Yep, that'll teach ya (I hope...)

The boys informed me a couple of years ago--in no uncertain terms, mind you--that they were officially Done With Camps. You might be familiar with the scenario of which I speak...I believe it's called "send the kids away for a few hours a day of structured playtime, so Mom gets a respite from the inevitable bickering...and constant togetherness"...or something like that. Well, having milked that for a bunch of years, I reluctantly agreed (while sobbing quietly into a tissue) that it was time to give it up. Plus, with me working only part time and the children being old enough to remain on their own for short stretches, it wasn't as urgent for me to find...stuff....to keep them occupied. (And now, Husband works from home, so HE gets his turn to be the Head Daytime Zookeeper...mwah hah hah...)

So here we are, about 2-1/2 weeks into the Summer Break, and I'd say things have mostly been pleasant. There's been some Brother Bonding Time, when they head outside for a sports session, or collaborate to beat a level on a video game. Occasionally of course this degenerates into a squabble of some kind--okay, it's nearly always Riley who gets upset about something Derek does, or says...or the way he looks at him...or whatever. Then we institute a Separate and Cool Off Period, where each combatant--um "son"--retreats into his own room for a while. And sometimes they even just peacefully occupy the same space in companionable silence, like when they sprawl next to each other on one of their beds, each playing on his own phone, but updating one another on developments....or random thoughts that occur to them out of thin air.

Yet amidst all the cooperation and calm, a few ominous hints have popped up, indicating that we might need to think about offering just a wee bit more...perhaps scheduled activities? Better yet: household chores? For example, I came home from work today, and the first topic of conversation was (not making this up) the episode of Love It or List It they had watched while eating lunch. That's right, as much as they turn up their noses at the Cooking Channel, it seems I've managed to brainwash the boys into enjoying HGTV...even when I'm not around. (Yep, it's all part of my Evil Plan...to get them to...I don't know...fix stuff...and redecorate....and whatnot.)

But wouldn't you know it--I got a free refresher course in just what happens if you give adolescent boys that most dangerous of commodities: too much time on their hands. As far as I knew, they were in Riley's room, relaxing and chatting. Then suddenly Riley came hustling into the kitchen, asking in a slightly panicked voice as he stuck his head into the pantry, "Do we have any wipes? Where are they?" (Alarm bells began blaring as my Mom Radar sensed a possible emergency situation....) I got him to hold still for a second and at least begin explaining to me what happened, "I was spinning around in my chair...and I threw up...and I didn't quite make it all the way." Oh, for the love of PETE. I distinctly recall hearing them set up this little diversion as I was leaving the room. Apparently the contest was to rotate for 90 seconds, then try to make a shot with the Nerf ball on the over-the-door hoop. At the time, I registered what a foolish idea it was...but neglected to point this out. "They'll be fiiiiiine," I optimistically shrugged, "What could go wrong?"

WELL. Riley was pretty upset, as he toted the paper towels and cleaning cloths upstairs. "I'm gonna take care of it all," he kept assuring me. So I should have been prepared when I rounded the corner and faced the...carnage. I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say it was a colossal D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R in that bathroom. (The only fortunate aspect being that it's one they share...and I never have to use it...) He got to work diligently wiping down all of the affected surfaces, while I stood there sighing and mentally slapping my forehead. Honestly, though...despite the utter disgustingness of the episode...I had to try reaaaaaaaly hard not to laugh. Seriously? The male thought process? Can anyone explain it to me?

I left Riley to continue repairing the damage (which he did in a very responsible, thorough fashion, I must say) while I went back downstairs to report the incident to Husband. I stood there brandishing a wastebasket full of soiled paper towels and a handful of compostable wipes, and as he looked up at me quizzically from his perch in front of the soccer game he was trying to watch I dramatically declared, "I blame YOU for this!" His expression became even more puzzled....until I relayed the short version of Riley's escapade. At which point he--you guessed it--burst into hysterical laughter.

That's it--tomorrow I'm leaving lengthy To Do Lists for ALL of them...enough to keep them busy until I get home, at the very least. Just think: the house will be spotless...the lawn can be weeded...the...um...spice rack could be alphabetized....and at absolutely no time will there be a spare moment whatsoever for frivolous whirling in chairs...or puking! Now, if you'll excuse me, I clearly need to go invent some more inane--I mean "necessary and useful" tasks for the Male Posse...

