Well, I've finally lost the baby weight. All 120 pounds of it. And it only took me 18 years, five months and 22 days.
Earbaby is now at Her State U, thousands of miles away. And my husband and I, who more or less centered our lives around her since we knew she was on her way into making us a family, are empty nesters.
And I must admit, I'm not devastated.
The thing is, EB has been separating from us for a couple of years now. She was never much of a homebody with us. Her homebodiness meant being holed up in her room by herself, texting with her friends, watching Netflix, eating, napping, everything, by herself with the door closed. I've joked to people it's no different now that she's gone. If we close the door to her room, it's like nothing has changed.
EB spent practically every waking hour this past summer looking for the next party. She didn't want to spend any time at all with us, although she and I did get in one scary movie together before she left. She was almost manic in "wanting to spend time with my friends." Even when two cousins from Chicago came to visit for a couple of days, even when another cousin, who lives in China, came for a few days, EB was more hit and miss than sit and visit. Her friends took priority over everything and everybody, including friends that she had only recently made.
Now I understand all of this is normal behavior, that their friends become the priority and why should she spend any time with her parents? Why sit down and have a meal when you can grab what you want, go upstairs and shut yourself off and eat while you search online for some sketchy party somewhere in town?
EB did somewhat enjoy her first real job, although she got paid that last week to do nothing. Literally. The kids' camp ended the week before the program, so there were a couple of days, she was told to stay home, because there was nothing for them to do. She only called out sick one day because she just didn't feel well, but really, this particular summer job program, funded by the city, didn't do much for promoting a strong work ethic. I hope she realizes the rest of the world doesn't work that way. For most of us, if we don't work, we don't get paid. She's had 18 years of watching her parents work for a living, so I'm hoping that's the lesson she will eventually learn.
But the summer of endless partying finally came to an end. EB actually showed a lot less maturity as the time approached to leave. She wouldn't settle in and pack. When the last night came, she stuffed one suitcase full of shoes, and packed so few of her clothes, you would have thought she was leaving for a few weeks instead of a few months. She worried more about makeup and hair products than she did basic clothing like jeans, shirts and tops. When she unpacked at her dorm room, her closet looked woefully thin. She will be getting a big box with the clothes she will need for the fall next week.
We spent nearly the entire weekend at Target, Sally's Beauty Supply, and Bed, Bath and Beyond, all for those thousands (of dollars worth) of things to make a dorm room home. We met her roommates -- she has three of them, and went to dinner with the family of one. Everyone seems nice, friendly, and even though EB was overwhelmed with the newness of the experience, she bonded quickly with the one roommate in the same partition and connected with another friend from her orientation.
Our final night together was the day of the Solar Eclipse. Her dad and I went off to see it and she went with her friends. This was such a big deal, with her school close to the 100 percent path of the phenomenon, they cancelled classes that day and organized trips for the students.
She met us for our last dinner together and our last trip for odds and ends. She cried a little when we said goodbye. I didn't. I'm not sad. We will be seeing her in October for Family Weekend and she will be home in November and then December.
So her first class was the following Tuesday and it was the Modern Dance 2 class, which was kind of like an audition. She would be judged by whether she could keep up. She told us she had a tough time following the fast choreography and wasn't sure she would be allowed in. But of course she was. She also is looking to try out for a hip hop dance team. She worried that she never has had to come with her own choreography, and was already talking herself out of auditioning, until she talked to the team president, who encouraged her to try out.
As for my husband and me, we have our own time of transition. He will be leaving his job tomorrow after more than 30 years. He hasn't decided where his next journey will take him, and like I did a couple of years ago, will have a year's time to decide. He isn't ready to retire, and he now understands why when I left that job I didn't want "a retirement party." We'll see what happens in our lives next, as we rediscover what it is like being a couple without being day-to-day parents. As a night worker, I've always had the luxury of having the place to myself during the day when he was at work and Earbaby was at school. Now, he'll be around the house during the day. I wonder how long it takes to drive each other insane. I've told him my new blog will be Wild ride with My Earbaby's Daddy.
No matter what he, and we, decide to do in our next chapter, this one is over. I have entertained writing occasional updates when we visit EB, or she comes home, but I hope I'll resist. It's been interesting, entertaining, vexing, frustrating, disappointing, and exhilarating to try and rear this child into adulthood. Her time, mistakes, good and bad decisions, and consequences, are now her own. It hasn't always been the best of times and it hasn't always been good. But it's been a great adventure and Earbaby, I only want what's best for you, and wish you only the best. But you've left our nest. We love you, little bird. Fly safely. And soar.
Showing posts with label dance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dance. Show all posts
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Monday, July 31, 2017
Summer (whirl) winds
Can this child squeeze any more partying out of summer before her college life (of partying) begins?
I think not.
Earbaby seems determined to go to any and every gathering, cookout, hangout, alleged party within the city, all the neighborhoods, and a few of the surrounding towns, before she bids farewell. I guess all that teasing from her dad about going to school with farmers has made her decide that now is the time to practice dancing until the cows come home.
EB has found the perfect job for her new lifestyle we call, what's-for-dinner-can-I-go-out-there's-a-party-at-(fillintheblank)-and-can-I-take-Steve?
Her job is as a camp counselor. The hours generously start at noon, and end at six, which gives her enough time to come home, find dinner, retire to her lair to eat it, take a shower, spend time texting with her friends for the info on who, what, when and where, take a shower, get dolled up, and get out of the house. With Steve.
Steve is what EB has named her dad's car. She informed us his full name is Steven Carmichael Jordan Mullin the 3rd, and even though he may be on his last legs -- OK tires -- he is the traveling companion who safely gets her where she wants to go. And apparently, Steve has never met a party he didn't like or couldn't finagle his way into.
When her dad and I aren't rolling our eyes at her constant search for the perfect dance venue, we're hoping she gets it all out of her system. In three weeks, we expect her to get serious and buckle down with her schoolwork (Yeah, right).
But this has been EB's summer of summers. She always liked going out with friends, especially this past year, when she found herself again and reestablished herself among the people who really care about her. But in the last couple of months there is more frenetic energy, as if she has suddenly realized that everything, and everybody, will be different later on. Even though she knows she'll undoubtedly see many, if not most of her friends over the Thanksgiving holiday, she recognizes that the distance and time will mean they won't have the same friends, classes, likes, dislikes, and general things in common any more.
I've tried to prepare her, but not in a sad way. I had two best friends through most of my formative years, especially through high school. But the three of us went our separate ways after graduation, and we actually never got together again until our 20-year reunion. One moved to California, and that was her first time back. Before there was texting, there was still constant contact. We'd check in every day on what we were wearing, what our after-school activities would be, who the crush of the day, week, month, was, whose turn it was to have drama. EB's friends check in much more, all day, and all night, sometimes. Still, it will be interesting to see how fast the drop-off will be as they all find new friends, and new dramas in new settings.
So maybe I understand that frantic need to connect with somebody every single day. She's not anticipating being lonely in school. But I'm sure she wonders if she'll feel as close to her high school compatriots when she returns. I want to reassure her that even if she doesn't, it will be all right. Life is all about the changes.
I've also noticed a bit of a push-back from growing away from us. We didn't have to push this baby bird from the nest. She has spent quite a bit of time this past year (and the previous one) poisoning it on her way out. But every once in a while the baby bird wants to creep back in. She'll ask me to do something for her she's perfectly capable of doing for herself, she'll want attention, physical affection of a back rub, or she'll nostalgically rub my ear in the way she soothed herself when she was tired or anxious as a baby. Then it was cute. But now she wears acrylic nails and being stabbed in the ear isn't the barrel of monkeys you'd think it would be.
This month has been such a contrast. EB is getting more and more excited about going away to school, and more and more anxious about going away to school. Yes, she will be thousands of miles away. But she's already worked out that she'll see us nearly every month. We will visit for Family weekend in October (I wouldn't be surprised if it's the first and last time she wants us to), she'll have more than a week home for Thanksgiving, and then there will be at least a month for Christmas. And as my husband and I talk about our spring vacation plans, she is already saying, "wait for me!"
So this summer is for eking out the last vestiges of carefree school friendships. It's for establishing oneself as a bonafide city mouse before becoming, or at least coexisting with the country mice. It's for pulling away from mom and dad, while still wanting to be their baby. Finding herself and losing herself.
She's standing on the precipice of adulthood and trying to both jump off and hang on. I feel for her. We all had to do this. So I know she'll do just fine.
Party on, Earbaby. Party on.
I think not.
Earbaby seems determined to go to any and every gathering, cookout, hangout, alleged party within the city, all the neighborhoods, and a few of the surrounding towns, before she bids farewell. I guess all that teasing from her dad about going to school with farmers has made her decide that now is the time to practice dancing until the cows come home.
EB has found the perfect job for her new lifestyle we call, what's-for-dinner-can-I-go-out-there's-a-party-at-(fillintheblank)-and-can-I-take-Steve?
Her job is as a camp counselor. The hours generously start at noon, and end at six, which gives her enough time to come home, find dinner, retire to her lair to eat it, take a shower, spend time texting with her friends for the info on who, what, when and where, take a shower, get dolled up, and get out of the house. With Steve.
Steve is what EB has named her dad's car. She informed us his full name is Steven Carmichael Jordan Mullin the 3rd, and even though he may be on his last legs -- OK tires -- he is the traveling companion who safely gets her where she wants to go. And apparently, Steve has never met a party he didn't like or couldn't finagle his way into.
