Thank you, now kiss my ass

With just over a month left of this school year, I can safely say that A) the last day can't come soon enough, B) science teachers that also happen to be Atheist have an interesting teaching style, C) there are a lot of clueless parents out there, and D) I'm sick of being in my car. Or, to be more specific, I'm sick of being in my fucking car, listening to my kid tell me about how it's his science teacher's goal to fail everyone in the class "to make a statement," only to deal with stupid ass annoying parents as soon as I get out of my car.

Since there are at least three days out of the week where I look at my calendar and discover that I'm supposed to be in at least two different places at exactly the same time, I have had to suck it up and occasionally ask other people to give my kids a ride. After recent events, however, there is one family in particular that will never again be responsible for getting my kid from point A to point B.

Toward the end of every school year, in addition to the dozens of choir and orchestra concerts, the junior high hosts an Honors Night, recognizing those students that have maintained an "I'm not a moron" GPA for the majority of the year. This convention of smugness has always been held on a Monday evening, which coincidentally is the same evening that my kids have piano lessons. And high school tennis matches. And homework that needs to be completed in order to maintain the GPA that got their asses invited to the Honors Night to begin with. So since we have always had conflicts and my piano teacher seems to be as inflexible as a landscaping paver when it comes to canceling lessons, and even though my kids have always received the "Please Attend..." postcard, I've never made it a very big priority to attend this thing.

Both of my boys are on the varsity tennis team and last Monday (Honors Night) they both had fairly difficult matches that went to third sets. As I sat in just-below-40-degrees-not-including-the-wind temperatures, trying to say something more encouraging than "I'm freezing my ass off here so end this thing already!" and mourning the loss of feeling in my toes, I watched as their matches moved along and the time got later and later. When the last points were finally played, I realized that there was no way in hell that anyone was going to make it to their piano lesson and was instantly relieved that I had never even considered trying to make it to Honors Night. And then, as soon as I got in the car, Zach said "Okay, so I'm going to Honors Night. It's my last year at the junior high and I want to see what the thing is. Will you drop me off?"

I said fine, but I'm not staying (even though I know that every other parent would be there). And by the way if you see anyone there that lives within two miles of us, ask them if you can get a ride home. After all, I was planning on putting myself into a calorie coma with the beef stew that was waiting for me in a crock pot, so as far as I was concerned, making an unplanned drive back to the junior high was on my list of things to do, right after "Feed self to flesh eating zombies."

Fortunately, my kid found someone to ride home with and I was overcome with joy. And I didn't even experience too much guilt since these people live a whopping 1/10th of a mile away. But, like a good neighbor, I made a mental note to make sure and thank them for driving that extra tenth of a mile next time I saw them.

As luck would have it, both of us were back at the junior high on Wednesday night for a concert and sure enough, we bumped into each other. I said "Hey thanks for giving my kid a ride home on Monday night! My evening was chaos so I really appreciate it." And then, instead of just saying no problem, I got a fucking eye roll from her. And then a mini-lecture about how she couldn't believe I just dropped him off and didn't stay, and that they have a busy schedule too but some things should be viewed as a priority. And, well, to each their own but she makes her boys go to Honors Night because she's really proud of them and everyone should see that they got good grades and were invited.

And here's where I could have launched into a "do you know where the fuck I just drove from and what I just sat through" lecture, but it would have been pointless. I could have explained that FYI, just because I thought about driving to the bar as soon as I dropped my kid off at the front door of the school, it doesn't mean I actually followed through with it. (After all, I had my dog on my lap and the last time I checked, they still don't allow dogs in the bar.) And by the way, stupid wench, I already know my kids are smart. I certainly don't need to waste a Monday night standing around a school cafeteria, gnawing on a crappy cookie, to reassure myself of that fact.

Turns out that my kid only stayed at Honors Night for about 15 minutes after I dropped him off and as he ate his dinner, he filled me in on the details: he picked up a certificate, stood around, ate a couple crappy cookies and told people that wondered where I was that "she didn't want to come because she thinks it's pointless." So now I am beaming with pride because not only am I raising a smart kid, but I'm raising an honest kid, too!

