It wasn't like I was heading into the great unknown. The kids in my school were the same ones I'd met through my siblings, in Kindergarten or at the Little League field or at church.
Flash forward to Alison Reed who shadowed at 6 different high schools before applying to three. Accepted at two of the three, she's been holding her breath and probably even praying for the third to come in. The day before we were prepared to accept her second choice, she got the letter from Herron saying a spot had opened and did she still want to attend.
She squealed. She danced. She jumped for joy.
And then we had to sit down and do the tough evaluation of the two schools because while she got to weigh in, the decision still rested with the Captain and me.
Man was that a tough evaluation. And I'm still fretting over it. What if we made the wrong call?
Parenthood is hard when you get that squirmy bundle home terrified you'll do something wrong. It doesn't get easier. Or at least it hasn't. No one ever told me you had to make so many damn decisions!!!
The good new is, we have a plan. High school. How did this happen?
In other news, my Book Club book included a time when our heroine had to fix squirrel, rabbit and whatever else her foster father dragged out of the woods. I'm host, and I'm threatening to fix squirrel stew.
After Ali's latest victorious volleyball game, we stopped off to buy a FitBit (if I join Jeff in the endeavor, we'll save money on insurance) and to cash in some Victoria's Secret cards. I bought a pretty exercise bra and Jeff was scoffing that no one would ever see it because I usually have a tee-shirt as part of my work out ensemble.
Jeff was scoffing that it didn't matter how pretty it is, no one will ever see it.
"Well if anyone does, it should be you," came the voice from the back.
She's gotten a little bossy lately, this teenager of ours.
She was getting ready for YAT yesterday. They want the kids to wear yoga pants and tights, clothes they can dance and move in flexibly. She had on a pair of cute tights and a top and asked for an outfit check. My rule for her and tights, though, is that she has to cover her butt either with shorts, skirt or long top.
I reminded her of the rule and next thing I know, she's wearing jeans. Apparently she has no shorts or shirt that fits with the tights.
I commiserated a bit with her wardrobe holes but said, "You know, honey, it's all about the bass."
I'd planned to follow that up with "Cover the base and there won't be any treble."
Before I could be so witty, she put up her hand and said, "Stop. Just stop. Don't ever say that sentence again Mom. Really."
She's also trying to block me from using the hashtag symbol. She'd texted me a cartoon showing a guy being booted from a car with a caption: "When someone plays country music in the car."
I'd posted about it, reminding her that I'd made her Ramen, threatening to turn up the volume and adding #INGRATE.
Apparently pop culture appreciation has a time limit.
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