The Unbearable Stench of Impossible...

So... the Impossible Son is now a freshman in high school.

*pause for motherly whimpering*

In our small town, the freshman campus is separate from the high school.  It's also on the other side of town from where we live.  Not a big deal, because this is a small town.  I am lucky, though, that his first period class, athletics, is at the high school, and so is his last class of the day, because this means he can walk to school in the morning and walk home in the afternoon, since the high school is just down the street from us.  Which means... no more sitting in long slow lines of cars to drop off/pick up my student, HUZZAH!!!!

*dance of joy, dance of joy*

Since Impossible is also on the high school cross country team, this also means that every other morning, he has to be at the high school at 6:30 a.m. for running practice. The Husbandly One drops him off on his way to work, and if I wait long enough, I can go out on the back deck and see the whole team go running by.  They get back to the school in time for the team to shower and get ready for their first period class.  Which, for my son, is athletics, as I mentioned earlier.

The next thing I need to mention is that my son, at 14, is the tallest person in our house.  He is all long arms and legs, and the basketball coach pretty much started drooling the moment the Impossible Son loped into the gym.  So... the Impossible Son spends first period playing basketball pretty much nonstop.  All. Period.  Long.

All freshman who have their first and last periods at the high school are required to ride a bus to go back and forth.  This bus leaves at a very specific time, and if a student isn't there at that time... too bad, so sad.  There is only ONE bus for this.  I totally get that.

However, what this means for athletic students is... depending on the coach, there is NO TIME FOR A SHOWER.

This... is NOT a good thing.

So, Tuesday morning of the second week of school, I was sitting and staring at the story I'm presently working on and wondering if I needed to do little tweaking of my outline when the Dropkick Murphys start screaming, "I'm a sailor peg, and I lost my leg! Climbing up the topsails, I lost my leeeeegggg!!"

It's my phone, and I think, "I turned in the athletic forms, he has all his school supplies, omg, what has he done now?"

"Hey, Mom."

I frown at look at the clock, thinking, did he miss the bus?

"I need to come home and take a shower."

Blink.  Blink.

"Wait a minute, didn't you take a shower after class?"

"There was no time," he said a little sheepishly.  "I mean, I barely have time after practice to throw on my clothes!  I have to get out to the bus as fast as I can, no time for a shower!"

Okay, I know that's true, it was true when my daughter was a freshman, and will probably be true until the construction at the high school is finished.

"Impossible, you'll just have to suffer through it," I begin, knowing the school won't just let him come home.  Then I realize, the ringtone was the Dropkick Murphys, not the Legend of Zelda.  He was calling from the school office, not his own phone.

"Mom, everyone in my class says I reek!  I stink, Mom, even the teacher says so!  I need a shower!" he insisted.

It doesn't normally take me this long to catch on.  "Wait a minute, are you just calling me on your own, or did the teacher send you to the office to actually go home and take a shower?"

"Yes, Mom, my teacher insisted!"

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

I was sort of stunned, but, having been around the Impossible Son when he was sweaty, I could sort of see it.  Thing is, he didn't have that much of a body odor problem, really.  It was mostly his feet that would get us during soccer season, where we would beg him to keep his shoes on until we were out of the car.  But that's soccer pong, and just means keeping his gear clean.  So, I got in the car and drove over to the freshman campus to sign him out.

The freshman campus was built in 1923 and has all the problems you'd associate with a building that old.  It's small (the current class of freshmen are practically bursting out of the seams), it smells, and it's hard to air condition.  In fact, only the classrooms and offices are air conditioned, while the halls are NOT.  It's like walking into a sauna when you enter the building, and you want to hold your breath until you get into the office, where it's nice and cool.  At least for a few minutes.  Air conditioning at the freshman campus really means not as hot as the hall way.

So, I wade through the sauna to the relative comfort of the office to sign my son out.  He arrives and keeps a careful distance from me, and when we get outside, immediately moves downwind of me.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asks, eying me as we walk to the car.

"Not really."  I take a careful sniff, but I don't smell much because... he's downwind.

"Just wait," he says ominously.

Amused, I unlock the car, we get in, I pull the window shade off the dash, start the car and get the AC going... and immediately my eyes start watering, my gag reflex leaps up and punches me in the throat, and my nose and lungs start rebelling and trying to escape.

"Oh... my... God..." I gag, turning to stare at my son in horror.  "Did you roll in something dead??"

He's grinning at me.  "I know, right?" The Impossible Son's cheeks are red with embarrassment, but there's an odd sort of pride in his eyes, too.  "It's awful, isn't it?  I told you!  You didn't believe me!"

