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.

Promposal, wisdom surgery and wonder of boys

In less than 24 hours, my Earbaby turns 18. She wants dinner with us at one of her favorite Italian restaurants, and she's going to get her belly button pierced. I'm good on one of those, unhappy about the other, but now officially letting that battle go. Legally it's her decision to make now.

But this has been a good month in this lead-up to what will be probably be her last official birthday celebration with us in our house. At least for awhile. I expect she will be celebrating the next three or four out of state at some college somewhere and her dad and I will call her, then toast the wonder of our parenthood (and wonder what the heck do we do now?) from afar.

I'm not sentimental about all this yet though. As I said, it's been quite a month.

Earbaby has been reconnecting with a lot of her friends, and despite her ongoing frustration with their lack of planning, promptness, or insight on how their inability to stick to a plan affects others, she loves them, and they love her right back. So when one friend took advantage of a couple of snow days and asked if he could come over to have me re-twist his dreadlocks and brought three others with him, I was glad to see them all, and experience the wonder of boys.

For one thing, they're loud. And funny. They are still kids though, and I found myself feeling very protective toward these young black men who would probably be perceived as a threat by the outside world, but packed their backpacks with board games so they could sit in my kitchen and play Monopoly and Connect 4, while another reveled in getting his hair washed and conditioned. We pulled out frozen chicken wings to heat up and feed the gang and EB's dad brought home pizza and Coke, and I marveled at the difference in energy of teenage boys and teenage girls. Girls tend to be much quieter, conversational, and organized, but boys connect with each other in different ways. They decided they wanted to go to a party at a community center and as I fixed hair on yet another head (my dread-locked friend was under the hair dryer), they proceeded to show another one how to dance. EB was given permission to go to the party with them (I trust her with these guys, who are the brothers she never had), so as she ran upstairs to get ready, I watched the boys talk to each other and demonstrate rhythm in a way I thought only girls did. Boys teach each other to dance? I was tickled by getting this rare view into a world I didn't know existed.

Of course I am also fascinated by how EB interacts with them, and they with her. When she's wearing her sweatpants and has her hair pulled up in a bun, they tease her mercilessly and she gives it right back. But EB reappeared after a fashion, ready to go out dancing and looking like a goddess. The boys fell silent for a millisecond, and then went back to pretending they don't notice that she's beautiful. They went to the party with her, made sure she got safely into a Lyft for the ride home and it was another successful day getting back to her old, better self. And yes, her friends are foolish, but she loves them.

Then there's the big dance. EB started talking about her senior prom months ago. We had to iron out some bumps in our relationship after the debacles of last year, but now that for the most part, she's finding her way back to sanity, it's been pretty good. So when she started talking about going all out for prom, I was more on board than last year when she started talking big money.

She also was OK about possibly going on her own, or just with a few friends. That is until she decided to invite a former classmate who transferred to a different school, but still liked hanging out with his old classmates. Even though there was no romantic entanglements between them, EB decided she couldn't just call or text him and float the idea of going to the prom. She created a poster, conspired with mutual buddies to show up and videotape the event and of course, got an immediate affirmative hug.

The dress shopping this year also was less stressful. Her first choice dress was $650, which she dismissed as too expensive even before I had time to object. We went to a great place one afternoon, pored through many styles and colors (she looked fabulous in every one of them), and finally selected a gorgeous gown that was simple, elegant, and different from the current mermaid trend. I told her she reminded me of Diana the Huntress. Now comes the hunt for the perfect shoes and a matching tie for her date. Since there may be several friends going together as a group, I told her we should explore limousine services. Even though she has her license and drives to school most days, she has no interest in chauffeuring herself to the prom in formal dress and heels. I figure this is her last hurrah, she should go in style.

