I have filing cabinets full of paperwork that may or may not be important but that I'm afraid to get rid of because you never know, right? Special education moms are paperwork magnets.
The Teenager is in the midst of the 21st century version of paperwork right now, filling out online college applications and applying for scholarships. The other day I applied for my very own FAFSA ID number so I could participate in filling out the very important FAFSA paperwork in October. I suspect that all this paperwork, and the prospect of still more paperwork to come, is causing the Teenager some stress.
Welcome to adulthood, kid. I feel your suffering.
Sometimes when we're in overly stressful situations it's tempting to think that once you have lived through the challenging situation you find yourself in, life will become easier- once you finish high school and know what's next, whether it's college or the military or vocational school or a job, then life will be less stressful. Then you start college, get married, buy a house, have a baby, get a new job that throws you some learning curves, or encounter any number of adulthood challenges and you start thinking, OK, I only have to get past this and everything will be great!
When I was the exhausted mother of young children, sometimes I'd look at families with older kids and think, "once my kids get to be that old, life will be so much easier!". Then I became the mom with the older kids, and I realized that older kids come with their own challenges, so it wasn't really any easier; it was just different.
So, in the last few remaining months that I have to impart my Mom wisdom to the Teenager before she becomes the Young Adult and moves out and away from my constant influence and nagging, one lesson I can offer is this: learning healthy ways to manage stress is one of the best things that you can do for yourself. Parents can stress you out. School work can stress you out. Thinking about the future can stress you out. Financial stuff can stress you out. Relationships can stress you out. However, you are the one responsible for how you respond to that stress, because there will always be something or someone that is giving you stress.
Managing stress is not an easy skill to master; I still let stress get the best of me at times and I'm practically eligible for AARP membership. I find that taking lots of hikes in the woods and nature photography helps me manage stress; other people take yoga or martial arts or sing in bands or take painting classes or run; different methods work for different people. The important thing is to find something that works for you and to make that thing a priority.
It won't get any easier from here; sometimes life will go smoothly and sometimes it won't, but there will almost always be something giving you stress, unless you are extraordinarily lucky or you're one of those few people who are immune to stress. You'll find out if you are one of those people sometime next spring, when you get to fill out your first income tax return.
If that thought is already stressing you out, then welcome to adulthood. If it makes you feel any better, the rest of us are right there with you.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
The Frugal Package
A few days ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table sorting through a week's worth of household paperwork. The Teenager walked into the kitchen and dropped a thick envelope on the table.
We had an assembly about ordering our caps and gowns this week, she told me. Here's the information.
Ordering a cap and gown for a high school graduation seems like it should be a straightforward procedure. You don't have to select colors, or styles; just fill out a form and send money. I had a brief weepy Mom moment during which I mentally reminisced about the first baby outfit I bought the Teenager, when she was still in utero. It was an adorable little Winnie-the-Pooh onesie with a matching hat. Now, here I was buying her graduation cap and gown.
I opened the envelope. That the outside of the envelope informed me that payment plans were available should have been a warning. If you have been through this process before and you tried to enlighten me to what lay ahead, I'm sorry; I didn't pay close enough attention. If you have yet to go through this experience, I'm telling you now. Nothing related to high school graduation is easy. It's almost like planning a wedding except you don't have to have awkward dinners with the prospective in-laws. Instead of Bridezilla, however, the star of the show is a teenager stressed out about college applications and schoolwork.
Inside the envelope. I found several glossy brochures and sheets of paper. I had many, many choices. I could order announcements, class jewelry, T-shirts, photo cards, hoodies, key chains, plaques. To make my life easier, I was given the option of ordering the "school mascot package", which included everything that would make your graduating adolescent's dreams come true (except a new car) and came with a price tag to match. I sorted through the paperwork, looking for what I needed to complete this process. I was looking for the "Frugal Package"; the one that included the required cap and gown and the minimum number of official graduation announcements.
Such a thing did not seem to exist.
One of my pet peeves is going to buy something and then finding out that I can't just buy the item I want and leave; I have to deal with the sales pitches for the "extra stuff"- the insurance, the maintenance packages, the added features. When I tell the salesperson I don't want to add anything to my purchase, the more skilled among them have this amazing ability to make me feel like if I don't buy the extra stuff, I am making a colossal error in judgment that I will regret as soon as I walk out the door.
