Good Night, Irene...

As Hurricane Irene barreled her way to my beloved home of eastern North Carolina, I sat far enough away to never personally be at risk. But my heart was at risk, the risk of losing so many I hold dear. I can take you all up and down the coast of North Carolina and name family and friends. I can name slightly further inland counties like Halifax, Pitt, Bertie (pronounced Ber-TEE, please), Lenoir, and on and on with family and friends who live there. I spent Saturday calling, texting, and messaging trying to track down ones I love and see if they were still safe, did they have damage, how much...all the stuff you do when you can only be there in heart.

On Tuesday as I write this her death toll stands at 47, and each and every life lost is a sadness for all of us. Yet the insensitivity strikes me. I've heard comments such as, "Well, that was a big bunch of nothing." My personal favorite was, "It's only a category one now. That means it's just a rainstorm." One politician even had the gall to say that Irene and the earthquake were meant to be a wake up call to Washington by God. Idiotic, methinks - the politician, not God.

If you lost a loved one, if you lost your home, if you are now realizing that the insurance you never got because you were told you were not in a flood zone, is the only insurance that would have covered you, then this is catastrophic.

Some will step forward now and offer their homes and help. Some have already done this. Others of us will offer what we can in donations. Some have already traveled to hard hit areas to volunteer or repair. Often we all are given an opportunity to show our best and so many of us will. But to the ones who show their ignorance or insensitivity, all I can say is, "Bless your heart, you need to hush your mouth now." And to the politician who thinks the devastation of my beloved home state and to Vermont and every area hit by the hurricane or earthquake was a wake up call to politicians, well now she claims it was a joke. Honey, if you have to explain the joke, that's a true sign that it wasn't funny.

Our love, thoughts, and prayers are with every one who has been affected by Hurricane Irene and the earthquake. We are with you in your time of devastation.

Delinquent Mother!

We all know that teenagers, at some point or other, are completely embarrassed by their parents but I think I just hit the top spot on the embarrassment poll. I could blame it on age, my grey cells dissipating, or my hormones taking over, but truthfully it was all me. No help at all, which makes it worse.

The place was high school orientation. The people involved were my son, his teacher, and me. The orientation was chaotic with hundreds of teenagers running around trying to find their way in a new school whilst skillfully texting each other, even though they were standing back to back. It was a parent's nightmare.

By the time we arrived at the last room on his list, I was frazzled and ready to go home. My head was spinning from the fact that he had been assigned to the wrong math class, that one of his teachers looked like a 'surfer dude' (he is very nice so I found out – naughty me!), and that not one person could tell us definitively where he was supposed to report to on day one. Yes, my mind was racing with a million questions and thoughts.

The last room was his homeroom and I was hoping to get answers to my remaining questions. As we entered, there was one other family in conversation with the teacher, so I ushered my son far enough away so as not to look as if we were trying to muscle in on the conversation. It is so annoying when someone does that right?

From our distant position, a few chairs back, I started to whisper to my son about what we needed to find out. He engaged in the conversation as quietly as I did – we were being polite, or so we thought! To our horror, the teacher didn't think so. Within a second the room went quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. I looked up from my huddled position and saw the stare. Yes, I got the "Teacher Stare". You know the one that you got in school, all those years ago, when you had done some dreadful deed. The one that told you detention was a sure thing and that your parents would certainly hear of this before the day was out. Thankfully, I didn't get many of these in my day but, unthankfully because of that, I am afraid of them.

The teacher then addressed me. He did not say many words. It was just a simple, "Did you say something?"

My son's gaze had followed mine and, as I noticed out of the corner of my eye, he had gone completely white. You see, this is the boy who would walk around the edge of the classroom so as not to be seen near the naughty chair in Kindergarten, or has ever had a reason to bring one of those 'notes' home. In fact, he never got off green in the Green, Yellow, Red (your dead) behavioral system favored by elementary schools. I knew this was disaster of mammoth proportions.

I couldn't answer the teacher; my mouth was stuck, stricken with fear. That apparently was making the situation worse. As he was not getting a satisfactory reply from me, he turned to my son.

"Do YOU have something to say?"

Well, I did not know whether to be proud of my son for answering the question or whether to ground him for the next year. Really, it was outrageous -- he blamed me! Simply he stammered that he was replying to me, his mother. I got another stare and then the final blow. The teacher turned his back on me. I was in school, in my forties, and been caught out for speaking out of turn in class. I started to giggle which was obviously catching, as the other boy who was talking with the teacher at the time followed suit.

He got the stare too.

At least my son was not the only one, I thought to myself. However, the damage was done; I had embarrassed my poor child. We did speak to the teacher after the other family had left, but I have to be honest and say that I didn't ask the questions I needed to, and the teacher thankfully didn't mention the incident just told us that we could expect a lot of paperwork.

My son never really said anything on the way home about my delinquent behavior so I decided to keep quiet – best thing to do under the circumstances, don't you think.

As SpongeBob states – “I’m Ready, I’m Ready…………..”

