School

I don’t suppose I need to tell you about all the drama that conspired when I was trying to fix up India’s Homecoming dress. When you are Mormon you can almost never find a formal dress that is modest enough. Since all high school girls are out to look as trampy as possible, that’s what designers cater to. India went out shopping at the mall and had zero luck. She finally stopped by Ross and found a dress that was semi-modest and only cost $17. But it was about 5 inches too short and had no sleeves. While I personally don’t have a problem with sleeveless dresses, their are a lot of Mormons who do. The technical rule is that “shoulders must be covered”. Some people read into that and decide that a girl must be able to wear a hanes t-shirt underneath for it to be qualified as modest. But I have a more liberal view. Ultimately I left the choice up to India who decided that the dress needed some small sleeves; she wants to be a good example for all the younger Mormon girls. Which meant more work for me. And then there’s the whole skirt-length issue (who are these parents who let their daughters out of the house looking so slutty?) But I’m just sewing my way to a mansion in Heaven, right?

After finishing the version 1 of “India’s Modest Homecoming Dress” I realized that it looked terrible. The fabric I chose to add on–a lovely organza–was simply too stiff and made the skirt look preposterous. So at 2 pm (she had to be at the football stadium, fully dressed at 6:30) I went back to the fabric store and started at square one. I guess the Lord was throwing me a bone because I found some matching lace that looked pretty darn good. I managed to modestize the dress, do India’s hair and makeup and have her out the door on time. Phew! If I had actually been using my brain I would have bought a second dress at Ross and cannibalized it so the fabric would have matched perfectly. But like most days I forgot to turn my brain on.

In the evening we took all the kids, plus my sister in law who was in town (and her sister, and her niece) and went to the high school football game. During halftime Mister walked India out onto the field, along with the other Homecoming Royalty. The King and Queen are chosen from among the Princes and Princesses and crowned at the game. They gave us no idea ahead of time who would win. Some of the kids (the football players and cheerleaders) got really huge cheers from the crowd when they walked out which made me kind of sad inside because how can normal people like India compete against that? I mean, I would take India over a cheerleader any day. No offense to you cheerleaders and football players out there, but I would be pretty disappointed if one of my kids chose that path. Here in Texas it’s considered The Best Thing In The World. It really is like becoming royalty. And although we know a couple of great cheerleaders and football players, for the most part they are bratty jerks. It’s the culture that reinforces that behavior. It’s especially sad since you know a lot of those people peak in high school.

Anyway, Mister and India walked out with the other royalty. Eventually the king was announced and it was India’s boyfriend! Which meant that most likely that India would be the queen. But not necessarily. I mean, it would be super awkward to have another girl be the queen but it certainly is a possibility.  But then the announcer boomed over the loudspeaker, “and now the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the 2013 Homecoming Queen is  . . . . . [he waited about 30 seceonds]. . . . India!”

She won!!! I almost passed out! Never in my imagination would I have guessed that India would be a Homecoming Queen. Don’t get me wrong, as a child she is pretty much the ideal. She’s obedient and studious and never complains. She’s also funny, kind, pretty and incredibly smart. But those sorts of qualities rarely are acknowledged in high school.  And add to that the fact that she’s a choir girl (the choir president, to be exact) and her boyfriend is in the marching band; not exactly your typical Queen and King. But there aren’t two kids at school who are nicer and who deserve it more.

As we left the game she was a little hestiant to walk by “the cool kids”. When I asked her why, she replied, “they’ll probably say ‘Why did India win?’”. I stopped and looked and her. “India, you won because the most people voted for you. You have every right to be Homecoming Queen. And if anyone even suggest that you don’t deserve to win just look them in the eyes and say, “talk to the crown!”

India queen cropped

PS. Of course my iphone is a piece of crap that won’t focus anymore so I have only the most terrible shots from the actual Homecoming game. (And I forgot the charge the battery of my good camera.)  So I had to rely on some of the other parents who have it more together than I do. Story of my life.

Homecoming royalty 2013

P.P.S. The ultimate bummer is that the Homecoming King had a band competition in Houston the next day and she had to go to the dance all by herself.