Smile!

Hanging in my upstairs hallway are three picture frames, one for each kid. Each frame is divided into nine sections, and under each section it says kindergarten, 1st grade, 2nd grade and on and on it goes until 8th grade. When I purchased these frames several years ago, I wondered why they didn't bother to include the last four years and instead, chose to stop at 8th grade. Now I know why.

When I was a kid, I dreaded school picture day. The only pictures I truly like are from kindergarten (because my smile was genuine, and I smiled my ass off) and, even though my hair was ginormous, my senior year (because they were taken by an actual photographer that was paid large sums of money). Between those years, the pictures are nothing but a documentary of perms gone wrong, braces, zits and, most of all, self-conscious smiles. You see, it was around 2nd or 3rd grade that someone was kind enough to point out to me that when I smiled, my eyes slammed shut and ended up looking even slantier than they already were. What resulted from me hearing this comment was spending the next decade half-smiling for school pictures, intently focused on keeping my eyes open.

Zach, on the other hand, has never taken a bad school picture. Even in 2nd grade, when I got a call from the school nurse immediately after he had his picture taken and she was pretty sure that he was sick judging by his high fever, and even though he must have felt like crap while he was sitting on that little stool under the bright lights, he took a great picture.

And so far, even though she only has a pre-school picture and kindergarten under her belt, Zoe seems to be continuing down the same good picture path. But then, looking back through all of the pictures I've taken of her over the years, the girl has never taken a bad picture, so I don't think she'll have anything to worry about.

Charlie, on the other hand, has a spottier history. His kindergarten picture is like mine -- the classic tooth-filled grin with his eyes slammed shut. Then there was the year that the moron photographer made him say Scooby-Doo right as the flash went off. And then there was the year that, despite being reminded multiple times that he should wear something non-ugly because it was picture day, he went to school in a zip-up hooded sweatshirt. Fortunately, I don't have that one in an 8x10.

Because of the fact that our junior high requires all students to wear a photo ID tag while they're in school, pictures need to be taken at the very beginning of the year. Or, in the case of the 7th graders, the pictures were already taken at orientation before the school year even began. Charlie, surprisingly enough, not only asked me to help him, but actually wore the outfit that I suggested. I'm sure the pictures will be great.

Zach's picture was taken yesterday, and although the event was written on his calendar and he had a couple reminders from me, I'm pretty sure he forgot, because our morning went a little something like this:

ME: Don't forget to pack your tennis bag this morning, including clothes.

ZACH: Umm, I'll just wear tennis clothes to school so I don't hafta change.

ME: You shouldn't wear tennis clothes for your school pictures. That's what your tennis pictures are for.

ZACH: Oh, uh, yeah, well, huh.

ME: So don't forget to wear something non-hideous.

ZACH: Hhuuummmmmhhhgr.

ME: (20 minutes of silence later) It's 7:23. You need to get off the couch and get to the bus stop.

ZACH: No, it's only 7:22. I don't hafta go yet.

ME: (ssssssiiiiiiiggggggghhhhhhhh)

ZACH: Okay, now I'll go. Oh, is this outfit okay for pictures?

ME: Well, I can't really say that it isn't, because you don't have enough time to change. So I guess, sure, that outfit is great (even though it wasn't).

ZACH: No, these shorts are going to look bad. I should go change.

ME: Maybe you should have thought about this earlier, instead of while your brother is standing in the garage waiting to get on the bus that is on it's way. Just go.

ZACH: But I'm wearing a t-shirt! With a logo on it! I look dumb!

ME:

ZACH: Well? What should I do?

CHARLIE: Zach! I hear the bus! What are you doing?

ZACH: Thanks for your help, mom!

ME: Smile nice, dear! I'm sure they won't notice your shorts.

Considering the fact that he wore a shirt he hates and, because of the palate expander in his mouth working it's magic, he now has a gap between his front teeth which are also home to a new set of braces, I'm thinking that Zach's picture this year will be the equivalent of smiling too wide, saying Scooby-Doo, slamming his eyes shut and wearing a hooded sweatshirt, all at the same time.

