It's about time to go back to school, and the Son of Never Stops Eating is having none of it. Earlier today, someone asked him if he was excited about starting high school; he responded by saying "Don't say school words! I still have one week of summer left!".
Oh, the suffering. Oh, the angst. Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
So here, in commemoration of summer and in honor of school starting back up, are some random thoughts from the Mom of You Have to Go Back To School Whether You Want to or Not:
1. It's okay to use the same lunchbox or backpack several years in a row.
2. It's also okay to get a new one; sometimes, nothing is as empowering on the first day of school as a new backpack or lunch box with a superhero on it.
3. When I really want to torture my kids, I say "I think school should be all year long!". Sometimes I follow this up with "And I think uniforms should be required!".
4. In about two weeks, the Christmas displays will start going up at the mall.
5. Some people send their kids to school with healthy lunches of vegetables, fruit, lean meats, whole grains, and low-fat dairy. My kids pack their own lunches and based on the grocery list, Oreos and fruit snacks seem to be a favorite choice. Don't judge me.
6. I predict much social media angst over the school drop-off and pick-up lines. Remember the Golden Rule: Behavest thou in the school car line as thou wishest other people to act towards thee.
7. If you try to take a great back-to-school photo of your kids to share with your friends and family and all the kids do is roll their eyes and complain- join the club.
8. Deciding where to sit for lunch can be pure torture for some kids. If you're a kid, and you see another kid looking uncertain in the cafeteria, invite them over. It's lunch, not a lifetime commitment- and you might make a new friend.
9. The Son of Never Stops Eating has one favorite shirt, and he wears it all the time. If you are his teacher, I just want you to know that he does have other clothes; he just chooses not to wear them- and I am the Mom of Choosing my Battles Wisely.
10. I have to remember that I need to start leaving for work 10 minutes earlier now because I go through a school zone.
11. The start of school means high school football, great marching band shows, and delicious band nachos!
12. I completely forgot that I was supposed to order my high school senior's yearbook this summer.
13. If you can, you should definitely go to your teenager's school open house. Not everyone goes, and it's a great opportunity to meet your adolescent's teachers and get the scoop on what they're learning in class. Also, your mere presence in the school could be embarrassing to your teen, which is reason enough right there to do it.
14. Back to school also means fundraising season is now underway. Start saving your money for those band pies!
15. I haven't actually done any back to school shopping. It's kind of hard to envision wearing sweaters when it's hot enough to cook an egg on the hood of my car.
16. I still haven't sorted through all the paperwork from last school year.
17. I live in absolute terror that something will happen to the teenager's marching band uniform while it is in our custody, and I will have to pay for it. I have no idea how much those things cost, but I'm willing to bet they're not cheap.
18. It still feels weird to drive by the elementary schools my kids went to and realize all over again that time of my life is over.
19. Kids, when project at school are assigned, remember the P6 rule for maximum academic success: Proper Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance. Also, a mother who has to run to the Big Box Store at 8 PM the night before a project is due to buy 8 pieces of neon orange poster board is an unhappy mother.
20. If you are a friend of mine, I might have put your name down as an "alternate emergency contact" on the school paperwork. I would have put the Grandpa of No, but I suspect that they want someone who lives closer than 250 miles from the school.
21. The Son of Never Stops Eating is already hoping for ice days.
22. To all the kids out there who are sad that summer is over and school is starting back up, not to worry. One day, you will graduate and then you won't have to worry about going back to school in the fall- you'll be at work year-round, and the seasons all kind of blend together as you toil away. Adulting is fun that way.
Sunday, August 20, 2017
Monday, August 14, 2017
What to Say?
Mom, I feel like the world is becoming evil.
The Son of Never Stops Eating and I were driving around town on a treasure hunt for something called "pre-cooked farro". Because there is an unwritten parenting rule that all deep philosophical conversations with your offspring must take place in a moving motor vehicle while the parent's attention is directed elsewhere, his timing was exquisitely perfect.
What do you mean? I asked him. What's on your mind?
North Korea, he said. I don't want to die.
Here is the challenge I face as the parent of an adolescent with autism and intellectual disability: How do I explain the world in a way he can understand and relate to? If you know enough to ask a question like that, you deserve to have your question taken seriously. He needs to know that the world is not a protective cocoon. He needs to know that there are people who are dishonest, people who will cheat and steal and take advantage of others or engage in cruelty just because they can, and that sometimes they will get away with it. He has to know this for his own protection. The world is not always a safe place for people with developmental and cognitive disabilities.
But how to explain evil? Pure, unmitigated evil? How to explain to him that evil is not a new thing, that since the dawn of time humankind has perpetuated evil against its own? How to explain the persecutions over religion, slavery, the many famines and genocides throughout history that have been perpetuated on people, often by their own governments? How to explain the Holocaust? How to explain that this is by no means even a comprehensive list of evil?
If you think that some or all of these things did not happen, or that they don't represent evil of the worst kind, then the Mom of No is not for you.
What do I tell him? Not to worry about it, that he will be taken care of and protected? That's an answer to give a toddler, not an adolescent- even one with a cognitive impairment.