Then there was the wisdom teeth surgery. EB had to have all four impacted teeth removed and chose to have it done right before winter vacation. Good thing too, since the anesthesia made her emotional and loopy for a few hours and the subsequent pain knocked her out of commission for five days. It was necessary to have them all done since the bottom ones were growing in sideways and her bottom teeth were being pushed out of alignment, an enormous problem for someone who has already had two stints wearing braces. It was more than a full week before she stopped being achy and miserable, but still rallied to go out with friends, because she just didn't want to stay in the house, in her room, in her bed, for another day.

As for that belly button thing? That's EB's present to herself. She's wanted one for awhile and so the day she turns 18 will be the day she will strike out on her first act as a legal adult. She knows it will be painful, take awhile to heal (and after last week's surgery that she doesn't have the highest threshold for pain), but has already decided if she doesn't like it later, she will just let it heal over. A friend told me that if that's the worst thing, let it go. So I have. In the grand scheme of things, this first strike for legal independence is minor. She's got a whole lot of days ahead where her decisions will be good ones or painful ones. It's just part of becoming an adult.

Ouch.

Prom! (Chapter One)

Well, the first prom of Earbaby's year is over and done with. On reflection, she says that it was just "OK." But it was such an undertaking, just getting this first one in the books.

Dress shopping for this one actually ended quite painlessly. After trying on and rejecting countless dresses with prices ranging from $200-$600, we finally found one for only $30. It was almost identical to one she tried on that cost $440, so I was thrilled. She settled on this one because "this is only junior prom. I will wait and go all out next year." I wonder who she thinks is going to pay for all that.

But prom, even junior prom, is an all-day affair. She convinced me that the teachers were OK with her being signed out of school early, to keep hair and makeup appointments. Besides she only had a couple of quizzes and she promised to make up anything she missed in her last two classes. She was more excited than she let on.

And of course this was a double dose of prom for me. Maria, even though she currently is going to a different school, was still going to the prom with a former classmate. After back and forth negotiations on the renting of a dress from a former schoolmate, she decided to go in on a party bus which was going to be departing from another friend's house. I found myself driving all over the city the day before, shopping for strapless bras and clutch bags at the last minute, figuring out how to get Maria's dress to the house where she was going to be getting ready at the following day, and trying to figure out all the logistics of the following day's activities. There was less stress and turmoil on my wedding day -- and I had my whole family coming in from out of town.

EB planned on having her makeup done after getting her hair done (both projects cost several times more than the dress, so you pay and pay no matter what). After we got back home from school, raced out to pick up lunch on our way to appointment No. 1, she started to get a little anxious. We were on time though, the hair got finished early and even though we were far south of the city, we were early for the makeup appointment north of the city.

Our plans for actually getting things done early fell apart when she couldn't get in any earlier than her appointment and the makeup artist took more than an hour. EB finally got the false eyelashes she fought me about for her sweet 16 party last year. She hated them. Said they made her eyes feel heavy. Even though they did look good and she kept them if she wants to wear them again, they weren't what she expected. Sometimes, Dorothy, you have to learn it for yourself.

Now let me say one thing. Sometimes you have to bite your tongue. I wasn't especially crazy about the makeup job that was done, but EB wanted very dramatic eyes, which added up to a lot of eye makeup, including false lashes and heavy eyebrows. With her delicate features, I thought it was a tad overdone, but she did look beautiful, so I didn't criticize. This was her prom after all, and I remember how hurt I felt when my mother criticized the turquoise nail polish I wanted to wear on my toes to match my prom dress. She told me it made my feet look dirty (it did). The fact that I could remember how badly I felt more than 45 years later kept me from saying anything to make her feel less than gorgeous. Even if in later years she'll look at herself and wonder why she wore such heavy makeup, she'll also know that she wanted to look and feel that way that day.

And worst of all, we only managed a couple of shots with her and the incredibly cute boyfriend, before she, cold and exasperated by the mere presence of her parents with cameras, decided they really had to go! For all those parents whose children patiently allowed them to take picture after picture to commemorate more separation of your money, I envy you. EB barely stuck around long enough to snatch a $20 from her father's hand before she was off and running.