But hey, at least that picture frame I have hanging upstairs stops at 8th grade. And no, I did not order an 8x10.

A New School Year

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I'm ready for summer vacation to be over. The last few months have been great and, in addition to a couple vacations, we've all enjoyed some much needed time off from science projects, weekly piano lessons and alarms going off at 6:15. But now, after an especially easy August, I feel like it's time to return to reality, mainly because I'm pretty sure that if you were to peer into my kids' skulls, all you would find is something that resembles an overcooked bowl of oatmeal that has been sprinkled with the occasional bit of brain.

Before the backpacks go out the door tomorrow morning, though, I'd like to ask the schools for a few simple things that would make not only mine, but everyone else's lives a little bit easier.

1. Please create family accounts for lunch money. Then I would only have to deposit money into one account instead of a separate account for each kid, and my kids could all use the same PIN. Currently, each kid has their own account, which means that they each have to memorize a different PIN (and, of course, the PIN changes when they change schools), and I get three separate emails notifying me when the balance drops below a certain amount and please deposit more funds immediately before your kid receives the Stamp of Shame on his hand and is only allowed to eat a cold cheese sandwich.
2. About that PIN -- would it really be that hard to let a family choose what their pin number will be? I didn't think so.
3. And about those lunches that I pay for -- please make them edible. And while I'm all for trying to broaden the kids' horizons and encouraging them to try new food, putting sliced beets and collard greens on an elementary school lunch menu seems a bit, well, moronic.
4. We live .9 mile away from the front door of our elementary school, which means that I am responsible for getting my kid to and from school each day. The lady that lives an additional tenth of a mile away gets to put her kid(s) on a bus. Please adjust my property taxes accordingly.
5. I know that science projects can be educational, but assigning 25 of them only manages to teach one thing: a hatred of science. Please keep the maximum number of projects to be completed within one school year to three. Four tops. Zero would be even better.
6. Feel free to omit the three-week swimming unit from the junior high phy ed curriculum.
7. Feel free to add a unit called "How to use deodorant" to the junior high health curriculum.
8. Maybe this issue was specific to our school district, but next year I would appreciate it if the kids' junior high schedules could be posted sooner than two days before the first day of school, during Labor Day weekend.
9. Instead of teachers waiting until the first day of school to tell the kids all about the additional, specific supplies they're going to need for each class, why can't they post them online ahead of time? Believe it or not, there are some families that don't thrive on the thrill of hunting for school supplies.

And one last request: The majority of the teachers I know are spectacular people that love watching kids learn, give selflessly, work whatever hours are necessary and genuinely care about their students. But to those teachers that are incapable of using common sense, never reply to emails, assign more homework than is necessary over the weekends "just because they can" and seem to derive pleasure from watching good students make mistakes, A) You will not receive a good Christmas gift from me, and B) Knock it off.

A Much Needed Break

Today is the last day of school and while I know there a lot of parents that dread the start of summer vacation, I happen to love being a stay-at-home-mom in the summer. Sure, I'll miss having a couple hours to myself everyday to be able to swear out loud and I won't have uninterrupted time to sit on my ass, eat chips, paint my nails and occasionally work out, but I will gladly trade these things in for the knowledge that, at least for a couple months, the main things I worry about are getting the kids to tennis lessons on time, whether or not it's okay to grill hot dogs three nights in a row, and if we should have happy hour on the deck or in the driveway.

As my kids get older, the school year has definitely become more time consuming. For example, Zoe's last few days of kindergarten revolved around eating cookies, hanging out on the playground, a party, an art project and singing songs. Charlie's a sixth grader and his second week of June included a phy-ed sports day, a full-day field trip, and an end-of-year party that lasted five hours (the other hour and-a-half was taken up with lunch and recess). On the other hand, Zach's last few days as an eighth grader consisted of finals, last-minute projects being handed in and several hours of homework. So while it seems that Zoe and Charlie's summer vacations started a week ago, I've been impatiently waiting for Zach's summer to start since the beginning of April because honestly, the kid needs a break. Oh, and I need one too, from:

1. The weekly notes that come home advising me that a child in ____'s classroom has strept throat, influenza, pink eye, or my all-time favorite: ring worm.
2. Wednesday Envelopes, the communication system that the elementary school uses to send home fundraiser notices, lunch menus, science camp opportunities, registration info for sports, PTO updates and the school newsletter. In other words, the majority of the Wednesday Envelope contents gets chucked directly into the recycling bin.
3. The non-stop requests for money to cover the costs for art projects, field trips, class parties, school pictures, athletic fees, and t-shirts.
4. Asking "Do you have your snack?" every morning and "How much homework do you have?" every afternoon.
5. Getting the following emails: A) Kindergarten is looking for a couple mommies to volunteer; B) According to our records, ____ has a low lunch account balance, so please deposit money at your earliest convenience, like NOW; and C) Kindergarten REALLY needs a couple mommies with some free time that can volunteer.
6. Finding out that a kid needs two styrofoam cubes, a bag of marbles, three pieces of brown felt and some maracas -- yesterday.
7. Hearing the drama about "so and so said she won't be my friend if I'm friends with Suzie but I like Suzie so why can't I be friends with her that just seems weird and sorta mean," from a kindergartner.
8. Huge science projects, group science projects, and the other 15 science projects.
9. School drop-off and pick-up and dealing the fact that carpool is apparently defined as "Jody drives."
10. Driving to after-school rehearsals for orchestra, before-school rehearsals for choir, and attending three evening concerts for each.

I know that occasionally there will be small reminders of the school year during the summer, like when I use a coupon out of the Happenings Book that I bought for a fundraiser in September or wrap a gift using the paper I bought for the fundraiser in October. And even though retailers are cruel enough to start back-to-school sales at the beginning of August, I love knowing that during the summer months, my kid-related responsibilities are pretty much defined by tennis lessons, swimming at the club, packing a cooler with sandwiches and when I should reapply sunscreen. Of course there will still be laundry to do, a house to clean, a lawn to mow and errands to run, but fortunately there are also popsicles to eat, a sprinkler to run through, burgers to grill and a park to be played on.

Oh, and there's also that fridge full of beer to drink.

Lessons Learned

The Memorial Day weekend is providing me with three sun-filled days of quality time with my family. It is also three days of catching up on homework, playing outside, several clothing changes and a whole lot of beer. Throughout all of it, a few things occurred to me:

1. Never sit down until you look at the toilet paper holder first.
2. For the first six months of life, the first kid lives in their parents arms, the second kid lives in a front carrier, and the third kid lives in the car.
3. That whole "five minutes until we need to leave" warning is a bunch of bullshit, especially when there is a hungry five-year-old involved that wants something to eat now. Like, now. Not later in the car, NOW!
4. My neighbor's lawnmower is incapable of starting before 8:30pm.
5. When the youngest child says "hey look at this I found a new way to show the number two" and then promptly holds up her two middle fingers, it's best to display no emotion.
6. Likewise, when the same kid says "wow the garbage smells like Doritos" it's best to just take their word for it and not "come and smell it" like they suggested, because I'm pretty sure that's not what Doritos smell like.
7. Junior high really hasn't changed that much and if anything there's more bullshit to deal with now than when I was that age. You know, back in the day when dinosaurs were kept as pets and we used a rock tablet and chisel to take notes about the latest fire starting techniques.
8. Just because a soon-to-be teenager gets up on their own before 9am doesn't necessarily mean that the kid is waking up in a good mood.
9. Rosie was completely taken for granted, and although I hate this phrase more than anything else, it makes me wonder: What the hell did Jane Jetson do all day anyway?
10. Not every day requires a cocktail. Some just require shots of tequila.

An Educational Experience

It has taken a few days, but I think I have finally recovered from attending the kindergarten field trip to the zoo, and it was definitely a good news/bad news kind of day:

Good news: Even though it was cloudy, it didn't rain. (At least not until right after we left.)

Bad news: The weatherman was wrong (again) about the temperature, so the kids in tank tops were freezing and Zoe is now the owner of yet another fleece jacket. This one has a polar bear on it, though.