The last time I flew on an airplane, I used the self-check in, and the computer tried to upsell me on an aisle seat instead of the middle seat, for an additional $25. No, really, I told the computer, I just want to get on the plane. When I bought my car, the salesman waited until I practically had the keys in my hands and then said "You will want to buy one of our extended warranty packages for your new car!". No, really, I just want to drive that car off the lot. When I bought a new washing machine, the cashier's final question was "Shall I add the extended service package?" No! I just want to go home!
This graduation year is one long process of being asked to buy a lot of extra stuff. I'm trying to be zen about it but I'll admit that my attitude about it might not be the most chipper on occasion.
So here I was, looking through the glossy brochures for class jewelry, and fancy photo announcements, and Class of 2018 key chains and personalized address labels (I definitely don't need that; I have a ton of those from every charity I've ever donated to) seeking the information I needed: how to order one cap and gown set. I might have been vocalizing my frustration a bit; the other human members of the household seemed to have disappeared, the dog had sought refuge under the coffee table, and the hamster was hiding under her wheel.
Finally, after I put my reading glasses on and flipped the order form to the back, my persistence paid off! I found the cap and gown line item in small print on the bottom of the order form. Success! I had found the Frugal Package, for the low price of $29.99. After a brief internal debate, I added 25 graduation announcements to the order. The Dad of No and I come from small families, so I don't actually need 25 announcements; I'll probably just randomly send out the extras to my friends. If you are selected to receive an announcement, there's no obligation to send anything. I just suspect it will be easier for you to throw it out than it will be for me to do it.
I had been hoping that in three years, I would be able to use the same cap and gown for the Son of Never Stops Eating, but I don't think that is going to work; not only is he much taller than his older sister but I'm informed that the dye lots change so you have to order a new set of graduation regalia for every child. At least now I know, however, where to find what I'm looking for on the cap and gown ordering form.
We had an assembly about ordering our caps and gowns this week, she told me. Here's the information.
Ordering a cap and gown for a high school graduation seems like it should be a straightforward procedure. You don't have to select colors, or styles; just fill out a form and send money. I had a brief weepy Mom moment during which I mentally reminisced about the first baby outfit I bought the Teenager, when she was still in utero. It was an adorable little Winnie-the-Pooh onesie with a matching hat. Now, here I was buying her graduation cap and gown.
I opened the envelope. That the outside of the envelope informed me that payment plans were available should have been a warning. If you have been through this process before and you tried to enlighten me to what lay ahead, I'm sorry; I didn't pay close enough attention. If you have yet to go through this experience, I'm telling you now. Nothing related to high school graduation is easy. It's almost like planning a wedding except you don't have to have awkward dinners with the prospective in-laws. Instead of Bridezilla, however, the star of the show is a teenager stressed out about college applications and schoolwork.
Inside the envelope. I found several glossy brochures and sheets of paper. I had many, many choices. I could order announcements, class jewelry, T-shirts, photo cards, hoodies, key chains, plaques. To make my life easier, I was given the option of ordering the "school mascot package", which included everything that would make your graduating adolescent's dreams come true (except a new car) and came with a price tag to match. I sorted through the paperwork, looking for what I needed to complete this process. I was looking for the "Frugal Package"; the one that included the required cap and gown and the minimum number of official graduation announcements.
Such a thing did not seem to exist.
One of my pet peeves is going to buy something and then finding out that I can't just buy the item I want and leave; I have to deal with the sales pitches for the "extra stuff"- the insurance, the maintenance packages, the added features. When I tell the salesperson I don't want to add anything to my purchase, the more skilled among them have this amazing ability to make me feel like if I don't buy the extra stuff, I am making a colossal error in judgment that I will regret as soon as I walk out the door.
The last time I flew on an airplane, I used the self-check in, and the computer tried to upsell me on an aisle seat instead of the middle seat, for an additional $25. No, really, I told the computer, I just want to get on the plane. When I bought my car, the salesman waited until I practically had the keys in my hands and then said "You will want to buy one of our extended warranty packages for your new car!". No, really, I just want to drive that car off the lot. When I bought a new washing machine, the cashier's final question was "Shall I add the extended service package?" No! I just want to go home!
This graduation year is one long process of being asked to buy a lot of extra stuff. I'm trying to be zen about it but I'll admit that my attitude about it might not be the most chipper on occasion.