So it was a little disappointing that she said the food wasn't great (pizza and chicken nuggets, what are we five?), the dance floor was small, there was no professional photographer and although other people were taking pictures, she didn't get any more. Then she went to bed, slept until the crack of noon and got ready to go out and later meet up for another friend's birthday party. I felt a little better when Maria came home and raved about how much fun she had. At least it wasn't a total washout for both teens in this house.

Well, it could be worse. I could have to go through this all over again with Earbaby next month. Oh wait. I do.

Hiccups and (not ready for) Prom Time

As March goes out like an roaring lamb, or perhaps a docile lion, the first month as (kind of) parents of two teenage girls goes into the books. It's definitely different from being the parents of one.

When your second "child" arrives already at the legal adult age of 18, figuring out your role is interesting -- and fluid.

Maria is legally an adult, but because she is still a junior in high school, the same grade as Earbaby, it's tough to tell how involved in her life we're going to get, or even how comfortable any of us are in the process.

The first part was the basic rules of the road. Clean up after yourself. Keep us in the loop, so we know when to expect you. That was the start, but as the month wore on, more rules had to be established. Like, don't borrow things without asking (this request after a blowout with EB) and, once again (as trash and food piled up in her small living space), clean up after yourself.

It hasn't all been roses. But there are no regrets here. I explained after week three -- when EB, exasperated, frustrated and angry, stopped speaking to her friend, and I told Maria in no uncertain terms, her room was disgusting and she had to clean it immediately -- that the honeymoon period was over, and now the real work begins. See, we are a family of four now. We're allowed to get mad at each other, but we talk it out. There are no ultimatums, no threats of being tossed out. This is her home now, and she's living in a family situation where we are all accountable to each other.

Maria still has family in town and is close to her older sister. And we can't put restrictions or curfews on her comings and goings, nor do we want to. What does this unusual situation boil down to? Respect the space, the home, and the people you're living with. Legally she's an adult. But she's still a teenager. The hiccups of pseudo-parenthood will come and go until we figure it all out. In the meantime, EB has the sibling experience she used to long for. Which means sometimes it will be good and other times they will just get on each other's nerves. You can say "get out of my room" but you can't say "get out of my house." Just like in everyone else's family.

So with this new sibling dynamic in mind, we start preparing for prom season. Luckily Maria is financially independent enough to pay for her own dress. Unluckily for me, EB is going to two proms. And because she is going with the same date, that means two different dresses. Also unluckily for me, I'm expected to spring for the cost of both these frocks, although I'm not sure who made this rule.

A couple of weekends back, we three ladies decided to go prom dress shopping. This actually is fun, for those who enjoy root canals or any sort of surgical procedure sans anesthesia. In other words, Yikes!

While I realize it's been well over 40 years since my own prom (when my friend's mom made a beautiful dress for me, her daughter and our other best friend), but when did a prom dress start costing more than my car payment? Thankfully I warned EB that we weren't buying that day, just looking. The dress shop was prom heaven (or hell, if you're the mom with the checkbook). The dresses EB tried on looked fabulous. The price tags were all upwards of $400, and deposits were nonrefundable. When EB saw the two dresses she liked would have cost almost as much as what our mortgage payment used to be, even she balked (thank goodness too, this kid always sees mom as an ATM with infinite reserves). Maria didn't find anything she liked. Happily, the dress she really wanted, one a former upperclassman wore a year ago, was made available for her to rent for $150. She tried it on a week later and it fit like a glove. One dress down, two to go.

This weekend EB and I will scout out a couple of other places (including bridal shops for clearance items and secondhand stores along with a department store or two) to try and find something beautiful that doesn't cost the same as the food budget for a small country. These dresses can only be worn once, remember. Twice if she stays the same size and attends a formal affair in college in two or three years.

So we march on. Hiccups, prom, growing pains all ahead. Along with SAT and ACT prep, a third grading term and the beginning of the college panic season. Sigh. Some days I feel as if I should quote Dory from Finding Nemo, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming."