"D" is for Dance -- Surviving the 8th Grade Dance

I really should be writing about “D” for Deadline since I almost missed mine. Instead I want to write about “D” for Dance. As in my daughters upcoming 8^th grade dance for graduating from middle school. Since most kids graduate from middle school the whole thing seems a little anti- climactic, but the 8^th grade dance is a really big deal.

I’m starting to discover there’s a lot of drama (“D “ for Drama) that goes along with the 8^th grade dance; from buying a dress to begging your parents not to chaperone.  It’s only a few short months away for the big event, but I’m not sure I will make it.

Here’s my list of 5 ways to survive:

1)   Embrace the dress as the most important part of the dance. Don’t let her fool you. She may act all nonchalant when you take her shopping, like she doesn’t care what she wears -- until you make a suggestion. Beware as any dress you pick out she’ll claim she'd never wear to a dance or anywhere. It’s very important you don’t react to whatever she likes even it’s hideous with rhinestones and glitter.  That will only make it more desirable. If it’s a dress you actually like you must not reveal your feelings. If she senses your approval it is all over.

2)   Steer clear of the prom date discussion. If you ask them if they need a date for the dance they will respond no. They will explain they'd rather go with their friends. You will try to gage if they are covering for a teenage broken heart. They will ignore you to take a selfie. You will still wonder if they are upset. They will take more selfies. You should stop worrying.

3)   Volunteer for the dance committee and put in hours of time to make the dance just perfect, but remember these kids are not easily impressed. They come from the generation that can watch a movie  on their phone. A Night Under The Sea with star balloons and mermaids cannot compete. Don’t feel bad if it doesn’t win you mother of the year. They will appreciate it when they are older (at least that’s what my mother told to me).

4)   Use chaperoning the dance as a threat to keep your kid inline for the rest of the school year. The possibility of embarrassment by ones parent can increase your child’s average from a B to an A.

5)   Don’t get upset when your grown up baby struts around in her high heels. She will never make it through the whole dance in those anyway and will end up wearing two different colored socks by the end of the night like she did when she was five.

Just breathe, take tons of photos and try not to think you'll be doing this whole dance thing again in two
years for high school.

Cabbage Patch Rant For Letter 'C' of the A-Z Challenge

In honor of Throw Back Thursday on Facebook I asked for a retro words starting with the letter “C” for the A-Z challenge. Cabbage Patch Kids is what I ended up with.

I never owned a Cabbage Patch Kid and I don’t think it was a toy I ever asked for. Although I do recall liking the way they smelled-- a strange combination of baby powder and plastic. I was mostly fascinated with the adoption certificate they came with. It was like opening a box of Cracker Jacks (another “C” retro word by the way) because you didn’t know what you would get. Would his name be Ramsey Linus or her name Petunia Lindsey? These are real names I found on eBay. Cabbage Patch Kids were both cute and creepy at the same time.

The early 80’s craze they inspired was everywhere; from television commercials to the big prize on the wheel at the Seaside Boardwalk right next to the game where you won cigarettes. I only won the cigarettes.

The more I think about it the more I think I dislike Cabbage Patch Kids. If nothing else they initiated the holiday toy frenzy that continues today. Ever since their introduction parents everywhere have felt the need to fulfill the coveted ‘toy of the year’ for their kid by December 25^th making Cabbage Patch Kids the start of a very bad trend.

My Ten Suggestions To Make It Through Baseball Season (B for A-Z Challenge like you couldn't figure that out)

I’ve been offering up a word of the week on Wednesdays to my Facebook pals. Give me a word and I’ll use it as a prompt. I figured why not do it for the A to Z challenge?  So what do I end up with? Baseball. America’s favorite past time, but not my favorite subject to write about. I was afraid that would happen. Some other suggestions were boobs, bedazzled and bailiwick (whatever that means). Alas, they were not first so baseball it is.

I can see why baseball popped into my friend’s head and why she subsequently passed it on to me. It’s opening day for the season in the town we live in on Saturday. It’s a really big deal here kicking off with a parade. The kids dress in uniform, toddle down the main road as parents schlep alongside with cameras so they can get the first shot of little Taylor or Hunter with his team. The parade is followed by a day of back-to-back games, chow and camaraderie. It’s great -- if you like baseball that is.

I love my kids and I will be there watching paint dry, I mean every game. Little league baseball can be really b-o-r-i-n-g. Even to the kids playing. There’s a lot of down time and the games seem to go on forever. At least we are spared a full nine innings. But how else are these kids going to learn to pitch, hit, field and catch? They’ve got to start somewhere. Sigh.

So here are my ten suggestions to make it through baseball season:

1)   Try to get your kid on a team with parents you actually like. You are going to spend a lot of time with these people. Cajole, finagle, bribe whoever it is that drafts your team because if you end up on the team with the close talker who eats too many onions it’s going to be a very long season.

2)   Get a dog. For some reason the parents who bring dogs to the games seem a lot happier to me. Maybe it’s because the dogs give them an excuse to get up and walk around more? Although scooping up poop is a big trade-off.

3)   Sometimes you just have to embrace the Solo Cup- -- particularly if it’s a Friday night game. Another reason you should like the parents on your team. Or at least have ones that won’t judge you too harshly.