I'm a middle-aged white woman who spends a lot of time hiking around in the woods looking for dragonflies and fungi, nagging her teenagers, and slinging band nachos. I am certainly not any kind of political animal. Sometimes I attend church, sometimes I'm out looking for birds on Sunday mornings- so matters of faith are not exactly my area of expertise either. My overarching philosophy on life is basically, "Take care of your business and try not to be a jerk to other people". I feel unprepared to deal with "Mom, I feel like the world is becoming evil". Explaining North Korea and white supremacists was not covered in the How To Mom Manual.
I could tell him that love and goodness usually win in the end, or that we need to pray that things will change, or that, while we cannot control what other people do, we can be responsible for ourselves and our actions, and therefore the way to counteract evil in all forms is to be our best, to be kind and loving towards others. I could tell him that the way to counteract evil is to welcome others into our lives and be willing to walk through our lives hand-in-hand with those who are unlike us, to be generous, to respect that others have different stories to tell, and that these stories are beautiful and wondrous and heartbreaking and worthy, to stand up against hate when we see it or hear it, no matter what, knowing that sounds easy in principle but can be difficult in practice.
I could tell him all these things. I do tell him all these things.
Yet, somehow it doesn't seem like I'm fully answering his concerns- perhaps because I feel like I'm not completely answering the logical follow up question.
The world is becoming evil.
What do we do about it?
The Son of Never Stops Eating and I were driving around town on a treasure hunt for something called "pre-cooked farro". Because there is an unwritten parenting rule that all deep philosophical conversations with your offspring must take place in a moving motor vehicle while the parent's attention is directed elsewhere, his timing was exquisitely perfect.
What do you mean? I asked him. What's on your mind?
North Korea, he said. I don't want to die.
Here is the challenge I face as the parent of an adolescent with autism and intellectual disability: How do I explain the world in a way he can understand and relate to? If you know enough to ask a question like that, you deserve to have your question taken seriously. He needs to know that the world is not a protective cocoon. He needs to know that there are people who are dishonest, people who will cheat and steal and take advantage of others or engage in cruelty just because they can, and that sometimes they will get away with it. He has to know this for his own protection. The world is not always a safe place for people with developmental and cognitive disabilities.
But how to explain evil? Pure, unmitigated evil? How to explain to him that evil is not a new thing, that since the dawn of time humankind has perpetuated evil against its own? How to explain the persecutions over religion, slavery, the many famines and genocides throughout history that have been perpetuated on people, often by their own governments? How to explain the Holocaust? How to explain that this is by no means even a comprehensive list of evil?
If you think that some or all of these things did not happen, or that they don't represent evil of the worst kind, then the Mom of No is not for you.
What do I tell him? Not to worry about it, that he will be taken care of and protected? That's an answer to give a toddler, not an adolescent- even one with a cognitive impairment.
I'm a middle-aged white woman who spends a lot of time hiking around in the woods looking for dragonflies and fungi, nagging her teenagers, and slinging band nachos. I am certainly not any kind of political animal. Sometimes I attend church, sometimes I'm out looking for birds on Sunday mornings- so matters of faith are not exactly my area of expertise either. My overarching philosophy on life is basically, "Take care of your business and try not to be a jerk to other people". I feel unprepared to deal with "Mom, I feel like the world is becoming evil". Explaining North Korea and white supremacists was not covered in the How To Mom Manual.
I could tell him that love and goodness usually win in the end, or that we need to pray that things will change, or that, while we cannot control what other people do, we can be responsible for ourselves and our actions, and therefore the way to counteract evil in all forms is to be our best, to be kind and loving towards others. I could tell him that the way to counteract evil is to welcome others into our lives and be willing to walk through our lives hand-in-hand with those who are unlike us, to be generous, to respect that others have different stories to tell, and that these stories are beautiful and wondrous and heartbreaking and worthy, to stand up against hate when we see it or hear it, no matter what, knowing that sounds easy in principle but can be difficult in practice.
I could tell him all these things. I do tell him all these things.
Yet, somehow it doesn't seem like I'm fully answering his concerns- perhaps because I feel like I'm not completely answering the logical follow up question.
The world is becoming evil.
What do we do about it?
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Change
On one of the trails I hike on frequently, I have a tree that I start watching closely at the end of June. It's not the tree that I'm interested in, although I like trees; it's that I'm watching to see when the first sad underwing moth will appear. For the last two years, I've observed these moths on that tree around the first of July. This year was no exception- my first sad underwing moth sighting was on June 30.
These moths aren't rare, or endangered; in fact, they're quite common on this trail if you know when and where to look- but for me they mark the transition between early summer and late summer. Early summer means the lazy days of vacation, sleeping in, cookouts, pool parties, 4th of July fireworks. The appearance of the sad underwing moth is, for me, a first harbinger of school supplies in big bins, e-mails from the school, marching band camp, of summer melting into early fall, the first whisper of Halloween. Change is coming, their appearance says.
Sometimes there is a clear line between what was and what is- graduation, a new job, a wedding, a birth. When I went into active labor with my oldest, somewhere between yelling at the Dad of No that running stop signs was perfectly fine, just get this car to the hospital NOW! was this thought: in just a few hours my life will be different forever. More often, though, change sneaks up on you and one day you realize, stuff changed. How did that happen?