When her dad and I aren't rolling our eyes at her constant search for the perfect dance venue, we're hoping she gets it all out of her system. In three weeks, we expect her to get serious and buckle down with her schoolwork (Yeah, right).
But this has been EB's summer of summers. She always liked going out with friends, especially this past year, when she found herself again and reestablished herself among the people who really care about her. But in the last couple of months there is more frenetic energy, as if she has suddenly realized that everything, and everybody, will be different later on. Even though she knows she'll undoubtedly see many, if not most of her friends over the Thanksgiving holiday, she recognizes that the distance and time will mean they won't have the same friends, classes, likes, dislikes, and general things in common any more.
I've tried to prepare her, but not in a sad way. I had two best friends through most of my formative years, especially through high school. But the three of us went our separate ways after graduation, and we actually never got together again until our 20-year reunion. One moved to California, and that was her first time back. Before there was texting, there was still constant contact. We'd check in every day on what we were wearing, what our after-school activities would be, who the crush of the day, week, month, was, whose turn it was to have drama. EB's friends check in much more, all day, and all night, sometimes. Still, it will be interesting to see how fast the drop-off will be as they all find new friends, and new dramas in new settings.
So maybe I understand that frantic need to connect with somebody every single day. She's not anticipating being lonely in school. But I'm sure she wonders if she'll feel as close to her high school compatriots when she returns. I want to reassure her that even if she doesn't, it will be all right. Life is all about the changes.
I've also noticed a bit of a push-back from growing away from us. We didn't have to push this baby bird from the nest. She has spent quite a bit of time this past year (and the previous one) poisoning it on her way out. But every once in a while the baby bird wants to creep back in. She'll ask me to do something for her she's perfectly capable of doing for herself, she'll want attention, physical affection of a back rub, or she'll nostalgically rub my ear in the way she soothed herself when she was tired or anxious as a baby. Then it was cute. But now she wears acrylic nails and being stabbed in the ear isn't the barrel of monkeys you'd think it would be.
This month has been such a contrast. EB is getting more and more excited about going away to school, and more and more anxious about going away to school. Yes, she will be thousands of miles away. But she's already worked out that she'll see us nearly every month. We will visit for Family weekend in October (I wouldn't be surprised if it's the first and last time she wants us to), she'll have more than a week home for Thanksgiving, and then there will be at least a month for Christmas. And as my husband and I talk about our spring vacation plans, she is already saying, "wait for me!"
So this summer is for eking out the last vestiges of carefree school friendships. It's for establishing oneself as a bonafide city mouse before becoming, or at least coexisting with the country mice. It's for pulling away from mom and dad, while still wanting to be their baby. Finding herself and losing herself.
She's standing on the precipice of adulthood and trying to both jump off and hang on. I feel for her. We all had to do this. So I know she'll do just fine.
Party on, Earbaby. Party on.
Friday, June 30, 2017
Friendship rings
Earbaby is all graduated. Her two maternal aunts, a cousin, a new baby cousin (the next generation!) and her 94-year-old grandma, all came to the Northeast corner of the country to celebrate the last grandchild's foray into the new world. It was a fun, momentous occasion. She was later joined by cousins, an aunt and an uncle from her dad's side for a dinner in her honor.
And now the real world beckons.
As EB prepares for this next part of her world, it's been interesting to note how she balances her old life with the impending new. She's been out of school and adrift for almost a month and a half now, sleeping late, going out with friends, spending the gifted money she's received almost faster than she gets it (a physical impossibility that still baffles me), and yet becoming more anxious, not only about the fall, but the rest of the summer.
She's got to get a job. And she's actually turned down two jobs, because she's been promised another one through the city resources. She's been through workshops, CPR training, and yet the days drag on, with no start date in sight. After several emails to the coordinator, she was told she had mandatory three-day training for 2 1/2 hours in the middle of the week she had an intensive (and expensive) dance camp. When she told the coordinator those didn't work for her, she went into panic mode, thinking she had turned down two birds in hand and would be denied the promised one in the bush.
Now that mandatory training has been moved to the first week in July, since apparently she wasn't the only one who couldn't make it. There actually are some kids who were still in school until the last week of June. This has been quite the messy process to get a summer job, that will eventually last only a little more than a month before she is off to the wheat and sunflower state.
But she has occupied her time (between sleeping and Netflix) with lots and lots of friends. It seems every day she finds a new group or friend or two to just hang out with. It doesn't hurt that she has access to a car, but at least a couple of her friends have also been willing to drive to go to the beach, or to the mall, or to just get food. I figure they are all trying to squeeze in their last summer before they scatter to the winds of college or trade school. Interestingly, many of her friends are male and all platonic. She doesn't seem interested in dating any more, and we don't even talk about it. There will be time for the warning talk before we say our goodbyes, but for now she seems much happier with herself as a single lady than she ever was as half of a dysfunctional couple. This summer is definitely a turn for the better.
But June has been quite the swoon. Three straight weekends of whirlwind activity included her final dance recital, her graduation and her college orientation.
The trip to formerly my state U, and now Her State U, was for the most part good, but where would we be without the occasional return of the snarky attitude?
EB is a small city kid. I'm snarky enough to consider our place of residence a little city, because I grew up in what was then the second (now third) largest city in the country. But she's still a city kid, and she's going to a country college town, albeit one rated one of the top college towns for satisfaction, etc. Anyway, we spent a hot weekend in the middle of the country. Her dad and I got to spend a couple of days alone tooling around the countryside, since we both like long drives. EB went to two-day summer camp on steroids.
Of course she was snarky and crabby about it, texting us to ask if we could pick her up from the dorms early (we didn't) because it was boring and a waste of her time. Then she was tired, because they never let them rest. But even though she wouldn't participate in some of the goofiness, she couldn't keep from having somewhat of a good time, despite the fact that the temperature was 90-plus degrees every day. And she did make friends. One can only keep from smiling a little for so long in the face of all that relentless cheerfulness.
But the other part of her crabbiness came from the constant contact with her friends who went to Punta Cana, in the Dominican Republic the same week she had orientation with the country mice. The Snapchat stories and texts that she saw seemed as if everyone was having a much better time than she was, even with a few hiccups. (The stories ended up being a lot less fun, and a lot more dark when everyone got home, and she realized that even had we allowed her to go, her friends would have gotten on her nerves.) So EB spent way too much time comparing getting herself ready for college with the kids who work so they could go on the trip where there was drinking, drugs and sexual misconduct. After she heard the stories, she seemed to stop wishing she had gone.The reality didn't sound nearly as glamorous in the cold light of day. But she couldn't know that while she was turning her nose up, resisting the charms of the Wabash Cannonball dance.
Next month, God and the city services willing, Earbaby will have her first steady job. It will only be for the summer, but I'm hoping she will plan on saving something for college. I can't keep her in Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts for the next four years. In the meantime, she's waiting to hear from the dance department to see if she can start right away with her minor selection, since she didn't get any help in that department from the adviser who helped pick her classes in the psychology department. She was reticent about contacting the instructor we met in October, but I'm trying to make her see that she will have to advocate for herself in the coming years. We pay the bills, but we can't do everything for her anymore. Those days are over.
But it's going to take a minute before she's ready to let go.
And now the real world beckons.
As EB prepares for this next part of her world, it's been interesting to note how she balances her old life with the impending new. She's been out of school and adrift for almost a month and a half now, sleeping late, going out with friends, spending the gifted money she's received almost faster than she gets it (a physical impossibility that still baffles me), and yet becoming more anxious, not only about the fall, but the rest of the summer.
She's got to get a job. And she's actually turned down two jobs, because she's been promised another one through the city resources. She's been through workshops, CPR training, and yet the days drag on, with no start date in sight. After several emails to the coordinator, she was told she had mandatory three-day training for 2 1/2 hours in the middle of the week she had an intensive (and expensive) dance camp. When she told the coordinator those didn't work for her, she went into panic mode, thinking she had turned down two birds in hand and would be denied the promised one in the bush.
Now that mandatory training has been moved to the first week in July, since apparently she wasn't the only one who couldn't make it. There actually are some kids who were still in school until the last week of June. This has been quite the messy process to get a summer job, that will eventually last only a little more than a month before she is off to the wheat and sunflower state.
But she has occupied her time (between sleeping and Netflix) with lots and lots of friends. It seems every day she finds a new group or friend or two to just hang out with. It doesn't hurt that she has access to a car, but at least a couple of her friends have also been willing to drive to go to the beach, or to the mall, or to just get food. I figure they are all trying to squeeze in their last summer before they scatter to the winds of college or trade school. Interestingly, many of her friends are male and all platonic. She doesn't seem interested in dating any more, and we don't even talk about it. There will be time for the warning talk before we say our goodbyes, but for now she seems much happier with herself as a single lady than she ever was as half of a dysfunctional couple. This summer is definitely a turn for the better.
But June has been quite the swoon. Three straight weekends of whirlwind activity included her final dance recital, her graduation and her college orientation.
The trip to formerly my state U, and now Her State U, was for the most part good, but where would we be without the occasional return of the snarky attitude?
EB is a small city kid. I'm snarky enough to consider our place of residence a little city, because I grew up in what was then the second (now third) largest city in the country. But she's still a city kid, and she's going to a country college town, albeit one rated one of the top college towns for satisfaction, etc. Anyway, we spent a hot weekend in the middle of the country. Her dad and I got to spend a couple of days alone tooling around the countryside, since we both like long drives. EB went to two-day summer camp on steroids.