Brace yourselves parents it's coming… D-day is nearly here for most of us, and we are counting down. I have the celebratory wine chilling in the fridge, and the 20 million water bottles ready and waiting to go in the garage. School is nearly starting other than for one teeny, tiny obstacle to be overcome. We still have to run the back-to-school supply list gauntlet.

This mania has Black Friday beat. I am convinced that shops everywhere are bracing themselves for this week. Every year I swear to myself, God, or indeed anyone who will listen to me over the age of 18, that I will not lose control in Staples or Target. I pledge that I will NOT swear uncontrollably to the innocent shop assistant if they do not have anymore three holed pocket folders in bright pink. I will control my facial expressions, keep them 'poker faced ', when my son insists that the most expensive calculator will help him achieve higher marks in his math class. I will resist stamping my feet like a 5 year old because they only have clear glue and not white as my daughter cries uncontrollably since she is sure she will be making slime in science this year. No, I will not panic as I fight through the crowds to purchase endless reams of loose leaf paper only to find the lucky ones had scooped up the precious college ruled packs, leaving me to console my 14 year old that he will not look like a nerd with wide ruled. After all, what are a few millimeters between friends?

Pencils are another story - 2HB is the call of the schools. Great, they are everywhere, but this Shakespearean sonnet sound-alike is a minefield. Do you get the cheapest knowing that within one day your well supplied child will have mislaid them, and also knowing that every single one does not sharpen as its lead that has been shattered into a million pieces, probably by the aforementioned shop assistant, who had dropped the whole case whilst being chased by an over eager parent? Or, do you go for the technical, mechanical ones which are for the most part a huge NO-NO, and just let your child be the one who gets labeled as 'the one with the parent who cannot read the list properly'.

Pink erasers this year seem to be necessary. What happened to white or are we now trying to be politically correct and pink is the new in? However, there is a plus to this; at least the pencils seem to all come with pink erasers on top. Yes, I know they will become a daily part of my children's diet as they munch on them in class (the granola bars just don't taste the same) but who cares, I am focusing on my parent-of-the-year award for having the right supplies.

Then once we are done with the stationary side of things, we find ourselves moving onto the sanitary section. Oh how we love our germ-free schools. The fear factor is before us. It shouts "your child needs these items - Cleanliness is next to Godliness!". I agree for the most part, and I do pity our poor teachers as they battle with germ-infested children but, seriously, do I really need to supply tissues, hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes and much more? Can we not just wrap them up in a self-sanitizing body suit, give them a facial mask, surgeon's gloves, and have a heat (fever) detector installed on all the main entrances? After all, isn't that how airports do it? Better still, lets jab them as they enter with flu shots. You may laugh, but in England, when I was a child, we all lined up for the BCG vaccine (Tuberculosis), and like sitting ducks we sweated as the end of the line neared. A little of what we had to go through may be a good learning curve for our precious ones. If all parents clubbed together the money, we are to spend on these products, we could afford those sensors I am sure!

So what is a parent to do? Already as I write this, I can feel the stress rising. No, I am not going to let it get me! I am going to get my coffee, combine my lists (2 children, 2 lists), and face the day like a combat soldier, and for those of you who have already successfully planted your kids back in school, and completed the gauntlet, I tip my hat to you. Sit back and heave a sigh of relief. Pity my pain. Hindsight is a glorious state of mind.

Running in Circles Back to the Old School

By Sheilah Zimpel

I edited a parenting column last night about how this mother got her kids ready to go back to school. And I didn’t believe a word of it. Seriously, trading in playing cards for flash cards, videogames for books? Putting away beach puzzles for maps of continents? Storing away logo T-shirts for collared ones? Hiding remotes, turning off the TV? Setting alarm clocks earlier in 10-minute increments a day, moving bedtime from 10 to 8? Who is this hyperorganized woman so in control of her subjects, I ask. Keep her away from me.

I barely remembered to buy new shoes and a backpack. Check. Ready for school.

My theory for preparing to go back to school, borrowed from some wise like-minded soul, is similar to your pre-college summer: Make the last weeks of summer at home so incredibly, so stupefyingly, so outrageously boring that he’ll be begging for school as an escape. With the amount of hours Dave and I have worked (outside the home) this summer, I think Dylan is uber-prepared. He read half a book. He wrote a total of two words, and that’s just because I asked him if he still knew how to write. It was legible. Check. (Then I recalled his teacher saying to practice his penmanship. Uh oh.) This penman’s ship is sunk.

One way we accidentally prepared for the return to school was mentioning the annoying kid’s name, the kid we call in code by his moniker spelled backward, the kid who is so pesky that everyone avoids him. Now I’ve trained Dylan to be nice to everyone, but this dern kid just wouldn’t let up, and I think it’s because I trained Dylan to be nice to everyone. (So I revised for next year: Avoid him at all costs.) We said a little prayer that maybe he won’t be in his class, which is doubtful, as last year’s teacher is looping up with the same class. But she loves Dylan, so I think we’ll ask to sit far away from the bane of our fourth-gradeness. Check.

