We’re using new curriculum at school to teach reading. I find it to be remarkably cool mainly because it teaches children how to figure out for themselves how to spell because we teach them the rules of the English language. Things I never learned in all my education classes.

While I have a remarkably gifted child who is currently completing Junior/Senior English as an 8th grader, he cannot spell for the life of him, so I’ve been teaching him the new curriculum as we go to help him become a better speller and to understand the way our written language was developed.

Tonight, putting before him the word ‘crinkle’, I asked him why the ‘c’ said /k/ and not /s/ in this word.

My gifted child’s answer?

“Um, because ‘srinkle’ just don’t sound right?”

Sigh.

George gets a little anxious about being picked up from school. He’s just certain he’s going to be left, forgotten and stranded, although it has never actually happened. We thought it was just because he doesn’t know where my classroom is as easily this year, but it turns out he had a similar panic when it was his mom picking him up from school instead of the usual bus ride. After tears were shed and many promises for punctuality were made, George was still upset that my sister refused to park her car and go into the school to find him. She had promised she’d be in the circle drive, with all the other parents for pick-up, but that because they were in a rush to get to the game Birdy was cheering at, she didn’t have time to park and come in. This didn’t sit well with George at all. My sister reminded him that if she wasn’t the first car immediately outside of the doors, to just look down the line of cars and he would see her; she would be there, she promised.

As George headed out the door that morning and down to the bus, my sister asked him where was her usual kiss goodbye. George looked over his shoulder and replied, “You don’t get one today. You haven’t earned it.”

I’ve pitched one too many fits to Flash’s band director begging him to challenge my child to not then participate in what appeared to be such an opportunity. Flash came home the other day talking about Pep Band. What he was lacking, however, was details. He didn’t know what it was, when it met, what it was about, who was directing it, when they would play…he just knew someone had come to band and talked about a Pep Band while he was at gifted class. So I hounded him. We need a flyer. We need information. Talk with your director. Talk with other kids in band. TALK!!

But to no avail. No one seemed to know anything. His director wasn’t in charge, didn’t have details and didn’t keep a flyer. Flash’s best friend and bandmate had heard about it, but didn’t know anything more than Flash knew.

We went to school for a presentation the other night (unrelated, but equally as unpublicized) and Flash drug me to the band room door to show me the sign. “Join the Pep Band!” The flyer declared. It had some strange name that had nothing to do with Flash’s school, and then said it was this Friday night at 6:45. No details. No information. Is this a performance or a practice? What is this all about and who is putting this together?

No information was to be gleaned. So, I put it on my calendar and arrived home from work tonight with thoughts on dinner and getting a bit done before we headed off to school. That’s when Flash announced he had to be there at FIVE forty-five. Apparently they PLAY at six forty-five, but have to be there that much earlier. Again, we don’t even know WHAT he is playing at. We do know that his buddy has the music, and Flash has seen it and it’s easy-peasy. (So, lacking the challenge we were hoping for).

In any case, reluctantly but in a supportive effort, off we go, grabbing dinner on our way (so Flash could snarf it down in the car).

So here’s what the deal was: A local elementary school was having a fundraising night at Flash’s middle school because they have no gymnasium or cafeteria of their own in which to host such an event (a “hoopla” as they called it). The high school cheerleaders performed, a handful of the middle school band members played (hence Flash) and the faculty at every school it seemed EXCEPT that elementary school played a rousing game of faculty basketball. There was a silent auction and food and t-shirts and even an admission fee (which Flash got us around by sneaking us in the back band door).

It was lame-o, in a nutshell and totally unrelated to a) Flash’s school, b) band or c) anything that would challenge my child.

So, I was disappointed to have put in ANY effort whatsoever. But, to salvage the evening, on the way home, I’m sharing the antics of the cheerleaders who were practicing (and changing and talking) in the hallway where I had camped myself (what?! I wasn’t paying admission, I could hear the pep band just fine from the hall). Flash then shared some of his own observations.

1. Their gymnasium has no flag. So when the Banner was sung, the crowd started at a “Got Milk?” poster of an Olympian that happened to have a flag in the background.

2. There was a group of children doing a choreographed routine to “Thriller” (shocking, I know). Only, the person in charge of the music had started to download the song, but didn’t realize it hadn’t finished downloading before the performance began, so the song started and then STOPPED because it had to finish downloading. He said the guy at the mic even said, “students, let this be a lesson to you. Always download the song ahead of time.”

