I’ve done the best I can

I spoke with the other mom.  I was clear about my goals – I was careful not to spew accusations.

J sort of changed the landscape, because at school today – she got up the guts to say “I don’t want to be your BFF anymore.”

The reaction was tearful silence.

instead of calling the mom to say “your daughter is mean to my daughter” I had to call and say “I think my daughter hurt your daughter’s feelings.”

I tried to explain my hopes that our involvement – as loving and involved parents – can prevent our children from devolving into she-devils.

I think I’m optimistic.

I made it clear that if I am 100% wrong (I don’t think I am, and as of right now, either does the other mom) and my daughter is actually a meany-butt, I want to know, and I will deal with it.  I received similar promises in exchange.

I plan to organize a group outing for Saturday – several girls – including J and the ex-BFF – to go to the pool or to a movie or something.

I have to believe that kids are not evil, and that with a little support and encouragement, and a little bit of reinforcement that we are good people – we respect each other – they will follow suit.  They can watch their mothers talk, and they can watch us push aside our instincts – not our good instincts, but our mean-nasty-rip-her-throat-out-instincts — they can, too.  They can take deep breaths and realize that compromise and cooperation serve our interests more than do domination and castration.

Oh wait – we’re girls.

We can’t be castrated.

But whatever.

I want a KIND child.  I want a respectful child.

But a kind, respectful child who is no-one’s doormat.

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(and certainly not the doormat of her nasty-ass politician husband – Jesus, Sue – did you have to be so damned inflammatory?)

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Sex and (in?) Middle School

Law School Mom started an interesting conversation at her blog – regarding contraceptives being handed out in a middle school in Maine.  She took issue with the fact that “middle school” includes kids as young as 11 years of age (and she and I both have daughters that age), and feels that for a school to be handing them birth control with no requirement of parental consent is wrong.  (I don’t want to try to summarize her opinion beyond that, because of the risks of inaccuracy – read her words at her place).

I tracked down the article – here’s NPR’s take. (I’m confused – the article says in on place that the contraceptives will be available for 7th and 8th graders with parental permission – but in another place that services are confidential and parents won’t know.  It seems that parents sign a general permission slip at the start of the year allow their kids to receive services from the health center, but won’t necessarily be informed if the kids choose to receive birth control.  I’m still not clear on whether the birth control is only available for 7th and 8th graders (typically 12 and 13 years old?), or for everyone.

I predictibly disagreed, and felt that the program was appropriate.  The bulk of what I said:

In my view, this policy is not for our kids. It’s for a kid who cannot talk to their parents. If a kid is feeling that sex is an appropriate activity at age 11, I’m sorry – but there’s a problem with that parenting already. I’m picturing a disinterest. Neglect. I’m not talking about lousy communication skills.

I don’t think the school is trying to take my place – or your place. I think they’re trying to fill gaps which are already present in families where conversations don’t happen – not about anything. The school can’t fix that. But perhaps they CAN fix the result of that? They can keep the girls in school, rather than dropping out to give birth?

According to the article, this decision didn’t come out of the blue, but rather follows a “spate of pregnancies” in the school.

In my comment, I  also joked that my 11-year old E is so NOT ready for such a thing, her reaction to being offered a contraceptive would be one of disgust and perplexitude.  (I think I made that word up.)

Which I believe is true.

I do know for a fact that this isn’t the case for everybody in her grade, though. Unfortunately.  I think they’re by far the minority, but as all the kids get older, I think they are more easily swept along by those who are more “progressed.”  Not so far along that they need birth control, though.

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Revisiting 16

This morning, I had a hard time waking up. I just felt so tired. I could not imagine pulling myself and my bag together to go to the gym, but as I have found in the past, having kids forces you to get up and get moving anyway, so you may as well do the things you’re supposed to.

I got up. I fed the girls. I got dressed. I packed my bag. I went into the bathroom to put my hair up.

Z: Uh, Beloved. Can you come here, please?

B: Yes?

Z: Look at my neck!

B: Uh. Sorry? (as he checks his own neck in the mirror.) It, uh, won’t happen again?

Whatever. It was small. Could have just been a slight discoloration. No biggy.

I take the girls to their theater place. I run into a friend. She offers me a ride to the gym. Because I have my bag jam full of shower accoutrements and it’s heavy, I take her up on it. We chat in her car a little longer than the drive, and I eventually get out and go to the gym.

In the gym, I decide I need to pee before getting on my machines. I go into the bathroom. I look at my spider bite [a real bite from a real spider, which I woke up with yesterday a.m., when I was still in a drought in that other department – a true, real spider bite – or mosquito bite, but regardless, it’s red, puffy and itchy], which is square in the middle of the front of my neck. I look at my other, non-spider bite, closer to my collar bone. Then I turn away.

Then I slowly turn back. What the fuck? I turn my head just so while looking in the mirror.

Holy shit. I mean, really. What the hell? Have I ever had one that big? Like, ever? And did my friend see it? Because I was in the passenger seat, and she was in the driver’s seat, and it’s on the left side. She really isn’t such a “friend” that I could know that she was chuckling. She could have been rolling her eyes and thinking, “Jesus, Zuska is such a freaking child,* as we all already know, but does she have to FLAUNT it? I mean, what is this, high school?”

I sort of think she didn’t see it, because when turning my head to talk to her, it could have been hidden. But my hair was all pulled back, rather tightly. So if I turned my head, she saw it. It’s unlikely that I didn’t turn my head. I think I remember that before I got in her car, I was standing at her car, talking to her, and another friend drove by and honked, and I turned my head to wave and say hi, and that was a head-turn in the WRONG direction. In a “look at my neck! look what I did last night! Look how tacky I am!” direction.

Woe is me. Honestly. This has never happened before! Probably not even when I was 16. I can’t even fully explain it. I mean, maybe I can. We were so tired when we came home from Europe, and then the kids came home, and they were staying up so late every night, and then my monthly fun began … so all told, it had been a while. And we did have fun last night. But, still. I am not happy that someone may have seen proof.

I assure you. Despite the melty hotness here today, my hair stayed down all damned day. No ponytails or buns for me.

* Referring, yet again, to my relative youth.  I am 34.  My next-youngest friend is 42.  Most parents in this town are Beloved’s age … which is 45.  Or older.  Some considerably older.  I am approximately 10 years younger than everyone.  Sometimes it sucks. Like, today, for example.  I am walking home with E and her friend.  E says, “I don’t want to stay at the park, it’s too hot,” and I say, “E, you are 10.  Stop whining like your 35 year old mother – you can handle the heat.”  Her friend says, “that makes no sense.  Who is her 35 year old mother?” I said, “uh, Me?”  She said, “YOU ARE 35?  ARE YOU SERIOUS?  MY MOTHER IS 47!”  Never mind that I had already shaved a year off.  We then went on to discuss the age of many other people — all of which being my senior.  The closest to my age we could find was the friend’s step-mother, who is 37.  To which the friend said, “but her child is ONE!  So this provides no justification!”  (yes, E and her friends talk that way.)  Damnit.  I *feel* 45.  Or 46.  Doesn’t that count for anything?

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