I can’t believe the kid did it, but did it he did.
We went and got it cut after school today. He was pretty nervous about getting it cut, but he was also determined to do it.
He was pretty somber in the chair, but when the stylist turned around to do something, he smiled at me in the mirror, so I think he was okay with the change. The stylist laughed when she caught him smiling.
It’s been a few hours since he had it done and now he has “buyer’s remorse,” I think. It’s just so short and so different than what he had that he’s having trouble adjusting. He’s also worried about how his classmates will react tomorrow. He did post a notice on Facebook, so some of his chums will already be prepared.
I asked him one question:
“Are you more embarrassed having short hair or having to wear barrettes to keep it out of your face?”
“Good point,” was his reply.
So, he’ll be fine.
Of course, I’m thrilled. But I’m trying not to act all that excited about it because you know, we can’t have mom liking it too much. It’s been long for three years now and it IS different, but I really think he’s going to like not having to fool with it.
Especially when he marches this Friday and all of his buddies who have long hair are having to deal with putting it up.
At any rate, I’m proud of him. That took a lot of courage to do something that drastic.
The day finally arrived – he got his band uniform!
I’m disturbingly excited about this; it’s almost embarrassing how excited I am.
Just ask Jazz. 😀
When he got to the car, and I didn’t see him carrying a garment bag, my first question was,
“Where’s your uniform?”
NOT, “How was your day?” or “Did you see President Obama’s speech?” (Jazz didn’t, but Dude did) or even a “Hey buddy.”
But rather,
“Where’s your uniform?”
I’m like a cocaine addict looking for my next fix! *blush*
Anyway, he mumbled something about how the other kids were lined up getting theirs but he was too tired to deal with it and before he could even finish his sentence, I marched (pun intended, obviously) him right back up to the school and Dude and I waited in the car until he returned with his garment bag.
Which STINKS to high heaven, I might add. Wow. That was one of the first things I did when we got home was spray it down with Febreeze.
Pee-U.
Anyway, we spent a good ten minutes trying to figure out where everything went (I still don’t think we have the gauntlets [the things on his wrists] right), and I’m sure we must have looked like an episode of the Three Stooges (because Dude felt left out and started fooling around with his hat which only complicated matters but it was funny that he wanted to be involved in some way), but finally, we got the thing on.
At least, I HOPE it’s on right. I guess he’ll find out if it’s wrong the first time he wears it to a performance.
Which is THIS Friday, I might add.
Can you TELL I’m excited??!
He still needs to get the feather for his cap (Heh), his gloves and his shoes but overall, he’s ready to go. I need to adjust the pants’ length, they’re too long, of course (all of his pants are always too long, though they actually aren’t as long as I thought they might be) and Kevin will have to monkey-rig his hat somehow so it’s a bit more snug (his head is actually too big for a small, but not quite big enough for a medium – naturally), but we’ll fine-tune it so that it’s comfortable for him to wear before Friday night.
And there’s my son …… a member of his high school marching band.
Wow.
I’m so proud.
*SQUEE!!*
(If any of you band veterans out there have some advice on how to make his hat snug or how to keep his hair out of his face and in his hat, I’d appreciate the tips!)
Updated: By the way, Jazz called me while he was getting measured for his uniform and needed to know how tall he was. I had no clue. So I guessed about 5’2. When we got home, we measured him — 5’5!!! This won’t mean much to most of you, but family and friends will be shocked. Jazz has always been short and puny for his age. Not anymore! He’s really catching up to his peers! Wow … 5’5. I’m like, in shock.
I was driving the boys home from school today and Jazz says to me:
“Mom. I need a tie-dye shirt.”
“You need a what?”
“A tie-dye shirt. Or maybe a funky 70’s belt. Do we have any afro wigs?”
“Of course!” I said. “I’m sure we have some lying around in the attic.”
Dude snorts with appreciation.
“What in the world do you need that stuff for?”
“We’re having a contest in band. We all need to show up to practice tonight wearing something from the 70’s.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m fairly certain we don’t have anything like that lying around the house.”
“Oh man. If I don’t show up wearing a tie-dye shirt tonight, my section is going to be mad at me.”
“Maybe grandma can make a tie-dye shirt,” says Dude.
“Of course she can,” I reply. “But grandma doesn’t have time to make you a tie-dye shirt. Especially not in three hours!”
“It wouldn’t be dry by that time, anyway,” says Dude.
I nod in agreement.
“Well, can we go to Wal-Mart and see if they have any tie-dye shirts?”