Beware...of Teens...With Driving Privileges!

This week, Derek was scheduled for the behind-the-wheel segment of his Driver's Education experience. (Excuse me just one moment....aaarrrrgh! Okay, I'm better now...) He spent 3 sessions, 2 hours each, with his instructor, absorbing all he could about the delicate operations of a motor vehicle. I got to meet his teacher in person the first day when I dropped Derek off, and let me just tell you that Mr. F gives the immediate impression of being as warm, gregarious...and also calm, and laid-back...as anyone you'd ever hope to meet. These are positive, reassuring qualities to observe in the person who's going to be spending time in a car with your child for his first-ever attempt at driving. (Come to think of it, they're admirable traits for ANYONE who deals with adolescents in a tightly confined, enclosed space on a regular basis, yeah? I should try it sometime...sigh...)

I asked Derek how he felt before his initial session, and he admitted to some butterflies in the old stomach region. I think he felt better after being introduced to the friendly Mr. F...and hearing that they'd be starting out in the (totally empty) parking lot, getting the feel for the automobile, learning how to adjust the important controls, working on parking...and moving verrrry slowly at first. That, of course, was the nice, easy, "Welcome to the Road, Kid" portion.

The next day, they'd be exploring Franklin Street, the main thoroughfare through downtown Chapel Hill. It's 2 lanes each way, and lined with meters on both sides, requiring you to watch for not only the row of parked cars, but also people slowing down to approach a space, or pulling in or out of one. There are also stoplights on every block, each of which has crosswalks for the myriad of pedestrians who meander through the shopping-and-restaurant-rich area on foot. To add to the festivities, there are one-way streets in the mix. Oh, and did I mention that they would be going during Rush Hour (you know, such as it is, down here) so Derek would have to negotiate the joy of traffic as well? Jeez, when you consider all of those factors...the whole process sounds ridiculously difficult...bordering on downright impossible! It makes you wonder how we adults manage to do this every day of our lives, doesn't it? This is probably why Derek returned home afterwards and declared, “Driving is absolutely exhausting! There’s so much to think about and pay attention to!” Very good, grasshopper—remember that, will you please?

Finally, the ultimate meeting involved the Big Challenge: driving on Interstate 40. (Even I was nervous for Derek that day. My baby…venturing out onto the confusing, terrifying Multi-Lane Highway…of Doom. He’d be managing all of these crazy factors—accelerating, merging, maintaining speed, changing lanes, passing, decelerating, exiting….and probably lots of other “ings”. Ay yi yi. What could I possibly say to encourage him…I know, how about, “If you feel you’re driving like a nice little old grandma…that’s probably what's best.” I mean, there’s no reason to go getting all Need for Speed out there in these early stages, right? And it all worked out; everyone came back safely…the car, Mr. F, and my child.

But you want to know the REALLY nutty thing? After just 6 hours, he now has his Certificate stating that he successfully completed the course. We take this to his high school along with his final 9th grade Report Card, to get the Eligibility Form, saying that he failed fewer than 2 classes. (Evidently you must be an adequate student to be allowed in the driver’s seat, although I’m not entirely sure why. Maturity? Responsibility? Readiness? Do these really correlate to grades? Hmm…) Then, with these 2 pieces of paper in hand, he’ll be allowed to apply for his Learner’s Permit. That’s right, folks, he could presumably show up at the DMV tomorrow (well, not really, since they don’t open on Sunday, but you get my drift), at age 15 years, 2 months, and 13 days, and take the written test. When he passes it, he’ll be green-lighted (ha!) to drive--with a parent in attendance--for 1 year, clocking at least 60 hours of monitored, recorded practice. 

Several of his friends have already reached this phase, and we've spotted them carefully, slowly navigating the neighborhood streets in the family vehicle. So I've seen it coming...but it still just doesn't seem possible that these KIDS can handle...everything that comes with driving. I can tell you, I predict that it'll be a loooooong time before I feel comfortable enough to sit on the passenger side while Derek tackles the highway. Hey, since he can't drive my car anyway (manual transmission, don't ya know--yay! I mean "darn, too bad"...) perhaps it'll be Dad's Job to accompany him when Mom's feeling too...jittery. Fortunately we live in an area with quite a few smaller roads and lots of rural surroundings for him to get his proverbial feet wet. 

