It's Really Not the Same as Waving a White Flag

Going on Hour 1? Hour 2? It's all a blur

The finish line is almost here, close enough to see its promise in the distance. All we need is just a few more strong strides and we're there, the end of August and HALLELUIA CELEBRATE because summer is now on its way to becoming something soft and fuzzy and in our memories.

But, for today, I still have five days left with a full house and the clues to how it all goes down at home in the last bit of summer are in full force all over my Facebook feed.

It's like the last day at a job, where you sorta do a good job, just enough so that you get a good reference.

One look at my lunches this week of August 24--a sleeve of saltines on a paper plate alongside three cold cuts-- and you know it's the end of August. If you were to see me driving to school to drop off pre-registration papers, it's with my slippers on because I don't care, it's still vacation. And if my signature is needed on all these papers, it's all good. They're not due until August 31, really, and August 31 isn't here... yet.

Way back in June, when I thought of these last days of August, I imagined I would give my kids a one week pre-school practice session of waking up early to acclimate them to hours that occur before 8:00 a.m., but as of this minute, I ask, Would it really kill them if they stay up past 11:00 p.m.? Especially when it makes them sleep until 11:00 a.m. the next day?

I also have a legit excuse to shop till I drop because back to school and all. Shopping will kill at least a day this last week. Three days if I take each child separately. Who doesn't love alone time with mama standing outside Aeropostale's fitting room doors providing jeans feedback?

Same with back to school haircuts. I can knock out a few mornings that way, too. And you know, with three kids no need for all of us to go all at once. Let's consider the stylist, sheesh.

I can Sharpie line through through Thursday morning, afternoon and evening with shoe shopping, x3.

Yeah, I know what I said three months ago about Regular Show being not for kids here, but you know they're going to hear this stuff at school anyway, so might as well let them hear it at home first. If I see them pass out fall asleep on the sofa after last night's Regular Show marathon, do I really have to wake them up to brush their teeth and go to bed? That would be a no. Calcium is at an all time high in children's teeth, they can handle it. And if they fall asleep on the sofa with clothes on? Winner winner chicken dinner, they wake up dressed for the next day of marathon TV watching. They can start as soon as they find the remote.

I know, I know, that in June when I was bright eyed and full of hope and summertime plans, I fool-heartedly planned 30 minutes of screen time at a time, no more--but it's summer's end. Have at it, kids! Just be sure to get off if you begin to see haloes. And don't blame visual disturbances on low blood sugar (what can I say, my hypochondria has made my kids into mini-m.d.s) I've kept your blood sugar up with ice cream sandwiches all day long, so I really don't have to make meals. During this last week of August, it's solely about keeping any one of you from getting dizzy or falling over if you get up too fast.

All of this sounds bad, I am aware, but it's not like the end of August has made me give up, or surrender. It's more like me recognizing that in fact, I can arrive at my destination on just fumes. What matters is that we make it, chugging and sputtering on through to the last gasp of summer.

 

We may crawl in on a wheeze to get there, our fingertips grazing the white chalk by an inch, but we reach it. The glorious finish line.

 

Here's to every one of us, who will pass on the baton of care and deliver our children to the front steps of their schools come the last day of August.

 

Stand proud, my friends, once you catch your breath. And don't we miss them already?

 

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A-B-C Always Be Closing: How About A-A-B-B Instead

A-A-B-B. My four-letter magic formula. It beats the business mantra of A-B-C Always Be Closing and has gotten me to some smart places in life.

A-A-B-B - Avoid, Accept, Borrow, or Buy. And not just in the material world. A-A-B-B can be slapped onto all areas of life; people, things, events, situations.

You can A-A-B-B when you meet a new person and are deciding whether or not to take them on into your fold, or when you find yourself wondering, Should I say something or should I not?

Say you’re at a restaurant and you've just finished a great meal, but are still feeling a tad hungry. When you pick up the dessert menu, before ordering the New York Turtle Cheesecake for yourself, apply the rule of A-A-B-B instead.