Especially at the beginning of each school year, I become more aware of how my own offspring are changing. For several Augusts in a row, I'd head straight to the bins of crayons and markers on sale and stock up because I knew they'd be needed. Then one year as I reached for the crayons, the thought popped into my head: Why are you buying those? You still have boxes from last year! Instead of needing crayons and markers and construction paper in strange sizes I was buying graphing calculators and spiral bound notebooks and posterboard. The year came when the postcard from the elementary school informing us about "meet the teacher" didn't come, and then I looked up and realized that my youngest towered over me by several inches, and I realized that somewhere in there both kids had transitioned from childhood to adolescence, and it was bittersweet.
Recently, I noticed that the Teenager had started telling, as opposed to asking, us where she was going and what she was doing. Mom, she'd say, I'm going to Starbucks to work on applications with a friend. I'm going bowling. I signed up for an early Saturday shift at work. I'll be back later, I'll get something for dinner while I'm out. She is standing at the threshold of early adulthood, and it is bittersweet.
When I see young mothers with babies or toddlers, I have to resist the urge to tell them, as older women have told young mothers for generations, it goes by too fast. When I heard it, as a new mother, I was exhausted and in serious doubt about my own mothering skills, and it was inconceivable to me that it would go by as fast as I now realize it did. It never occurs to you when you struggle to put the infant car seat in the car that one day you'll be taking it out, that one day the kids will fight over who gets the front seat, and then they'll move to the driver's seat, and that you'll be asking yourself, how did that happen so fast?
Change is ever flowing- mostly so slowly we don't see it coming until it's already passed us by-in the inches gained at the well-child checkup, the lost baby teeth, the changing interests. It's in the once-treasured but now outgrown princess dress-up clothes being placed in the Goodwill basket to make room for softball or soccer or Girl Scout uniforms, which in turn will make way for a marching band or a cheerleading or a JROTC uniform , and then a cap and gown. It is in the hard-won trophies that now sport a layer of dust, a stuffed animal at the back of a closet, a storybook placed in the library donation pile.
Because we've lived in the same house since before both kids were born, sometimes I come across items in boxes, relics from the early years. A few months ago I found a diaper bag in a storage chest. It even still had a couple of diapers in it. I had likely put it aside one day because I hadn't needed it, probably on a day I was feeling confident about potty training progress, and I had never picked it back up. Change had happened, and I'm sure I had not even given it a second thought.
The sad underwing moths are all around us, subtle signs of the ever occurring change that cannot be stopped, change that often goes unremarked upon until a milestone year is reached, like the senior year of high school, when we look up from the routine and say to ourselves "How did that happen?".
And it is bittersweet.
These moths aren't rare, or endangered; in fact, they're quite common on this trail if you know when and where to look- but for me they mark the transition between early summer and late summer. Early summer means the lazy days of vacation, sleeping in, cookouts, pool parties, 4th of July fireworks. The appearance of the sad underwing moth is, for me, a first harbinger of school supplies in big bins, e-mails from the school, marching band camp, of summer melting into early fall, the first whisper of Halloween. Change is coming, their appearance says.
Sometimes there is a clear line between what was and what is- graduation, a new job, a wedding, a birth. When I went into active labor with my oldest, somewhere between yelling at the Dad of No that running stop signs was perfectly fine, just get this car to the hospital NOW! was this thought: in just a few hours my life will be different forever. More often, though, change sneaks up on you and one day you realize, stuff changed. How did that happen?
Especially at the beginning of each school year, I become more aware of how my own offspring are changing. For several Augusts in a row, I'd head straight to the bins of crayons and markers on sale and stock up because I knew they'd be needed. Then one year as I reached for the crayons, the thought popped into my head: Why are you buying those? You still have boxes from last year! Instead of needing crayons and markers and construction paper in strange sizes I was buying graphing calculators and spiral bound notebooks and posterboard. The year came when the postcard from the elementary school informing us about "meet the teacher" didn't come, and then I looked up and realized that my youngest towered over me by several inches, and I realized that somewhere in there both kids had transitioned from childhood to adolescence, and it was bittersweet.
Recently, I noticed that the Teenager had started telling, as opposed to asking, us where she was going and what she was doing. Mom, she'd say, I'm going to Starbucks to work on applications with a friend. I'm going bowling. I signed up for an early Saturday shift at work. I'll be back later, I'll get something for dinner while I'm out. She is standing at the threshold of early adulthood, and it is bittersweet.
When I see young mothers with babies or toddlers, I have to resist the urge to tell them, as older women have told young mothers for generations, it goes by too fast. When I heard it, as a new mother, I was exhausted and in serious doubt about my own mothering skills, and it was inconceivable to me that it would go by as fast as I now realize it did. It never occurs to you when you struggle to put the infant car seat in the car that one day you'll be taking it out, that one day the kids will fight over who gets the front seat, and then they'll move to the driver's seat, and that you'll be asking yourself, how did that happen so fast?
Change is ever flowing- mostly so slowly we don't see it coming until it's already passed us by-in the inches gained at the well-child checkup, the lost baby teeth, the changing interests. It's in the once-treasured but now outgrown princess dress-up clothes being placed in the Goodwill basket to make room for softball or soccer or Girl Scout uniforms, which in turn will make way for a marching band or a cheerleading or a JROTC uniform , and then a cap and gown. It is in the hard-won trophies that now sport a layer of dust, a stuffed animal at the back of a closet, a storybook placed in the library donation pile.