So here I was, looking through the glossy brochures for class jewelry, and fancy photo announcements, and Class of 2018 key chains and personalized address labels (I definitely don't need that; I have a ton of those from every charity I've ever donated to) seeking the information I needed: how to order one cap and gown set. I might have been vocalizing my frustration a bit; the other human members of the household seemed to have disappeared, the dog had sought refuge under the coffee table, and the hamster was hiding under her wheel.
Finally, after I put my reading glasses on and flipped the order form to the back, my persistence paid off! I found the cap and gown line item in small print on the bottom of the order form. Success! I had found the Frugal Package, for the low price of $29.99. After a brief internal debate, I added 25 graduation announcements to the order. The Dad of No and I come from small families, so I don't actually need 25 announcements; I'll probably just randomly send out the extras to my friends. If you are selected to receive an announcement, there's no obligation to send anything. I just suspect it will be easier for you to throw it out than it will be for me to do it.
I had been hoping that in three years, I would be able to use the same cap and gown for the Son of Never Stops Eating, but I don't think that is going to work; not only is he much taller than his older sister but I'm informed that the dye lots change so you have to order a new set of graduation regalia for every child. At least now I know, however, where to find what I'm looking for on the cap and gown ordering form.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Tattered Wings
Lately, as I take my nature walks, I've become fascinated by the imperfect, the worn out, the torn, the tattered. It's tempting, when trying to photograph nature, to look for the bold, the perfect, the stunning, the bright and brand new- but those tattered wings are telling a story. What that story might be is up to the observer's imagination; I often envision close encounters with a bird's beak.
As I get older, sometimes I feel a little tattered and I definitely have my imperfections- so perhaps it's that I can relate to these once-bright creatures, now faded and with tattered wings.
I can assure you, however, that each of these creatures was still able to fly just fine.
As I get older, sometimes I feel a little tattered and I definitely have my imperfections- so perhaps it's that I can relate to these once-bright creatures, now faded and with tattered wings.
I can assure you, however, that each of these creatures was still able to fly just fine.
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| Red Admiral |
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| Hackberry Emperor |
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| Widow Skimmer |
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| Eastern Tiger Swallowtail |
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| Queen butterfly |
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| Painted Lady |
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Good Advice?
Late last week, the news broke regarding the Equifax data breach. According to their website, mine was one of the identities compromised, but then later I read that they might just be randomly telling you that to lure you into signing up for their ID monitoring services, which start off free but then after a year require a fee to continue. So maybe my data was compromised, or maybe it wasn't, but at this point I'm not sure how much it matters, since my identity has already been stolen to file a fraudulent income tax return, among other things. At this point, who knows what my identity has been up to.
Also, there could be some really old college textbooks out there floating around that have my social security number written in them. When I was in college, students were advised to write their SSN's in their books. I think the reasoning was that in the event the books were stolen, it would make them easier to trace. This was probably bad advice, but I'm sure I did it anyway because I was a gullible freshman. I had just parted with $200 for a green hardcover copy of "The Poetry of John Donne"*, and I was going to guard that bad boy with my life. If you can find that copy of John Donne's master works, you too could steal my identity.
After all the data breaches my data has been part of, I could probably paint my social security number on my roof in red paint and it wouldn't make any difference.
To all you young whippersnappers out there who just cannot wait to become adults and get away from your annoying parents with their stupid rules and their nagging and their insatiable curiosity about what you are doing at school and who your friends are and why you spend so much money at Starbucks, here is one of the not-enjoyable aspects of adulting: figuring out what is good advice and what is bad advice.
For example, what to do about this Equifax data breach? Do you sign up for the monitoring service, or do you not? It depends on who you ask. Some advice-givers tell you to sign up, and some say, run for the hills; whatever you do, do not sign up for that monitoring service- why would you want the people who mismanaged your personal data in the first place in charge of monitoring if other people were trying to steal it? I have no idea what to do. This is outside the Mom of No's area of expertise.
For a brief moment, I mentally explored the concept of cancelling all the credit cards, going off the grid, and hiding all my cash in a coffee can buried in a secret spot that I would divulge to no one. However, I don't think my employer will actually pay me in cash and for the next four years I have to fill out something called a FAFSA, which requires income tax information, so going financially rogue isn't really going to work well for me logistically at this time.