Good news: We saw a tiger in action.

Bad news: It was eating action, and the vegetarian kids were a little freaked out.

Good news: Yay for monkeys!

Bad news: Apparently monkeys do some pretty great drugs, which contradicts what the DARE program is trying to teach our children.

Good news: We saw a baby orangutan swinging around.

Bad news: I had to stand next to a dad that insisted on speaking with falsetto.

Good news: There was a great photo op for a picture of Zoe with her friends.

Bad news: Four kids don't fit on a turtle.

Good news: We saw the giraffes.

Bad news: We smelled the giraffes.

Good news: We saw a buffalo. Or maybe it was a bison.

Bad news: The buffalo/bison was in the exact same spot/position/mental state as when I saw him last year.

Good news: After hearing animal sounds, we thought we were going to get lucky and see a monkey in the parking lot.

Bad news: It was just a deranged black-socks-wearing-dad making insanely loud monkey sounds at his kid while his butt was sticking out of the car door.

Good news: I remembered that lunch was going to be later than usual, so I threw a couple snacks in my purse for when the kids got hungry.

Bad news: A granola bar and a bag of fruit snacks split between four kids is not exactly satisfying.

Good news: Luckily, I knew to avoid some road construction on the drive back to the school, and therefore managed to not sit in traffic.

Bad news: The two bus drivers hauling 125 kindergartners with full bladders were not so lucky.

Bad news: Zach had a varsity tennis match and needed to get out of school early, so I had to race back from the zoo in order to get to the junior high. I got there just in time to deal with the fact that the front office completely screwed up his early release, which meant that unless I drove like a crazy person (which, fortunately, I manage to do most of the time anyway) he would be late for the tennis bus. I was so irritated with the incompetence of the attendance office that after we finally got in the car I said "fucking" for the first time in front of my kid, as in "I can't believe how fucking stupid the women are in that office."

Good news: Zach's brain was still in junior high mode, so he didn't even flinch when he heard me say it. After all, it was probably at least the 247th time he had heard it that day.

Good news: I managed to be a good person/mom and made it through an entire field trip surrounded by other people's children without having to bring a flask.

Better news: Since I hadn't brought any booze to the zoo, it meant that there was more booze at home. Or at least, there was more booze at home.

(Less Than) Wonderful Memories

Yesterday was prom day for our high school. While I'd love to be able to say that when I saw the giant Escalade limo in our cul de sac and watched a bunch of neighborhood girls wearing too much eye makeup, shellacked up-do's and formal dresses pose for pictures (and noticed that there wasn't a minority in the group), nothing but wonderful high school memories came flooding back for me, that would be like saying I'm really a 5'10" large breasted natural blonde that never drinks and looks forward to putting on false eyelashes every morning.

I was adopted at the age of six months from South Korea and lived the first four years of my life in a small town in north-central Minnesota. Before kindergarten, my family moved to a not-quite-as-small-of-a-town just north of Minneapolis/St. Paul and I was lucky enough to be the child that introduced the concept of diversity to our local elementary school. I have vivid memories of a boy named Chris saying, every day of second grade, "Hey everyone, look at Jody. Her face is so flat it must have been smashed in by a Mack truck." If I would have taken a picture every time a kid made a slanted-eyes face at me while calling me such creative things as "Chung King" or "Chop Suey," the pictures would fill about 350 photo albums. Another girl always asked me why my name wasn't Kim, because "all Chinese girls are named Kim."

From grades 7-12, there were never more than four minorities in our school, myself included. I had plenty of friends in high school, but never dated anyone from my school because even though I got along with the guys, they all "just wanted to be friends." My junior and senior proms came and went without being asked to go, and at the time I was okay with it. Thinking back, though, I guess it would have been nice to have been thought of as dateable. But I'm sure it was just that the guys were being considerate because they all knew that I hated wearing a dress. Or maybe it was because they knew that I could drink more beer than them and were worried about me being an expensive date. Or maybe I smelled bad. I'm sure it wasn't because of my hair color, or the fact that in second grade I had been smashed into by a Mack truck.