Because we've lived in the same house since before both kids were born, sometimes I come across items in boxes, relics from the early years. A few months ago I found a diaper bag in a storage chest. It even still had a couple of diapers in it. I had likely put it aside one day because I hadn't needed it, probably on a day I was feeling confident about potty training progress, and I had never picked it back up. Change had happened, and I'm sure I had not even given it a second thought.
The sad underwing moths are all around us, subtle signs of the ever occurring change that cannot be stopped, change that often goes unremarked upon until a milestone year is reached, like the senior year of high school, when we look up from the routine and say to ourselves "How did that happen?".
And it is bittersweet.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
The Smell Test
I'm not quite sure how to bring this up, teenagers, so I'll just dive right into it: Two things you need to know.
1. I love you dearly. You are my beloved offspring. I would do anything for you. Your health and happiness are constantly on my mind, and even when you finally fledge the nest and have to make your own dentist appointments and buy your own Doritos, I will still worry about you and show you my unending love through text message nagging to get enough sleep and be sure to eat a good, healthy breakfast before starting your day.
2. You are often quite odiferous.
The other day, I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating if he wanted to go somewhere with me. He did. As he walked by me to get in the car, I caught an unmistakable whiff of eau de adolescent. I glared at him. What? He said, staring at me.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your hair?
Son: I don't know. Maybe yesterday.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your teeth?
Son: Mom! My teeth are fine! Why are you asking these questions?
Me: When was the last time you used deodorant?
Son: Mom! Deodorant is for school! This is summer!
Among my favorite smells are fresh-baked apple pie, the cool spring breeze on a sunny afternoon, the faint salty smell of the ocean as you approach the beach on summer vacation, and freshly bathed baby. I remember the blissful wonder of rocking my children in the evening, breathing in that faintly lavender clean baby smell as they slept peacefully in my arms.
Many years later, I went to sixth grade orientation. The P.E. teachers begged the parents of the incoming middle schoolers to please, please, PLEASE make sure your kids use deodorant. You have no idea what it's like in here when there are sixty sixth graders running around. Have mercy on us.
Even after an entire summer, the gym still smelled faintly like sweat and moldy wet socks. I could sympathize with their pleas.
In other words,welcome to adolescence, Mom and Dad. Whatever you do, don't forget to take that P.E. uniform out of the backpack on Friday evening, or else. Trust me on this one; that was a lesson learned the hard way.
Another lesson learned the hard way- any time your teenager returns from sleepaway camp or a mission trip, or any time that they are away from home more than 48 hours, open the bag of dirty clothes outside. At least half of the items will be sopping wet, even if they were in a desert. I don't know why that is, it just is.
Parents of babies and toddlers might talk about daycare, or co-sleeping vs. cribs, or when to start solids foods. Parents of grade schoolers might talk about selling Girl Scout cookies, who has the best prices on school supplies, or whether or not to sign their kids up for soccer. Parents of teenagers talk about how much their auto insurance went up when they added a teen driver, how much food their teenagers eat, compare notes on who is currently getting the most teenager 'tude, and just how to mitigate for that adolescent odor. Mention it on Facebook, and watch the comments roll in. These are the common bonds that connect us all.
I'm not sure what the answer is- I've heard peer pressure, more frequent showering, buying lovely (or manly, depending on the adolescent in question) scented products and leaving them in the shower as a hint, and not to worry about it because the problem will resolve on its own once the teenager in question acquires a romantic interest, or that they'll eventually move out, and then you can have the hazmat crew in to fumigate.
I also know this- that after a day on the trails on almost any day between April and October, I probably don't smell like a rose myself. As a teenager, I spent considerable time around horses. The Grandma of No finally made it clear that after a day at the stables during the summer, I smelled like equine manure (literally) and to change in the garage. So I can relate. I feel your pain.
But please, even though I love you and I would do anything for you- deodorant is for every day. Not just school days.
1. I love you dearly. You are my beloved offspring. I would do anything for you. Your health and happiness are constantly on my mind, and even when you finally fledge the nest and have to make your own dentist appointments and buy your own Doritos, I will still worry about you and show you my unending love through text message nagging to get enough sleep and be sure to eat a good, healthy breakfast before starting your day.
2. You are often quite odiferous.
The other day, I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating if he wanted to go somewhere with me. He did. As he walked by me to get in the car, I caught an unmistakable whiff of eau de adolescent. I glared at him. What? He said, staring at me.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your hair?
Son: I don't know. Maybe yesterday.
Me: When was the last time you brushed your teeth?
Son: Mom! My teeth are fine! Why are you asking these questions?
Me: When was the last time you used deodorant?
Son: Mom! Deodorant is for school! This is summer!
Among my favorite smells are fresh-baked apple pie, the cool spring breeze on a sunny afternoon, the faint salty smell of the ocean as you approach the beach on summer vacation, and freshly bathed baby. I remember the blissful wonder of rocking my children in the evening, breathing in that faintly lavender clean baby smell as they slept peacefully in my arms.