Oh, what the heck...we'll just get him one of those dorky (but informative and helpful) Student Driver magnets to slap on the car, so people will give him a wide berth and plenty of patience. Then he can get some practice in by chauffeuring us all to...hmm...oh, I know: Ben & Jerry's on Franklin Street! Yeah, suddenly I'm totally getting behind this idea. Or...maybe Husband can just go with him, and they can bring me back something...we'll see how it goes!

We all made it...through the first day...

So, once I settled down a tad from the initial shot of euphoria caused by the prospect of rejoining the workforce, my thoughts were free to wander to a couple of other matters. First of all, of course, is the teensy tiny detail--a trifling concern, really--that absolutely everyone in the household's life is about to undergo an upheaval...of gargantuan proportions.

Okay, that might have been a bit dramatic. (From MOI? How unexpected!) Actually, the truth is that during the school year, it won't really affect the running of...stuff...much at all. I'll be gone while the boys are off studying, and back before they return home. But the Summer is a different story...one that just happens to star...( dah dah dah DAH) Husband! Yes, this whole scenario is made possible by his work-from-home situation. While the kids are pretty much capable of fending for themselves these days, at least they have a parental representative close at hand to attend and assist, should it become necessary. And believe me, this component is essential to my peace of mind. (I may be pretty laid back in general, but I'm just not the kind of mom who's relaxed enough to vanish for hours and allow the savages--I mean "sons"--to monitor themselves. I may be wrong...or overly suspicious...but I have to assume there'd be just a bit too much...running amok...for my taste. Better supervised than sorry, I always say...or at least, I will NOW...)

After Day 1, I can happily report that everyone seemed to survive just fine without me for a while. Heck, the lazy adolescents hadn't even emerged from their rooms yet to notice I was missing by the time I breezed out the door this morning. Better yet: somehow, magically, the Laundry Fairy visited and emptied the hamper while I was away. I know it's ridiculous, but as the person who normally handles 99% of the dirty clothes, I cannot even tell you how jubilant this made me. Which brings me to an interesting idea: there's no earthly reason why the minions--jeez, "children"--can't manage one washload a day while they're enjoying their vacation, right? I'm sensing an opportunity to establish a brand new Division of Labor scheme for Team WestEnders. (Mwah hah hah!)

On a related note, although my position is part-time, exactly like I wanted, I'll be going in every day, Monday to Friday. I know--so what? That's what employed people DO, duh! And yes, that's absolutely true...it's just that I, personally, haven't been on this schedule since, oh, 15 years ago when I began a maternity leave of absence to stay home with Derek. It really won't be a big deal; I expect it'll just take a period of adjustment for me to figure out the get up/drink adequate amounts of coffee/eat something routine (that one, in particular, will be challenging for me, as I tend not to breakfast until mid morning, when left to my own devices). Then of course there's the next crucial phase: face/hair/outfit--which can be its own...bugaboo...depending on such important factors as weather, mood, expected tasks to be performed that day...and other...less tangible...influences.

Thus we have arrived at the one aspect of my new working persona that caused me no small amount of...let's call it "clothing angst". You see, in my entire career up to this point, I've never been in an environment that called for "business casual" attire. Elementary school? Puh-leeze, you could get marker...or glitter glue or...any number of things that are infinitely worse...on you at any given moment, so "dressing up" would have been foolhardy, rather than admirable. And at the community college, as long as you were neat and presentable--and preferably didn't appear to be one of the students--you were good to go. So, yeah...my warm weather wardrobe, especially, fell a little bit (okay, a LOT) on the "too informal for an office" side of the spectrum. And while the pants I wear during the chilly months are perfectly acceptable, I found out very quickly (the hard way--sticky legs, eww!) that they're too heavy to feel good when we're undergoing a heat wave....such as right this minute. (Trust me, it's HOT out there...y'all...)