Not gone gone. Just gone to school. And not a moment too soon. I’ve been stacking up errand to do once they went back and I’m just barely making a dent in my list. Today I need to go buy a new microwave and have a meeting with my Relief Society Presidency. We’ve got over a dozen little kids between us, so it’s nice to get together without many people tattling and begging for snacks while we try to discuss the needs of the women at church. I also need to mop the floor, but I’ve been putting that off for . . . well, let’s just say “a while”.

This year promises to be an exciting one since I have three High Schoolers. Fortunately they can either drive or ride their bikes where they need to go, so it’s not quite as hectic as having a bunch of toddlers and preschoolers. Although it seems like about five minutes ago when they were that little. I remember those days of having four children, none of whom were in school yet. Each day stretched like a barren desert of nothing to do but change diapers and clean up crayons/spilled cereal/tupperware lids that the baby threw out of the drawer again.  Now my days are full of lists and places to go. I have to say that I like it a lot better the way it is now.

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Arabella is my lone Middle Schooler. She’s in 7th grade and seems to be my most well-adjusted, socially decent child so far. At last as far as 12-year-olds are concerned. She’s my first child who really cares what they looked like at that age. Probably a lot of parents moan and groan about a child who always wants her hair and nails to look nice, but after a steady diet of children who are happy wearing silky basketball shorts day after day, I’m pretty excited.

Ada and Jasper are in elementary school. Ada bounces out of bed, excited to go to school every day. She loves everything about learning. Jasper, on the other hand, tells me he hates school because now he can’t sleep in anymore. The ridiculous thing is that he never slept past 7:30 so he’s not waking up that much earlier. But now it isn’t his choice and I guess he’s a little peeved about that.

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At any rate, we’re trying to get used to our new schedule and figure out our groove. It’s a little tricky with so many kids going in so many directions, but we’ll get it ironed out soon enough. If not I will just spend the day in bed recovering from the controlled chaos of the school year.

 

I went to see that new Jackie Robinson movie yesterday. I snuck out in the middle of the day and went to the fancy theatre that has super cushy recliners. It was all fine and dandy until I spilled an entire Coke Zero on my pants. But I’m a tough broad so I just ignored the soaking wet denim. I was actually wearing a raincoat but do you think I spilled the Coke on that? Of course not.

The movie was good, if formulaic. It’s always so crazy to see how racist people used to be. (I’m sure there are still incredibly racist normal people–normal, as in “not skinheads”–but it’s got to be pretty underground.)  When I see movies like 42 or The Help it’s very hard to understand that’s how things were for black people not that long ago. Part of me wonders if was really that bad because how could people have been so hateful because of someone’s skin color?

I grew up in a different environment than most white people, I guess.  Detroit, where I was born and raised, is mostly black. I lived in the first suburb north of the city. It was lower- to middle-class and was probably the first stop when people wanted to move on up from Detroit proper. I would say that the schools I went to were pretty evenly split between black and white, especially as I entered my teen years. Unlike the South, though, there really was no sort of “us vs. them” mentality. The most popular boys in my fifth grade class were Jahmod (A black kid) and Jason (a Jewish kid). (Oh yeah, there was a huge Jewish population in our town too. Which meant white Christians were totally the minority. We loved Jewish kids because that meant we got a whole bunch of Jewish holidays off of school too; not just the regular Christian ones.) Being Mormon and white? Super minority. I was pretty much the only one in middle and high school.

The mall closest to our house was called Northland and was the first modern shopping mall in America.  I remember going there and being the only white person I’d see. It didn’t make me feel uncomfortable or weird; it just was the way it was. I took Mister to that same mall when we went back to visit Detroit for my dad’s funeral back in the early 90′s. Man, did he almost have a heart attack! Being from Portland, OR, he was never exposed to many black people. He thought for sure someone was going to attack us. I just laughed and told him how I’d been shopping there dozens of times by myself at night. I can only blame the media for giving him the idea that young black men are all thugs; how else would he have developed that opinion?

We had lots of black people at church. Our bishop was eventually a black man, as were some of my primary teachers and Young Women Leaders. Our ward spread deep into Detroit and we had a real variety of members.Not just blacks but some members of Arabic descent too. It all seemed completely normal. I don’t recall the race card ever being mentioned.

When I look back on the relations between blacks and whites growing up, I wonder if maybe I was just clueless. But I remember blacks and whites sitting at the same tables at lunch; blacks and whites going to dances together and hanging out. Maybe our town was unique or maybe I just remember things differently, being a white girl.