So, on Saturday night, I was in a Chinese restaurant waiting to pick up some take-out and apparently I was standing a little too close to the hostess stand because a family walked in, the dad looked at me, and then said "We need a table for three." Normally, I would have laughed it off and chalked the moment up to finding yet another moron in the world, but since I had just been remembering all those wonderful moments of being teased and the proms I missed and why I used to hate going to Chinese restaurants as a kid (because the servers always assumed I was a foreign exchange student), I kind of snapped at him. Did I call him a clueless dick? Possibly. Did I point out the fact that wow, I even speak English? Maybe. Did I then grab my egg rolls and chicken in garlic sauce and mumble "what the fuck" as I walked by him and out the door? Absolutely.

Seriously. What a clueless dick.

Jr High Choir Attire

When Zach brought home all of the information from his various classes at the beginning of the school year, I made a list of all the supplies needed for each class. In addition to the standard items like notebooks, folders and pencils, he needed colored pencils, a flash drive, a TI30 calculator, graph paper and combination locks. Surprisingly, though, the class requiring the most expensive supplies turned out to be choir.

There are three choir concerts during the school year and the boys are required to wear black pants, a white dress shirt, a tie and dress shoes to these concerts. Because he plays in several piano recitals each year, Zach is unlucky enough to already own a pair of dress shoes, which is lucky for me since I hate shoe shopping for my boys and the choir teacher has pointed out no fewer than half-a-dozen times that no tennis shoes are allowed. I headed to Target to find the shirt and pants and judging by the depleted stock of size 14 black pants and XL white shirts, I was not the only one spending over $50 on two articles of clothing that would be worn exactly three times before they were outgrown.

Imagine my surprise when the rehearsals for the second concert started and Zach brought me a note from the choir teacher saying that gee, the kids are working really hard and learning new songs for the Disney-themed concert and gosh, wouldn't it be fun and wacky if the kids all wore matching t-shirts with a Disney logo on them for the low price of $10? I thought, um, of course it wouldn't. I have a perfectly good pair of almost-new black pants and a white shirt hanging in the kid's closet specifically for choir concerts. I even ironed goddammit!

Assuming it would be useless for me to complain, I filled out the t-shirt order form, wrote out the check using my 24-pt. "I'm Annoyed" font and handed it to Zach. It was then that I noticed that I could be generous and offer to pay for one, two, or even more shirts for other kids who may not have the financial means to purchase an extra shirt at this time. Okay, so if the school thought that some families might be financially inconvenienced by having to purchase a $10 t-shirt after they've already bought the previously required dress pants, shirt and dress shoes, wouldn't a person with as little as 25% brain function think maybe the matching $10 t-shirt idea is stupid? I guess this says a lot about his choir teacher.

I didn't offer to pay for any additional shirts because I was hoping that if enough kids didn't turn in their order forms and money maybe they would chuck the whole idea into the incinerator and just let the kids wear whatever they already owned. Unfortunately this did not happen and Zach brought the shirt home on Tuesday, the day of the concert:

After the concert I asked Zach what he wanted to do with this fine piece of blue apparel and he said to just throw it away, but I'm thinking that maybe I'll add it to the same pile that my dog shit-stained Gap sweats are in. I'm also prepared to shop for another dress shirt and pair of black pants for the May concert since, due to Zach's growth spurt, I'm pretty sure he's outgrown the one-time-worn pants hanging in his closet. Oh, and if I haven't mentioned this before, I am ready for this school year to be over.

Jr High Swimming=Hell

A couple weeks ago, Zach came home from school and told me something that I have been dreading all school year: The three-week swimming unit in phy-ed is starting.

While I have some pretty crappy memories of junior high, the swimming unit is definitely on the top of that list. Since my school didn't have a pool, I had to ride a bus to a different junior high, which meant that I had less time after swimming to get dressed and dry my hair. I had to use a thick polyester, school-issued "swimsuit," which I'm convinced was sewn together by blind women who also had limited use of their hands. In addition to the shapeless swimwear and lack of post-swim primping time, there was the fact that even though I was good at sports, I couldn't do the survival float. Every single time the teacher blew that fucking whistle, it was like a cue for me to start sinking like a rock.

