For those of you keeping track, you’ll know that The Peeshwank began Junior High this week. Coincidentally, I began my margaritas-for-breakfast diet to get through the utter shock of having a kid in junior high. (I kid, I kid. No margaritas. But I will say that triple sec and cranberry juice make for a nice refreshing pick-me-up.)
Here are some musings/conversations/observations/etc. that should give you an idea how the week has gone:
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Looking at P’s schedule:
Me: “What do you mean you’re not in Pre-Algebra? What is this ‘math’? ‘Math’ is for 4th graders.”
P: (shrugs)
Me: “But my baby is supposed to be in Pre-Algebra. Oh shit. I just became THAT mom, didn’t I?”
P: “Um… maybe… just a little…”
(He is in the right class, after all. They just changed the title of it. Without telling the parents. His teacher let me know that I wasn’t the only mom that freaked out a bit. Apparently there were about 26 others that did the same. Way to reinforce my neuroses.)
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On kick-ass literature teachers:
Me: “Your lit teacher recommends ‘Catcher in the Rye’ for this semester’s reading. That’s pretty cool. It has some rather grown-up language though.”
P: “You mean, they cuss in the book?”
Me: “Yeah. It was actually banned in a lot of places.”
P: “And Mrs. V said it was okay to read?”
Me: “Yes, it was encouraged.”
P: “Junior high is so awesome.”
Of course.
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At Meet-the-teacher night:
Me: “Um, perhaps the parents should have to abide by the dress code as well.”
P: “Why?”
Me: “I just don’t feel like a black leather super-micro-miniskirt, matching top, and 5-inch heels are appropriate to wear… well… anywhere.”
P: “Except a street corner, right?”
Me: “Yeah… wait, what?”
Couple sitting behind me:
Dad: “I’m concerned about that last class we were in.”
Mom: “Why?”
Dad: “They’re going to have to write a lot. Her writing is her weak point. She’s just not very good at writing. It’s going to be hard for her.”
Me: “Then the exact thing your daughter needs is to be in a class where she gets lots of practice writing. Running away from it won’t make her a better writer. Putting her in a class where the focus isn’t on writing is only going to tell her it’s okay to run away from tasks that seem hard.”
What I actually said:
Me: (smiles awkwardly at the couple, mouths “Hi” and turns back around to mind my own business)
Yeah, I’m a wuss when it comes to talking to people. Besides, I was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack from being in such a crowded school. I was popping little mints the whole time to keep from biting off every last one of my fingernails. And sweating. Wait, Southern girls don’t sweat. We glisten. I was glistening like a pig.
My panic attacks are Not.Pretty.At.All.
The day-after:
Me: “Last night reminded me so much of my experience in junior high.”
Joe: “Really? Why?”
Me: “Because I was sitting front and center, paying attention, taking notes and everyone else was sitting behind me talking the whole time. And it really frustrated me, and made me realize that I’m still a big ol’ education-lovin’ nerd. And then when I was trying to talk to one of the teachers 4 people jumped in front of me like they couldn’t even see me and I ended up being late for health class and when I walked in everyone stared at me and it took all I had not to throw up on my shoes. Oh well, at least now I can come home and drink a box of wine to get over it.”
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On making new friends:
A mom was talking to one of the teachers. Apparently she is new to the area and is looking to make friends with some other moms. Her requirement: that they be from her college sorority. The teacher was racking her brain to think of anyone she knew who might be a Beta-Iota-Tau-Chi*… the woman waited desperately to hear that some of her sisterhood lived in the area… while surrounded by literally hundreds of other women who probably would’ve had a quite pleasant conversation with her and maybe, just maybe could’ve become friends with her. Alas, we did not know the secret handshake.
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On contraband music:
If you follow me on facebook, then you’ve likely been following The Saga of The Black Violin. If not, here’s the Cliff’s Notes: P has a black violin and “differently-colored” violins are not allowed in the school’s orchestra. (I have validated that their concern is not unfounded, and that no, they aren’t a bunch of instrument racists.) Alas, we were going to have to purchase a new violin for the munchkin to play. Which brings us to the latest development…
The second day of orchestra, his director announces that they have no one playing bass and needs some bass players. The Peeshwank has wanted to play bass for about 5 years now, but I told him he was too small, so he’s a violin. He threw his hand in the air immediately and is now in the process of switching to playing bass. Yeah.
A note about The P-Dog. He is not tall. He isn’t even average. He’s not even close to average. Every doctor he’s ever seen has asked if I’ve had his growth hormones tested.
“Yes, he’s fine, he’s just short.”
It’s my robotic response. He used to hate it. He’s gotten cast in 5 different movies/series this year though because he can play a much younger child. He’s grown (pun fully intended) to love being the tiny guy.
The thought of my little guy standing on a step-stool playing a gigantic standing bass, just makes me all giggly. I’m truly excited about the prospect. Almost as much as he is.
Update: I just this second got word from the director that they are going to get P a bass that will fit him. A 1/8th size bass. He’s gonna be so excited!
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All in all the week has been a great success. We’ve had a couple of rough patches over the days – PE uniforms that are going to swallow the child, figuring out where classes are, getting to the “cool” table at lunch… typical junior high trifles. But every day he’s a little happier with everything, so I can’t complain.
“Do we really have to do a ‘before school’ picture? That’s so lame, Mom.”
*Beta-Iota-Tau-Chi does not exist. Although it should. Maybe I’ll start it. Our secret handshake will be flipping the bird to pretentious d-bags. Our official flower will be the blue agave from which all tequila comes. Our sisterhood song will be “Baby Got Back” or the theme from Laverne and Shirley. And our slogan will be “Haters gonna hate.” We will rule the world.
And yes, I know people make a lot of lifelong friends in sororities. Many of my oldest friends are from my own college sorority. This is about making new friends… in your 40s… when you’re surrounded by a whole slew of moms that you KNOW you have something in common with. Whatever. Humans make no sense to me.