Of course she was snarky and crabby about it, texting us to ask if we could pick her up from the dorms early (we didn't) because it was boring and a waste of her time. Then she was tired, because they never let them rest. But even though she wouldn't participate in some of the goofiness, she couldn't keep from having somewhat of a good time, despite the fact that the temperature was 90-plus degrees every day. And she did make friends. One can only keep from smiling a little for so long in the face of all that relentless cheerfulness.
But the other part of her crabbiness came from the constant contact with her friends who went to Punta Cana, in the Dominican Republic the same week she had orientation with the country mice. The Snapchat stories and texts that she saw seemed as if everyone was having a much better time than she was, even with a few hiccups. (The stories ended up being a lot less fun, and a lot more dark when everyone got home, and she realized that even had we allowed her to go, her friends would have gotten on her nerves.) So EB spent way too much time comparing getting herself ready for college with the kids who work so they could go on the trip where there was drinking, drugs and sexual misconduct. After she heard the stories, she seemed to stop wishing she had gone.The reality didn't sound nearly as glamorous in the cold light of day. But she couldn't know that while she was turning her nose up, resisting the charms of the Wabash Cannonball dance.
Next month, God and the city services willing, Earbaby will have her first steady job. It will only be for the summer, but I'm hoping she will plan on saving something for college. I can't keep her in Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts for the next four years. In the meantime, she's waiting to hear from the dance department to see if she can start right away with her minor selection, since she didn't get any help in that department from the adviser who helped pick her classes in the psychology department. She was reticent about contacting the instructor we met in October, but I'm trying to make her see that she will have to advocate for herself in the coming years. We pay the bills, but we can't do everything for her anymore. Those days are over.
But it's going to take a minute before she's ready to let go.
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
School's Out! ('Til college)
This is the end of an era. And it's pretty much all over until the cap and gown ceremony. And the parties that come before and after.
But suffice to say, Earbaby is more than ready to turn the page on high school. She's been at her venue for six years, starting there as a seventh grader. The school was huge then. She was coming from an almost all-white, smallish Catholic school. She stepped into so much diversity, she immediately stopped feeling like "the other." There were so many "others." There were other biracial kids, there were plenty of kids who spoke Spanish as a first language, plenty of black kids, white kids, Asian kids. Her friend circle quickly widened to a United Nations, in ethnicity, religion, and orientation. This school has served her well.
And now it's time to go. And she's ready.
EB started her countdown, probably around February, even as we were still stressing about college acceptances and where her next residence would be for the foreseeable future. But it really started in earnest around April. She only had a month and a half to go, and while we urged her not to start slacking up on her work (all college acceptances are provisional, dontcha know), there were some days of senioritis. The kid who practically had to be on her deathbed to miss school, suddenly acquired the constitution of a butterfly, and a prolonged case of the sniffles (or, I don't know, vapors?) would have her begging to stay home from school. No money on Netflix was ever so well spent.
Once we were all set with preparing for the prom (her date was a really nice and good friend, and they all had the time of their lives), she started getting ready to say goodbye. There were plenty of days she would come home and say, I am so ready to get away from these people, and many other words to that effect. Yes, she would surely miss her friends, but after so many of them flaked on her when she would try to make plans this entire school year (!), she was sarcastic when they begged her not to go so far away to school.
Oh, now you're going to miss me? she told me she would say. Yes, we both remembered the weekends she would make plans, and one by one, her friends would bail on her. One time, after she had gotten all dressed to go out, and everyone stood her up, she cried in frustration. Yes, she's ready to leave the high school drama behind, even the drama of her own making.
And she will leave with some good memories.
She's gotten closer to some acquaintances, who have now become good friends. She's regained a stronger sense of herself, something woefully missing during the lost junior year of heartache, headache, and out and out betrayal. Hard lessons learned need to remembered as she gets ready to strike out far away from parental involvement. Actions have consequences, snakes show themselves early (and often), and manipulators and controllers shouldn't ever be given the time of day.
But Earbaby is worried too. She knows she's in for a culture shock. But no matter which school she had chosen, it would have been a culture shock, whether HBCU, Midwestern or Southern. It was not going to be anything like home. While she's excited for the change, some of her teachers, well-meaning maybe, but short-sighted definitely, have warned her about going to a red state.
When I pointed out that none of these naysayers had ever been at the campus she chose, she accused me of sugar-coating my alma mater. I wish I could tell these teachers to skate in their own lane. They are contributing to the general anxiety she is starting to feel about moving away, but can't recognize it if her teachers are warning her about white supremacists, which (1) exist every where, even in the bluest of blue states, and (2) are less likely to be tolerated in a college town and on a college campus.
Incidents have been swiftly rooted out and shut down. Stupidity is embarrassing for college campuses and schools who rely on good press and alumni dollars. Racism is everywhere teachers. Stop telling my kid to be afraid. You're actually hurting her growth. You're not more concerned about her welfare than her parents. We would never send her anywhere we didn't think was safe, and you feeding her anxiety about leaving us, makes her think otherwise.
So yes, I'm ready for her to be done too. She's got a couple of weeks of inactivity, before the whirlwind of graduation, orientation, dance workshop for a full week and then a full summer of a job. She will end the roller coaster ride with her first semester in a state far, far away.
She vacillates between poisoning the nest with snarky comments and attitude, and being clingy and needy. This is her final stretch run, and I can tell she's not sure she's ready for it. It's going to be a long, complicated summer.
Sigh.
But suffice to say, Earbaby is more than ready to turn the page on high school. She's been at her venue for six years, starting there as a seventh grader. The school was huge then. She was coming from an almost all-white, smallish Catholic school. She stepped into so much diversity, she immediately stopped feeling like "the other." There were so many "others." There were other biracial kids, there were plenty of kids who spoke Spanish as a first language, plenty of black kids, white kids, Asian kids. Her friend circle quickly widened to a United Nations, in ethnicity, religion, and orientation. This school has served her well.
And now it's time to go. And she's ready.
EB started her countdown, probably around February, even as we were still stressing about college acceptances and where her next residence would be for the foreseeable future. But it really started in earnest around April. She only had a month and a half to go, and while we urged her not to start slacking up on her work (all college acceptances are provisional, dontcha know), there were some days of senioritis. The kid who practically had to be on her deathbed to miss school, suddenly acquired the constitution of a butterfly, and a prolonged case of the sniffles (or, I don't know, vapors?) would have her begging to stay home from school. No money on Netflix was ever so well spent.
Once we were all set with preparing for the prom (her date was a really nice and good friend, and they all had the time of their lives), she started getting ready to say goodbye. There were plenty of days she would come home and say, I am so ready to get away from these people, and many other words to that effect. Yes, she would surely miss her friends, but after so many of them flaked on her when she would try to make plans this entire school year (!), she was sarcastic when they begged her not to go so far away to school.
Oh, now you're going to miss me? she told me she would say. Yes, we both remembered the weekends she would make plans, and one by one, her friends would bail on her. One time, after she had gotten all dressed to go out, and everyone stood her up, she cried in frustration. Yes, she's ready to leave the high school drama behind, even the drama of her own making.
And she will leave with some good memories.
She's gotten closer to some acquaintances, who have now become good friends. She's regained a stronger sense of herself, something woefully missing during the lost junior year of heartache, headache, and out and out betrayal. Hard lessons learned need to remembered as she gets ready to strike out far away from parental involvement. Actions have consequences, snakes show themselves early (and often), and manipulators and controllers shouldn't ever be given the time of day.
But Earbaby is worried too. She knows she's in for a culture shock. But no matter which school she had chosen, it would have been a culture shock, whether HBCU, Midwestern or Southern. It was not going to be anything like home. While she's excited for the change, some of her teachers, well-meaning maybe, but short-sighted definitely, have warned her about going to a red state.
When I pointed out that none of these naysayers had ever been at the campus she chose, she accused me of sugar-coating my alma mater. I wish I could tell these teachers to skate in their own lane. They are contributing to the general anxiety she is starting to feel about moving away, but can't recognize it if her teachers are warning her about white supremacists, which (1) exist every where, even in the bluest of blue states, and (2) are less likely to be tolerated in a college town and on a college campus.
Incidents have been swiftly rooted out and shut down. Stupidity is embarrassing for college campuses and schools who rely on good press and alumni dollars. Racism is everywhere teachers. Stop telling my kid to be afraid. You're actually hurting her growth. You're not more concerned about her welfare than her parents. We would never send her anywhere we didn't think was safe, and you feeding her anxiety about leaving us, makes her think otherwise.
So yes, I'm ready for her to be done too. She's got a couple of weeks of inactivity, before the whirlwind of graduation, orientation, dance workshop for a full week and then a full summer of a job. She will end the roller coaster ride with her first semester in a state far, far away.
She vacillates between poisoning the nest with snarky comments and attitude, and being clingy and needy. This is her final stretch run, and I can tell she's not sure she's ready for it. It's going to be a long, complicated summer.
Sigh.
Monday, January 30, 2017
New Year in a different gear
And so the race to the finish line of all that is familiar begins.
Earbaby has headed into her graduation year with new challenges and anxieties and we're just trying to ride out the daily storms. When she isn't hiding in her room, napping, eating, watching anything on Netflix, or losing brain cells because of Love & Hip Hop or Mob Wives, she's dancing. And dancing. And dancing.
EB has started to narrow her choices in what she wants to major in for college and dance is going to be a part of it, at least as a minor. A sociology class in school has piqued her interest, and now psychology/sociology is on her radar as something she is acutely interested in. Adding a dance minor now means she may be looking for a combination of those subjects that could morph into dance therapy. These ideas and interests are subject to change, but I'm just glad she's starting to focus on what she wants to do in the next chapter of her life.