What to do about this conundrum? Pfft...go shopping, naturally! I successfully hunted down a couple of pairs of lighter trousers; then, in a completely uncharacteristic move, I also bought (wait for it) several dresses and a skirt! Um...you may be wondering "This is special...how?" Only because it's literally been YEARS since I've donned either of those items. That's me, being all crazy, right? Well, when I returned home, fresh from my first workday, Husband made a point of summoning the boys away from their video game, so they could see what I looked like (before I changed into "normal clothes", you know). They were...flummoxed...speechless....perhaps a smidge uneasy. I assured them that yes, I was still their mother, and furthermore, I'd be switching to shorts and a tee-shirt in 5 minutes. (This seemed to assuage their fears, so they could get back to playing--I know you must be as relieved as I am about this...)

So, there you have it. I left everyone, they did okay without me, and I got to dress and behave like a professional adult for the first time in a while. Yay! Hey, whattya say we do this thing again...tomorrow? (But perhaps I'll put together a nice pants/short-sleeved shirt combo, you know, just so I don't freak the kids out 2 days in a row...)

The End of the Unplanned Sabbatical (is nigh....)

On Monday morning, I’ll wake up to an alarm. (Which I don’t honestly think I’ve done since the days when I was employed as an SLP for a school system in Maryland...15 years ago!) Then I’ll make coffee…okay, exactly the same as every other day of my life, for as long as I can remember. Next I’ll don an office-appropriate outfit, do the makeup thing, fiddle with the hair…and drive to work. Yaaaayyy!

Why on earth, you might ask, am I so stoked about something that many folks do every day (whether they are particularly gung-ho about it or not)? Because my current position—unpaid Household Manager—has worn supremely thin over the past year, and it is just HIGH time to shake things up. That’s right, it’s time to dress like a professional…interact with adults…perform my job (about which I will be pleased to provide details, you know, after I actually start)…and earn a paycheck. Oh, words cannot adequately express how much I’ve missed these things. (Yeah, I do realize how dorky that sounds...Eh, I'm fine with that...)

You see, when we relocated to North Carolina I knew that, realistically, I might have arrived at a... vocational fork-in-the-road, which would require me to strike out onto a fresh path. But as anyone who knows me will attest, I’m totally cool with that. I certainly wouldn’t say I’m...fickle...about my career choices…but I do wholeheartedly embrace change and welcome opportunities to try new things. That being said, the obvious $64,000 question was: What to Do Now?

After copious amounts of soul-searching--and a bit of hand-wringing—I revamped my resume and began hitting those employment websites. At first, once a week seemed acceptable; after all, I didn’t want to make myself cuckoo, or anything. But then as time passed, and the applications piled up, and nothing panned out, I found that the crazy was creeping up on me anyway. Oh, and desperation. Also a growing feeling of dissatisfaction because, let's face it, laundry and grocery store runs and trips to Costco are just NOT that fulfilling as a full-time occupation when you get right down to it. Add to that the fact that the kiddos don’t need their Mommy 24/7 anymore, and you have a recipe for…well, a lot of unstructured, unproductive hours…coupled with no small amount of boredom. Hmm, what else? Right: a nagging sense of worthlessness, stemming from not being out there in the workplace, contributing to society or—I’ll admit it—being compensated (by more than just the free samples at the Big Box Warehouse-‘o-Stuff, you know).

I honestly didn’t anticipate experiencing any of these emotions…but then again, I hadn’t been a stay-at-home type person for a full year since I took a leave of absence when Derek was born. And lest I forget to mention it, there was the different dynamic created by Husband's job transitioning to home-based. I mean sure, he’s a great guy, and all...it’s just that I’m sooooo not used to such a large amount of…constant togetherness…fueling my desire to get the HECK out of the house and go do my own thing. So I plugged along, scanning the lists, selecting posts that sounded like something that A) I might be qualified for and B) that would be stimulating enough to keep me satisfied. Plus “part time”, since I still was responsible for all of those mundane tasks previously mentioned. (Hey, the food doesn’t just magically appear in the fridge, no matter how much the growing boys—or I—might wish it.