 

*Yep, that’s me, Jennie Hildegard Davis, in the third row of the school picture; rocking the braces and feathered bangs. Viva Eighth Grade!

 

It’s Red Ribbon Week. Oh joy. I love to rant and rave about how stupid it is (you can read about it here). There is no way that having weird hair/crazy socks/wearing pajamas is going to keep my kids off drugs. That’s the whole point of red ribbon week, right? To get kids not to take drugs? But this year I’m not feeling quite so irate. It’s true, I did find myself at The-Store-That-Must-Not-Be-Named at 11 pm on Monday buying slippers (“Give drugs the slip!”). But even so, I just kind of shrugged it off.  Today the kids are supposed to wear a shirt with a sports team logo. You might think that’s a no-fail category but when you have a houseful of nerds who don’t like sports, that’s a tall order.  Ada likes the University of Texas Longhorns so she always has something burnt orange to wear. However, Mister and I are BYU alums. It’s not so easy to find BYU shirts in Austin.  And don’t even suggest for a second that we own clothing items from a professional sports team. The mere thought is hilarious.

Yesterday the kids were all talking about the various plans about what to wear for crazy sock day. Jasper mentioned that the Principal of the school never wears anything for red ribbon week, not even a funky hat. “Yeah, she’s not very festive,” Arabella noted. But Ada drew the most obvious conclusion, “I think it’s because she takes drugs.”

Well, there you go.

School has finally gotten underway for everyone, so we should all be in the same boat: fundraisers! I have yet to find a fundraiser that appeals to me. Some are dumber than others (a discount card for 10% off oil changes? Thanks but no). In our elementary school we get the usual fundraiser with a catalog of miscellaneous crap: awful chocolates, hideously expensive wrapping paper (who cares if it’s reversible! Only one side shows!), odd jewelry and various kitchen doo-dads (a special tupperware for half an onion! Because a ziploc isn’t fancy enough for my fridge).

Last year the fundraising people got down and dirty. They decided to give the kids dorky little rubber duck keychains–one for every $10 of products sold. Here’s the catch: there were about a dozen different styles of ducks given away each day, and each day the duck assortment changed. AND the kids were allowed to wear their duck keychains to school on a lanyard during the entire two week period of the fundraiser.

Imagine silly bandz but amped up about a thousand percent. Silly Bandz endorsed by the school. Silly Bandz that cost $10 each. Silly Bandz that you wear around your neck for everyone to see. Suddenly my kids were pestering relentlessly: “tomorrow they’ll have the vampire rubber duck! Today was the cupcake rubber duck and they only have ten of those! I really want the camo rubber duck most of all! Pleeeease mom, can’t we go selling around the neighborhood?”

No. No you may not. Because I don’t think I’m too good to do any job except one: door-to-door peddler. It is not happening. And I sure as heck am not about to buy the stupid junk in that catalog. No way will I write a check for a tacky resin plaque that says “Dance like no one is watching”,  or a polarfleece throw with my dog’s breed embroidered on it.  And this means that my children will be the only ones with no rubber ducks hanging from their little necks, it appears.

So that was last year. This year I thought I would outsmart the school and buy my own assortment of rubber ducks and beat them at their own game. I found them for less than 25¢ a piece online! Oooh, I was so excited for this.

The kids came home last week waving their fundraising packets. “Mom, mom, this is so great!” they exclaimed as they dumped their backpacks in the entry hall. “This year they have rubber frog keychains instead!”

Curses! Foiled again!

Back to school today. All the things I did:

Had kids set out clothes.

Got up early to shower and do makeup. Accidentally put on red lipstick (the 16 hour kind. Which meant I had to do the rest of my makeup decently too). Red lipstick requires a certain mindset. Which I do not have today. Today I should have worn pale, boring pinkish brown.

Made a lovely breakfast. Cinnamon roll pancakes (recipe courtesy of Our Best Bites). So jam-packed with ooey-gooey-sugary goodness that I’m sure all the kids are now in comas.

cinnamon roll pancakes

All the things I forgot:

To label everybody’s backpacks, lunchboxes and waterbottles. I was madly labelling with my sharpie this morning while my children were all talking to me at the same time. Consequently I either misspelled their names or wrote my name on everything out of habit. Way to go!

