We're at odds, Piper and I, over which of the annoying living creatures we are forced to live with deserves mercy and which deserve to be crushed or tossed.  I say, "DOWN WITH THE SNAILS!" She says, "No! Snails can't defend themselves! You should catch and release!"  Catch and release my ass!!  Those little F'ckers are feasting on my plants!  They're killing my babies!!!  I "removed" 13 of the slimy bastards just tonight alone from my porch.  And last night there were 7!! I tossed the little creeps hard across the street into the Critter Control (yes, that's a for real business) lot. Can't bring myself to stomp on them - can't handle the crunch, squirm, and ooze that follows.  The last time I was at the hardware/nursery store two weeks ago, I checked on methods of SNAIL CONTROL.  Of course the most humane option was also the most expensive.  Well, I've had it.  I'm ready to poison the gross, nasty, murderous pests.  Pip can just deal.  This weekend I shall become The Snail Death Squad of One!!!  There are also two plants out there on my porch amongst the living and producing, that are not doing their jobs.  They don't flower anymore. They're wilted and no matter what I've tried, they won't revive. However they show enough green Pip champions their right to life.  I want to toss them.  But now, thanks to Piper, every time I've carried them to the dumpster (which has been no fewer than five times), I hear her voice - "but there's still a little life left, they're fighters, how can you kill a living thing?"  And how can I kill a fighter?  "Viva la Fighters!" is one of our family creeds.  Uuugghhh!!!  Damn.  And I've turned right around and brought them back to the porch and threatened them with tough love - straighten up, or it's adios Muchacho's! They don't respond any better than my children did to my threats!! 

"Honey are you for reeeeeeal?" I'd heard it but didn't realize the words were intended for my ears until a nice looking African American man leaned into my field of vision waving his arms and pointing at my car. The young man was in a group of three people, a white woman in her thirties at least, an African American woman also in her thirties and this guy, all hanging out in a corner lot automotive station. I was stopped at the light in the intersection. My car bearing four large bright fluorescent green banners with the words "STUDENT DRIVER" and painted on them. Smiling, I rolled my window down, the dark woman leaned closer, dipped her hand down, threw her hip out and, "Honey are you for reeeeaaall?" Then we were talking at the same time, "I mean, what you charge?" I was confused - what do I charge? She could see I wasn't following her train of thought, "Honey what do you charge for you driving services?"  OMG, that's what she meant! "Oh no, I'm not an instructor, I put these on my car by myself last week when my daughter got her driving permit." She threw her head back and laughed loud and hard, "Oh Honey, now know you ARE for real, watching out for your baby - Lord I bet she hates that!" The light turned green, I waved, they waved, "Goooooo Momma!", I could hear as I turned the corner.  Ah, yes, good fun. 

Truth is, this isn't the first time I've been asked about the signs. We - Piper and I - pulled into the the Burger King parking lot and got out to switch places. An older Latino man hollered across the sidewalk, "Are you for real, or is this some kind of joke?" A joke?? "Uh no, no joke. We have a new driver in the family, the signs help the people around us be more patient with her while she's learning." And HE had laughed.  Walked off laughing and shaking his head, occasionally looking over his shoulder and laughing some more. "Great," Piper muttered. She managed to force a smile at another older man walking behind us who had heard the earlier exchange and was giving me a thumbs up. Her friends, even her brother, were in total sympathy with her, "that's sooo embarrassing." Well, she was getting honked at people and it was making her nervous and frustrated. I want her to be a good and confident driver. This has helped. She didn't mind the smile and thumbs up from the passing cop. Then again he was particularly cute. The signs stay on until she is more confident with her timing . . . . . . . . . and corners, she's still struggling with those. Still haven't tackled freeways. Not sure I'm up for it yet.

In other news, yes I'm a clutz! Twice in the last week I've spilled large amounts of water over my art table. Wouldn't be a problem if I wasn't working on my WATERCOLOR illustrations for my book! The first time, the water ruined the piece I was working on. All I could do was lift the drenched paper and watch two hours worth of work running off the page in a blaze of glorious color. Tonight, Oh so silly me, my phone got it the worst and 24 pages of reference material I spent hours printing out all this last week. That's why I had a few minutes right now. I strung a line across my living room and back again with a floor fan doing it's best to dry them out for me. Looks like a line full of wash inside the house. Buntah would love it but I just fed her, she is digesting in my bathtub for now.

In OTHER news - heads up people - the 49ers are playing Texas this Sunday!!!!!  WaaaaHoooooo!!!  Gooo 49ers!!! WooWooWoo!!