Along the way there were some interviews….where I tried my best to be charming, and knowledgeable, and articulate and…whatever else they might find appealing. But sadly, no one chose me. The rejection was slightly ego-bruising…at first. Eventually, though, it bordered on, let’s say “crushing” (but honestly, that could possibly have been due to my worsening psychological condition…Paralyzing Dread of Being Forced to Accomplish Household Chores). I’m not gonna lie: a wee bit of despair was beginning to creep in, jockeying for supremacy over the fragile hope that was still valiantly struggling to survive. Why, oh why couldn’t anyone just take my word, that although the exact skills and experience you’re seeking might not appear on my resume, I’m a reasonably intelligent human being, willing and eager to learn, and if you give me the chance, I will Figure. It. Out.

Until…at last...someone did decide to take a leap of faith and believe me. And did I tell you I’ll be going there on Monday, to enthusiastically do…absolutely anything they ask of me. Even if that includes storming Target for paper towels and tea bags to replenish the break room supplies. Because it’s totally a fun, useful, meaningful errand when it’s your JOB! So, stay tuned for the next installment: Tales from the Office...

Art Appreciation...mostly

The NC Museum of Art in Raleigh had been on my Field Trip radar for several months. Having perused the website, I thought it sounded like a really cool place--offering exhibits inside the buildings, as well as a large campus with abundant green space and paths, set up for you to meander while viewing the various installations set up outside. So, I had finally gotten around to putting it on the calendar--for last Thursday--when the whole "Derek isn't going to school" situation cropped up. This left me with a dilemma: do I leave the teenager at home, unsupervised, and therefore prohibited from hanging out with his friends anyway...or do I drag him along with me--I mean "extend the invitation to accompany me on a fun excursion...whisper whisper whisper". (I might have intentionally mumbled/slurred the precise destination, so as not to evoke his instant refusal when he heard the phrase "art museum". It happens....)

See? I couldn't even make this stuff up...

Just kidding--I did actually tell him where we would be going. And whattya know--even being in possession of this information, he agreed to come along. (Without bribery...or coercion, it should be noted. A modern-day miracle!) After an easy drive and a rewardingly simple time finding the place, we arrived ready to...be culturized....or something. (On second thought, that sounds like a process that happens to yogurt, so never mind...where was I?) Did  I mention that both the museum itself AND the parking are F-R-E-E? I was already pleased, I tell ya. Since the forecast promised temperatures approaching, oh, let's say "surface of the sun" in the later afternoon, we wisely opted to wander through the outdoor points of interest first. And it is indeed a lovely, peaceful place for strolling. As for the artwork itself, we found some of the examples attractive (such as an enormous "tree" crafted from a shiny silver substance), others impressive (like a garden full of figures by Rodin--no "Thinker", but many other extremely lifelike humans cast in bronze), and a few...downright inexplicable (e.g. a gigantic blob of metal in which the only part with an actual shape was...the feet. Don't ask me...what the heck do I know about art?)


Thus having dripped our way back to the gateway to air-conditioned heaven--otherwise known as the "front door"--we stepped inside to continue our artistic journey. And again, a large portion of the displayed items fell into the category of "what you'd expect in an art museum". There were alcoves dedicated to different categories: African tribal, ancient Egyptian, Classical, etc. Innumerable ceramics and busts and portraits. (Oh my!) It was all quite...pleasant. And then, after you'd politely given your attention to these worthy treasures for a while...you stumbled into the realm of stuff that was a bit more...we'll call it "unusual". A trio of crouching men, softly lit from inside, carved with quotes form the Bible, suspended from the walls. A solid blue uneven-polygon-shaped canvas. (Nope, that's it. If you're waiting for the punchline, your guess is as good as mine....) And possibly our absolute favorite: a rectangle, perhaps 6 feet by 4 feet, constructed from what appeared for all the world to be irregularly-cut, damaged bits of drywall, stuck together mosaic-style.

I stood in front of it, stunned into silence by the sheer...RIDICULOUSNESS...of the piece. (This of course is my own non-professional-art-critic opinion--please, by all means, go ahead and feel free to disagree with me...) Derek, however, broke into immediate snorts of laughter and exclaimed, "What the? You could make this just by looking through the trash at Home Depot!" Um...yes. Well said, grasshopper. This led us to a brief but animated discussion about "what constitutes 'art'", during which we didn't exactly reach any firm conclusions except...I suppose anything can be justified as an artist's self-expression. So for me, the more pointed question really is: Okay, I totally accept that premise...but should it be hanging in a museum?