4)   Keep a million blankets in the car. It can be a balmy seventy degrees in your yard at home, but it will somehow turn into the tundra down at the field the minute you get there. Otherwise expect to be shivering before the second inning is over.

5)   Bring healthy snacks. You will need sustenance and the snack bar is way too alluring for one trapped watching paint dry.

6)   Make sure your phone battery is at 100% to ensure you can discreetly peruse Facebook or play Candy Crush when necessary.

7)   You are in for the long haul so bring your own chair (preferably one with a cup holder for your Solo cup) or one of those padded seats for the bleachers. Comfort is key and cold metal bleachers are not tush or over forty friendly.

8)   Borrow or have a baby. Napping, breast-feeding or colic can get you a pass.

9)   Take your Zyrtec or Clariton. Pollen and baseball season are buddies. Otherwise every spring breeze will make you want to hit yourself in the head with the bat.

10)                   Run around the bases just once while no one is around. Why? It’s fun. You’ll feel like a kid again and suddenly it will all seem worth it.

Just One Swig (A is for Alcohol -- Day 1 of the A to Z challenge)

My first time was in 10th grade.  In a bush outside a house on Minisink Way.

Puked. Chucked. Barfed.  All it took was one big swig of vodka. And there I was throwing up in front of everyone. It was so embarrassing. Since then I’ve probably had various beverages that have ended up in the toilet or on someone’s carpet, but vodka was my first.

Maybe I was a late bloomer. I had friends who had been drinking since 8th grade. Stealing their parents stash. Bartering for beer from an older sibling. Not me. I was a prude I guess. But there wasn’t a lot of opportunity. My parents weren’t big drinkers and there wasn’t a huge bar at home. They did have the occasional glass of wine, but I don’t think Manischewitz counts. And even though my grandfather would give me tastes of his beer, it was bitter, and didn’t compare to ice cream.

Tenth grade was the year I first experienced alcohol. It was exciting. I liked the way it made me feel, but I think it was as much for its forbidden status as from an actual buzz. My friends and I spent many weekends devising how we were going to get alcohol and then where we were going to drink it. There always seemed to be someone who had a friend who could get us beer at the liquor store that didn’t card. It was the late 80’s and alcohol was still somewhat accessible to the underage. Fake ID’s weren’t that hard to get.  The drinking age had just increased from 18 to 21 in 1984.

When I look back I can’t help but think we were lucky that no one got hurt. No car accidents. Heck, most of us didn’t have our license yet. No arrests. Although I do remember ditching cops on the golf course or running through a few yards when they broke up a house party. We were lucky.

In less than 8 months my oldest child will be heading off to high school and I don’t want her to be that kind of lucky -- running from cops or scoring that six-pack. I don’t want her drinking. I can naively believe she won’t be in to that. After all, she’s a good kid. But then so was I.

Recently a friend told me that his freshman daughter attended her first high school party—a senior party. Supposedly the parents were home. That night he got a phone call from his daughter’s best friend saying ‘Ashley’ wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home. Turns out Ashley was sick – the wasted kind. She confessed to her parents in the morning.  She said they were drinking at her friend’s house after the party. Hmmmm. Whether she was drinking at the party or not, my friend found comfort in his daughter fessing up and now having a very good excuse to ban her from attending any other senior parties for the rest of the year. But what about next year?

My kids see me drink a glass of wine with dinner. They see my friends show up with bottles of wine when we go out to eat.  The consumption of alcohol is not hidden. It’s not taboo. They’ve also seen us take a car service home so we don’t drink and drive. Or grab a cab home. We like to think we are responsible drinkers and setting an example. However is the prevalence of alcohol in our lives inadvertently giving them permission to think drinking alcohol is okay for them too? Will it make them more likely to try it?  Maybe, but my parents barely drank and that didn’t stop me.

All I can do is talk to them about it. Make sure they understand the consequences of their actions. Remind them that underage drinking is illegal. That they should watch out for their friends, too. And if they’re ever in a bad situation, even if they puked in a bush, they can always call home. I’d like to say it won’t happen, but I know too well that all it takes is one big swig.

Camping

A whole month has gone by and no I have not been camping. When I originally titled the last entry I was on a things that start with the letter 'C' kick and had just returned from taking my girl scout troop of 9 year old's to Camp Hoover. 

Surprizingly, Camp Hoover was  as bad as I expected even with all the giant spider webs and bugs. The weather was perfect and the girls actually slept (I thought we'd be up all night soothing homesick children). Girls were in tents. Leaders in cabins. Bears all around. 

Seriously, we had various altercations with a mother black bear and cub who had decided to say 'hello'. I actually never got to see the bear, but my troop did on the way to the lake. Brave leader that I am, I was following them in the rear when the bear rambled up the path. My co-leader and I were just strolling along, oblivious to the bear, until all the girls came running. They described it as a huge creature with sharp fangs (another reason I'm so shocked no one got up during the night-- phew).

Later my co-leader heard the bear when she went to retrieve water bottles from our campsight. It was growling in the shelter area blocking any access she had to the siren you're supposed to use to scare the bear away. Instead the bear was successful in scaring my co-leader away who was a wreck from that point on. Personally, I think the bear was just looking to bond. And I left Camp Hoover relieved it was over, but disappointed I never got to see the bear myself.