“Jazz, I’m not about to run around town to try and find you a tie-dye shirt! Why didn’t they give you more time to find this stuff?”
“I don’t know. Can we go?”
I heave a big sigh.
“Fine. We’ll check Wal-Mart. But don’t get your hopes up. I think it’s very unlikely we’ll find a tie-dye anything right now. That hasn’t been in style in like, forever.”
“Okay.”
We drop Dude off at home so he can get started on his homework and then Jazz and I head up to Wal-Mart.
We head toward the men section and would you believe one of the FIRST things we see is none other than a tie-dye t-shirt with his school logo on it??!?
What are the odds??
I just picked Jazz up from practice and do you know their alto saxophone section won the contest? His sectional leader said that was the first time the alto saxes had won in the four years she had been there.
And it’s mainly because we found a tie-dye t-shirt for Jazz to wear.
Back-to-school is upon us. Not US specifically, the boys don’t actually start until August 25th, but tis the season to crack open those books and get back on a semi-normal sleep schedule.
I think I’m dreading the sleep schedule the most, if you want the truth.
For those that don’t know, Dude will be a junior this year and Jazz will be a freshman. I’m really looking forward to having both boys at the same school this year. And I’m REALLY looking forward to following Jazz around this Fall as he plays with the marching band.
I’m also hoping that all of his extra-curricular enthusiasm wears off on Dude and he actually gets involved in something this year.
I’m not holding my breath.
One nice thing about having high schoolers is that you don’t have to shop for back-to-school supplies. As long as the guys have a decent backpack (and that’s decent as in it’s strong enough to endure months of rough treatment and heavy books), a trapper to keep all of their subject folders, paper, pens, calculators, etc. in, then they’re good to go.
And we’re good to go on that stuff.
And since the guys are pretty much done with growth spurts (though Jazz had a pretty big one over the summer and I’m predicting he’s going to really shoot up there this year), the only thing I really needed to buy them were decent jeans and slightly bigger t-shirts.
Again, no biggie. But then again, I have teenage boys. I’m sure the whole wardrobe thing is an entirely different monster with teenage girls. I remember how CRUCIAL it was to have the latest and coolest thing back when I was in high school.
I can honestly say, I’m so thankful I didn’t have girls. (And not just because of the clothes issues, but for so many more reasons, as well. I should write about those reasons sometime).
When your kids reach the high school years, it’s all sort of anti-climatic. I watch young mothers frantically scouring the back-to-school aisles at the stores with envy. I honestly miss the days when the boys were actually looking forward to school. When they actually got excited about fresh pencils, crisp crayons, and funky notebooks.
Now, they could care less. In fact, it’ safe to say that they LOATHE school. Well, Dude loathes it, Jazz merely tolerates it and that’s only because he HAS to go to school in order to play in the band.
It’s a secondary priority.
But it wasn’t always this way. Kevin was going through old videos the other day and ran across this sweet gem. *SIGH* I can’t believe the boys were EVER this small. It seems like they’ve been the age they are now for like … forever.
I get tears in my eyes every time I watch this video. Every. Time. Their sweet little voices just MELT my heart and the innocent way they describe their days is just beyond endearing.
And their personalities are so obvious at this stage. Dude is all quiet and unobtrusive, cautious in his little boy way and Jazz is all in your face and demanding daddy to point the camera at him so he can make his point.
Yep. That’s about right. 😀
After watching this, I feel like some explanations are in order.
I’m not in this video because this was back when I was working nights at Wal-Mart. Because believe you me, if I had KNOWN there were wild squirrels running around the ankles of my shoeless sons I would NOT have allowed them in the same room with them.
This is proof positive how DIFFERENT men are from women when it comes to parenting styles. Gah.
Also, I have no clue HOW those squirrels got into our enclosed back porch. To my knowledge, that is the first and LAST time that ever happened (unless Kevin is not telling me something — honey?) So, the fact that they are in the porch area to begin with is bizarre.
I guess I should be thankful that the screened door was closed, otherwise the squirrel who was trying to get into our house would have gotten in and lord knows what sort of surprise THAT would have been for me when I got home from work that night.
I also don’t understand how allowing a couple of wild squirrels to run around you can be so commonplace. Notice the conversation is not centering around the fact that we have wild squirrels running around but on how the first day of school went. What the heck?! It’s like Kevin, wild squirrels — deal with them FIRST and then ask the boys how their day went. LOL
(Silly man)
Looking back, I wish I had done so many things differently. I really wish I had chilled out on the whole school/homework/sleep issues. I was so uptight and so controlling, I honestly think they hate school today because of me. I was so hard on them.