Before the onset of Hurricane Irma, there was a meme going around Facebook advising people to store their most precious memories in their dishwasher. A dishwasher, after all, seems to be watertight, so in theory this idea sounds great. However, other people were saying that this was a bad idea and it didn't actually work- dishwashers aren't really watertight and if your house did flood, you could come home to a dishwasher full of wet paper pulp that used to be your prized photographs and your important documents.
No matter what problem you are trying to solve, or what stage of your life you are in, bad and conflicting advice abounds. Because I am approaching the early stages of geezerhood, I remember when the sources of information were limited to your family and friends, the 7 PM news on TV, newspapers, and books. Now you can log on to Facebook, post any request for information, and watch the conflicting information roll in. It's probably a good thing social media was not yet a thing when I had infants and toddlers; Mommy boards were bad enough. Facebook would have sent me over the edge in terms of attempting to make informed parenting decisions.
So, if you are wondering what to do about the data breach, or trying to decide where to store essential documents and important irreplaceable photographs, I'm actually not sure what to tell you. I'm still trying to figure it all out myself. In a few weeks I have to fill out my first FAFSA; I'm sure it will take weeks to recover from reading all the Internet advice about that.
*John Donne, English Poet, 1572-1631, famous for the phrase "No Man is an Island". I had to write a paper on it. He's actually not that bad as poets go, although I'm more of a science and historical fiction reader.
Also, there could be some really old college textbooks out there floating around that have my social security number written in them. When I was in college, students were advised to write their SSN's in their books. I think the reasoning was that in the event the books were stolen, it would make them easier to trace. This was probably bad advice, but I'm sure I did it anyway because I was a gullible freshman. I had just parted with $200 for a green hardcover copy of "The Poetry of John Donne"*, and I was going to guard that bad boy with my life. If you can find that copy of John Donne's master works, you too could steal my identity.
After all the data breaches my data has been part of, I could probably paint my social security number on my roof in red paint and it wouldn't make any difference.
To all you young whippersnappers out there who just cannot wait to become adults and get away from your annoying parents with their stupid rules and their nagging and their insatiable curiosity about what you are doing at school and who your friends are and why you spend so much money at Starbucks, here is one of the not-enjoyable aspects of adulting: figuring out what is good advice and what is bad advice.
For example, what to do about this Equifax data breach? Do you sign up for the monitoring service, or do you not? It depends on who you ask. Some advice-givers tell you to sign up, and some say, run for the hills; whatever you do, do not sign up for that monitoring service- why would you want the people who mismanaged your personal data in the first place in charge of monitoring if other people were trying to steal it? I have no idea what to do. This is outside the Mom of No's area of expertise.
For a brief moment, I mentally explored the concept of cancelling all the credit cards, going off the grid, and hiding all my cash in a coffee can buried in a secret spot that I would divulge to no one. However, I don't think my employer will actually pay me in cash and for the next four years I have to fill out something called a FAFSA, which requires income tax information, so going financially rogue isn't really going to work well for me logistically at this time.
Before the onset of Hurricane Irma, there was a meme going around Facebook advising people to store their most precious memories in their dishwasher. A dishwasher, after all, seems to be watertight, so in theory this idea sounds great. However, other people were saying that this was a bad idea and it didn't actually work- dishwashers aren't really watertight and if your house did flood, you could come home to a dishwasher full of wet paper pulp that used to be your prized photographs and your important documents.
No matter what problem you are trying to solve, or what stage of your life you are in, bad and conflicting advice abounds. Because I am approaching the early stages of geezerhood, I remember when the sources of information were limited to your family and friends, the 7 PM news on TV, newspapers, and books. Now you can log on to Facebook, post any request for information, and watch the conflicting information roll in. It's probably a good thing social media was not yet a thing when I had infants and toddlers; Mommy boards were bad enough. Facebook would have sent me over the edge in terms of attempting to make informed parenting decisions.
So, if you are wondering what to do about the data breach, or trying to decide where to store essential documents and important irreplaceable photographs, I'm actually not sure what to tell you. I'm still trying to figure it all out myself. In a few weeks I have to fill out my first FAFSA; I'm sure it will take weeks to recover from reading all the Internet advice about that.
*John Donne, English Poet, 1572-1631, famous for the phrase "No Man is an Island". I had to write a paper on it. He's actually not that bad as poets go, although I'm more of a science and historical fiction reader.
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