empresspatti (empresspatti) wrote,
empresspatti
empresspatti

Senior year and being the bad Mom

 

I finally figured out the difference between being a Mom and being a Parent.  The Mom has fun.  The Parent sits in the car or waits in line.

 

I’ve been the Parent a lot lately. 

 

I will be so glad to say goodbye to High School.  Why, why, why does it have to start at 7am?  Nothing good ever happens before 8am.  I was plenty over it when I graduated back in the olden days.  I was equally relieved when my Daughter finished.  High School sucks.  Sorry if I am offending any teachers.  You guys should get combat pay.  Booster Club Moms are insane. 

 

Now my Son enters his Senior Year. Since he is ½ credit away from being graduated, he wanted to enroll in the local community college’s Intro to Film class.  Cue meetings with High School counselors, college counselors, film teachers and admissions reps.

 

This has involved more sitting in cars than I ever want to do again. 

 

We spent hours scurrying around campus, getting random signatures and waiting in line.  I spent a miserably hot afternoon waiting for him to finish taking assessment tests, I was never so glad to wait in line at the cashiers.  I would have handed my credit card over to anyone if meant the end of driving back and forth and waiting in line.

 

Just when I thought I was safely done with this round of parenting I had to fend off a crazy women at the grocery store (now ight be the time to confess that it was first thing in the morning) who wanted me to join the Booster Club.  She’s seen me around the high school so many times in recent weeks she assumed I was “active in my Son’s high school experience.”

 

“Egads!  Who cares about football”?  I asked her.  "Besides, he's going to High School, not me.  I'd had enough high school the first time around."

 

Who knew I could accidentally offend someone so much?  She acted like I had three heads.   Note to self: NEVER go to a PTA meeting and don’t venture near the school campus.  It that woman ever sees me again she might report me to the Mom police for indifference to sports.

 

My Son was a trooper, figuring everything out, presenting his case to the Powers that Be in two separate bureaucratic nightmares.  I had to be signature on forms, bearer of car keys and the credit card; I tagged along festering with irritation at administrations, driving, waiting and trotting around in the DC heat.  I was not oozing charm. 

 

So he is enrolled in a program of study he loves, with a side of internship with a business that will keep him engaged and happy.  Now all he has to do is more SAT/ACT’s, college apps and all the other crap that comes with Senior Year.

 

I can hear the couch calling me for a nap.  I don't give a crap about high shool.
Tags: senior year and being the bad mom
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