Frantically opening all the windows in my car, including the sun roof, with the AC going full blast in the faint hope of getting the... the... STANK out of my car, eyes watering and leaning away from my child, all I can say is, "Holy crap... how the fuck did this happen??"

"Mom," the Impossible Son says as leans helpfully away from me, "we ran four miles this morning in cross country, and then I had to go straight to basketball practice!  No time for a shower!  And then we barely have time to dress before we have to catch the bus!  We all reek!"

I think all my nose hair was gone by the time we got home.  My eyes are watering just remembering this.  It was horrible.  Like... old cheddar cheese that's been sitting in a bowl of water in direct sunlight for three days, and moldy soccer socks in a hot car, with a little muddy dog and three weeks unchanged cat litter box.  During a hundred degree summer.  With... sweat.

*is still horrified*

I never thought I'd ever say that about one of my children, but omg, he reeked.  It made soccer pong look... pleasant.

So, after he'd decontaminated and changed clothes, he told me the story.

He was in his second period biology class, and the teacher had broken them up into smaller groups to work on their assignment.  First, the kids in his group had started moving away from him with, "God, Impossible, WTF?" and "Dude, did you even take a shower??" Then some of the groups that were close to them started complaining and became vocal about insisting he go home to take a shower.  The teacher, noticing the increasingly vocal protests, called him over to find out what was going on.  At this point, Mr. Impossible had had enough.  "Miss Biology Teacher, I really need to go home and take a shower," he said apologetically.

She said humorously, "So you're a little sweaty, you're fine, stop messing around and get back to work."

"No, I really, really stink, that's why they're all complaining," he insisted.

At that moment, the AC came on, and the vent was apparently behind him and blew air directly toward her.  He said she was opening her mouth to probably tell him to go back to his table when his personal cloud of stench was blown into her face.

She froze.  Her eyes went wide and her nostrils flared.  Her eyes bulged as she stared up at him with horror, then they reddened and started to water.  Her nose looked like it was trying to pinch itself shut.  Her hands gripped the desk so hard, her knuckles went white.  And her mouth snapped shut.

He said, "I seriously started to worry about her, because it was like... she stopped breathing!"

Of course, she stopped breathing!  She was trying not to smell him.

After a moment, she started frantically pointing at the door.  "You," she said, scooting hastily away from him after thrusting a hall pass at him.  "You!  Home!  Now!  SHOWER!!!"

"Well," I said, leaning toward him, "you smell much better now."

"I should," he said as we got in the car to go back to the freshman campus.  "I used almost half my body wash cleaning myself off!  Do they make industrial strength body wash?"

"No, and before you ask, Axe Body spray is not shower in a can," I said firmly.  "If you had used it you would not have smelled better.  You would still have the Stench, it just would have been... the Stench WITH Axe Body spray.  And that would have been much worse."

"How do you know?" he asked as we pulled up to the school and I parked.

"Because the pot smokers at my high school used to try to disguise the smell of what they'd been doing before school started with this mint breath spray called Binaca.  And it never worked."  I grinned at him.  "They never understood why they kept getting caught, but you know, it was because instead of smelling like pot smokers, they now smelled like Fresh MINTY Pot Smokers™!"

He laughed.  "I'll pass that on!"

"Good.  Because we're all kind of tired of smelling sweaty teen pong with Axe Body spray!"

You know, I'm still working on getting the smell out of my car!

Ch-ch-ch-changes....

My daughter went to her first prom this weekend, and it was one of those rites of passage that her father and I anticipated and tried to prepare ourselves for only to find those mental preparations were... well... woefully inadequate.

I tried not to make too big of a production of it, because I didn't want the Impertinent Daughter to freak out and hide.  After all, this was a big step for her, my wild tomboy daughter who doesn't think she's pretty (must be genetic, I swear).  First date, first time wearing makeup, first time wearing a dress and heels in public where it didn't involve a cosplay... all pretty huge steps for her.

So, she went to prom with a boy she's known since sixth grade, whom we will call "Toast Boy," because I crocheted a scarf for him that looked like joined pieces of toast with pats of butter on them.  He still wears it, I understand.

I had made an appointment at the salon we habitually go to for her to have her hair, face, and nails done (for which I am extremely grateful, because while I could have done her makeup, her hair would have probably broken me), so Saturday afternoon, that's where we went.

Now, salons in a small town are somewhat different from those in larger towns.  And I say this having grown up in Houston and having gone to small neighborhood salons.  You get to know the stylists, and some of the regulars, you chat and all, but you don't get to really know them.