Anyway, I consider the day a rousing success overall, as we were thoroughly entertained and slightly educated...all while getting to share some unscheduled Mother/Son bonding time. Add in a stop for lunch on the way home, and this one goes in the Win column!

Learn something new every day (or maybe NOT)

Oh-kaaay, here we go--remember "those byegone days" (yeah, or...YESTERDAY) when I smugly vowed that no matter what all the other kids were doing, with their more permissive parents and whatnot, my son would certainly be dragging his teenage tushie to class for the last 2 (evidently futile) days of the school year? Um...right...prepare yourself for the Official Retraction of my previous statement.

It all started when Derek reported last night that his Science teacher had taken an informal poll to figure out how many of his pupils would be in attendance today for the scheduled 2-1/2 hour exam period--since they'd already completed their test earlier in the week. To the approximately 4 hand-raisers, he matter-of-factly stated, "Well, if you do show up, you'll be sitting around....watching paint dry." This delightful man further offered to personally pen a note to whoever's parentals weren't on the Ditch the Last Days bandwagon, explaining exactly why the students didn't need to show up. (Dedicated educator, absolutely. Summer-itis? You betcha...) When Derek returned home this afternoon he confirmed that they had, in fact...done absolutely nothing at all. Good. Times...

My darling child further informed us that during the entire day, there were never more than 10 people in class...and often as few as 3 (including our own Mandatory Rule Follower, of course). According to him, teachers were already bidding everyone goodbye and wishing them a nice vacation. But the best anecdote, as far as I was concerned, came courtesy of his Math instructor, who asked her students if they would be at school Thursday and Friday. When Derek sheepishly indicated that he thought he would, she exclaimed, "WHY? Do you have, like, 29 absences in a class, or something?" What we are to infer from this: unless you're in danger of receiving a failing grade due to truancy, you're neither required...nor expected...or even wanted, for that matter...to show up for The End. Some teachers made it clear that they're not even planning to call the roll, so the consequences would be...minimal, at worst...non-existent, at best.

But wait: believe it or not, it gets even better. You might recall that particular buddy whose mom picked up her son and Derek at noon-ish earlier in the week because they didn't have a Final in the after-lunch slot. Well, today she was back, retrieving her child....and the rest of Derek's pals (to hear him tell it, at least)...to bring them home for pizza! Holy...Parentally-Endorsed Hooky, Batman--that's...heck, I don't quite know what it is. As stunning as that was, however, Derek saved the biggest shock for last. On the bus trip home today...he was the ONLY rider. When he strolled in after his solitary walk home from the bus stop of his choosing--as the driver had allowed the sole passenger to decree where he wished to be dropped off --he began making his case for why he should be permitted to just write off Thursday and Friday. At this point, I admit I was finding it hard to argue with him, especially when he reasonably pointed out, "I'll be more productive if I stay home."  And you know he must be bordering-on-desperate when he added, "Seriously, give me chores or something if you want; that's fine with me."

Good grief--the kid is willing to do whatever random household tasks we dream up for him, rather than parking himself in mostly-empty classrooms for 7 periods. And you know what? Husband and I just can't seem to come up with a good reason to make him go. So anyway, this is all just a huge news flash to me, I tell ya. I don't know whether it's a Chapel Hill thing...or more of a universal  High School phenomenon...but we went ahead and accepted the Petition for Excused Absence, nevertheless. I guess we can chalk this up (ha! sorry...) to "live and learn", right? Just so long as it's not after the designated Brain Shutdown Date of, say, June 9th, or so...

Pop Quiz...and I did NOT study...

Remember the good old days (you know, "last week") when my teenage son told me I was waaaaay more of a hard....nose...than his friends' parents? Well, I may have redeemed myself just a little bit today--although it came with a mighty struggle, I tell ya. Here's what happened: I was out running errands when my phone started going crazy. Buzz buzz BUZZZZZZ it rumbled repeatedly, insistently demanding my attention. When I checked the screen, I saw 3 missed calls, all from some shady character identified as..."Derek". "Uh-oh," I thought, "I wonder what's wrong. Hmm...he could have forgotten his lunch--that certainly constitutes a crisis of epic proportions...at least in his world. Or...nah, that's about the only thing I can think of that would make him this frantic."