 

A- Avoid? Nice idea if you want to finally toss out the holey sweatpants.

A- Accept? Yeah, sure, the cheesecake is acceptable if there are pants in your closet that will still accept the size of your butt.

B- Borrow? WHY YES. Have your dining partner order it and you borrow a few forkfuls off their plate.

B- Buy? If you've got the change in your pockets, go on ahead. What is life if you don't treat yourself to your own slice.

In the case of a less than friendly neighbor across the street (more common than you know)—what to do about the way she blows all your leaves that come from a shared tree back to your driveway and out of hers?

You can A- Avoid her and just watch from the upstairs window, shaking your head and tsking away.

You can A- Accept her behavior. Who cares, right? Blow away, sister.

You can B- Borrow a leaf blower and blow the leaves right back again as soon as she’s through. Passive aggressive feels good for a reason.

You can B- Buy. Buy your own leaf blower and stand guard with it across your lap up in a deer tree stand you’ve built just for leaf blowing season.

I have yet to find any system that works better than A-A--B-B'ing my way through life.

Let’s try it: Morning yoga class starts in 20 minutes. You can A-Avoid that downward dog today and stay in child’s pose in front of your laptop all morning, or A-Accept that you have reached that stage in life where if you don’t do something with your body every day you’ll be pulling your ass up with clothespins. And maybe you’ll move on to B-Borrow that yoga mat and show up at the studio.

I’m pulling that final letter B-Buy today with my yoga class. I will B-Buy Beach Side Yoga with Rodney Yee Volume 1, stay home, and watch my new DVD.  A-A-B-B and pass the buttered popcorn while I watch this DVD, will ya. I can feel my mind grow supple with bend and shape as I ponder, How in Sam Hill does Rodney spatula himself into a Speedo that small?

 

Let's test your A-A-B-B skills, How would you handle the urge to yoga work out, supposing you wake up feeling that way tomorrow morning (it could happen):

 

A- Avoid the possibility of ligament injury by watching others on YouTube bend like the willow instead.

A- Accept that some look finer than you ever will so that's okay, we'll work out tomorrow.

B- Borrow and watch another DVD from the library to make sure you fully mentally integrate the greatness that a good yoga body is, or

B- Buy your own DVD to make sure that if you ever get the urge to touch your toes and reach for the sun, you won't be able to use the internet being down as an excuse to not move. 

 

The answer:
Surprise!

A-B-C - Always Be Chewing. Let me think about what I'm going to do right after I finish this chocolate with sea salt caramel bar.

 

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Dear College Freshman Child

Yaaaaaasssss... perfect!

Dear Son:

You've been away at college for five nights now. We miss you but are thrilled for this new chapter in your life. I mean, we all knew you were ready for this step, busting at the seams of this parent/child role was something we all felt. We miss you 'round the clock and your siblings left back home really feel the loss of your presence, especially on family outings. They asked me to write you a letter so that you would know just how much life sucking fun you've been missing.

No need for us to go into the Costco trip you missed Friday morning when your dad came home with gas can sized containers of corn oil that we have piled up against the sink, I mean -- those are just incidental happenings.

No, your brothers want you to know about the #deeplife that is going on this Labor Day weekend. Like today.

Today was the day your dad decided to relive moments of his boyhood. Your brothers explained it to me this way, "You have your writing, mom, dad has his days of what once was." And so this is how it came to be that your dad piled us into the family van this morning and set up the GPS, whose directions he ignored most of the drive up (Ms. GPS no longer even pretends to be patient) and we drove the two hours your dad needed to, to get what was once for him the childhood marking of a summer's end.