In a small town, where everybody knows everybody, and knows everybody's business, it's a whole new ballgame.  You know the stylists because their kids go to school with yours, or played soccer with yours, or you know the same people.  Or you had to serve on the same parent volunteer groups at school.  Or your kids are in band together.   Or they live down the street from you.  So, you go in with your kid, and they already know what they're going to do to her and you'll hear them say things like, "I've been waiting to do your hair for prom for x number of years!!" or "I can't believe you're old enough to go to prom!  I gave you your first haircut when you were so small, you had to sit on two phone books just so I could reach you!  That was just last week, right?"

I heard a lot of that from the other girls getting their hair, nails, and makeup done, because, of course, small town, only one high school, of course the salons were packed with girls (and guys) getting ready for prom!  And a couple of the stylists, who I am shocked to now realize I have known for ten years, came over to chat with me and check on Miss Impertinent's progress.

What you need to know is this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Was transformed into this...

(photo by Erin Hurd)

After we got home, her best friend's mom called, and they came by for photos, and this...

(photo by C. Jandrok)

became this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Which is amazing.  Looking at them in that photo, you'd never have any clue they're both kick-ass soccer players who have played on co-ed teams and sent guys bigger than they are flying.

The look on the Husbandly One's face when we came home, by the way, was priceless.  I think in a lot of ways, he still sees the Impertinent Daughter at eight, with dirt smeared on one cheek and chocolate in the corners of her mouth, tangled hair and a big grin, ready for the next adventure.  Seeing her like this, though, was a major shock to the system, and I don't think he was ready for it.  Neither was I, really.  

Of course, I can't leave you with this... dignified photo of the girls, because really... it's just not them.  So, about ten seconds after the above photo was snapped, we got this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Followed by a sisterly photobomb, courtesy of Super Goalie's younger sister...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

And then it was time for Super Goalie to leave for dinner with her date, and the Impertinent Daughter to leave for dinner with her date and the group of friends they were going with.  And I got another shock.  Because this...

(photo by C. Jandrok)

Became this...

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

Of course, it later devolved into this...

(photo by B. Schaub)

Which shows my daughter and her friends have a propensity for dramatic gestures.  

Oh, and by the way, did I mention that my daughter actually had not one, but two dates to the prom?

(photo by Jo Jandrok)

They had an extra ticket, and can you believe, the Demon Lord Nevitz was actually not going to go???  Well, Miss Impertinent and Toast Boy had to fix that, so they promptly asked him to go, and here you see them, Demon Lord, Impertinence, and Toast, all ready to go to the prom.  The Three Amigos.  Or the Three Formal -Wearing-Teens of the Apocalypse (notice the formal skulls on the Impertinent One's wrist bag).    

Of course, they said the prom was boring (and I can imagine that it was, for them), and the high school should really worry if those three get it into their heads to take over next year's prom, because I am sure there would be Cards Against Humanity, actual danceable music that wasn't rap or country (apparently, the country music wasn't danceable, either) which may or may not include J-Pop and K-Pop, and decorations that don't consist of a box of popcorn and a movie clapper on each table.  There may even be some C4 involved, or zombies.  Maybe even pirates!  (She wanted to wear a pirate themed dress, but we didn't really have time to plan it this year).  I think if the Impertinent One had her way, it would be strictly cosplay, period.  

She'd make an awesome Black Widow, don't you think?

Anyhow, I think she did have some fun at least, and I can say that her father and I survived our first prom experience.  It was... challenging, and did require a margarita on my part.  Did I mention that the Husbandly One makes really good margaritas?

And that was our adventure with prom night!

Because they put the lime in the coconut and that song won't go away!!

Sometimes, sitting down to write a blog post is ridiculously easy, because my kids will do something, or my mom will say something, or I will do something that I feel compelled to write down. It's my way of programming it into my memory bank so I don't forget it.

Other times, though, writing is unbelievably difficult. It's difficult to pull the words out of my brain, or to flog my brain into thinking of something worth writing about.

It's not that my life is uneventful. Because, seriously, there is always something going on. Always. It's just deciding whether or not it's blog-worthy.

For instance, my son has started junior high, and with it, he has also signed up for band. Yes, I finally have a band-geek in the house. And I thought he was going to be a percussionist, because that's where his interest was for the longest time (and still is, I admit it), but... he tested well on trombone, and they are woefully thin on lower brass while being embarrassingly full on percussion. So... my son is going to play the trombone.

As you can see... at present, the trombone is bigger than he is! I have no doubts, though, that he will grow into it.