*sigh*
Take a chill pill, people. Learn from my mistakes.
I guess you could call it a pet peeve, really. And from the little research I’ve done on this subject (because yes, I AM that anal), it’s apparently more of a generational “thing” than anything else.
Personally, I think it’s just another attempt to justify the fact that no one bothers, or even gives a rip, about manners anymore.
It’s the whole saying “no problem” instead of the traditional “you’re welcome” thing.
Let me give you a fictional scenario:
Lori walked into the store and headed straight for the toilet paper section. She didn’t really want to just buy toilet paper, but she was in a hurry. Her son was actually IN the bathroom at home, on the toilet, waiting for toilet paper.
This was no time to get all self-conscious. In fact, some would say this was a downright emergency.
She quickly walked to the aisle and scanned the available products. So many to choose from! She lightly tapped her finger against her lips as she searched for her favorite brand.
Success! She found it. Only, it was on the top shelf and there was no way she her 5’2 frame would be tall enough to reach it.
She could buy another brand, but the last time she did that, she had had to endure cranky children and a complaining husband because the only brand that doesn’t scratch her delicate family was the brand now located on the top shelf and out of reach.
She flagged an associate down.
“Excuse me,” she began but abruptly paused as the sales associate stopped what he was doing to heave a heavy, and very put out sigh.
“I was wondering if you could get my favorite brand of toilet paper from the top shelf?” Her mouth curved into what she hoped was a beguiling smile but given her naked face and disheveled attire (she left the house in quite a hurry when she discovered her son had gone number two and there wasn’t a square to spare in the house), she hoped her charming personality would win her the favor.
The boy sucked the blade of his exact-o knife back into the casing and turned to face her. “Which one did you want?”
She blinked at the hostility in his eyes. Normally, his grumpy demeanor would be enough to scare her off her objective but she had a little boy stuck on the pot at home and she went into mom drive. Her lower lip began to quiver at his rudeness though, but she was determined not to leave the store without the brand of toilet paper she needed; he would just have to be irritated with her.
This was an emergency, after all.
The boy mumbled under his breath while he grabbed a nearby step ladder.
(If she had been thinking clearly, she would have simply used the ladder herself and to hell with the boy).
He stepped up onto the ladder and reaching up, he easily extracted the package of toilet paper. He didn’t exactly throw it at her, but it did slip out of his hands and plop rather heavily into her arms.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. I really appreciate your help. Thanks again.”
The boy gave her a bored look and with a simple shrug, muttered, “no problem.”
See?? Rude.
Now granted, this scenario is exaggerated (but only just), and there are a lot of people who SAY “no problem” and don’t mean it in a rude way, but to me, it doesn’t matter how it’s said, or what sort of expression accompanies it — it’s rude.
Whatever happened to “you’re welcome?”
Or, “My Pleasure?”
Or, “You bet!”
Or, “Anytime!”
Or even, “Glad to help!”
Whenever someone responds to a heartfelt “thank you” with a “no problem” I can feel the fine hairs on my upper lip the back of my neck stand on end.
To me, when someone says “no problem,” what they’re really saying is, “hey, I didn’t really have a choice, I HAD to help you. I’m not doing it out of the kindness of my heart but because I value my job and I don’t want to get fired.”
It’s a dismissal. It’s a write-off. It’s just one word shy of “moron.”
“No problem, moron. Now get lost.”
Because that’s what it sounds like to me.
Now, when someone says, “you’re welcome,” to me, this says, “I’m glad to help! It’s been my pleasure to make your life a little easier! I take great pride in helping people in need. I have absolutely no problem in putting my life on hold to help a fellow being out.”
It’s an embrace. A deep-seated sincerity.
IT’S POLITE.
I know. POLITE is a word that is rarely discussed anymore. In fact, I heard a rumor that the Merriam Webster Dictionary folks were thinking about striking the word from the dictionary because no one even knows what it means anymore.
Yes of course I’m making a big deal out of this. And no, of course it doesn’t REALLY bother me that much, but I suppose I’m trying to make a point here — slang or no, I think “no problem” sends the wrong message to our young people. I think we need to consciously make an effort to stay away from these apathetic expressions and concentrate on exercising good old-fashioned manners.
Not only in our language, but in dealing with each other, too.
The day finally arrived – he got his band uniform!
I have a problem. 
Write From Karen 