Besides the fact that junior high swimming still requires kids in various stages of puberty to change together in a locker room, Zach's experience will be much more pleasant than mine. His school has it's own pool, since he wears prescription swim goggles his eyes won't be fried out from the chlorine and the kids now get to use their own swimsuits and bring their own towels.

Wait. What the fuck. The kids get to bring their own swimsuits and towels? This means that, oh holy hell. He's going to be bringing home chlorine-filled, soggy swim trunks and a towel everyday! Like I don't already have enough laundry to do!

Surprisingly enough, the beginning of the week went pretty well even though I had to immediately put his swimming stuff in the washing machine as soon as he walked in the door. There was one day that it sat in a basket for a couple hours and it made the laundry room smell like a junior high pool, so every time I walked in there I started having flashbacks. I do no enjoy junior high flashbacks.

Toward the end of the week I was waiting for him to walk in the door, ready to grab his swimming bag, pinch my nose and stuff it into the washer. Sure enough, that was the day that he said, "Oops. I forgot to bring my swimming stuff home and it's sitting in my locker." Um, gross. I immediately had to forget that he even told me such a horrid fact because thinking about that stinky bag sitting in his locker overnight made me nauseous.

I reminded him no fewer than 372 times the following morning to "think about how much anger he will witness from me if he forgets two bags of disgusting swimming crap in his locker." Forunately for him, he remembered to bring everything home and I couldn't get the washer started fast enough. As soon as I hit the "start" button, though, he said "Hey, is my lock in there? Are you washing my lock?" I opened the door, held my breath and rummaged through the grossness to find...NO LOCK! "Oh, I guess someone stole it. Now I need a new lock." I guess he didn't remember to bring home everything after all, and note to self: when Charlie starts junior high buy a six-pack of locks so that they all have the same combination, because the locks will be lost/stolen/misplaced/eaten by a zombie.

If I haven't mentioned it before, let me just say that OH MY GOD! THIS SCHOOL YEAR HAS GOT TO STOP BECAUSE IT IS DRIVING ME INSANE.

In Reality, I Rarely Skipped Classes, So WTF

Like most people, I usually don't remember my dreams. The exception to this is when, over the last 20 years or so, I manage to have the same dream over and over again. Unfortunately, the recurring dream doesn't involve alcohol, a vacation, a money tree, a dust-free house, or anything else that leaves a smile on my face. It involves high school.

Thanks to the fact that I showed up at a junior high fundraiser last Friday, I have had the displeasure of having this dream three out of the last five nights. Maybe it's the fact that as we were leaving the school, a junior high dance was just beginning. Walking through a mob of teenagers induced a shocking amount of anxiety and made me remember how much I disliked junior high. The bad wardrobe choices, braces, greasy hair, inability to use obscenities in a creative way, body odor and bad posture made me grateful for adulthood, but also triggered this dream:

I'm at high school, but I've been skipping so often that I can't remember where my locker is. I wander around the locker bays, finally find my locker, but then realize that I don't remember the combination. Even if I get my locker open, it doesn't matter because I have no idea what class I'm supposed to be in, or where that class is, because I don't even remember my way around. Is the cafeteria that direction, or is that where calculus is? Somehow I end up finding an area of the school that I never even knew existed.

I figure since I'm so far behind in English, I might as well just drop the stupid class. So I head to the office, only to stop outside the door because I realize that if I drop it, I might not have enough credits to graduate. So I head back toward the class, 20 minutes late, and just keep walking right by the door. After all, the teacher probably won't even recognize me, I'm weeks behind in assignments, and there's a test today that I haven't studied one minute for.

There are usually slight variations to the dream: what I'm wearing, the color of my locker, the class I've been skipping, and the friends I see in the hallway. But no matter how hideous my outfit is or who I wave to, the end of the dream is always the same: I leave school early after deciding to skip classes again, and have a lot more fun doing something else. Unfortunately, this part of the dream I never seem to remember.