This is beside the adventure of what the Impossible Son being in junior high means for all of us, most especially my husband. I say that because he seems to be even more reluctant than me to relinquish the baby that once was for the teenager that is coming. I admit it, I look at our son, and I see the cheerful baby that used to reach up for me, that would take every step the Husbandly One did, one small fist firmly gripping the seam of THO's jeans, the other reaching out to explore whatever was in reach. I see that baby, and then I blink and I there he is, my son, lanky, overly long arms and legs and awkward angles, lengthening jaw and too big feet and I think, "Where did my baby go?"

I thought that with the Impertinent Daughter, too. I looked at her when she was at that awkward in-between stage, missing the baby, and getting to know the teenager, and now I'm watching her turning into a young woman... and it's both incredibly cool, and extremely freaky.

And they're both having a growth spurt at the same time. This means we literally cannot keep enough food in the house. As soon as we bring it in... it's gone. And remember, my kids are the kind who like to snack on frozen veggies as a "cool treat." So, not only are the fresh fruits and veggies we bring home from the grocery store disappearing almost as soon as they come home, but so are all the frozen veggies, too! Crackers, granola bars, raisins... ham, chicken, leftover spaghetti sauce, bread... it's all disappearing, and I'm not sure where the kids are putting it because it's not showing on them at all. Except for the increase in height factor.

This leads me to a weird little aside. We were leaving the junior high after sixth grade orientation last week, and the Impossible Son had asked me if I knew any trombone players when I was in high school band. I laughed heartily and said, "Kiddo, my first real boyfriend in high school was a trombone player, and he was taller than me!"

"Really?" Mr. Impossible peered up at me, and really, he doesn't have that far to peer up any more.

*sigh*

"Yep. He was six feet, three inches tall," I said with a grin.

"How tall were you?" he asked, and that's when I came to a complete halt and kind of stared blankly in front of me. Because it only just then dawned on me. I was only 4'10" when I was dating Mr. Tall Trombone Player. No, seriously, back when I was dating him, I had no clue. I never thought about it, except that I found it awkward to hold his hand or to kiss him, because he was so much taller than me.

I went to his senior prom with him, and he had to pick me up to dance with me, my feet dangling two feet above the floor, because otherwise, it hurt his back to bend over and hurt his knees to crouch down and dance!!!

Oblivious Jo was oblivious.

*shakes head*

Of course, seeing the look on my kids' faces when I told them that was hysterically funny, because I had to give them a comparison scale, so I said, "Imagine if the Tall Blonde's husband was standing next to... Grammy." Grammy is THO's mom, and she's shorter than I am. It was an apt example.

"You're not 4'10" now, are you?" asked Mr. Impossible.

"Nope. I'm about 5'3" now," I said. "Still short, but not as short as I was back then."

The Impertinent One spent a lot of time snickering about that, and I just laughed it off, because really, it is funny! And no, I wasn't blonde, I was a ginger back then, so... chalk my obliviousness up to inexperience and general nose-buried-in-a-bookishness.

In the meantime, the Impertinent Daughter has started her junior year of high school, and this year, we actually have textbooks in our science and math classes!!!!

And the people rejoiced.

Mrs. Sees-Plots-Everywhere has so far been quiet, but the Impertinent One reports her prowling on the periphery of the school, eyeing students and saying nothing. Yet. It can't last, of course, but we shall see.

Still, the Impertinent One seems determined to worry about every single little thing that it's possible to worry about, and it's quite a challenge for THO and I to calm those worries with sensible advice. Or lots of hugs and chocolate. Or jokes. Jokes work. Sci-fi marathons, too. Or general nerdiness. That seems to help from time to time.

So, as you can see, there's been quite a lot going on, it's just... kind of hard to decide what to write about, to choose just... one, or two.

And now, to go bake some cookies to throw at the kids so there's something left for the rest of us to eat!

Because sometimes, they just need you to be there...

So... had a parent-teacher conference with the Impossible Son's primary teacher today. It was interesting, and encouraging.

It was only supposed to be for 15 minutes, but... we ended up talking for 45! We talked about the Impossible Son's math problems at length, and I found that he's been rushing through his math assignments so he can read a book afterwards. While she's pleased to see him reading, she's not so pleased that he's rushing through his math, getting problems wrong, and not asking for help. He says nothing to her. Just finishes as quickly as possible and hands in it, then grabs his book and disappears into it.

*sigh*

Shades of his mother. Meaning me. Which means I know exactly what he's doing.

So, I told her, explaining yet again about the lack of trust in his teachers, and said, "It's not you personally. This started in second grade, with Mrs. Oblivious Teacher, who is now teaching fifth grade." I filled her in on what he had gone through, trotted out several of the math "explanations" she had given me, and followed up with what he had gotten in third and fourth grade, including the outside issues that were causing problems for him.