We went to small town Wisconsin where today was "Cornival Day," so named because three! free ears of corn are promised to everyone in attendance at the Cornival. You know what's weird, Alec? Your dad never mentioned Cornival Day to me. Ev-er. Anyhow, in theory, since there were four of us in attendance (again, we miss you sorely) we could have brought our Trader Joe's canvas bags and had them filled with 12 ears of grilled corn, but since only your dad was interested in end-of-summer symbolic feeding, we just waited in line (like some kind of outer space aliens were feeding us from a truck, but that's just my opinion) for the three ears of the free corn, for him.

Your brother, Xavier, wants you to know that he volleyed back and forth about whether or not to purchase "chips" at a food stand because "chips" for sale on a sign with "chips" written in black marker "quotes" makes for an unsettling description, add to the fact that they came in "all kinds." He paid the 50 cents for the "chips" but ate them "tentatively."

We missed you today. Your father had a grand time reliving Cornival Days gone by, but the rest of us, the three of us, felt out of our realm. I say out of our realm, Auggie describes it as "unbearable air smelling of Spam." 

I was okay with your dad searching out his corn roast memories. Even the full lines at the drive-through liquor stores that we passed on the way into town didn't worry me. Today was an important family excursion for your dad and I think he needed to do this as a way of working through his feelings on you being up and flown. As your brothers said, I have my writing to work through life transitions. I can talk to you like an adult now, Alec, so I'm going to tell you, your dad was working through some shit.

Your brothers were rough on your dad, I'll admit. I knew he was going through some intense thoughtful moments, and maybe your brothers went too far in calling today a "crushed memories and broken corn cob dreams" family outing.

It wasn't that bad. I mean, yes... unfamiliar and something we're not used to. For example, the turkey  sandwiches we purchased were turkey porridge (Auggie called it brain soup for zombies) on store brand hamburger buns BUT all that can be tolerated by simply tossing the wet sandwich away and considering the $3.00 purchase price a donation toward the free cornfestivus corn. 

And there were some unexpected moments of delight -- like Magic Mark who performed magic tricks, silently -- though he wasn't in a mime outfit, while following along and interactively learning with the audience to the DVD Magic For You! that he had playing on a two foot thick TV on a TV tray to his right.

It's all perspective, I explained to your brothers.

Where else could we see Cornival clientele arguing with game booth workers over the number of balloons they popped with a dart, three chances for a dollar, and the size prize they felt they should have received rather than the one they did receive. Life can be a book, or a Twilight Zone episode, that you step into.

You would have enjoyed today's outing, Dear Son. If you talk to your brothers, it was close to but not as awful as they describe it. The "chips" were tolerable. With your dad paying no mind to the chattering of the GPS, we found our way home. Your family survived this Labor Day without you. More than anything, we missed you.

We made your dad happy today, though there was a moment that we caught him wistful -- almost as if he expected someone to recognize him from 40 years ago. But we returned home, no worse for wear.

Although Auggie says that today made him hate corn forever.

 

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More News from The Nervous Parents Gazette

My firstborn started college this week and I am cycling through these phases of him being away like a pro.

After sending my son a text as soon as I woke up this morning, I haven't heard back. Rather than busying myself with daily life until he responds, I'm going to do what I do best. What I gold star in. 

I'm assuming he's in danger. 

I don't play around with this Nervous Parent stuff. It's my style. As a little girl, I would wring my hands over my baby Chihuahua, Pepe, whenever he'd shove the food around in his dish with his  nose. I knew just what his actions meant -- that this was the beginning of the end and that he was never going to eat again. 

Being on the homefront while the first of your baby birds has left the nest is no simple task for the nervous parent. We're not like the rest of you, and either you'll pick up when I'm puttin' down here, or you'll just send me links to articles from Psychology Today with titles like 50 Ways That Nervous Parents Destroy Their Children. And then you'll sign your email, "I say this because I love you, have you sought professional help?"

I've heard it all. I'm no stranger to the nonsense that worry is. And yet, I've made it into a hobby, a past time, and a mental game of ping pong that bruises my brain into the size of The Great Gazoo.