Many years later, I went to sixth grade orientation. The P.E. teachers begged the parents of the incoming middle schoolers to please, please, PLEASE make sure your kids use deodorant. You have no idea what it's like in here when there are sixty sixth graders running around. Have mercy on us.
Even after an entire summer, the gym still smelled faintly like sweat and moldy wet socks. I could sympathize with their pleas.
In other words,welcome to adolescence, Mom and Dad. Whatever you do, don't forget to take that P.E. uniform out of the backpack on Friday evening, or else. Trust me on this one; that was a lesson learned the hard way.
Another lesson learned the hard way- any time your teenager returns from sleepaway camp or a mission trip, or any time that they are away from home more than 48 hours, open the bag of dirty clothes outside. At least half of the items will be sopping wet, even if they were in a desert. I don't know why that is, it just is.
Parents of babies and toddlers might talk about daycare, or co-sleeping vs. cribs, or when to start solids foods. Parents of grade schoolers might talk about selling Girl Scout cookies, who has the best prices on school supplies, or whether or not to sign their kids up for soccer. Parents of teenagers talk about how much their auto insurance went up when they added a teen driver, how much food their teenagers eat, compare notes on who is currently getting the most teenager 'tude, and just how to mitigate for that adolescent odor. Mention it on Facebook, and watch the comments roll in. These are the common bonds that connect us all.
I'm not sure what the answer is- I've heard peer pressure, more frequent showering, buying lovely (or manly, depending on the adolescent in question) scented products and leaving them in the shower as a hint, and not to worry about it because the problem will resolve on its own once the teenager in question acquires a romantic interest, or that they'll eventually move out, and then you can have the hazmat crew in to fumigate.
I also know this- that after a day on the trails on almost any day between April and October, I probably don't smell like a rose myself. As a teenager, I spent considerable time around horses. The Grandma of No finally made it clear that after a day at the stables during the summer, I smelled like equine manure (literally) and to change in the garage. So I can relate. I feel your pain.
But please, even though I love you and I would do anything for you- deodorant is for every day. Not just school days.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Jury Duty
2018 has been a banner year of civic involvement for the Mom of No. I have been called up for jury duty not once, but twice- once for municipal court and once for the county.
The last time I was called up for jury duty I had just delivered The Teenager, and since I knew I was going back to work before the date of my summons I couldn't claim the exemption of having to take care of a child, but I did have a logistical question that would need to be addressed. I called the information number on the summons and explained the problem to the sweet clerk who answered the phone.
"You'll need to do what, honey?" she asked me, sounding uncertain.
"Express breast milk". I told her. "I'm nursing an infant. I have a pump, that's not a problem. But I need a room with an electrical outlet, and about 20 minutes of uninterrupted time".
"No one has ever asked me this question before", she said, and then put me on hold. When she came back she told me not to worry about it; they'd excuse me and call me back at a later date for jury duty.
Apparently someone found out that my children are now teenagers; after 17 years, they finally got around to summoning me once again to perform my civic duty as an upstanding citizen.
"Tell them you already know the defendant is guilty", the Grandpa of No advised me. I'm not sure if he was serious or not. A friend of mine told me that he'd been a juror on a trial for embezzlement that had lasted over a week and involved a lot of accounting minutiae that he wasn't sure anyone really understood. Jury duty is one of those adulting experiences in America that almost everyone seems to have a story about.
I was fine with the municipal court summons, but the date the county had assigned me was a week before we went on vacation. I had a lot of work to do, and I was going to have to drive down a perpetually under construction freeway which has acquired renown for unexpected detours, accidents, and loose flying gravel cracking windshields. I was a reluctant potential juror. However, none of the exemptions applied to me so the day arrived and off I went.
I showed up at the appointed time, sat in a chair in a room with about 300 other potential jurors, and waited patiently for the proceedings to begin. As part of the jury selection process, we were shown a video about the importance of jurors to the American legal system. As I watched the video, I started to feel badly about my initial reluctance. I was going to be part of a tradition going all the way back to King John of England and the Magna Carta! This was truly inspirational stuff! Being a juror is an important part of citizenship, and I was doing my part by being present in that room!
Then the video talked about the great responsibility of a juror, and how your decisions had a life impact on other people. I started to worry. Suppose I made a bad decision? If I got selected, I would potentially change the trajectory of someone's entire life. Suppose we didn't all agree on the verdict? What happened then? Could I put my tendency towards introversion in groups of strangers aside and speak eloquently and persuasively to my fellow jurors about what I thought?
(Side note: I have been told that sometimes I have a tendency to overthink things).
Finally the clerk came out and started calling names chosen by random selection and assigning those individuals to a court. The part of me that was inspired by the video wanted to call out "Pick me! Pick me!" The part of me that was worried about not being able to go on vacation because I'd probably end up getting selected for the Trial of The Century wanted to run and hide.
I sat and listened intently to the clerk calling out the names of the individuals selected. It was obvious that in the jury room on that day were a huge variety of people from all kinds of backgrounds, ethnicities and cultures, taking time from their daily routine to fulfill their obligations as a citizen just like I was. That thought was rather inspirational as well. However, every time the clerk finished calling out a series of names, I was still a bit relieved that I hadn't been called. Pick me! No, don't pick me! I couldn't decide what I wanted.