"Was he as lost as he seems to be now last year, too?" Mrs. S. asked me.

"Oh, yes," I replied. "I had Mrs. H. send home math homework, worksheets, whatever it took, to tutor him through what was stumping him."

We went over what I've found so far that stumps him, showed her what he was doing and what I had done to correct it, and finished with, "I can't help him if I don't know what's going wrong, so please, please, please send home worksheets!"

About this time, a mouse made its presence known.

Not long after that, a second larger mouse made its presence known.

We spent the rest of our time with our feet up off the floor, keeping an eye out for the mice, and talking about the Impossible Son and what we could do to help him.

Somewhere in there, I found myself volunteering to tutor three of her students who are having difficulty with reading comprehension. They read beautifully, but have no memory whatsoever of what they've read. "Apparently, this is a skill they didn't learn back in second grade," she said grimly. "Nor have they been tested or had any sort of intervention recommended, so far as I can find out. And the parents are... not responding to any of my notes."

Oh, goody.

So... this should be fun. I'll start out twice a week, and depending on how things go, I may end up doing it more often, but we'll see. I figure getting them to break the stories down into smaller parts and asking them to tell me what they remember is a good place to start, and I'll expand from there.

The other advantage is that this gets me into the Impossible Son's classroom twice a week, so I can see what's going on and unobtrusively observe him in class.

Lastly, I also need to talk to his Language Arts teacher about why he's making a 75 in a class he normally makes 90's to 100's in. I mean, seriously, this is a kid who is reading at a 7th grade level! I mean, I have my suspicions, but... I'll wait until I talk to the teacher.

*sigh*

Tis a puzzlement!!

"Me mind on fire, me soul on fire, feelin' hot, hot, hot..."

It was 100 F (37.7 C) at the school down the street from us today, and 101 F (38.3 C) at my son's school.

It's only May 25th!! Jays, this is going to be one scorcher of a summer! It's going to be another triple digit summer like it was two years ago, I just know it. Yay whoopie yay.

Yesterday, when I picked the Impossible Son up from school, he stated most emphatically, "Mom, I never... ever... want to come back to this school... ever... again."

And I thought, "Uh-oh, what happened now?" Because he'd been having bully problems, I'd emailed his teacher and while she didn't reply to me, he had told me things had improved.

Seems they hadn't really, he'd just been dealing with it... kinda. Mainly though, it was like a redux of what had happened to the Impertinent One in third grade. She had her best friend, whom she'd known since first grade, and suddenly, this best friend started withdrawing from her and hanging out with two other girls, one of whom started picking on Miss Impertinent. Then she started isolating Miss Impertinent, who had no idea how to deal with this, as no one had ever done this to her before. And the next thing the Impertinent One knew, her best friend turned against her, claiming that Miss Bully had told her all the bad things Miss Impertinent had been saying about her. And Miss Impertinent said, "Huh??? What bad things? What???" And it just got worse from there, to the point where I had to walk the Impertinent One to her classroom door, and pick her up at the door after school. I tried talking to the teacher, got nowhere because she was Mrs. LaLa FooFooBrain and tried to tell me that all her students got along and were such beautiful children. I tried talking to the counselor, Mrs. Fluff Bunny, who told me she didn't want to traumatize the "bright, sensitive child" who was bullying Miss Impertinent by labeling her as a bully, and the Husbandly One and I had to threaten legal action to get them to even sit down and fucking talk to us.

And we ended up transferring Miss Impertinent to a different school, because any administration who thinks labeling a fucking bully as a BULLY would be traumatizing to the BULLY is not one I want have looking out for my kid!!

Miss Impertinent still sees the girl who was her best friend, and is tentatively friends with her again, but... she doesn't trust her any farther than she could spit into a hurricane. Meaning not at all.

Okay, so... we have the Impossible Son. There's this boy who has been his best friend at school for two years. There's another boy who doesn't like him. And it's really, really weird how history is repeating itself. In fact, this other boy pulled the kind of bullying you see girls doing. He isolated Mr. Impossible from his best friend, and turned the best friend against him. And then got a third boy into the mix, who thought it was all just a joke. Then the bully from the fall, the one who had called Mr. Impossible gay and all that crap, started it up again, but instead of using the actual word "GAY," started singing the "A and B, sitting in a tree," song, using Mr. Impossible's name along with another boy's. And was under the impression again that because his aunt is a teacher at the school, he can get away with anything.

And after the Impossible Son related this to me, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, "I don't matter at all to Best Friend. It's like he doesn't care about how the things he's saying is making me feel."