So I say, why prepare for back to school—it brings up horrors of routine and annoyance. Kids are resilient, can change on a dime, and enjoy a good foot race to the bus stop. And Moms seem born ready for the return, for all those projects we failed to do in the summertime because we were driving here and there and having kidlike fun. Back to school time means no excuses for housework undone, unkempt lawns, dinner out. We like to think, dreamily, that it means free time, but it really means back to getting things done. And I don’t wanna. Can’t make me.

I feel the need to lay upside down on the couch and see if the video game works that way. Then I just might need to duct tape the chair silver. And freeze some more Lego dudes. I sure will miss that Phineas and Ferb theme song.

But the second parenting columnist I edited last night, the old-school child psychologist I always laugh with in agreement, brought the SuperMom columnist back to reality. His column was a response to parents whose tween runs in circles, spontaneously, erratically, dumbfoundingly. And he set me straight on all this line-your-kids-up-like-ducks-in-a-row mess—he said your tween’s just quirky, an oddball like the rest of us. It’s just what we do, and there’s no need to suppress it.

Let’s run in circles for no reason at all.

With 10 You Get Bedrolls, And Veggie Burgers

By Sheilah Zimpel

From the VRBO website: “Relax and enjoy your vacation at this great getaway in the mountains, located 15 minutes to the heart of Brevard, and Hendersonville, 10 minutes to Asheville Airport, 20 minutes to Asheville, 10 minutes to the entrance of Pisgah National Forest, you can't go wrong.
THIS IS THE PERFECT LOCATION FOR 3 MOUNTAIN CITIES !!!
From the upper level of the cottage, the view from a large deck is breath taking. Overlooking a 5 acre private fishing pond, with a view of the beautiful mountains of Pisgah National Forest in the background. Take a stroll across the pond in the paddle boat. Wet a hook and reel in your catch. The pond is stocked with bass & bream trout & catfish. (Catch and release, please)
From the lower level, relax on a long covered deck overlooking a small stocked pond with koy & bream. A comfortable sitting area for dining outside, porch swing & chairs are provided for your comfort.
This cottage is located 10 minutes from Pisgah National Forest where you have to see and enjoy Sliding Rock, Looking Glass Falls, the Blue Ridge Parkway and many more attractions. Spend your day horseback riding, hiking, floating the river, picnicing and more. Visit the Biltmore House in Asheville, the Brevard Music Center,the Flat Rock Playhouse in Hendersonville and much much more.”

It sounds so idyllic, doesn’t it? Add 8 to 10 adults, 3 kids, and enough pullout couches to cover every square foot of the place. Add a four-lane highway a stone’s throw away. Throw in a pond off the back deck that’s unfishable and a porch ceiling fan that sounds like a Chinook taking to the sky. Cook at 95 F for 4 nights and 5 days.

Instant *extended* family vacation. Feeds 10-20, or 2 vegetarians.

Saw some mountains while I was there, but not from our “cabin nestled at the edge of the Pisgah.” No, we had to drive in, which had easy access from the end of our diveway onto the much-travelled highway that went into the heart of Brevard. Became intimately familiar with the O.P. Taylor toy store.

Dave said Dylan and I wouldn’t last a day. But he underestimated his son’s desire to be with cousins, family, which we don’t get much of. We put him to shame by lasting all week, sleeping on a pullout-couch together. Ever sleep with a kid? Then you know. The first night we tried a fat blowup bed on top of the pullout, but somehow, I dunno -- too many monkeys jumping on the bed? -- it punctured, leaving Dylan nestled like a rock on a fluffy cloud, slowly deflating.

Dylan caught the first fish, dubbed miracle ones, for the broken rod & reel he used and the lack of bait. He counts fishing among the best parts of the vacation, and I was impressed with the kids’ ability to wait patiently for a bite. Only one kid fell in. His next favorite was the paddleboat, and watching the blue heron and geese and ducks and goslings take flight, land, and feed. An ace cornhole player, who happened to be a fast-pitch softball pitcher in high school, aptly dubbed Cornho Queen...you know, that game we called BEAN BAG TOSS in kindergarten in the '60s.

Big breakfasts, dinner made for you, playing Apples to Apples late (and seeing how closely your thoughts align with your brother, which was scary), Looking Glass Falls and Sliding Rock, and a nearby coffeehouse.

All in all, I’d say it was the typical family vacation—too many bodies, not enough space, too hot, too far, too long, too much—just like real families, only more so. Too many Moms, but not the one we missed. No privacy, no peace and quiet, dietary restrictions, late nights and early wakings, vegetarian nieces and too much meat. One threat of drowning and some fish you had to throw back, a pond you couldn’t swim in. Only one bite by a 4-year-old to an 8-year-old's back.

Did you know you can get nightmares from watching the Waltons? Dylan did—and that’s the perfect metaphor for this summer’s *family* vacation: too damn many people living on top of each other in the country can be a harrowing experience, but it’s family, so we're grateful for it anyway.

Shut up, John Boy.