Finally the clerk announced that anyone who had not been called was free to go. I was done! The random name selector had not chosen me. I was a little relieved, and a little disappointed. I headed back to the freeway of vehicular destruction and made my way home safely, having performed my duty as a responsible citizen.
The last time I was called up for jury duty I had just delivered The Teenager, and since I knew I was going back to work before the date of my summons I couldn't claim the exemption of having to take care of a child, but I did have a logistical question that would need to be addressed. I called the information number on the summons and explained the problem to the sweet clerk who answered the phone.
"You'll need to do what, honey?" she asked me, sounding uncertain.
"Express breast milk". I told her. "I'm nursing an infant. I have a pump, that's not a problem. But I need a room with an electrical outlet, and about 20 minutes of uninterrupted time".
"No one has ever asked me this question before", she said, and then put me on hold. When she came back she told me not to worry about it; they'd excuse me and call me back at a later date for jury duty.
Apparently someone found out that my children are now teenagers; after 17 years, they finally got around to summoning me once again to perform my civic duty as an upstanding citizen.
"Tell them you already know the defendant is guilty", the Grandpa of No advised me. I'm not sure if he was serious or not. A friend of mine told me that he'd been a juror on a trial for embezzlement that had lasted over a week and involved a lot of accounting minutiae that he wasn't sure anyone really understood. Jury duty is one of those adulting experiences in America that almost everyone seems to have a story about.
I was fine with the municipal court summons, but the date the county had assigned me was a week before we went on vacation. I had a lot of work to do, and I was going to have to drive down a perpetually under construction freeway which has acquired renown for unexpected detours, accidents, and loose flying gravel cracking windshields. I was a reluctant potential juror. However, none of the exemptions applied to me so the day arrived and off I went.
I showed up at the appointed time, sat in a chair in a room with about 300 other potential jurors, and waited patiently for the proceedings to begin. As part of the jury selection process, we were shown a video about the importance of jurors to the American legal system. As I watched the video, I started to feel badly about my initial reluctance. I was going to be part of a tradition going all the way back to King John of England and the Magna Carta! This was truly inspirational stuff! Being a juror is an important part of citizenship, and I was doing my part by being present in that room!
Then the video talked about the great responsibility of a juror, and how your decisions had a life impact on other people. I started to worry. Suppose I made a bad decision? If I got selected, I would potentially change the trajectory of someone's entire life. Suppose we didn't all agree on the verdict? What happened then? Could I put my tendency towards introversion in groups of strangers aside and speak eloquently and persuasively to my fellow jurors about what I thought?
(Side note: I have been told that sometimes I have a tendency to overthink things).
Finally the clerk came out and started calling names chosen by random selection and assigning those individuals to a court. The part of me that was inspired by the video wanted to call out "Pick me! Pick me!" The part of me that was worried about not being able to go on vacation because I'd probably end up getting selected for the Trial of The Century wanted to run and hide.
I sat and listened intently to the clerk calling out the names of the individuals selected. It was obvious that in the jury room on that day were a huge variety of people from all kinds of backgrounds, ethnicities and cultures, taking time from their daily routine to fulfill their obligations as a citizen just like I was. That thought was rather inspirational as well. However, every time the clerk finished calling out a series of names, I was still a bit relieved that I hadn't been called. Pick me! No, don't pick me! I couldn't decide what I wanted.
Finally the clerk announced that anyone who had not been called was free to go. I was done! The random name selector had not chosen me. I was a little relieved, and a little disappointed. I headed back to the freeway of vehicular destruction and made my way home safely, having performed my duty as a responsible citizen.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Vacation Time
The Family of No recently went on our summer beach vacation. We all had a great time, relaxing on the beach as the waves crashed onto the shore and pelicans flew overhead, diving for fish in the surf. The Son of Never Stops Eating built sandcastles and I added some new birds to my life list. Everything went well, except some minor sunburn pain and some traffic on the way home which was only to be expected since our route took us right through two major cities.
However, the preparation to go on vacation turns me into the Mom of Everything Must be Sparkling Clean in This House. When I am preparing to go on vacation, I feel the strong urge to leave my house in pristine condition. Beds should be made (preferably with clean sheets); the refrigerator should be nearly empty except for stuff that has a long life, like mustard; and everything should be swept, dusted, and put away in its place. Bills should be all paid and all library books should be returned prior to departure. The e-mail in-box, both at work and at home, should be cleared of all messages. Absolutely no task must be left undone.
I suspect that the family mutt knows when we are going on vacation when I start cleaning out the fridge. She stands by the open refrigerator door looking sad and I know she knows that her people are leaving her for several days. Either that, or she is interpreting the open refrigerator to mean that she might possibly get a piece of cheese if she manages to look cute enough. That dog's motto in life is "You can never have too much cheese".
I instructed the teenagers to clean their rooms before departure, and all I can say about that is that their definition of proper pre-vacation cleaning is definitely different than my definition of proper pre-vacation cleaning, although the Son of Never Stops Eating did put all of his Legos in one large pile on his bedroom floor after some maternal nagging.
That's not what I mean by clean your room, I told him.