"Then he's not your friend," I said sadly. "Because real friends don't do that to each other. Real friends don't join in and help bullies hurt you. Real friends stick with you and stand up for you. Or they run and get help. Real friends have your back and know you have theirs."

"I guess he's not my friend, then," he said and started quietly crying.

I hate it when my kids cry. It makes me want to go crush something, or start smashing something. You know, "Hulk go SMASH!!" but Jo style.

Then he said, "Mom, transfer me to another school... PLEASE? And let me miss the last three days of school! I don't want to go back, I really don't! I won't do it, I won't!!" and on and on, until I realized saying, "You can't run away from it, love," and "We will deal with this, I promise" just wasn't working, and I finally said, "Look, don't worry about it right now. We'll talk about it tonight, okay? Just take a few deep breaths, calm down, and let me worry about it, okay?"

And worry I did. After we got home, I sat down and fired off a tactical nuclear missile very much to the point email to his teacher, basically telling her what the problem was, who was causing it, the peripherals involved, and then informing her that we would be transferring the Impossible Son to another elementary school within the district next year.

It's funny, but I think it was the last sentence that got their attention, because this afternoon, after I'd been helping the Tall Blonde get soccer league pamphlets separated for the different schools in the district, my phone rang and it was the Counselor from Mr. Impossible's school. Mrs. Teacher had already answered my email, apologizing for not noticing that it was happening in her own classroom (evidently she had talked to my son before writing me) and told me she had disciplined the Lead Bully for something similar yesterday, but to another child. And then that she had been advocating for an elementary discipline management center all year, because, and I quote, "...we, as classroom teachers, do not have enough recourse for these such incidences..."

And she's right. They don't. They can send them to the counselor, who is now required to make them watch videos, and to talk to them. Just... talk.

HOWEVER... the counselor at my son's school is... just awesome. When she called, she told me about her discussion with the Impossible One, and then that she had called in the three bullies, plus Mr. K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and got their side, then pretty much stomped a hole in them read them the riot act. She quickly figured out who was the lead instigator, and who was just following along because they basically have no wills of their own.

*rolls eyes*

She made them apologize, then separated out the Bully Boss. and apparently decided that the videos and Firm Talking To™ weren't going to work. So, she decided to go back to a technique that had worked with the bully the Impossible One had dealt with back in second grade. The Bully Boss is going to be supervised over the next two days. He'll have to report to her every hour for ten minutes of face time and to find out what he's been up to. And she'll be in contact with his teacher, just to be sure she's getting the truth.

And when school starts next year, he'll have to report to her before he even goes to his new classroom, where she'll start the process again, until it sinks in that he's going to be watched. Constantly.

It worked before, but that was in second grade. I think 7 year olds are a little bit easier to intimidate than an 11 year old, but that's just me.

When I got to the school to pick Mr. Impossible up and drop off the soccer pamphlets, the principal made it a point to come talk to me, and said that all three boys, plus Mr. I'm-Immune-Because-My-Aunt-Teaches-Here, would be in her office first thing in the morning, where she would be talking to them about her expectations.

Yeah. You do that.

*sigh*

I'm taking this all with a grain of salt. See, I know why my earlier email was ignored, but yesterday's wasn't. I threatened to move my son to a different school. To move Mr. Impossible to a different school, I have to write a letter to the district to request it and list my reasons why. And, of course, the biggest reason would be because my son is being bullied and despite repeated demands requests for it to be dealt with, it was continuing to happen.

It would make them look bad (this is the "flagship" school of the district), and it would also show that the counselor had been cut out of the loop. It's always been my policy to try dealing with the teacher first, before going to the counselor and the principal. Basically, I give 'em three shots across the bow and if they don't respond, thenI go in for the kill to the principal and the counselor. This time, the counselor didn't know anything about it until this morning.

*grumble*

This was Mrs. Teacher's second shot. I mean, she dealt with it fairly quickly last semester, so I'd figured she'd deal with it quickly this semester, too.

Oh well. At least he'll have two hassle-free days before school is over for the year!

I'm just... so fucking done with this district. Seriously. I am.

Just to show you how devoted I am...

That's yours truly, and the Impossible Son, freezing our asses off in San Marcos while watching the Impertinent Daughter and the rest of the Lady Lions junior varsity squad play soccer.

It was 26 F, and the wind chill was 0, baby!! I still can't feel my face, and next time? I'm wearing those insulated pants hunters wear, because OMG, my legs! Even in thermals!! I was one frozen little Auntie, and Mr. Manzie was one frozen little popsicle boy, I tell you for TRUE!!

... and apparently, the cold brings out my inner Cajun

They lost, 1 to 0, but hey, they held them to 1 point! Miss Impertinence played the entire game! I'm so proud of her!!

