I want to be good at this, you know? I want to be a super terrific mom to a high school-er. I want to be totally hip (do they still use that word?)
But problems keep arising and I am finding it more and more difficult as the start of the school year approaches.
The first problem is that my claim of being 29 is getting harder and harder to substantiate.
Me: Curse you, 3rd grade math.
The second problem is that my daughter utterly and truly dislikes every ounce of my being.
This is incredibly unfair, although as I do say to her every day, life is not fair.
I also say, pretty is as pretty does and never look a gift horse in the mouth (he might have gingivitis). And then sometimes I bang an imaginary drum and cymbal after that last one, because not only am I very likable, I am what is known, in my circle of friends, as extremely hilarious.
But in spite of all the wisdom I share with her every day, my hilarity, AND the beauty tips I give her free of charge (For God's sake, get your bangs out of your eyes) she seems wholly indifferent.
She just sighs in mild disgust or just rolls her eyes.
Which brings me to my next point.
The third problem is that all of her friends ABSOLUTELY LOVE ME.
Friend 1: Mrs. Jankowski, tell that joke about the horse again?
Me, casually, with false humility: Which one? I have lots you know.
Friend 1: I know you do. Tell the one about the horse in the bar!
Me: Horse walks into the bar. Bartender says...(me, gasping for breath in between my own laughter) Why the long face?
Friend 1: You are SO FUNNY, Mrs. J.
Me, shrugging my shoulders and looking humbly at my daughter: Awww, shucks.
The fourth problem is that I remember all of the bad shit that kids do when they go to high school.
Between trying to be so freaking funny, and writing this blog for my extensive fan base (consisting of my mother and the lady who lives in my cul-de-sac) and being so hip AND trying to make sure all of my daughter's friends like me, I don't have time to monitor all her choices.
And high school is a time to test the limits, to find your voice. To take the wheel of your own future, for the very first time.
All within the comforting confines of your mom's minivan.
I want her to do all of this. And she should be more grateful.
My van has satellite radio.
The fifth problem is that I really have no clue what I am doing.
I used to say, only half joking, that the first child needs the most therapy because it takes a few kids to really figure out what you're doing. There is no time that this statement has felt more true to me.
How the heck am I supposed to know what to do now? I make up the rules as I go, changing them to adapt to the new situations, tweaking them when it seems like I need to pull back or let go. They forgot to give me an owner's manual when I had her (although I don't usually read those things anyway. I consider them more Recommendations than Instructions, really. And I don't like being told what to do, which is another problem. But I digress.).
So I've just been winging it every day since.
And everyone is (mostly) fine.
And everyone is (mostly) fine.
Anyway, it is all still incredibly scary, for me.
But I'm guessing, as she heads off on her brand new unknown high school adventure, it is far scarier for her.
There will be tough choices to make, new adventures had, lessons to learn. There will be nervous first dates, boys to bring home to meet her parents.
She's ready though. I can tell.
And so am I. Really.
So. Look out high school, here we come.
Here. I. Come.
And I'm bringing a whole slew of horse jokes and my imaginary drum set with me.
|That's right, bitches. We are hip.|