GROWING GAINS

Well, my youngest, that would be Piper, has taken yet another step into the world of adulthood - two actually. Last week she had her very first job interview, got the job - no thanks to me - and then she opened her first checking account by herself. Some of you, most probably, may think that at 18, nearly 19 years of age, these are miles stones she should have passed long ago. All I will say about that is, it was necessary to put certain things on hold until after her 18th birthday, when legally she could take things into her own hands. One unfortunate consequence of the waiting has been that she hasn't been able to feel the self-confidence that comes with these rites of passage at an earlier age. Oh, she's more mature than most her age, the unique challenges of her life has shaped her that way. But self-confidence is not the same as maturity. So like I said, she has been in transition this week, and by way of her, so have I. And I'm quite comfortable with both.  What makes me prime candidate for Worst Mother Of The Year Award? I made her a half hour late to her first job interview!!! Accidental of course, I would never do anything purposefully to undermine the success of a child. But still it was very much my fault. In MY eagerness and nervousness (yes I still get nervous for my children even at the ripe old age of 50), I took the wrong exit onto the wrong freeway and off we went out of town. Yeah, great. For certain the air in the car between us was a bit, um, "sparky". In the end Piper handled it well (with grace and silence). She made the calls she needed to make and she was still able to have the interview. Like I said, she got the job. Whewwwwww!!! And I had the opportunity to connect in a learning moment with my oldest three children. I shared my misery at my own blunder.  They were wise and loving, all of them, "she won't hate you forever Mom." She didn't.  The young woman, who only twenty minutes before was trembling with nerves and pale as could be, that got back in the car was her normal, albeit, freshly flustered self. The first thing she said to me was, "Man that guy was cute!" Then she said she'd gotten the job - priorities people, priorities!

Later that day, she announced she didn't think she'd need me after all to help her get her bank account. "I think I can do this myself", she said. YESSSSSSSSS!!!! GOOOOOOO PIPER!!!!!!! And she did.



FORMS

All this week I've been filling out on-line job applications.  The lack of human interaction is so foreign to me, it's quite unnerving and distressing. I have no idea if I'm reaching anyone. Personally I fail to see how this method of screening can be all that efficient.  I expect there to be background checks, no one wants to hire persons with criminal tendencies, but credit checks?! Really?! And yes, on several I had to mark the little box agreeing to a "credit" check as part of a background check. Does having non-favorable credit mean you are non-capable of follow through with a job? Some may say yes. Obviously or there wouldn't be this silly hurdle. However, I beg to differ. There are many reasons why a persons credit situation may be lacking. A single parent, with a vengeful malicious ex. who destroyed your credit to make life miserable for one.

One of favorite places to shop, an arts and crafts store I won't name, besides having the usual background, credit checks, work history and educational history, also has a 12 page personality test! Yes I said TWELVE page PERSONALITY test. All multiple choice questions of course.  Seriously?!  You can interpret my personality by having me answer 12 pages of multiple choice questions without ever shaking my hand or looking in my eyes?  I beg to differ. You can't judge disrespect, maturity and professionalism that way. You can't even tell if there is humor or a light in the eye. Case in point; this particular store, is the place where I experienced the worst treatment and service I've ever endured in a business establishment in my entire life. Their 12 page personality test won't, or didn't, weed out bad attitudes and non-professionalism. Was the person who treated me so rudely - as well her manager I might add - just having a bad day? No. Rolling your eyes, and sighing with displeasure are bad habits, immature and unprofessional. Personality characteristics you don't see on paper, or digital paper.  Am I just old-fashioned? Piper is a bit more accepting of this sort of process than I am. Perhaps she's too young to know and appreciate the subtleties and necessities of human to human contact. Don't get me wrong. I'm all for technological advances in appropriate ways and places. But not when it comes to how we judge or asses each other as humans. Technology cannot, and SHOULD NOT replace intuition.



GOT GLOVES, GOOD TO GO!!!

As I threatened to do in last weeks post, I have indeed purchased a pair of gloves to wear during the San Fransisco 49ers vs the Seattle SeaHawks game today. A nice lovely black lace pair!! Oh yeah, I'm good to go!!!