For whatever unfortunate reason, at that moment I seemed to be stationed in a bit of a dead zone, cell-coverage-wise. So the voicemail he left didn't actually record. But the 4 texts he sent, all of which just said "Mom" managed to get through. After pulling into the grocery store parking lot and determining that I once again had service (literally across the street from where I had been 30 seconds before--who knows how these mysterious "bars" work?) I messaged him back, something along the lines of "Good grief, child, what the HECK do you need?" Once he figured out that I was tuned in, he called again. In a slightly breathless rush he said,"I don't have an exam this afternoon, and I'd only be missing one class, so can I come home after lunch?"

My jaw dropped as I sat there struggling to process this downright alarming and unprecedented request. Into the silence he interjected what I'm sure he hoped would be convincing information for his argument, "Mac's (not his real name...to protect the identity of the co-conspirator) mom is picking him up, and she'll bring me home, too, so you don't have to do anything!" Oh, that's just dandy--like I need Parental Peer Pressure to cope with when making this decision? (Once-removed, I suppose, since it was actually coming from the offspring, and not the adult...but still! I felt the heat!)

When I'd taken a moment to gather my wits, I began the logical process of fact-finding: "So, you had your Spanish exam this morning?" "Yeah!" he cheerfully replied, and added for good measure, "I think it went well, too!" "And this afternoon's test block is reserved for the slot when you have Study Period, right?" He confirmed this, then assured me, "And in History, we've already finished our review, so I wouldn't be missing anything important anyway." I asked which tests he still had to take. "History and Math (which out of all his subjects, would have to be considered his nemesis) ...but I already met with Ms. R (the Numbers Lady) to go over some stuff, and she told me what to study, so I should be okay."

I was wavering, yet still vaguely uneasy about the whole thing...I mean, even considering such an act of....academic non-compliance...is soooooooo out-of-character for me. And the fact that this is High School...and they can just WALK OUT...no note....no Mom stopping by the office to sign the attendance book....continues to utterly boggle my mind. (I waited all afternoon for the Skipping Class Police to call  and, I don't know, scold me harshly? Require a written excuse delivered by a certain time, or else it would go down on my...I mean HIS permanent record? Yeah, clearly, I'm not cut out for this kind of rebellious behavior...)

In the end, after exacting a promise that he will, in fact, budget an ample amount of time this evening to prepare for his finals, I agreed to let him execute the jailbreak with his buddy and their getaway driver, "Mac's mother". Oh, and I also warned him that he should NOT expect this to become a regular occurrence...such as later this week when all of his exams are over. Oh no, mister, your butt is staying in school until the bitter end--which would be "Friday at about 1:30".

Then, their only-reluctantly-approved choices were further rewarded, if you can believe it, by the aforementioned parental accomplice dropping Derek, his ex-cellmate, and a third pal--whose familial authority figures apparently are also on board with the whole "Get Out of School Free" policy--at a local restaurant where they bought themselves a nice lunch...alone! Sheesh! (Again, no one called to complain, so I guess I can assume they comported themselves appropriately. Fingers crossed...also it's only fair to note that the Mom in charge made them sit down and do some homework before turning them loose for food. So there was at least a tiny amount of discipline involved in this caper...)

Here's the thing: suddenly, after years of being--let's face it--sheltered and supervised, Derek seems to be spreading his wings in a big way. Is it any wonder I'm just a wee bit...discomposed? Happily, we live in a very safe little suburb...and he has fallen in with what appears to be a quality group of guys. However...I have a feeling this has the potential to be an...interesting...Summer...y'all!

What are they testing? Oh yeah...my patience...

Well, folks, we're nearly there...the end of another academic term is so close, the boys can almost see the shining rays of daylight at the end of the tunnel....taste the sweet freedom...smell the coconut-y sunscreen...hear the tinkly bells of the ice cream truck...feel the sweltering pavement under their feet as they set out questing for adventures...and what have you. Of course, they would have been sprung next Wednesday, before the addition of 2 "Bonus Instructional Opportunities" tacked onto the end as a result of our pesky Winter Disaster in February (Yeah, it was comprised of a fair amount of snow...a little ice...and 2 solid weeks of pandemonium. Good times...)