Mom, who cares? he responded. Why do you want us to clean the house so much? If someone breaks into the house they won't care how clean it is!
About two hours before departure, he came to report that he did not have enough shorts to take on vacation with him. They were all too small. This, despite my constant questioning (ok, nagging) during the two weeks prior to vacation about do you have everything? Do we need to go get anything? Tell me now! I don't want to hear about it two hours before we leave this house!
That can't be right, I told him. I know you have shorts that fit because we just bought some a couple of months ago. What happened to those shorts?
I don't know, he replied. They're somewhere. I don't know what happened to them. Maybe they disappeared in the washing machine.
After donning my hazmat gear and embarking on an investigative foray into his closet, I discovered the new shorts wadded up in a ball on a shelf. These shorts? I asked him, holding them up. Remember, we bought these shorts? Ooohhh, he replied, staring at them like he'd never seen them before in his life, I forgot about THOSE!
Packing crisis averted.
Finally, we were ready to leave. The fridge was clean, the gas tank was full, the luggage was packed neatly in the back of the car along with the sand castle building supplies and the beach chairs, and everyone had all their technology and charger cords. We pulled out of the driveway, ready to hit the open road. About a mile down the road, we had one more crisis to avert: did we or did we not lock the garage door?
You know how this works: if you don't go back and check, the door is unlocked. If you do go back and check, the door was locked. We went back to check, because it wouldn't be a Family of No road trip without having to go back home one last time. The door was, of course, locked.
The second departure was the charm, and soon we were on the beach, relaxing, building sand castles, and jumping in the surf. When we got home several days later, all was well, until I told the Son of Never Stops Eating that I'd seen school supplies out on a refrigerator restocking run. Vacation was over.
However, the preparation to go on vacation turns me into the Mom of Everything Must be Sparkling Clean in This House. When I am preparing to go on vacation, I feel the strong urge to leave my house in pristine condition. Beds should be made (preferably with clean sheets); the refrigerator should be nearly empty except for stuff that has a long life, like mustard; and everything should be swept, dusted, and put away in its place. Bills should be all paid and all library books should be returned prior to departure. The e-mail in-box, both at work and at home, should be cleared of all messages. Absolutely no task must be left undone.
I suspect that the family mutt knows when we are going on vacation when I start cleaning out the fridge. She stands by the open refrigerator door looking sad and I know she knows that her people are leaving her for several days. Either that, or she is interpreting the open refrigerator to mean that she might possibly get a piece of cheese if she manages to look cute enough. That dog's motto in life is "You can never have too much cheese".
I instructed the teenagers to clean their rooms before departure, and all I can say about that is that their definition of proper pre-vacation cleaning is definitely different than my definition of proper pre-vacation cleaning, although the Son of Never Stops Eating did put all of his Legos in one large pile on his bedroom floor after some maternal nagging.
That's not what I mean by clean your room, I told him.
Mom, who cares? he responded. Why do you want us to clean the house so much? If someone breaks into the house they won't care how clean it is!
About two hours before departure, he came to report that he did not have enough shorts to take on vacation with him. They were all too small. This, despite my constant questioning (ok, nagging) during the two weeks prior to vacation about do you have everything? Do we need to go get anything? Tell me now! I don't want to hear about it two hours before we leave this house!
That can't be right, I told him. I know you have shorts that fit because we just bought some a couple of months ago. What happened to those shorts?
I don't know, he replied. They're somewhere. I don't know what happened to them. Maybe they disappeared in the washing machine.
After donning my hazmat gear and embarking on an investigative foray into his closet, I discovered the new shorts wadded up in a ball on a shelf. These shorts? I asked him, holding them up. Remember, we bought these shorts? Ooohhh, he replied, staring at them like he'd never seen them before in his life, I forgot about THOSE!
Packing crisis averted.
Finally, we were ready to leave. The fridge was clean, the gas tank was full, the luggage was packed neatly in the back of the car along with the sand castle building supplies and the beach chairs, and everyone had all their technology and charger cords. We pulled out of the driveway, ready to hit the open road. About a mile down the road, we had one more crisis to avert: did we or did we not lock the garage door?
You know how this works: if you don't go back and check, the door is unlocked. If you do go back and check, the door was locked. We went back to check, because it wouldn't be a Family of No road trip without having to go back home one last time. The door was, of course, locked.
The second departure was the charm, and soon we were on the beach, relaxing, building sand castles, and jumping in the surf. When we got home several days later, all was well, until I told the Son of Never Stops Eating that I'd seen school supplies out on a refrigerator restocking run. Vacation was over.
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Not the Mom Judge
A few weeks ago, a Facebook friend of mine posted a link to an online "mommy" article. It was one of those "Dear Fellow Mom, let me explain all the stuff you are doing wrong and I am doing right" columns that gives advice to other mothers on how we should all be raising our little cherubs. In this case, it took the form of a mom who had observed another family allowing their offspring to use their technology while eating a meal in public, and this mom took the opportunity to explain to other parents why, based on a one-time short term observation, she felt that letting your kids play on their technology during dinner in a restaurant is a BAD IDEA and you should NOT DO IT.
Um, uh-oh. You better send me that application for the Bad Mom Club, because I definitely qualify for membership on that criteria. Although, now that I think about it, I probably joined the Bad Mom Club years ago. Disregard that application.