After a doctor appointment this afternoon, I checked my phone which I’d set to ‘silent’ before I went in.   Six missed calls and three urgent messages, this can’t be good.  I played the messages;

First message, “Uh Mom, this is Pip.  Yah, all the students and staff are being evacuated because of some kind of bomb threat or something.  I don’t know where we’re going, but I love you and I’ll talk to you later.”  Uhhhhh,,,,,,,,,WHAT WAS THAT?!   My heart stopped, scenes of Columbine, 911, theater massacres all went flashing through my brain .  Next message, “Um, Hi Mom, this is Pip again.  Yeah it’s definitely a bomb threat and not a drill, they’ve evacuated us and won’t let anyone leave.  There are police and helicopters and everything.  Gotta go, love youuuuuu, talk to you later.”  And the blood that had stopped flowing suddenly started again, pounding, pulsing ten times harder and faster than normal to all parts of my body at once, was I going to fain?  My ears were ringing and I had to tell myself to breathe.  Next message, “Yeah, it’s me again.  Since it’s after school hours they’ll start letting us go, kids with parents and rides first, walkers last, but we can’t go back to the school so I can’t get my bike.  I don’t want to go home alone and don’t know when you’ll be done so I’m going to a friend’s house.  Love you!”  A fourth message had beeped in during the playing of the last one.  This new message was a message from the school principal.  “This is such and such, principal at such and such high school.  At 1:30 this afternoon we became aware of a legitimate bomb threat to the school.  The students and staff were quickly and safely evacuated to the nearby football field within minutes .  The police are still in control of the campus and no one is allowed to return.  Students are being released to parents and those walking will be released last and have been advised to head home immediately.  All students may pick up their personal belongings on Monday morning. “   I was numb.  My phone rang.  I said “Hello” to my daughter’s voice, I was trembling.  I was frightened, shocked and didn’t couldn’t think where to start.  Pip told me she was safe and where I could pick her up, she suggested tonight might be a good night for cookie dough.  Yes, cookie dough.  Every fiber and cell in my body wanted to race to her.  Ten deep breathes.  Still not good.  Called my other daughter on speaker phone as I was driving to get Pip.  No answer.  Ten more deep breathes, called my son on speaker phone, he answered and I let it gush.  I was panicked and it needed venting.  That helped, he’s a great listener AND he’s a parent so he gets it.  Pip called through to find out how I close I was, I was nearly there.  I turned up the street her girlfriend lives on and had to pull over to get a grip on myself.   Next thing I knew Pip and her friend were standing at the window.  They said their good-byes and she got in.  We just looked at each other for a loooong moment then I grabbed her and held her, still fighting tears.  Finally she said, “Uh, this isn’t the place for hugging Mom, can we go home now please.”  Whew.  Kiss on the top of her sweet head and we started off.

The story of her afternoon unfolded.  First she reminded me the school has drills all the time.  But this afternoon, a woman came over the speaker and said “All staff are to evacuate their students immediately off campus following emergency protocol.  This is NOT a drill.”  The message was repeated.  “Well of course we didn’t know what KIND of emergency it was,” she said, “they didn’t use the fire alarm.  They didn’t use the GunMan on Campus alarm” – “What?  GunMan on Campus alarm?!”  “Yeah, we have a special alarm and protocol for Gun Man on Campus.”  She looked at me like how can you not know this?  Probably because when I was in school the only emergency alarms or drills we ever had were for fires!  I was unnerved.  An actual GunMan On Campus drill.  Holy CRAP!  And she looked at me like this was as common as a latte from Starbucks.   This is part of school life for our children in this country since Columbine and all massacres after.  Children killing children, bomb threats, terrorists, bullying – its disgraceful and terrifying when our children are calm about GunMan On Campus drills.  Add that to all the “normal” pressures (peer, drugs, gangs, sex, body/hormonal changes and status) of high school, it’s no wonder so many of our young people are stressed, anxious and depressed.  It’s scary to go to school!  And here I’ve been thinking, yes, some things have changed since I was in high school, but its still pretty much the same.  No - it’s really not.  These kids today deal with far more than I could have ever imagined.  She talked the whole way home about the eventful afternoon.  She knew I wasn’t ok and she tried to help me be.  She was also distressed that she had to leave her brand new book on her desk, one she was looking forward to reading this weekend for fun.  Her little face was pitiful when she realized everything that was in her back pack locked down at school – her make-up, her best drawing pencil, the drawings she was looking forward to showing me, her CHAPSTICK (that’s big time crisis right there, 17 and a whole weekend without chapstick – Mom do you know CPR?), her hairbrush!  How will we manage?!  Oh wait – NO HOMEWORK!  YEAH I CAN READ! CRAP – NO I CAN’T!  Whew what a ride we are on.