3. They had students from the elementary school running around the basketball court with large flags with a “P” and a “U” on them (for the name of the hyphenated school). As if that alone wasn’t funny enough, Flash said they couldn’t seem to stay in the right order, so at different points the flags ‘read’ “P” “P” “P” “U” “U” “U” or “P” P” “U” “P” U” “U”

At least we were able to chuckle while we otherwise wasted our time. Oh, and I wrote a couple thousand words for NaNo out in the hallway to boot!

So I should be caught up now. I’m sure I’ve missed a few funny quips from George in there and I could dialogue every.single.day about raising a teen, but ya get the idea. Basically, I’m savoring my life. Soaking up every minute. I just love it.

I invite you all to come visit. Especially when there are leaves to rake, snow to shovel or paint to put on walls! No, really, just come and sit and savor life with me for awhile!

And now that I’m all caught up on blogging, off to NaNoWriMo I go! (not to mention Christmas cards that need to be done by December 1st!)

(Can I just start by saying that I cannot believe I did not blog about this when it happened?)

Before Flash left for the summer (yes, you in the back, I know I haven’t blogged in forever…) we decided to have a special night out together. I had been to Monaco Bay (made famous by our own Matt Giraud) a few times with TB and others, but Flash was eager to see what all the fuss was about. I took him on a Friday night at 7 for their special “Dinner Show”.

Note: Before I even start let me say this: I know that a bar is no place for a child. And I know first-hand how out of hand these places can get as the evening progresses. On the times I had been there previously, I found it was a great place to be until about midnight and then every bachelorette around seemed to think it was a great place for a drunken party. In any case, I also knew that this “dinner hour” was supposed to be quite tame, a FAMILY event even…so, with caution…I proceeded)

Flash was thrilled to be there. We checked with the bouncer at the door to verify that Flash could indeed come in, he just had to leave by 9. (The bouncer did tell us that if the evening was pretty slow, they often let minors stay a bit longer, it was up to the parent’s discretion.) There was another family with two younger children across the restaurant, so all seemed well.

Within a half hour, however, the first bachelorette party arrived, complete with bobbling penises upon their heads. I was mortified to be sitting there, having dinner with my teenage son, but we had just ordered our greatly overpriced dinner, so we decided to stick it out. Bachelorette #1 proceeded to give Flash a great visual lesson in “what happens when a girl drinks too much” out on the dance floor. I tried to use it as a teachable moment.

By 8, two more bachelorette parties had arrived and set up shop. One party brought along their very own 3 foot-tall inflatable penis and put it on the table. Luckily (?!) Flash had his back to this table and missed out on all the antics that accompanied said penis.

The other party was fairly tame, except for the attire of the bride-to-be. Flash again took note of exactly how bizarre people act when they are drunk. Teachable moments abounded.

Around 8:30, one of the piano players took a request for “Leroy Brown”. In an effort to encourage crowd participation I suppose, he solicited the family with young children seated in front of the stage. He informed the kids that while parents might tell you not to swear, if you’re just singing song lyrics, it’s not really swearing! He taught them the words to the chorus and then encouraged them to sing along LOUDLY as the crowd belted it out one last time. “…baddest man in the whole $#%! town…” Ahem. Flash stared at me in disbelief. Yes, son, this is how adults can behave badly even when they are sober.

By 9 the retirement party in front of us started to get a little loud. The otherwise tame over-50 crowd was now doing shots alongside the bachelorettes and the retiree (a school teacher nontheless) was now dancing on the table in front of Flash. Sigh.

We decided to depart.

The piano playing was lackluster at best. Their newest talent is lacking just that. It just isn’t the same without Matt at the keys. I’m glad I was there a few times to hear him sing and watch him perform with personality before he moved on to stardom.

I’m sure that nights like these won’t help me earn Mother of the Year, but I expect Flash and I will giggle about it for a long time to come!

He was a fifth grader stationed there only to hold the door but saw me sitting outside the cafeteria and struck up a conversation about his latest feat of shooting (and then eating) a squirrel. He was a delightful child with sweet manners and disposition. He paused in his recollection of his adventure to ask me, “Do you hunt?” He started to shake his head like it was silly of him to have asked a woman if she hunts, but then he said, “No, really, do you?”

“No,” I replied with a smile. “I don’t hunt.”

“Does your husband hunt?” he questioned back.

“I don’t have one of those,” I replied again with a smile.

“You’re not married?” he asked with an element of surprise that I ascribe to his disbelief that a woman of my age could possibly still be single.

“No, I’m not married.”

“Not yet, you mean,” he said correctingly.

His optimism far outreaches my own on that topic, but just for the day, I let that phrase roll through my mind with hope.

Not yet.