Innocence not-so-Lost

It's a well known fact that I hate dust. And dirt. And lint. And grime. And sticky spots. And sticky spots that have collected little bits of dust. So chances are that if you were to burst through my front door on any given day at a completely random time, it's pretty likely that you'd find me with a can of Pledge in my hand, possibly even crawling on the super dangerous open ledge located in our two-story entry that seems to be a DUST MAGNET! You know, the ledge that if I were to slip and fall off of and come crashing down to the ceramic tile underneath, the children are instructed to suppress their laughter just long enough to call 9-1-1.

Every other day as I'm buffing finger smudges off of the piano and dusting picture frames, I find myself glancing at these pictures of when my boys were younger and sometimes thinking "where did those days go?" or, more accurately, "when exactly did they start incorporating 'freaking' and 'crap' and 'moron' into their vocabularies on such a regular basis?"

At least I still have Zoe. Sweet, innocent, harmless little 7-year-old Zoe. True, she prefers Spider Man to Barbies and Nerf guns to tea parties, but she still loves to give me a hug once in a while and still thinks I'm sort of smart and believes in every fictional, furry, overweight, sweetly retarded character associated with various holidays and childhood milestones.

So yesterday, as I was dusting the kids' bedrooms and throwing away various kleenexes and gum wrappers, I came across a stack of small handwritten notes in Zoe's bedroom. Since I am a firm believer in respecting my kids' privacy and not snooping unless the note is RIGHT THERE and the child has recently had the privilege of consuming a meal that I prepared for them, I read them.

The first note is a to-do list:

Um, and the what? And the who? What the hell kind of second grade is my kid going to? Why doesn't she know how to spell "beautiful" correctly?

After I picked Zoe up from school that afternoon, I told her to go upstairs and get ready for tennis and oh yeah, you know those notes that you left on your dresser? Why don't you bring them downstairs so we can talk about them. Suddenly, her half-Asian eyes took on a full-Caucasian appearance and her mouth dropped open as she ran up the stairs. She came back down, slammed the notes on the counter and again, took off up the stairs yelling "OOOOOH! MMMMMYYYYY! GAAAWWW!"

With a bowl of mac and cheese in front of her and me remaining completely calm and obviously open to any reasonable explanation, she told me that a boy in her class was at the boy's bathroom at the same time that a girl in her class was at the girl's bathroom, and when the boy came back to class he proclaimed that he and the girl "were just hanging out over there, sexin' it up and stuff." All of the kids laughed and Zoe immediately interpreted his statement as "So, cool, sex means they were together, near each other, hanging out, that sounds neat." She told me that yes, she did think AJ was a pretty nice kid and is glad that she is friends with him, but now that I've informed her that sex means THAT THE BOY HAS TO SEE THE GIRL NAKED, she plans on remaining "just friends" with all the boys. Like, forever. Her whole life.

Before you start leaving lectures/comments below about how I'm a horrible parent who's obviously not taking these issues seriously enough and how I should start planning my outfit and schedule that perm appointment for my episode of "16 and Pregnant," I'd like to share with you what was on the back of the sex note:

Yes, that's right. The most exciting thing for her wasn't dressing up beautiful or sexin' it up with AJ, it was the fact that she had lost a tooth that morning, which means that some geriatric chick carrying a sack of change was going to break into our home in the middle of the night and steal her stinky baby tooth.

And you know what every visit from the Tooth Fairy requires: a handwritten note.

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.