The day the Son of Never Stops Eating discovered Angry Birds, it was like a gift from Above. I loaded up the app on an old iPhone and took it with me wherever I went. If he started getting a little impatient and I wasn't done with what I needed to do, out came the Angry Birds phone. I'm sure someone, somewhere, looked at the kid blissfully playing Angry Birds (sound turned way down, of course- I do have some compassion for my fellow human beings) and thought, what a terrible mother that woman must be, letting her kid play Angry Birds while (fill in activity). It was either that or thirty minutes of "Are we done yet? I'm done. Let's go, Mom. Time to go. I'm done. Talking is closed. Are we done yet?". Pick one.
For some reason, those articles become less frequent the older the kids get, or maybe I just notice them less, but that is one good thing about having teenagers as opposed to small kids: either there is less Mom judging, or I'm just at the point in my Mom career where I'm purposefully oblivious to it because I have other stuff on my mind, like nagging my teenager about college applications or wondering why there is no milk in the fridge when I know that we bought four gallons two days ago.
A few months ago, I was in a restaurant with The Teenager after a campus tour. We were both wiped out and ravenously hungry after hiking about six miles all over a college campus while listening to a perky student tour guide explain why this particular university was an amazing place, and all we could think about was food. When we sat down after ordering, a younger mother with a very cute little boy sat down near us, and the little boy started doing what little boys do: he got up and started moving around.
What I was thinking: Boy, do I wish I had that much energy, because, oy vey, my feet are killing me and my brain is on information overload.
She looked over at me and, looking bashful, apologized for her son. I suspect she might have been expecting a torrent of Mom judging. I just laughed and told her not to worry about it. I was honestly so tired that a circus could have set up shop in that restaurant and the only thing on my mind would have been "Feet hurt. Bring food".
At least her son was fully dressed. I once chased a naked toddler around a department store while the toddler yelled gleefully, "Pants are OFF!" and other shoppers stood with mouths gaping wide open at the very public demonstration of my inept mothering skills, so I am definitely in no position to judge anyone else's parenting technique. That might have actually been when I first joined the Bad Mom Club.
So, to all the young mothers out there, just know this: you don't need to apologize to me for your little kids being little kids. Other people might express annoyance, or start telling you what you really should be doing. If you see me looking at you, I'm probably mentally reminiscing about the days my own kids were young and doing pretty much the same things your kids are probably doing right now. So if you need to pull out your version of the Angry Birds phone to get something accomplished, go for it. I'm certainly not going to judge you.
Um, uh-oh. You better send me that application for the Bad Mom Club, because I definitely qualify for membership on that criteria. Although, now that I think about it, I probably joined the Bad Mom Club years ago. Disregard that application.
The day the Son of Never Stops Eating discovered Angry Birds, it was like a gift from Above. I loaded up the app on an old iPhone and took it with me wherever I went. If he started getting a little impatient and I wasn't done with what I needed to do, out came the Angry Birds phone. I'm sure someone, somewhere, looked at the kid blissfully playing Angry Birds (sound turned way down, of course- I do have some compassion for my fellow human beings) and thought, what a terrible mother that woman must be, letting her kid play Angry Birds while (fill in activity). It was either that or thirty minutes of "Are we done yet? I'm done. Let's go, Mom. Time to go. I'm done. Talking is closed. Are we done yet?". Pick one.
For some reason, those articles become less frequent the older the kids get, or maybe I just notice them less, but that is one good thing about having teenagers as opposed to small kids: either there is less Mom judging, or I'm just at the point in my Mom career where I'm purposefully oblivious to it because I have other stuff on my mind, like nagging my teenager about college applications or wondering why there is no milk in the fridge when I know that we bought four gallons two days ago.
A few months ago, I was in a restaurant with The Teenager after a campus tour. We were both wiped out and ravenously hungry after hiking about six miles all over a college campus while listening to a perky student tour guide explain why this particular university was an amazing place, and all we could think about was food. When we sat down after ordering, a younger mother with a very cute little boy sat down near us, and the little boy started doing what little boys do: he got up and started moving around.
What I was thinking: Boy, do I wish I had that much energy, because, oy vey, my feet are killing me and my brain is on information overload.
She looked over at me and, looking bashful, apologized for her son. I suspect she might have been expecting a torrent of Mom judging. I just laughed and told her not to worry about it. I was honestly so tired that a circus could have set up shop in that restaurant and the only thing on my mind would have been "Feet hurt. Bring food".
At least her son was fully dressed. I once chased a naked toddler around a department store while the toddler yelled gleefully, "Pants are OFF!" and other shoppers stood with mouths gaping wide open at the very public demonstration of my inept mothering skills, so I am definitely in no position to judge anyone else's parenting technique. That might have actually been when I first joined the Bad Mom Club.
So, to all the young mothers out there, just know this: you don't need to apologize to me for your little kids being little kids. Other people might express annoyance, or start telling you what you really should be doing. If you see me looking at you, I'm probably mentally reminiscing about the days my own kids were young and doing pretty much the same things your kids are probably doing right now. So if you need to pull out your version of the Angry Birds phone to get something accomplished, go for it. I'm certainly not going to judge you.
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