Even so, Derek helpfully pointed out, oh, at least a week ago, that "learning is pretty much over for the year" as the high schoolers  reportedly prepared for their exams by reviewing and practicing the material. And, whoo boy, has THAT whole rigamarole been...I suppose "enlightening" isn't really the word, since I'm not quite sure I truly understand it yet. You see, first there are EOGs...which means comprehensive End of Grade tests . Riley has these for Language Arts and Math. But for Science and Social Studies he has NCFEs--which no one actually defined for me, but with my vast intellectual capacity I figured out most likely means North Carolina Final Exams. These are computerized and presumably standardized across the state.

However, according to the Freshman, he has one NCFE (English, pencil and paper), one EOC (End of Class, which apparently is the high school equivalent of EOG--oh, and it's Biology...and taken on the computer), and the rest just garden variety written Finals. (Got all that? Yeah, me neither...glad it's not MY job to keep all this straight!) So, suffice it to say there's been some intense study-type-action happening around here. But during a break in the brain-cramming, Derek sprawled in my office "keeping me company" (um..."preventing me from writing this post...yesterday when it should have been done") and sharing his deepest adolescent boy thoughts. (Are you feeling trepidation? You probably should be...) Such as the following: "Even though we're not going to be doing anything for the last few days of school (uh-oh, you can see where this is going, yeah?) do I still have to go?" Oh, for the love of Pete, what kind of ridiculous question is that? 'Cuz you already KNOW the answer, my precious, beloved child.

And of course he did, in fact, anticipate what I would say. But he shook his head ruefully and commented, "I find that you're waaaaay more strict than my friends' moms. Both in Maryland and here, my friends will shake their heads and go 'Are you KIDDING me?!' when I tell them what your rules are." Siiiiighhhh. So, using my powers of deduction to fill in the blanks, I'm inferring from this that evidently I'm hopelessly old-fashioned because I make an attempt to limit the amount of violence and gore my kids are exposed to in the form of video games and movies....and I impose a curfew time that I expect them to be home and in bed.

Huh. I'm gonna have to go out on a fragile limb here and state, "I don't give a flying fig what the other parents do...that's the way it's gonna be, so suck it up and deal with it." (Oh dear. Using much more...colorful...language, that was a pretty scarily accurate paraphrase of my own mother...hmm, something about apples and trees...) He did have the last laugh of our little chat, however, as he ended with, "There's an election coming up soon...so you might want to rethink some of your less popular policies...or risk getting voted out of office." (Yeah, good luck with that, dude. I'm afraid "Queen" is not a democratically selected position, much to your chagrin, I'm sure...)

Minor skirmishes with the mildly rebellious 15-year old aside, the younger son has his own issues... showing signs of cracking under the accumulated weight of 6th grade as he nears the last days. How does this manifest, you might wonder? Let's just say he's been exhibiting an extreme excess of...goofiness. (And for him, this is reeeaaallly saying something, believe me...) He springs in through the door after school and immediately begins jabbering about one thing or another--what happened that day...something he noticed on the way home...or just random, unconnected and barely comprehensible thoughts plucked from his stream of consciousness. Meanwhile he ricochets around the kitchen, gathering his snack and projecting a veritable force field of...fidgety energy. (Makes me want another nap, I tell ya...)

Then there's the recent fascination he's developed for the genre I'll call the Utterly Horrific Pun. For example, the Science curriculum saved one last project for the conclusion of their teaching time. It involves dissecting cow eyes to study the mechanics of vision (I know, right: ewwwww. But also sort of cool...) So one day he says to me, with an absolutely evil smirk on his face, "Hey, today in Science Ms. K said 'I am teaching...the pupils'!" Ugggghhhh. As I groaned theatrically and smacked my forehead, he giggled delightedly and added the kicker: "I know...that's such a...cornea...joke!" At which point I had no recourse but to chase him, shrieking (yes, both of us), from the room to put an end (temporarily, I'm sure) to the madness.

All I can say is: it will be over soon. (Take deep breaths, and repeat in a soothing voice until tranquility is restored. Preferably in a chaise lounge with a fruity beverage and a trashy novel....and really, would a cabana boy fanning me be too much to ask? I guarantee you that would go far toward helping with the "inner peace" thing. Perhaps I've found my To-Do List for Friday...)