I registered my two middle schoolers for high school this week.
At least I hope I did.
I cannot even believe that is upon us when, frankly, it feels like they just got their big teeth in.
But they REALLY need to go back to school for all of our mental health.
We can’t keep doing all this constant togetherness.
Moms of teenagers need more than just one breath.
The online instructions from the school stated to please bring the registration form, proof of address, immunization records,
(and then the words that made me freeze, wide-eyed like a Bush Baby when I read them)
“and most recent progress reports.”
Progress reports? Uhhhhh…
After the year that we’ve had with distance learning the whole time?
After wildfire evacuations, a chocolate brown sky from toxic smoke completely snuffing out all decent oxygen, as well as the very light of the sun?
And let’s not forget a deadly pandemic to boot, as well as two parents who work.
Progress reports?! Are you sure?
Can you recheck your notes?
I’d gladly, in exchange, drive up to the front of the school and let your whole staff lick my eye.
Progress reports in this house these days are not the most gleaming of things.
My girls are highly intelligent in average life, but based on this last year’s plot twists, and how they have been affected by them,
I wondered if they would even let them in.
“Sure, I’ll turn in those reports. I’ll get right on that.”
*Feeds bits of torn up paper that have been suspiciously smeared with peanut butter to the dogs to hide evidence of personal failure*
*Joins the Witness Protection Program*
Progress reports…
When I thought about my kids’ “progress” this year I had half a mind to just turn in a sheet of white paper with their names at the top, and a scribbled
“GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE SITUATION” written across it in crayon,
and to wait listening to gangster rap, to see if anyone wanted to fight me on that.
Once the actual reports were in hand from their current school, and I was on my way to turn them in the day that they were due,
I considered dropping them off while dressed in a fake mustache and trench coat, as to not be recognized while on the campus should there be a “later in the year.”
I hadn’t even opened them up;
Those surely rude and hateful things.
The girls have both struggled through this school year so much, and cried so often.
We’re clawing our way out weary, but alive.
Months ago I made the choice to choose their mental health over perfect grades,
and I still stand by that choice, but to do it, we have thrown in both our, and our neighbor’s towels.
We are very far past the end of all the ropes.
Progress reports…Progress reports?!
OK.
Here are two that I could give:
“Chloe has shown some overall improvement in attitude, and now sometimes even does her zooms sitting up while opening both her eyes.”
“Tessa excels at both culinary and drama.
Her grades may not be perfect, but at least she shows consistency with them, as well as with her steady resentment for all chore requests,
and her use of far too many cups.”
I pulled up to the high school with the reports telling me one look and they’d turn us all to stone,
and I handed them in with the stack of other forms to the registrar from out of my rolled-down car window.
I didn’t say a word for fear they’d tell me to back up and please go park in some special blocked off area just for the moms and kids who haven’t been able to keep up.
“Just follow the cones.”
Registering them and them just MOVING ON like none of this happened felt like I was doing something wrong.
I held my breath, and waited until she said “OK,” and -like nothing- she just waved me on.
An exhale, then I thanked God when she barely even glanced at what I had handed her.
As quickly as I’d shown up there, then again I was gone.
Hopefully, once they do get checked my girls will still be accepted into school,
and not sent off immediately as some kind of case study, or to a zoo.
“And here we have The Feral Doublehormonici in their natural habitat.
Please don’t tap the enclosure. They’re easily angered and embarassed.
They demonstrate this with Tik Tok Dance.”
So, I guess they are going to high school now.
Boy, that was a close one.
I didn’t even have to use the cut-up magazine pages I had fashioned like a ransom note:
“PleaSe TAke tHese twO childrEN inTo youR ScHOol..
PLEaSe. I beG of you.
They’VE beEn HoME For a fuLL yeaR.
I neED them To GO to a plAce agaIN.
I neeD THem to sometiMEs be GONE.
TherE is just So much siGHing And eYe-roLLing.
So much puttinG MAscAra on.
I NEed spaCe And tiME to fiGure ouT what THat 4 month loNG musTArd SmEll is In Tessa’s rOom, anD it’s hArder to do WHen they’re always home.
PLEase.
We HAve done all the THIngs that were suggEsted.
We haVE PainTEd, and walkEd, and waTChed nearlY all of NeFLlix in wHole.
I proMise that they will be good fOr YOU.
I wiLL Pay you SO Much MoNey it’LL BE like yoU’Re oN BReaKing BAd.
I won’T eveN CRy on the first Day of sCHool, I’Ll just LEAve 85 BouQuets in the QuaD.
PleaSe JUst leT them STAy.
JuSt bluR yOur eyes When you loOk at these forms I’m attaChing, or else it won’T be GOOd.
I’m a MOtheR Quarantined WItH Two Jr. HIgh DAughters.
Please understAND all this HAS entailed.
Now, PaY no mind TO tHe Bad grADEs Behind the CUrtaIn.
How ‘bOuT wE just scRAtch all THIS *gestures wildly* from the recoRD and Move on?”
-Signed, the mom in the fake mustache and trench coat thrown over day three yoga pants who just sped off in her car
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