And the college concerns have begun anew. While she is guaranteed a spot in Kansas, she is now taking a longer look at historically black colleges in the south. Now it's just a matter of if she will be accepted, if we can take a trip to see it, if she will like it, if the price will be astronomical because she is from out of state, if there will be any scholarships or grants available and offered to her, and if we can still afford it if there is no scholarship or grant money. But other than those minor issues (!) no worries, right?
Also, she is already talking about prom shopping. Of course she won't wear either dress from last year, and the date from last year is persona non grata (she won't even say his name), so anything associated with him is forever tainted. She is thinking about going alone, but still wants a really fancy (read: expensive) dress for her senior prom.
EB has also tried, with limited success, more outings with friends. She planned a New Year's dinner with mixed results. It was the usual nonsense from teenagers, half wouldn't commit, some came late bringing more people than planned for, and she was upset with the chaos. She still ended up with a bunch of friends to bring in the New Year, so that was a win. I reminded her that her friends were always chaotic and sketchy on details of outings and the story she told of the night actually ended up being kind of funny. Other outings haven't always been as funny; a recent attempt at a group movie date ended with everyone bailing out on her at the last minute and her ending up going to the mall and for ice cream with a friend. She won't acknowledge her own culpability in these failed plans -- group chats that half the group ignores, phones that always die, assumptions made on where and when, abrupt changes in plans and last-minute decisions to do something together in the first place. Because she now has access to a car, she forgets that others still are coming from all over the city on public transportation and have to plan accordingly.
But at least she's trying to find her footing among friends again. After nearly a year of isolation, she just has to be more patient. And forgiving.
At the end of the day, there's still her dance. EB just got fitted for her first pair of pointe shoes, a humongous step for someone who for years fought taking ballet, the foundation for being a strong professional. She's had 15 years of dance, but has really buckled down in the last few, with different studios and disciplines. Now she has six dance classes a week and helps out in a seventh. She's busy, tired, but realizing that the time for getting ready for a college dance program is growing very short indeed. I'm just happy that she isn't wasting time with people who diminish her instead of uplifting her.
This first month of the new year has been all about her introspection. Yes, she wants to spend time with friends, but her focus is no longer on parties and all the bad behavior and decisions that it led to in the past. She isn't really interested in romantic entanglements, after a few months of a flirtation with a classmate that just seemed to not get beyond the texting phase. She's been pegged to do more modeling and believes it will help her self-confidence and I believe she's absolutely right on that. Right now, she says, she's working on herself. After that long time of trying to please so many others, who turned against her, I believe she is focusing on the real person who matters. Like the man says, you can't please everyone, so you just have to please yourself.
Earbaby has headed into her graduation year with new challenges and anxieties and we're just trying to ride out the daily storms. When she isn't hiding in her room, napping, eating, watching anything on Netflix, or losing brain cells because of Love & Hip Hop or Mob Wives, she's dancing. And dancing. And dancing.
EB has started to narrow her choices in what she wants to major in for college and dance is going to be a part of it, at least as a minor. A sociology class in school has piqued her interest, and now psychology/sociology is on her radar as something she is acutely interested in. Adding a dance minor now means she may be looking for a combination of those subjects that could morph into dance therapy. These ideas and interests are subject to change, but I'm just glad she's starting to focus on what she wants to do in the next chapter of her life.
And the college concerns have begun anew. While she is guaranteed a spot in Kansas, she is now taking a longer look at historically black colleges in the south. Now it's just a matter of if she will be accepted, if we can take a trip to see it, if she will like it, if the price will be astronomical because she is from out of state, if there will be any scholarships or grants available and offered to her, and if we can still afford it if there is no scholarship or grant money. But other than those minor issues (!) no worries, right?
Also, she is already talking about prom shopping. Of course she won't wear either dress from last year, and the date from last year is persona non grata (she won't even say his name), so anything associated with him is forever tainted. She is thinking about going alone, but still wants a really fancy (read: expensive) dress for her senior prom.
EB has also tried, with limited success, more outings with friends. She planned a New Year's dinner with mixed results. It was the usual nonsense from teenagers, half wouldn't commit, some came late bringing more people than planned for, and she was upset with the chaos. She still ended up with a bunch of friends to bring in the New Year, so that was a win. I reminded her that her friends were always chaotic and sketchy on details of outings and the story she told of the night actually ended up being kind of funny. Other outings haven't always been as funny; a recent attempt at a group movie date ended with everyone bailing out on her at the last minute and her ending up going to the mall and for ice cream with a friend. She won't acknowledge her own culpability in these failed plans -- group chats that half the group ignores, phones that always die, assumptions made on where and when, abrupt changes in plans and last-minute decisions to do something together in the first place. Because she now has access to a car, she forgets that others still are coming from all over the city on public transportation and have to plan accordingly.
But at least she's trying to find her footing among friends again. After nearly a year of isolation, she just has to be more patient. And forgiving.
At the end of the day, there's still her dance. EB just got fitted for her first pair of pointe shoes, a humongous step for someone who for years fought taking ballet, the foundation for being a strong professional. She's had 15 years of dance, but has really buckled down in the last few, with different studios and disciplines. Now she has six dance classes a week and helps out in a seventh. She's busy, tired, but realizing that the time for getting ready for a college dance program is growing very short indeed. I'm just happy that she isn't wasting time with people who diminish her instead of uplifting her.
This first month of the new year has been all about her introspection. Yes, she wants to spend time with friends, but her focus is no longer on parties and all the bad behavior and decisions that it led to in the past. She isn't really interested in romantic entanglements, after a few months of a flirtation with a classmate that just seemed to not get beyond the texting phase. She's been pegged to do more modeling and believes it will help her self-confidence and I believe she's absolutely right on that. Right now, she says, she's working on herself. After that long time of trying to please so many others, who turned against her, I believe she is focusing on the real person who matters. Like the man says, you can't please everyone, so you just have to please yourself.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Chaos, confusion, conflict (and Prom 2)!
There's nothing more glorious than this time of year with recitals, proms, driving school, and college testing, said nobody, ever.
Could there be more days filled with running and strife? Well, let's see, the great sibling experiment has gone from sweetness and light to epic failure to communicate, we're counting down to the last two recitals of the year (with two shows in one of them and enough dress rehearsal machinations to choke a horse), driving school for four hours on Saturday mornings, and just to make things interesting, the first go-round of SAT and ACT testing, which apparently will determine if she gets into college or becomes homeless. No pressure, right?
Now is the time of the year when every day is a challenge, a game of beat-the-clock with all the things that need to get done, worked on, studied for, and other things that should, but won't be dealt with, so will be avoided.
Things at home began to sour between EB and her friend Maria, about three weeks after Maria moved in. At first, it was great. They would go out together, or if they were out separately, would meet up to come home together. The first hiccups came when Maria kept having to be told not to borrow EB's things without asking. Small things, mascara, clothing, towels, earrings, would inexplicably wind up in Maria's room after she was asked about it and denied knowledge. But unbeknownst to me, EB never got over an earlier problem with the house keys. See, Maria had "borrowed" her purse, and then made an incredibly stupid decision in which she collided with a parked car when she had no business driving (no license, no permit and apparently no common sense). EB's keys were lost in the car in the confusion of the crash. So EB knew about what happened, but was sworn to secrecy. When the keys finally came home because the owner of the car (who stupidly had allowed Maria to drive) showed up with them, but looking for money to fix his damaged car, the story came out.
From then, the "hiccups" got bigger, and more annoying. Maria still keeps her room like a pigsty, so while once we had thought we would allow her to stay until she finished high school, we've decided it would be best for her to find other arrangements. She finally stopped "borrowing" from EB, but only because the two had a huge argument that involved another friend. While Maria is pleasant enough to EB's dad and me, the two former good friends are more like ships that grudgingly pass in the night. And yes, I'm still telling this grown woman she has to get up and go to school, make her bed, clean her room. EB is disgusted by her and tries to stay out of her own house as much as possible. I've talked about forgiveness and compassion with EB, consequences and cleanliness with Maria. I'm just ready for both girls to get over themselves.
Then there was prom No. 2. EB again couldn't find a dress she liked and I refused to pay $200 or more for a dress she would more than likely wear only once. So we went back to Burlington Coat Factory, found an $80 dress that needed just a few adjustments to work for her. Luckily, one of my best friends knows how to make those kind of sewing miracles happen, and EB ended up loving the dress that she was first ready to throw a tantrum about. She seemed to think I cared that she threatened not to get anything. The (il)logic of a teenager is astounding. Tantrums were brewing though. She decided she didn't like the way the woman at Ulta did her makeup, although she didn't tell her. She waited until we got back in the car and then blamed me. I told her if she didn't like it, she should have spoken up, it's her face. She said I always get mad if she says something. That just wasn't true. She was just anxious and frustrated (the hairdresser was late, and traffic stunk, so once again we were rushed for time), so she decided to have a show about how ugly she looked and how it was my fault. Sorry sister, this is where I came in 15 years ago. If I could ignore your crazy rantings when you were two, I can certainly ignore them now. By the way, she looked beautiful.
Anyway, once she got home, got dressed, took a few pictures before and after incredibly cute boyfriend showed up, Cinderella was off to the ball again (good riddance). And this time, she had a ball. She got home late, exhausted, and happy. They had a great time, music and DJ were "lit" and she danced the night away. Two other girls had the same dress, another had the expensive one she wanted but didn't buy, and yet the world kept spinning on its axis. I only have to do that particular nightmare one more time. These are the times I wish I drank -- and am glad that I don't.