And now, I'm crawling back under the covers to thaw out. That, and drink gallons and gallons of hot tea.

Portrait of a Lady Lion...

Y'all wanna see the Impertinent Daughter in her soccer uniform?

Wanna, wanna, wanna??

OKAY!!! You twisted my arm!



Yep, there she is, a high school soccer player. *wince* Yeah, I'm still trying to get used to saying it. She's in high school.



This is their cold weather practice gear, because their season opens in a week and it's... cold. And yes, there's a white uniform as well...



She's excited. And I know she can't wait for the season to start. The Tall Blonde and I have been working hard, trying to make sure both the Impertinent One and Super Goalie have the right cold weather gear for games, though the Tall Blonde said rather wryly, "You know, really, the girls will be all right. I mean, they'll be running around on the field, so they'll be plenty warm. It's us that'll be freezing to death, sitting up in the stands!"

She's got a point.

Maybe I should stop looking for running tights for the Impertinent One, and start thinking heavy thermal underwear for me. I mean, I already suffer from Personal Winter, can y'all imagine actual winter on top of it?? Yes, I'll be the shivering lump of coats, scarves, hats, and three blankets, and all you'll be able to see of me is two gleaming eyes and two small wizened hands, desperately clutching a thermal mug full of hot tea!!

At least San Angelo isn't on the schedule this year! A friend with a senior daughter told us that when they played San Angelo two years ago, it was -2 F, and it was snowing. This isn't a big deal anywhere else, but... we're talking about Texas, where snow is a sometimes/not very often thing. I think the girls had fun playing soccer in the snow, but the parents were frozen solid by the end of the game!

Here's to an interesting soccer season, and staying warm!!

Because "snarky" runs in the family...

There are many challenges to being a parent, not the least of which are those moments when your child does or says something that somewhere in the back of your mind, there's a niggle telling you that you really should reprimand him or her, but the rest of you is so caught up in either hilarity or admiration that you... just... can't quite manage it. Not without giving yourself away.

Or you don't know whether to scold... or applaud.

Tomorrow is the Impertinent Daughter's high school's homecoming game. For the uninitiated among you, Homecoming (and yes, it's usually capitalized like that) is usually held during football season for one specific game, and is ostensibly the game where the school's alumni is welcomed back. There is often a dance afterwards at the school gym, and a Homecoming Queen and King are elected by the students, along with their court, and theoretically at least, a good time is had by all.

There are also mums. HERE are some examples. Originally, they were these huge, ginormous, sometimes bigger than your head chrysanthemums, with ribbons that had your name, your date's name, the year, your school name, etc. written on them. Plus, there would be ribbons with charms on them, like miniature cowbells meant to jingle sweetly as you walk, little miniature football helmets, footballs, miniature school mascots, and so on. Nowadays, the mums are artificial, mostly silk, and you only get real ones if you're willing to spend megabucks on them.

With me so far?

Okay, so... the boy responsible for THIS got a mutual friend to ask Her Royal Impertinence to Homecoming. This friend, the Wombat (yes, that's his nickname, it's totally my fault, and I'm just lucky he likes it), asked her and was surprised when she said, "Oh, hell, no! no way!"

"Why not?" asked the Wombat, surprised.

She said she laughed and said, "Well, if he'd asked me face to face, instead of getting you to ask me for him, I would have respected him a bit more while I beat him up."

I completely lost it at that point. I was laughing so hard, I nearly wrecked the car!!

Of course, the Responsible Adult inside my brain was saying something ridiculous like, "That was very rude of her, and she should never be encouraged to beat someone up! She probably hurt that poor boy's feelings!!"

*snorts*

Fortunately, the rest of me quickly stifled the quasi-Responsible Adult, and not only died laughing again, but celebrated my daughter's independence and strength of character. She's got several friends who have "dated" boys (they were only in junior high, so "dating" mainly meant they hung around together, held hands, and tried not to look too embarrassed about it), simply because the boy asked them, not because they liked them or anything. Because some of their friends told them that having the boy ask them at all obligated them to say yes.

Excuse me??

No, you don't have to go out with a boy just because he asked you, or because you don't want to hurt his feelings, or because you're "obligated" by his asking. You have as much right to say "No" as you do "Yes." If you don't want to go out with him, say so. If you don't like him... don't go out with him.

*rolls eyes*

Of course, once I calmed down from my laughter, I did offer some motherly advice:

"If you're going to beat him up, dear, please don't do it on the school grounds. It might get you suspended and your father would be inappropriately proud wouldn't be too happy about that."