At home, she let me hold her.  She held me back.  I couldn’t stop with the random hug attacks and she handled it well – bless her .  One of her friends called.  Her parents had gone out and left her home.  She wanted to come hang out, maybe take Pip and go to a movie.  Pip told her she didn’t think I’d let her go tonight.  I know, completely illogical of me, but I couldn’t help it.  Emotionally I needed her close tonight. I think its pretty darn cool Pip recognized that without me having to say it, normally I’m the ‘yes’ Mom.  I asked her friend if her Mom was freaked out too.  “Yeah, she freaked, couldn’t stop hugging me either.”  Nice to know I’m not alone in the freak out department tonight.   

Her friend stayed for a while and we talked.  THEY talked about their day, they talked and talked, I listened and learned what it was like to be in their shoes for a day.  I hope they never have to know what it felt like to be in mine.

Observation from the first day of school: 12 years of growing makes a Hell of a difference in a kid!!!  Pips first day of Kindergarten, she was absolutely adorable with her chubby little cheeks, bouncy long curls, bright new clothes and brand new backpack that was half as big as she was!  Everyone smiled at her sweet adorableness.  Yesterday, first day of her Senior year in high school, she got smiled at all right, long blonde hair, fully developed, shining spirit and beautiful.  I watched her walk across the parking lot to meet her friends at Starbucks, so did about six guys dropping in for their morning go juice - watched her coming and going.  I thought I might have to help one man put his eyes back in his head for him but he turned away just in the nick of time - whew, yeah, my girl has done a lot of growing in the last twelve years.  And a lot of maturing in the last one. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The first day of school is always special, Kindergarten through High School makes no difference. It's always fresh, always new and heralds the return to normal routines. Kids, as kids, don't realize that first day back is a bag of mixed emotions for their parents. Is there a parent out there who doesn't mark the growth of their child, and their childs' advancement toward the edge of the nest by the grade they're in?  As each new school year starts, it does so in a whirl of the bitter sweet that is life.

The day my oldest child started Kindergarten I cried, then hurried home to tell my one year old he could never ever grow up. He grew anyway, like his juice was laced with Miracle Grow.  That day I decided I to make the first day of school extra special for all of us.  I baked homemade chocolate chip cookies. Did so every year after that too. Yesterday I baked my 24th, and FINAL, batch of First Day of School Cookies. Yesterday, my youngest child, last one still in the nest, began her Senior year of high school - Seniors need cookies too. Only this year, I think, Mom needed them more.  Bitter and Sweet.

I allowed myself a few minutes to grieve the passing of my young ones, then spent the rest of the day taking joy from the tradition I was able to give my children - and myself - these last 24 years.

A few years back I remember reading a list someone had put together of all the different jobs a woman does in her turn as wife/mother - Nurse, Accountant, Secretary, Chauffeur, Plumber, Gardener, House Keeper, Cook, and the list went on.  Then a dollar amount was added to each endeavor.  I don't know whose brilliant idea that was but it made millions of Moms and Wives across the country feel gypped.  I think the reason the list was prepared was so that others (namely husbands and children) could experience a greater appreciation for what we do.  I don't about you but I never saw an increase in appreciation.  I was still 'same ol' Mom' doing 'same ol' Mom stuff'.  No promotions, raises, tips or even vacations came my as a result of this cultural enlightenment.

On Saturday afternoon, as I sat outside the twenty ninth (no exaggeration) fitting room waiting for my daughter to find the perfect jeans - I realized there was a category left out of that "What Mommies Do" list.  The WAITING category.  Over the last thirty years, how many hours - YEARS in hours - have I spent waiting on kids who were trying on clothes for school? How many hours have I spent in hospital emergency rooms, how many hours waiting for doctors/dentist/and other health care specialists, how many hours in lines at the pharmacy, the grocery, the library, at the school sitting in a scalding or freezing car waiting for a child to remember you were there to pick them up, and again the list could go on.  I think the reason the question interrupted my school clothes shopping euphoria, was because I'd had it.  Five hours on Friday and SIX on Saturday!  By Saturday afternoon when the revelation left me unhappy but none the less enlightened, I was numb from the waist down.  Maybe from the waist up too. I began thinking if I'd had even minimum wage for every one of those hours, I could tour Europe over and over and over for three years!  Or buy a house, or a really cool car.  But alas, the fitting room door opened, blasting my thoughts and an unhappy daughter emerged.  "No go on the jeans Mom."  Fitting room number thirty - here we come.  wa-----freakin-----hooo.    In my daughters defense, this was no fun for her either.  Not one of my daughters enjoy shopping. They hate it.  "I" hate it.  Just before she came out of the fitting room, I hung my head and asked myself, "whyyyyyy am I here, why don't I just say that's it, enough is enough, we're done?"  I knew why.  Same reason I stuck it out all the other times.  I love my children.