But we still have recitals, rehearsals, college testing and graduation (not hers, his) to get through. The calendar is filled, the tension is high and there is little relief in sight for the next month. Once again, I'll just keep swimming. I just wish it didn't feel like it was all upstream.
Could there be more days filled with running and strife? Well, let's see, the great sibling experiment has gone from sweetness and light to epic failure to communicate, we're counting down to the last two recitals of the year (with two shows in one of them and enough dress rehearsal machinations to choke a horse), driving school for four hours on Saturday mornings, and just to make things interesting, the first go-round of SAT and ACT testing, which apparently will determine if she gets into college or becomes homeless. No pressure, right?
Now is the time of the year when every day is a challenge, a game of beat-the-clock with all the things that need to get done, worked on, studied for, and other things that should, but won't be dealt with, so will be avoided.
Things at home began to sour between EB and her friend Maria, about three weeks after Maria moved in. At first, it was great. They would go out together, or if they were out separately, would meet up to come home together. The first hiccups came when Maria kept having to be told not to borrow EB's things without asking. Small things, mascara, clothing, towels, earrings, would inexplicably wind up in Maria's room after she was asked about it and denied knowledge. But unbeknownst to me, EB never got over an earlier problem with the house keys. See, Maria had "borrowed" her purse, and then made an incredibly stupid decision in which she collided with a parked car when she had no business driving (no license, no permit and apparently no common sense). EB's keys were lost in the car in the confusion of the crash. So EB knew about what happened, but was sworn to secrecy. When the keys finally came home because the owner of the car (who stupidly had allowed Maria to drive) showed up with them, but looking for money to fix his damaged car, the story came out.
From then, the "hiccups" got bigger, and more annoying. Maria still keeps her room like a pigsty, so while once we had thought we would allow her to stay until she finished high school, we've decided it would be best for her to find other arrangements. She finally stopped "borrowing" from EB, but only because the two had a huge argument that involved another friend. While Maria is pleasant enough to EB's dad and me, the two former good friends are more like ships that grudgingly pass in the night. And yes, I'm still telling this grown woman she has to get up and go to school, make her bed, clean her room. EB is disgusted by her and tries to stay out of her own house as much as possible. I've talked about forgiveness and compassion with EB, consequences and cleanliness with Maria. I'm just ready for both girls to get over themselves.
Then there was prom No. 2. EB again couldn't find a dress she liked and I refused to pay $200 or more for a dress she would more than likely wear only once. So we went back to Burlington Coat Factory, found an $80 dress that needed just a few adjustments to work for her. Luckily, one of my best friends knows how to make those kind of sewing miracles happen, and EB ended up loving the dress that she was first ready to throw a tantrum about. She seemed to think I cared that she threatened not to get anything. The (il)logic of a teenager is astounding. Tantrums were brewing though. She decided she didn't like the way the woman at Ulta did her makeup, although she didn't tell her. She waited until we got back in the car and then blamed me. I told her if she didn't like it, she should have spoken up, it's her face. She said I always get mad if she says something. That just wasn't true. She was just anxious and frustrated (the hairdresser was late, and traffic stunk, so once again we were rushed for time), so she decided to have a show about how ugly she looked and how it was my fault. Sorry sister, this is where I came in 15 years ago. If I could ignore your crazy rantings when you were two, I can certainly ignore them now. By the way, she looked beautiful.
Anyway, once she got home, got dressed, took a few pictures before and after incredibly cute boyfriend showed up, Cinderella was off to the ball again (good riddance). And this time, she had a ball. She got home late, exhausted, and happy. They had a great time, music and DJ were "lit" and she danced the night away. Two other girls had the same dress, another had the expensive one she wanted but didn't buy, and yet the world kept spinning on its axis. I only have to do that particular nightmare one more time. These are the times I wish I drank -- and am glad that I don't.
But we still have recitals, rehearsals, college testing and graduation (not hers, his) to get through. The calendar is filled, the tension is high and there is little relief in sight for the next month. Once again, I'll just keep swimming. I just wish it didn't feel like it was all upstream.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Another year older
We're closing the book on 2015. It's been quite a year.
Every year brings about changes, but this past one was particularly unpredictable.
Who would have imagined that I would end the year without my job? I'm feeling especially nostalgic as the clock ticks down to the final hours of this year. There was so much love and loss this year, I'm trying to remember to cherish the sweet and give perspective to the bitter.
The beginning of the year saw us say goodbye to Earbaby's grandfather, a truly classy gentleman, whose family gave him a sendoff more than deserving of his stature. All the holidays this year were the first ones without Dad. Next year he will still be missed, but I hope the pain will subside.
We survived EB's Sweet 16. That was no small feat to pull off. It came after weeks of blizzards and months of Teenzilla behavior. The fact that no one ended up in jail for felonious assault is a small miracle in itself. As if she had no inkling of the nightmare we had just lived through, she immediately started making noises about having a hall party to celebrate her 18th birthday. I'm ignoring that nonsense.
We also had great vacations, good holidays, and a lot of adjustments. Our Florida spring break was a big hit, but her summer program of dance turned out to be a bit of a miss when she injured her knee the first full week and was limited throughout the duration despite aggressive physical therapy. She came away disappointed and decided she wouldn't try to go back this coming summer. I can respect that. It's time for her to get a job anyway. Most of her friends worked last summer and we're ready for her to learn the real value of a dollar. I've found when people have to spend their own money, they're a lot more discerning.
Junior year has been all right for Earbaby so far. She is still struggling with Pre-Calculus, but the rest of her grades are good.
And she has become quite the whirling dervish of dance and cheer activity. She's enjoying the life of a teenager, for the most part, at least from what we can tell when she occasionally looks up from her phone and takes the earbuds out. There seems to be a party every weekend, and it appears that her presence is imperative. I don't remember being out nearly as much, although her dad says when he was her age, he couldn't stand to stay home on a Friday and Saturday night. Because he remembers his teenage years, she gets a pass on hers.
Yet she gets nostalgic too. When we were shopping for Christmas (when it was only three days away), she observed that the holiday was more fun when she was little. Now that the Santa secret is out, and she really only wants money or store gift cards, the early morning Christmas excitement is a thing of the past. I too miss the cookies and milk for Santa days and the avalanche of toys.
This year brings a more acute feeling of loss. When I decided to leave my job, I hadn't counted on missing my friends and the social interaction nearly as much as I do. I'm used to being home during the day, getting my hobbies and errands done, but it's tough to have few people to talk to all day and understand your family needs down time when their day is finished. Night workers are a different breed and I've suddenly got to figure out how to change species.
But the new year is a fresh start. I'm still trying to decide what I want to do for work for the next few years, which makes me anxious even as people implore me to relax and embrace my free time. I have plenty to do, but the lack of structure makes it difficult to start. There's a reason people say if you want something done, get a busy person to do it. Deadlines are necessary for congenital procrastinators.
EB's new year will bring yet another dance class in yet another studio, an increase in her ballet and possibly a little money in her pocket from babysitting.
And the reason she can do all this? Because Mom doesn't have a job! With all the extra chauffeuring I'm doing, maybe I should just explore the job opportunities with Uber.
Every year brings about changes, but this past one was particularly unpredictable.
Who would have imagined that I would end the year without my job? I'm feeling especially nostalgic as the clock ticks down to the final hours of this year. There was so much love and loss this year, I'm trying to remember to cherish the sweet and give perspective to the bitter.
The beginning of the year saw us say goodbye to Earbaby's grandfather, a truly classy gentleman, whose family gave him a sendoff more than deserving of his stature. All the holidays this year were the first ones without Dad. Next year he will still be missed, but I hope the pain will subside.
We survived EB's Sweet 16. That was no small feat to pull off. It came after weeks of blizzards and months of Teenzilla behavior. The fact that no one ended up in jail for felonious assault is a small miracle in itself. As if she had no inkling of the nightmare we had just lived through, she immediately started making noises about having a hall party to celebrate her 18th birthday. I'm ignoring that nonsense.
We also had great vacations, good holidays, and a lot of adjustments. Our Florida spring break was a big hit, but her summer program of dance turned out to be a bit of a miss when she injured her knee the first full week and was limited throughout the duration despite aggressive physical therapy. She came away disappointed and decided she wouldn't try to go back this coming summer. I can respect that. It's time for her to get a job anyway. Most of her friends worked last summer and we're ready for her to learn the real value of a dollar. I've found when people have to spend their own money, they're a lot more discerning.
Junior year has been all right for Earbaby so far. She is still struggling with Pre-Calculus, but the rest of her grades are good.
And she has become quite the whirling dervish of dance and cheer activity. She's enjoying the life of a teenager, for the most part, at least from what we can tell when she occasionally looks up from her phone and takes the earbuds out. There seems to be a party every weekend, and it appears that her presence is imperative. I don't remember being out nearly as much, although her dad says when he was her age, he couldn't stand to stay home on a Friday and Saturday night. Because he remembers his teenage years, she gets a pass on hers.
Yet she gets nostalgic too. When we were shopping for Christmas (when it was only three days away), she observed that the holiday was more fun when she was little. Now that the Santa secret is out, and she really only wants money or store gift cards, the early morning Christmas excitement is a thing of the past. I too miss the cookies and milk for Santa days and the avalanche of toys.
This year brings a more acute feeling of loss. When I decided to leave my job, I hadn't counted on missing my friends and the social interaction nearly as much as I do. I'm used to being home during the day, getting my hobbies and errands done, but it's tough to have few people to talk to all day and understand your family needs down time when their day is finished. Night workers are a different breed and I've suddenly got to figure out how to change species.