To get stupid folders with brads. I looked for these everywhere. I truly did. But I might as well have been looking for leprechaun’s gold.

To find Jasper’s pencil case. And give everyone an eraser. Every year I get worse at organizing school supplies, not better.

To read scriptures. Fortunately Mister picked up a ton of slack today. I am so not used to being organized. By next week we’ll have a routine down but this week is going to be mayhem.

 

And just like that my house is quiet. I’m much too frazzled to be sad. I was kind of sad last night. But only because I had to set my alarm. I couldn’t even remember how to do it.  I always wake up before my kids and get ready. But not this summer. This summer I slept in every day and it was the best two and a half months of my life. But the party is now over. At least the morning party. But the new party will be beginning at 8:30 when the last child walks out the door.

Babies first day of school
Two in Elementary School this year.

(Adelaide-2nd grade, Jasper-1st)

kids first day school

Two in Middle School and two in High School.

(India-11th grade, Finn-8th, York-10th, Arabella-6th)

You guys. YOU GUYS. YOU GUYS!  Last week. It was a killer.  As in “poor me I was a crying, mean zombie by the end of it”.

It was the last week of school. Normally it is a busy week; all the concerts and whatnot.  But this year it soared to heights of awfulness. Not just one but two concerts that were over two hours long. (Hey, school choir/band directors: I don’t want to see two hours of pretty much anything, not even my own children.)

We also were lucky enough to get to attend not just Kindergarten Graduation but also Fifth Grade Graduation. About two months ago I got peeved letters from people on various graduation committees threatening to cancel graduation if there was not more parental help. I tried to let them know by not volunteering that I would be perfectly happy to never go to any sort of graduation ever again. They did not get the message.

Also happening last week: The following items broke at our house: a pitcher from Pottery Barn that I was very fond of; a white ceramic mixing bowl that I was very fond of; a gorgeous apothecary jar that I paid big bucks for back when they were uncommon and you could only find them at fancy shops; and all the ceramic balls inside of said apothecary jar (I was very fond of all of it.) Also broken: our deep freezer which decided to completely defrost as I was walking out the door to Fifth Grade Graduation (only $500 to repair! So I got a new one off of Craig’s List for $200 instead).

There is just something about stuff breaking that makes me feel utterly defeated.

And then there was the realization that I had completely forgotten to do any sort of teacher gift. The kids all had really great teachers this year and I wanted to give them something nice. Normally I sew something but there was no way I had that much stamina this year. So I decided to give them homemade loaves of bread with homemade jam. To me that seems lame but hopefully they thought it was nice. We missed giving goodies to two of our favorite teachers because they left early so I kept two loaves of bread and stuffed my face with it. When I’m emotionally drained I try to fill the emptiness with lots and lots of carbs. And it worked!  I felt so much better!

And then there is the whole Relief Society President thing. It’s very emotionally demanding. Last week was especially hard.  Just a lot of people needing a lot of comfort. And I am not a naturally comfort-giving type. I actually found myself suggesting a new lipstick to one sister. Like that is going to help anything. But hey, it works for me! Never underestimate the power of lipstick.

And lets throw in a couple of recitals, Kung fu exams, a birthday party, and a few church meetings too, just to liven things up.

So you might say I was pleased to not set my alarm on Sunday night. Eight hours of sleep has never felt so good. I was hoping for an entire week but I’ll take what I can get.

It is time at our Elementary School for the semi-annual book fair. Which I hate. And not just because we are on a very limited budget and the last thing I want to be spending money on is the hardcover version of Super Diaper Baby. I’m just playing; Super Diaper Baby only comes in paperback. I’m serious about not liking the book fair.

I don’t get how Scholastic totally nails it with dandy cheap books in the book orders, but turns the book fair into a super deluxe full-priced book store (that they have the audacity to suggest I work at). Yeah, it’s some sort of fund raiser. I get it. At least this way we’ll have books to show for our contributions to the school and not vile cookie dough.

But this jumps to the conclusion that I want a hard-cover copy of Pinkalicious.  I don’t. I really don’t. I am extremely picky when it comes to the books my children read (my husband, not so much. Which explains why we actually own Super Diaper Baby. I made the foolish mistake of sending Jasper to the book fair with Daddy last year. And now said book is hidden because once Mister read it he was appalled that the title character actually battles a giant poop. I’m all, “Duh. What did you think it was going to be about? Tea parties?”)