This is how a day in the life of a nervous parent goes when their son's first day away from home, is today: 

6:30 a.m. My eyes popped open. Had to text my son or I couldn't sleep. He needed to save the receipts from the books he was going to buy today. Sent him text.

6:32 a.m. Lie back down. Await quick response back.

7:00 a.m. Unable to fall back asleep. Decide instead to imagine son slipped on water that roommate spilled on floor night before and now son has been lying unconscious since 3 a.m. with roommate snoring and unaware only two feet away. 

7:39 a.m. Cursing myself for not telling son he needs to respond to texts with "Yes I'm alive." It's all I need, just a confirmation of being alive.

8:19 a.m. Try to eat a yogurt. Can't. Yogurt triggers panic that son didn't check expiration date on his yogurt so grabbed dairy botulised yogurt while sleep walking and now lying unconscious from food poisoning, only two feet away from roommate. 

8:42 a.m. Visualize son walking to breakfast this morning when man in white windowless van pulled up and asked him for directions. When polite son leaned in to answer, man grabbed son's head by the neck and pulled him into said van and sped away. Enhance scene with details of van without license plates, making said perp unable to be identified. Like ever.

9:23 a.m. Sit on hands, thereby disenabling myself from calling campus police to check on son.

10:09 a.m. Thinking perhaps son played early morning game of basketball. When basket made, he disturbed a hornet's nest with over 200 wasps inside. While running away to escape hornets, son tripped on untied shoe lace and is now in student health center, unable to give nurse in attendance my phone number so I can be alerted to son's status. 

10:56 a.m. Thinking how it's almost 11 a.m. There is no text back. Reason must be that phone charger burst into flames like that story on FB this morning from China about the smoking phone charger.

11:16 a.m. Thinking son went to find a church, as I had suggested. Church was charming, but a charismatic cult. Now my son is being held until he speaks in tongues. Hoping son speaks in language that says "Call my mother!"

12:04 p.m. Thinking son was followed by a disoriented older woman who mistakenly believes my son is her son. He's my son. I need to drive there and tell woman this important bit of information but first I need to find birth certificate for proof.

12:47 p.m. Thinking son accepted a FB friend request from someone's hijacked account and now he's on his way to meet who he thinks is someone from grade school but is actually this crazed woman who still believes my son is her son. 

1:17 p.m. Thinking someone on son's dorm floor brought in left over fireworks from the fourth of July. And they set them off in my son's dorm room.

2:10 p.m. Positive son's phone exploded in his pocket like that post about that kid in California that someone posted on FB this morning.

3:12 p.m. Son must be sleeping. He's been sleeping all day because he has sleeping sickness from a tsetse fly. No matter that this hasn't happened in America since 1966.

4:09 p.m. I call husband at work. Husband doesn't have a chance to talk because I do all the talking. I talk-convince myself that if anything had happened, son's school would have called me. Before hanging up the phone, I thank husband for wise advice.

5:05 p.m. No other explanation other than son must be lost. Due to amnesia from being hysterically blinded from homesickness. Chastise myself for encouraging and enabling strong mother/son bond that he misses me to this degree.

5:48 p.m. Try to eat dinner. Only able to take liquid nourishment. Sigh and accept loss of appetite. Wanted to lose 8-12 lbs anyway.

6:10 p.m. Decide to go for walk to relieve agitation. Halfway into walk, I receive a vision. It is of my son falling out of loft bed due to night time confusion over new surroundings. Race home, heart pounding.

7:15 p.m. Hear husband's phone ding. It's text from son. Son says "busy day. bought books. went for 4 mile run. met with friends and on way to bonfire. having a great time. "

7:17 p.m. I ask husband to text son back, tell him sorry I haven't had a chance to call all day. Glad he's having fun, if I have time, I'll try to squeeze a call in tomorrow.

7:26 p.m. Doing dinner dishes, heart begins to race. Wishing I had discussed importance of bonfire safety before son left for college.

 

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