But the new year is a fresh start. I'm still trying to decide what I want to do for work for the next few years, which makes me anxious even as people implore me to relax and embrace my free time. I have plenty to do, but the lack of structure makes it difficult to start. There's a reason people say if you want something done, get a busy person to do it. Deadlines are necessary for congenital procrastinators.
EB's new year will bring yet another dance class in yet another studio, an increase in her ballet and possibly a little money in her pocket from babysitting.
And the reason she can do all this? Because Mom doesn't have a job! With all the extra chauffeuring I'm doing, maybe I should just explore the job opportunities with Uber.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Profile of courage and compromise
Sometimes things just don't go as planned. And as with many setbacks, lessons are learned, grudgingly.
July was supposed to be Earbaby's defining month. Sure, she's just going into her junior year in the fall and she shouldn't feel pressured to decide what she wants to do for the rest of her working life, but going into a monthlong dance program was supposed to help narrow her choices, and her focus.
It hasn't gone as planned.
The first week of EB's program began the day after school ended. She went through roughly four hours of dance class on day one. She marveled at how tired she was, and it wasn't even a full day. The next two days started earlier and by the time the July Fourth weekend came up, she had done all of three days of intensive dance classes, was very tired, very sore and pretty pleased with the program and her fellow dancers. "I'm so tired, and it's just the first week!" she said. But a four-week journey lay ahead, so she comforted her sore muscles with Epsom salt baths and celebrated the nation's birthday with friends.
Monday morning she was packed and ready to get back to work. Her dad and I planned to spend the morning together with a walk and a brunch, so we dropped her off and went on our way. We had been out walking for about an hour and were just starting to head to breakfast when my phone rang. When I saw the caller ID number, I knew it couldn't be good news.
EB was in ballet class at the barre, and when she went to turn, her left knee didn't. It momentarily dislocated, she collapsed, and the month of dance took a different turn. Fortunately we weren't too far away, and the rest of the day was spent at the hospital and making appointments to see an orthopedist the next day. EB was in incredible pain, but she was also embarrassed that she had gotten hurt. She didn't want to be the center of that kind of attention, didn't want to take up class time while the EMT attended to her, and didn't want to cry (she didn't, with great effort) and make an even bigger spectacle.
And she was in unfamiliar territory. Incredibly, despite 13 years of dance and eight years of gymnastics, she had never suffered a serious injury. She suffered from Osgood-Schlatter in both knees, a condition that was painful and annoying, but she has rarely had to sit out even with that during gymnastics competitions.
The next day her dad took her to the sports orthopedist who diagnosed her with a sprained left medial collateral ligament, gave her crutches and said she should be healed in four-to-five weeks. That's when she cried. Because that would end the program for her, and that's when it was apparent how much she loved it.
Now a mild sprain can heal quicker in motivated 16-year-olds who listen very carefully to the doctor who says he's seen these things improve drastically in 48-72 hours. Physical therapy was necessary to start her on the path. And when I told her she could try out again next year (the program limits kids to only two years and they try out each time), she said she wanted to be in this year's with this group. So it was time to get to work and see if we could salvage the summer of dance.
EB's convalescence rivaled Lazarus. She was on crutches three days, switched to the initial brace she was given when she first went to the hospital, had friends come to visit her (and even insist on carrying her up the stairs so there would be no more damage), and started her first physical therapy session before a full week had passed. In the meantime, the program director told me she could keep coming to observe the dances until she was able to participate again (she had to be cleared by a doctor). She would more or less switch roles with the high school intern, who would understudy EB's part. It wasn't a great solution, but it kept EB in the loop and motivated her to stick with her exercises.
By the time a full week had passed since the injury, EB was ready to go back and be cleared by the doctor. Yes, her knee was a little sore from the PT exercises and the injury, but she was ready to reclaim her spot. Truth be told, her nose was a little out of joint at being replaced and she felt isolated and frustrated just watching as everyone rehearsed for the two-week tour that was to follow.
So we went back to the doctor. He cleared her, with restrictions, gave her yet another brace, one a little less cumbersome that kept her knee literally on track, and told her to keep up with the therapy. EB was ready to jump in with both feet. The program director was more cautious and wanted her to ease back in. EB was frustrated and crabby.
I talked to the program director and told her EB would let her know when she had enough. Although the doctors, the physical therapist, the dance teachers and her mother had told EB to take it easy so she wouldn't further injure the MCL, she couldn't hear us. She was ready to go and she didn't want to switch off with the other dancer, this was her spot and she wanted it back. All of it. It didn't help that the other dancer borrowed one of her shirts to perform in and kept trying to discourage EB's comeback.
Still, my Earbaby had to learn that desire isn't commensurate with ability when returning from an injury. After her first full day back participating, she had to acknowledge that she was in pain. And she wasn't fully healed. "I had a reality check," she said. "I guess I'm not invincible."
Now she and the other dancer switch off. One day EB does all four dances she's been choreographed in, the next day she only does two and the other girl steps in. EB is learning that with compromise, everyone is just a little unhappy, but everyone gets something. It's been an interesting month, for the lessons learned, the frustrations expressed, and growing that only comes through a little pain, suffering and sacrifice. EB is pondering if she wants to try out again next summer. Most of her friends have jobs, and she would like to join the workforce, we would like to travel, and college tours are a real possibility. If the entire month of July is accounted for again, that changes the equation.
But EB didn't get the dance experience she wanted and needed. She'll continue with physical therapy for the short term, return to dance at two studios again in the fall, begin cheerleading practice in two weeks, and then take a look back at this month and figure things out. This was a rough ride for her. I'm so proud that she was able to hang on, hang in, and tough it out.
July was supposed to be Earbaby's defining month. Sure, she's just going into her junior year in the fall and she shouldn't feel pressured to decide what she wants to do for the rest of her working life, but going into a monthlong dance program was supposed to help narrow her choices, and her focus.
It hasn't gone as planned.
The first week of EB's program began the day after school ended. She went through roughly four hours of dance class on day one. She marveled at how tired she was, and it wasn't even a full day. The next two days started earlier and by the time the July Fourth weekend came up, she had done all of three days of intensive dance classes, was very tired, very sore and pretty pleased with the program and her fellow dancers. "I'm so tired, and it's just the first week!" she said. But a four-week journey lay ahead, so she comforted her sore muscles with Epsom salt baths and celebrated the nation's birthday with friends.
Monday morning she was packed and ready to get back to work. Her dad and I planned to spend the morning together with a walk and a brunch, so we dropped her off and went on our way. We had been out walking for about an hour and were just starting to head to breakfast when my phone rang. When I saw the caller ID number, I knew it couldn't be good news.
EB was in ballet class at the barre, and when she went to turn, her left knee didn't. It momentarily dislocated, she collapsed, and the month of dance took a different turn. Fortunately we weren't too far away, and the rest of the day was spent at the hospital and making appointments to see an orthopedist the next day. EB was in incredible pain, but she was also embarrassed that she had gotten hurt. She didn't want to be the center of that kind of attention, didn't want to take up class time while the EMT attended to her, and didn't want to cry (she didn't, with great effort) and make an even bigger spectacle.
And she was in unfamiliar territory. Incredibly, despite 13 years of dance and eight years of gymnastics, she had never suffered a serious injury. She suffered from Osgood-Schlatter in both knees, a condition that was painful and annoying, but she has rarely had to sit out even with that during gymnastics competitions.
The next day her dad took her to the sports orthopedist who diagnosed her with a sprained left medial collateral ligament, gave her crutches and said she should be healed in four-to-five weeks. That's when she cried. Because that would end the program for her, and that's when it was apparent how much she loved it.
Now a mild sprain can heal quicker in motivated 16-year-olds who listen very carefully to the doctor who says he's seen these things improve drastically in 48-72 hours. Physical therapy was necessary to start her on the path. And when I told her she could try out again next year (the program limits kids to only two years and they try out each time), she said she wanted to be in this year's with this group. So it was time to get to work and see if we could salvage the summer of dance.
EB's convalescence rivaled Lazarus. She was on crutches three days, switched to the initial brace she was given when she first went to the hospital, had friends come to visit her (and even insist on carrying her up the stairs so there would be no more damage), and started her first physical therapy session before a full week had passed. In the meantime, the program director told me she could keep coming to observe the dances until she was able to participate again (she had to be cleared by a doctor). She would more or less switch roles with the high school intern, who would understudy EB's part. It wasn't a great solution, but it kept EB in the loop and motivated her to stick with her exercises.
By the time a full week had passed since the injury, EB was ready to go back and be cleared by the doctor. Yes, her knee was a little sore from the PT exercises and the injury, but she was ready to reclaim her spot. Truth be told, her nose was a little out of joint at being replaced and she felt isolated and frustrated just watching as everyone rehearsed for the two-week tour that was to follow.
So we went back to the doctor. He cleared her, with restrictions, gave her yet another brace, one a little less cumbersome that kept her knee literally on track, and told her to keep up with the therapy. EB was ready to jump in with both feet. The program director was more cautious and wanted her to ease back in. EB was frustrated and crabby.
I talked to the program director and told her EB would let her know when she had enough. Although the doctors, the physical therapist, the dance teachers and her mother had told EB to take it easy so she wouldn't further injure the MCL, she couldn't hear us. She was ready to go and she didn't want to switch off with the other dancer, this was her spot and she wanted it back. All of it. It didn't help that the other dancer borrowed one of her shirts to perform in and kept trying to discourage EB's comeback.
Still, my Earbaby had to learn that desire isn't commensurate with ability when returning from an injury. After her first full day back participating, she had to acknowledge that she was in pain. And she wasn't fully healed. "I had a reality check," she said. "I guess I'm not invincible."
Now she and the other dancer switch off. One day EB does all four dances she's been choreographed in, the next day she only does two and the other girl steps in. EB is learning that with compromise, everyone is just a little unhappy, but everyone gets something. It's been an interesting month, for the lessons learned, the frustrations expressed, and growing that only comes through a little pain, suffering and sacrifice. EB is pondering if she wants to try out again next summer. Most of her friends have jobs, and she would like to join the workforce, we would like to travel, and college tours are a real possibility. If the entire month of July is accounted for again, that changes the equation.
But EB didn't get the dance experience she wanted and needed. She'll continue with physical therapy for the short term, return to dance at two studios again in the fall, begin cheerleading practice in two weeks, and then take a look back at this month and figure things out. This was a rough ride for her. I'm so proud that she was able to hang on, hang in, and tough it out.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
It's summer time!
School's out. Let the games begin.
Earbaby has officially survived her sophomore year of high school. After her final exams were done (with excuses and blaming after the grades come out to follow later this summer) she proclaimed herself to be a junior. This is the year she is supposed to seriously consider where she wants to spend her parents' hard-earned dollars for four years after she graduates. And no, saying you want to go to LSU because you heard it was a great party school is not, in my opinion, serious consideration.
But this has been an interesting school year as I look back, sometimes in horror, other times just in disbelief. I don't remember as many transitions during my high school years, but it may be those rose-colored hindsight glasses, or it could be that I graduated around the time the dinosaurs were still roaming the earth.
I can still look back in way too recent pictures and see, first day of sophomore year! EB and a couple of friends with their Dunkin Donuts drinks setting forth seems like it was just a couple of days ago, and a few hundred years ago. Time is so fluid and fickle that way.
So, allow me to reminisce on the lessons I've learned during EB's sophomore year. Columnists usually write these non sequiturs as clearing out the mind, or picked up pieces, so with a nod to a couple of my favorite local sports columnists, here goes my lessons learned as a high school sophomore:
When you're a cheerleader for a school that hasn't had cheerleaders for five years, your friends will treat you as if they expect you to have morphed into a mean girl from Glee overnight. Suddenly they think you think you're too cool for them. This treatment goes from curious, to kind of funny, to downright annoying in a matter of minutes. You think you're the same person you were the day before when you weren't wearing a uniform. They see Cinderella has suddenly glammed up after she put on her second glass slipper. It takes a couple of weeks of rolling your eyes before things get back to normal. Some people enjoy the coronation. You don't. Keep cool, this too shall pass.
Advanced placement (college level) classes are not for the faint of heart. It will haunt you, hurt you, send you into tears and plenty of sleepless nights while you struggle mightily under reams of reading. Your first term grades will be disappointing. You will stress and worry because, as you say, even the smart kids are struggling. But hang tough kid, you've got what it takes and you belong there. Your final term grade will bear this out. And you got so much out of that class, the grades are secondary. This is really what education is all about.
Not all teachers know what they're doing. You've known this for awhile, but sometimes you get a teacher who is so bad, even your tutors can't get you on track. Mostly because there is no track. This teacher is all over the place, inconsistent and only worried about getting his students through the standardized test. This may bring your grade average down. Sigh, and then move on.
Some of your best teachers get tired of fighting the bureaucratic battles and find they have to leave to save their sanity (this never happens with the bad teachers though). Count your blessings that you had enough time with these teachers that you learned how to look at your life and other people's lives in a different way. Say a prayer that the good teachers find peace and know how much they have to contribute and will teach other grateful students in a less hostile environment.
Snow days are no fun. Oh sure, if you're 9 or 10 years old, they're a blast. No school, not a whole lot of shoveling is expected from you and your unexpected vacation is all snow angels and video games. But if you're a teenager (even a princess) you at some point will be expected to help stem the tide of the avalanche that was Boston's winter of 2015. When we drive down the street and remember just a few short months ago the apocalyptic nightmare that surrounded us, be grateful that the teachers' union was probably the only thing that kept you from going to school right up until the Fourth of July. As it was, we came pretty darn close.
No matter how sick you are during the week, your body will magically heal itself in time for a party. In fact, if you're too sick to go to a party (any party), one must consider that a hospital stay may be on the docket. You can miss dance class (several times) or tutoring sessions (more than once), but if there is a party within the 24-48 hours of any life-threatening illness, your body will respond like the miracle of Lazarus. You will also become hypersensitive and mightily offended to accusations of "faking it."
Sometimes your parents make mistakes. When your grandfather died, we shouldn't have sent you to school the next day. But we were thinking of the next week, when you would have to miss several days for the wake and funeral. You were sent home by a sensitive teacher who saw you were too distraught. We apologize. As it turns out, Grandpa, who it is rumored told people he wanted a blizzard when he died, sent a doozy. It started the night of the wake, forced a postponement of his funeral, and as it turned out, made it so you didn't miss any days of school at all. By weekend three of the blizzards, we were all saying "OK Dad, we get it. Now that's enough!" He always was a merry jokester.
Your social life is rich, full, and making your dad and I broke. Luckily we have no lives of our own. Every party (especially birthday parties with gifts required) makes our wallets a little lighter. When you say you're going out to dinner, or a movie, or a party, or just hanging out with your friends, we sigh sadly, because nothing is ever free. You're generous to your friends on their special days. Or maybe we should say we're generous to your friends on their special days. Your dad and I are constantly asking each other, "how come when she goes to a party, we have to pay?" Oh well, we sigh, and then move on.
You have the nicest people in the world as your friends. They came out to support you when you were cheerleading (even the kids who had no idea of what was going on during the football games), they comforted you when your grandfather died, they celebrated your Sweet 16, they like hanging out at your house, they are respectful to your parents and they love you. You love them too, even as you talk about how foolish they are. You have a ton of friends who will get you through the next two years of high school. Cherish them. When you all graduate and are scattered to the four corners of the earth, these memories will make you smile.
This may be the last summer you don't work. We want you to enjoy this next month of a really tiring dance workshop that will try your mind, body and soul. You may love it, you may hate it, but you will learn from it. When it's over you'll be a stronger dancer and a stronger person. You'll know how to persevere, work through problems, and work within a group. And in only a couple of months (!) it will be time to get back to school. Enjoy your summer, sigh, and then move on.
Earbaby has officially survived her sophomore year of high school. After her final exams were done (with excuses and blaming after the grades come out to follow later this summer) she proclaimed herself to be a junior. This is the year she is supposed to seriously consider where she wants to spend her parents' hard-earned dollars for four years after she graduates. And no, saying you want to go to LSU because you heard it was a great party school is not, in my opinion, serious consideration.
But this has been an interesting school year as I look back, sometimes in horror, other times just in disbelief. I don't remember as many transitions during my high school years, but it may be those rose-colored hindsight glasses, or it could be that I graduated around the time the dinosaurs were still roaming the earth.
I can still look back in way too recent pictures and see, first day of sophomore year! EB and a couple of friends with their Dunkin Donuts drinks setting forth seems like it was just a couple of days ago, and a few hundred years ago. Time is so fluid and fickle that way.
So, allow me to reminisce on the lessons I've learned during EB's sophomore year. Columnists usually write these non sequiturs as clearing out the mind, or picked up pieces, so with a nod to a couple of my favorite local sports columnists, here goes my lessons learned as a high school sophomore:
When you're a cheerleader for a school that hasn't had cheerleaders for five years, your friends will treat you as if they expect you to have morphed into a mean girl from Glee overnight. Suddenly they think you think you're too cool for them. This treatment goes from curious, to kind of funny, to downright annoying in a matter of minutes. You think you're the same person you were the day before when you weren't wearing a uniform. They see Cinderella has suddenly glammed up after she put on her second glass slipper. It takes a couple of weeks of rolling your eyes before things get back to normal. Some people enjoy the coronation. You don't. Keep cool, this too shall pass.
Advanced placement (college level) classes are not for the faint of heart. It will haunt you, hurt you, send you into tears and plenty of sleepless nights while you struggle mightily under reams of reading. Your first term grades will be disappointing. You will stress and worry because, as you say, even the smart kids are struggling. But hang tough kid, you've got what it takes and you belong there. Your final term grade will bear this out. And you got so much out of that class, the grades are secondary. This is really what education is all about.
Not all teachers know what they're doing. You've known this for awhile, but sometimes you get a teacher who is so bad, even your tutors can't get you on track. Mostly because there is no track. This teacher is all over the place, inconsistent and only worried about getting his students through the standardized test. This may bring your grade average down. Sigh, and then move on.
Some of your best teachers get tired of fighting the bureaucratic battles and find they have to leave to save their sanity (this never happens with the bad teachers though). Count your blessings that you had enough time with these teachers that you learned how to look at your life and other people's lives in a different way. Say a prayer that the good teachers find peace and know how much they have to contribute and will teach other grateful students in a less hostile environment.
Snow days are no fun. Oh sure, if you're 9 or 10 years old, they're a blast. No school, not a whole lot of shoveling is expected from you and your unexpected vacation is all snow angels and video games. But if you're a teenager (even a princess) you at some point will be expected to help stem the tide of the avalanche that was Boston's winter of 2015. When we drive down the street and remember just a few short months ago the apocalyptic nightmare that surrounded us, be grateful that the teachers' union was probably the only thing that kept you from going to school right up until the Fourth of July. As it was, we came pretty darn close.
No matter how sick you are during the week, your body will magically heal itself in time for a party. In fact, if you're too sick to go to a party (any party), one must consider that a hospital stay may be on the docket. You can miss dance class (several times) or tutoring sessions (more than once), but if there is a party within the 24-48 hours of any life-threatening illness, your body will respond like the miracle of Lazarus. You will also become hypersensitive and mightily offended to accusations of "faking it."
Sometimes your parents make mistakes. When your grandfather died, we shouldn't have sent you to school the next day. But we were thinking of the next week, when you would have to miss several days for the wake and funeral. You were sent home by a sensitive teacher who saw you were too distraught. We apologize. As it turns out, Grandpa, who it is rumored told people he wanted a blizzard when he died, sent a doozy. It started the night of the wake, forced a postponement of his funeral, and as it turned out, made it so you didn't miss any days of school at all. By weekend three of the blizzards, we were all saying "OK Dad, we get it. Now that's enough!" He always was a merry jokester.
Your social life is rich, full, and making your dad and I broke. Luckily we have no lives of our own. Every party (especially birthday parties with gifts required) makes our wallets a little lighter. When you say you're going out to dinner, or a movie, or a party, or just hanging out with your friends, we sigh sadly, because nothing is ever free. You're generous to your friends on their special days. Or maybe we should say we're generous to your friends on their special days. Your dad and I are constantly asking each other, "how come when she goes to a party, we have to pay?" Oh well, we sigh, and then move on.
You have the nicest people in the world as your friends. They came out to support you when you were cheerleading (even the kids who had no idea of what was going on during the football games), they comforted you when your grandfather died, they celebrated your Sweet 16, they like hanging out at your house, they are respectful to your parents and they love you. You love them too, even as you talk about how foolish they are. You have a ton of friends who will get you through the next two years of high school. Cherish them. When you all graduate and are scattered to the four corners of the earth, these memories will make you smile.
This may be the last summer you don't work. We want you to enjoy this next month of a really tiring dance workshop that will try your mind, body and soul. You may love it, you may hate it, but you will learn from it. When it's over you'll be a stronger dancer and a stronger person. You'll know how to persevere, work through problems, and work within a group. And in only a couple of months (!) it will be time to get back to school. Enjoy your summer, sigh, and then move on.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Recital seasoned
Sometimes you get to dance like everyone is watching. And if you're lucky, they'll like you enough to ask you to dance even more.
We're coming up on Earbaby's last recital of the school year. Between the two of us, there will have been four showcases in all, but she wins the prize because she did two shows in her recital with her original school and there were five dances each show. Ten dances in a five-hour time period is a lot, but she was more than equal to the task. And the upcoming show in her newest studio is much less heavy lifting -- one ballet and one hip hop number in one show.
But she has been noticed in studio number two.
Last year at this time she was done with her second studio and glad to be rid of it. That school was geared to hip hop, which she loves, but she didn't like all the detritus that came with it: Teachers who were less than professional in dealing with the students, blatant favortism and a real lack of awareness of the bullying that was going on. Although she was featured in one of her three performances last year, she left with a bad taste in her mouth, even as she contemplated (and then rejected) a late invitation to audition for the crew going to Las Vegas.
After a tough week working at her new studio last summer, EB took on the one thing she whined, wailed, and complained about -- ballet class twice a week. She is the oldest in her class and was read the riot act the first day when she showed up late with her hair not properly pulled back and other problems her ballet mistress found. She was beside herself and she struggled mightily. But you know what? She now loves ballet, loves the discipline, adores the teacher and has improved by leaps and bounds, so much so that she was getting compliments from her teacher at her original studio. So this year of dance is already ending on a higher note than last year's.
Adding to that was the little bump in confidence when the studio owner asked her to take a class with the company class group in her age range. She's looking for more good dancers and would like to see EB audition. EB loved the workout and the class, but is still a little shy about auditioning for the company. And she is worried about next year's school load. I've assured her we can figure it all out.
But EB in the meantime has more dance in her future. She auditioned (after a little nudge from her dad and me) and got into a monthlong summer dance program at one of the local universities. It's almost five weeks of workshops, master classes, all types of dance, and then a tour of camps throughout the city, where they perform and conduct dance workshops. It's going to be a lot of hard work. I told EB that this is her summer to try and decide if she wants to pursue dance for a living. She expressed interest in the past, but now is worried she won't be able to make a living at it. And let's face it, there are plenty of people who are waiting tables while they pursue a dream of working in entertainment, whether it be acting, dancing, or singing, or some combination.
She also says she wants to go into psychology. I've told her to start looking for schools that have strong programs in both. She has plenty of time to decide what she wants to do when she grows up, and we've told her we'll support her study in her endeavors. Hence the summer dance program, instead of telling her to get a job.
That in itself was an interesting decision for my husband and I. When I was in high school, we used our summer to take extra classes and it made senior year a lot less stressful. I learned to type in summer school, took history class, and some of my friends took drivers' ed, back when that was taught in the schools. Now summer school is exclusively for those who failed a class instead of a chance to get a little ahead. I never got a summer job until I was out of high school and college bound. But my husband always worked in the summers, so he always had a little of his own money in his pocket. I respected that upbringing, so I told him if he wanted her to work, I would support that.
But we heard about the dance program and both decided EB will have the rest of her life to work, and this summer should be about doing something that she loves. Granted, she also loves money too, and should learn how to earn it consistently. But she'll work hard, have to be accountable and responsible, and will get a real taste of what a commitment is. There are no absences, tardiness, or excuses allowed in this program. She'll get her work experiences all right.
After this week, she'll get a bit of a break. No more dance classes until July, but she will have to buckle down for the rest of the school year. She'll have her time to sleep in and then hang out with her friends on the weekends. And then, when the last final is in, the last paper written and the locker cleaned out, she'll start her summer of dance.
Earbaby, to quote Lee Ann Womack "When you get the choice to sit it out or dance ... I hope you dance."
We're coming up on Earbaby's last recital of the school year. Between the two of us, there will have been four showcases in all, but she wins the prize because she did two shows in her recital with her original school and there were five dances each show. Ten dances in a five-hour time period is a lot, but she was more than equal to the task. And the upcoming show in her newest studio is much less heavy lifting -- one ballet and one hip hop number in one show.
But she has been noticed in studio number two.
Last year at this time she was done with her second studio and glad to be rid of it. That school was geared to hip hop, which she loves, but she didn't like all the detritus that came with it: Teachers who were less than professional in dealing with the students, blatant favortism and a real lack of awareness of the bullying that was going on. Although she was featured in one of her three performances last year, she left with a bad taste in her mouth, even as she contemplated (and then rejected) a late invitation to audition for the crew going to Las Vegas.
After a tough week working at her new studio last summer, EB took on the one thing she whined, wailed, and complained about -- ballet class twice a week. She is the oldest in her class and was read the riot act the first day when she showed up late with her hair not properly pulled back and other problems her ballet mistress found. She was beside herself and she struggled mightily. But you know what? She now loves ballet, loves the discipline, adores the teacher and has improved by leaps and bounds, so much so that she was getting compliments from her teacher at her original studio. So this year of dance is already ending on a higher note than last year's.
Adding to that was the little bump in confidence when the studio owner asked her to take a class with the company class group in her age range. She's looking for more good dancers and would like to see EB audition. EB loved the workout and the class, but is still a little shy about auditioning for the company. And she is worried about next year's school load. I've assured her we can figure it all out.
But EB in the meantime has more dance in her future. She auditioned (after a little nudge from her dad and me) and got into a monthlong summer dance program at one of the local universities. It's almost five weeks of workshops, master classes, all types of dance, and then a tour of camps throughout the city, where they perform and conduct dance workshops. It's going to be a lot of hard work. I told EB that this is her summer to try and decide if she wants to pursue dance for a living. She expressed interest in the past, but now is worried she won't be able to make a living at it. And let's face it, there are plenty of people who are waiting tables while they pursue a dream of working in entertainment, whether it be acting, dancing, or singing, or some combination.
She also says she wants to go into psychology. I've told her to start looking for schools that have strong programs in both. She has plenty of time to decide what she wants to do when she grows up, and we've told her we'll support her study in her endeavors. Hence the summer dance program, instead of telling her to get a job.
That in itself was an interesting decision for my husband and I. When I was in high school, we used our summer to take extra classes and it made senior year a lot less stressful. I learned to type in summer school, took history class, and some of my friends took drivers' ed, back when that was taught in the schools. Now summer school is exclusively for those who failed a class instead of a chance to get a little ahead. I never got a summer job until I was out of high school and college bound. But my husband always worked in the summers, so he always had a little of his own money in his pocket. I respected that upbringing, so I told him if he wanted her to work, I would support that.
But we heard about the dance program and both decided EB will have the rest of her life to work, and this summer should be about doing something that she loves. Granted, she also loves money too, and should learn how to earn it consistently. But she'll work hard, have to be accountable and responsible, and will get a real taste of what a commitment is. There are no absences, tardiness, or excuses allowed in this program. She'll get her work experiences all right.
After this week, she'll get a bit of a break. No more dance classes until July, but she will have to buckle down for the rest of the school year. She'll have her time to sleep in and then hang out with her friends on the weekends. And then, when the last final is in, the last paper written and the locker cleaned out, she'll start her summer of dance.
Earbaby, to quote Lee Ann Womack "When you get the choice to sit it out or dance ... I hope you dance."
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