Did we ever find the perfect jeans?  No, and we shopped the hell out of those two malls, the perfect jeans is a myth, they do NOT exist!  But my daughter, frugal little being that she is, got the majority of what she needed to get her started for school and still had .38 cents left!!!!!

Just how far will a 17 year old girl go to NOT get out of bed?  Pretty far.  Piper pulled off some impressive body twists and stretches just to avoid getting up and getting a piece of paper to write on.  First it was the call from the couch (that's where she's been sleeping lately, don't ask me why, if I understood the thought waves of a teenager I'd be wealthy), "Mom, if I can get myself down to Eric's place can you pick me up after babysitting?"  Well, of course I can but here's the thing, I don't know where Eric lives and Pip won't call him and ask him (she has my phone in her hand) - it's another teenager thing, did you know teens today don't talk? Texting or Facebook is the only form of acceptable communication.  Anyway, I need the address AND I'm running short on time, will be leaving in 15 minutes, my phone goes with me then she'll be without - I'm not waiting on Eric to respond via text, that could be days from now.  When I'm ready I'm outta here!  Of course she can't text Eric himself, she has to text two other friends first who might know his address.  "Really Pip? Why not just ask Eric?"  She rolls her eyes at me, I can't see it but I feel it, "Eric won't know his OWN address Mom, geez."  I'm dumbstruck. "Eric won't know his own address?"  Here comes more 17 year old logic, "Mom, I don't even know my own address."  Dear God. MY child doesn't know her own address - SHE'S FRIGGIN 17!!! Eric doesn't know his own address but his friends do?  What is this?  You remember mine and I'll remember yours?!  If that's the case, why not remember your own??!! What ever happened to the law that says every kid must know his own address by the age of ten?  Ok, maybe it wasn't actually a law but at least THAT made sense!!  Bing - we get a text from a friend, "Ok, his address is 996 so on and so forth (address withheld to protect the innocent and uniformed)."  Of course I'm running around like mad, packing my lunch, looking for my other shoe - which Pip borrowed from me without permission, and will never remember something like an address right now.  "Write it down for me please." 

"I don't have any paper."

"Well get some."  That's parent logic right there.  "But I'm in bed!" 

"Well get out of bed."  Again more parental logic, now that makes sense doesn't it?  "Will you bring me some?" 

"Girl I am trying to get out of here, I'm in a hurry."

"Ok, well, his address is - " again with the verbal address.  "Pip - WRITE IT DOWN FOR ME OR FIND YOUR OWN WAY HOME!"  A moment of silence from the living room.  Then I hear whomp, scooch, scooch, grunt, grunt, groan and straining noises.  I peeked around the corner.  Now, our couch is at one end of the living room, the entertainment center is about 9 feet from that.  Pips backpack is on the floor in front of the entertainment center.  The back pack has writing implements.  I see my child.  She was flung the covers down to her hips.  Her right hip has been stapled to the couch.  Pip is twisted and straining, trying to pull off some Ninja Inspector Gadget walking on her hands move, reaching and thwapping with a pillow.  Her feet feeling the strain are poking out of the other end of the blanket jabbing the air.  She is grunting and groaning.  Yes, I'm in a hurry, but I stop to watch.  A parent doesn't get to see an act this every day, it's fascinating.  She finally reaches the backpack.  She sucks her arms and body back into itself and I retreat to the kitchen to finish my preparations.  Unbelievable.  I am shaking my head and doing my own eye rolls.  I look back at her, she is eyes closed, arms thrown wide in an attitude of exhaustion - no doubt from all the excessive exertion.  But in her hand is a small slip of paper with numbers and words barely written on it - and with MY pen!  I walked into the living room, stood for a moment looking at my child then picked up the paper.  She didn't rustle a feather.  "Where's the zip code Sweetie?"  Her eyes fly open, "ZIP code?!!  Nobody knows a zip code!!  You didn't say you wanted the zip code!!"  Oh dear.  I cannot take it any longer.  I have to get out of here.  I bite my lip and walk away.  That's helpful you know.  That's a move that may prolong the life of your child.

How long is summer???