There are some really great books at the book fair. I’m not knocking Scholastic. But unlike a book store or Amazon where I can pick out what I think is appropriate for my children, at the book fair they are dancing around with some sort of Poodle Princesses nonsense, begging and pleading and writhing on the floor that they will never be happy without this book.

But, as usual, I have to play mean witch stern mother and tell my kids no. “No, Ada, I just bought you two books for your birthday nine days ago.” That doesn’t matter because everybody has rich mothers who buy their children everything they want from the book fair. At least that’s what my children say. I’m so wretched I won’t even buy  the $5 Justin Bieber poster.

There is all this peer pressure to buy, buy, buy.

I am getting severely tired of this so I’ve taken matters into my own hands. Here are a couple of books that I “bought at the book fair”. I’m sure my kids will be thrilled!

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As a mother of six it’s one of my great fears that at least one of my children will end up as a drug addict. We already have more than one extended family member in recovery and it’s really a path I don’t want to go down.

So I’m always super excited for the most hyped drug prevention program in our school district. Yep, I’m talking about Red Ribbon Week.

Let me explain: did you know that putting red ribbons around your school will prevent your child from ever trying or getting addicted to drugs? It’s true! Bet you didn’t know it was that simple!  Other things that will help your child never take drugs:

Having crazy hair/socks

Wearing a hat/slippers/pajamas to school

Dressing like a cowboy/lumberjack/nerd (which in our family means dressing like normal)

Wearing your favorite sports team’s jersey (that would explain the low drug incidence in poor areas where kids always wear team jerseys.)

Seriously. Seriously? Seriously!

What the hell is the point of Red Ribbon Week? Are we being taught this week how to help our kids make wise decisions regarding drugs? Have the kids been given any real tools to resist drugs? Have parents been given any strategies to keep our kids drug-free?

Nope.

Can’t we just admit that we would like an excuse to be silly at school especially since they don’t want kids to wear Halloween costumes anymore?

Instead the kids are given cheesy slogans (“put a cap on drugs!”) and told to wear a hat to school. As if that will make any impact on your 14-year-old who is given a joint while he’s hanging out with friends at the park. Is he really supposed to think, “gosh, I wore those crazy sock in 3rd grade. There’s no way I’m going to smoke that stuff now!”

I have no problem with my kids wearing Hawaiian shirts to school. It is fine with me. (Unless, of course, I have to go buy Hawaiian shirts for everyone.)  I can spend twenty minutes doing a crazy hairstyle once a year.  No big deal. But the whole tie-in with keeping kids off drugs?

Lame, lame, lame.

 

Judging by the size of his Sombrero, Jasper will be drug-free for life!

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JHW.JHW.JHW.JHW.JHW.JHW

Those are my initials. I must write them a dozen times a day. Between signing planners, permission slips, and various pieces of paper sent home from various schools, I feel like I need a rubber stamp.  Nothing, though, gives me fits like reading logs. You know what those are if you have kids. They are idiotic papers that must be filled out every night stating which book you read with your child, how long, and then–of course–your initials.

I read with my children every single night. There is no way I could get away with not reading to them. At the merest suggestion of not reading a book there are wild protestations and much writhing on the ground. So it’s getting done. Which is the entire point of doing a reading log.  But by the end of the day I have had it. If I don’t kill anyone by 9 pm my day has been a success. After driving eighty places, making snacks, making dinner, cleaning up after dinner, bossing kids about chores, helping with homework, fixing the printer because it’s freaking out again, brushing teeth and breaking up fights about whose turn it is for the wii/trampoline/computer/playing with the cat, I’m done. Done, done, done.  I am not getting out a bunch of folders and filling out author’s names and how many minutes we read.

I finally went to the first grade teacher and said, “I’m sorry but I’m not doing the reading log anymore. I hope this won’t affect Ada’s grade but it’s just not happening. It’s the straw that’s breaking the camel’s back.”

The poor, sweet teacher barely knew what to say. It’s not every day that a parent just comes right out and says no to your face.

She claimed to understand.

“Oh, Mrs. W?” she said as I was turning to walk out the door. “Don’t forget to initial her homework binder and this week’s form saying you saw all of the class announcements.”

I wonder if she heard me shrieking as I ran from the school.