The Husbandly One and I ordered mums this year. One is from us, and the other is from the Impossible Son. He gave it to her after they got home from school today. When I handed it to him, I said, "Son, you get the honor of being the first boy to give your sister a mum."

He frowned. "Is that important?"

"Yes," I said very solemnly. "It is. And it's very special, because you're her brother. You're her Knight in Shiny Armor, Protector of all Sisterly Honor, and Official Tormentor of all who come to court her. Are you ready to take up your duties, Sir Impossible?"

"I am," he said very solemnly, and then he giggled.

"Go for it," I said, and watched him give her the mum.

She was grumpy when we first got home, so I was honestly worried that she'd snarl at him when he gave it to her, but... she rose to the occasion magnificently. In fact, her whole face lit up, and she got that million megawatt smile going. She looked at it, squeed at the little soccer balls on it, then snagged him for a fierce hug and kiss on top of his fuzzy little head.

It was awesome!

Later, she cornered me in the kitchen and asked, "Mum, what do I tell my friends when they ask me who gave it to me?"

"You tell them your Little Bother gave it to you," I said with a grin, and the concern in her face just melted away.

"Yeah," she said happily. "I'll say, 'my Little Bother gave it to me, stop asking questions!' and walk away."

I laughed. "Just tell them your Little Bother gave it to you because he's cool like that."

Later, my friend, Erin, came by with the mum her papa and I are giving her (Erin was returning a favor) and she was thrilled at the idea of having two mums to wear for Homecoming!! I'll have to take pictures in the morning!

All of it just made me think about what a challenge it is to make sure the little monsterskids we raise today turn out to be adults capable of making decisions and standing up for themselves while not destroying the world around them. It's a tough job. How to you balance teaching them to be polite and considerate of the feelings of others with keeping themselves safe and not letting other people treat them like door mats? How do you teach them the difference between not making a snap judgement about someone and listening to their own intuition? How do you teach them how to be constructively rude?

It's all a work in progress, really, and I'm making it up as I go along. Fortunately, neither the Impertinent Daughter nor the Impossible Son seem to be the worse for wear. At the moment, I'm just happy my girl didn't cave to the pressure of going out with someone she can't stand, just because he asked her.

It gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I'm doing something right.

Because I keep busy that way...

The Impertinent Daughter has a friend, we'll call him Toast Boy. Well... actually, I think she and her friends call him "Turtle" so... perhaps I should call him that, too. Not because he is turtle-like in anyway, but he loves turtles. And the other important thing for you to know is that he is obsessed with toast.

I guess there are worse things to be obsessed with!

Anyhow, because they are good friends, and rather silly together, when Miss Priss and I were looking through the many very, very cute wearables on shanalogic.com and found this very, very cute toast scarf, she immediately said, "Oh, Turtle would loooove one of those! How much is that?"

I said, startled, "You want to buy this??"

"It would be perfect for him, Mum! He's got this thing with toast..."

So I looked at the price and promptly inhaled my tongue.

A few hearty slaps of the back later, the Impertinent One said, "Can't you make that? I mean, it's crochet, right? You can crochet that... right?"

And here is the result...



As you can see, she is as pleased as Punch with that scarf! And because she's giving it to a friend who happens to be a boy, rather than a boyfriend, we decided to make the butter pats square rather than heart-shaped. I think it turned out rather well, considering I had to make up the pattern myself!

Evidently, it's rather tasty, too...



I told her that when she gives it to him, she should ask him, "So, are we going to be friends for life or what?" And if he says yes, she should hold it out solemnly across her hands and say something like, "Then I present you with the order of the Toasty Scarf!" and drape it around his neck!

Hey, for all the work I put into it, completing it within a month, I figure some over-the-top dramatic gesture should go with it!! Would have finished it sooner if I hadn't had to undo it, and redo it until I figured out the stitches, then had more than a few minutes of uninterrupted time to work on it!! As it is, I hope she remembers to tell me how he reacted when he got it! I do know that the very idea of me making it for him (because her best friend let it slip, not knowing he was behind them when she asked about it) was enough for him to come up to me two weeks ago and introduce himself to me, squeaky voice and terror-stricken eyes and all!!

Seriously... I'm not that scary... am I??

Anyway, after telling me who he was, and why he was shaking my hand with damp palms, he made a few incoherent statements that might have been about the Impertinent Daughter's comics and drawings (I'm sure her name, comics, and cracking up were in there somewhere), he blurted something about being happy to meet me, and disappeared rapidly.

I wonder what it will be like when a boy she's dating introduces himself to me?

*dies laughing*

Anyhow, I'm done, and I'm glad! And glad it's going to Turtle, who will hopefully be very happy with it!