Congrats Trey!!!

The school year went to shit in March, as everyone knows. Everything that is usually done in person at the school was suddenly posted on social media.

Alyssa and several of her classmates (including Trey) were announced to be the section leads for band for the coming year. The ones with FB accounts were tagged in the post, which makes sense because it would show on their friends feeds.

We’re all proud of our kids. They all work hard.

One the FB page for the school’s band, the director posted the listing announcing the leads.

Alyssa is the woodwinds section lead. She’s every excited about this.

The other leads are Norah, who’s the section lead for percussion. Tessa is the low brass section lead. Trey is the leading the sax section and Gil is the section lead for high brass.

As one does, people commented under the post. The first comment was Trey’s mom, who posted, “Congrats Trey!!”

Which, yes, she’s happy for her son. And to give her credit, she almost immediately posted another comment saying, “Congrats everyone!”

But then one after another the comments rolled in, all saying, “Congrats Trey!”

Now, let’s be real. I totally understand that all of these people are ‘friends’ with Trey on FB. I get that they were notified that he’d been tagged in a post and they came to see what it was all about. But I also find it funny that every single one of them singled him out to say congratulations. And let’s be honest here, Trey is probably totally embarrassed by all the people congratulating only him.

However, I did not go on and congratulate Alyssa. I mean, I live with the dear heart, I was able to hug her and tell her how proud I am of her in person.

So the on-going joke in our house is to say “Congrats Trey!” if a group does something great or several people are mentioned for doing something good.

I know I’m petty. I don’t care, it’s funny.

Participation Award

I know that as a parent, we don’t get participation awards. We show up because it means a lot to our kids that we support them.

I am stupidly proud of myself for never missing a performance or a meet or a concert, even while going through chemo and radiation.

I mean, what if I’d died? Talk about not being able to be there. I wanted to be there as much as I could because my future wasn’t (isn’t) a given. So yes, I attended everything.

My daughter puts all the effort into these things. The very least I can do is show up at performances/meets/concerts.

She was recently inducted in the National Honor Society.

This is a pretty awesome achievement.

There was a dinner the night of the induction ceremony.

A week before the dinner I said something about taking Olivia to my mom’s the evening of the dinner so that Tom and I could attend the dinner.

He said something along the lines of, “Oh, am I going to the dinner?”

Duh.

I just looked at him.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink, blink, blink.

Finally, I said, “Of course you’re going. She’s probably your only child to get this distinction.”

He shrugged and went about his day.

I mean.

I’m not saying anything negative about Alyssa’s older (or younger) siblings. But obviously the older three weren’t in NHS. That ship sailed over 10 years ago for all three of them. And Livie…well, let’s just say she’s not a joiner and will have no interest or desire in doing what it takes to be part of National Honor Society. And that’s okay. It’s okay for all of Alyssa’s siblings.

But she IS a joiner. She loves competing and performing and serving others and we’re going to that dinner!

This reminds me of the final performance of the musical the high school put on recently. One of the girls in Alyssa’s class was an ‘ancestor’ like Lyss and Tessa. She’d put in the work, showed up for practices, learned the songs and the dances.

I was backstage with the cast during intermission, just making sure anyone who needed anything, you know, a makeup touch-up, hair reteased, a safety pin, etc. I was there to serve. It’s what I do. I don’t even want credit for it.

No. Seriously. I mean, sure, a Thank You is lovely but I like doing this kind of thing and I have fun doing it so whatever.

Anyway, this girl was heading back to the stage and as I passed her, she said sadly, “My mom is leaving.”

I asked her why.

“Her butt is numb.”

.

.

.

Her. Butt. Was. Numb.

She was leaving during intermission, before the second act because her butt was numb. Her daughter had put in MONTHS of work for this play. I don’t give a shit if her daughter was working the lights, she should have been there for the whole thing. Damn it, she should have been there every single night her daughter was on that stage, not just one night for HALF the performance.

I know parents don’t get participation awards. But you know what? We do get participation points from our kids. They know when we’re there and when we’re not. They see us in the stands, backstage, on the field, in the audience. They KNOW and it matters to them.

This girl put on a brave face but I know she was hurt that her mother couldn’t bring herself to sit in those chairs for one more hour.

I know it sounds like I’m mom-shaming but you know what? No, I’m PARENT-SHAMING. It’s not just moms. Dads need to show up too. Kids need to know they’re supported. They WANT their parents to see them, to appreciate them, to know how hard they work and applaud their efforts.

So we went to that dinner, BOTH of us, because it meant a lot to Alyssa that we were there. We go to the track meets. We go to the plays. We go on field trips.

We show up, not for participation awards but for our kids, who are here because WE chose to have them. They were not left on our porches for us to raise without our consent. The least we can do is continue to be there even when they’re teenage pains in the ass. It’s a part of growing up, growing away from us. They have to do it but we don’t have to push them away as they pull away. They deserve better; let’s be better.

The Commitment Spectrum

There is a spectrum of parental commitment at work around here.

Of course, each parent thinks their level is the ‘right’ level.

On the far conservative end, we’ve got Marie Nordoff. Her daughter is Harmony. Harmony is the best of the best at everything at Edon. Okay, wait. Harmony is not the best at track, but that’s because she’s only three feet tall (or, you know, five feet exactly) and her legs are four inches long. So, while she’s got spirit, yes she does, she’s not the fastest runner. But you’ve got to hand it to her, she’s always willing to get out there and run a race, even knowing she’ll probably come in last.

But other than her less than perfect track score, she’s pretty damned talented.

But her mom, wow. That woman takes the cake of parental commitment. She’s at EVERYTHING. She’s at practices, she’s at performances. She’s paid for years of lessons, both voice and oboe (Harmony does not play the oboe but I don’t to give away too many actual details for fear of giving away too much.)

Lee is a member of the music boosters, she even holds an officer role. Go her. She’s a smother if ever there was one.

Harmony has been heard to say that she can’t way to go away to college so she can get out from under the stifling control of her smother.

But on the other end of this spectrum is the mother of Alyssa’s friend Jayda. Jayda’s a joiner, which is incredibly surprising because her mom comes to nothing. Literally…nothing. Wait, I’ve seen her mom at one track meet in the four years (we’re heading into the fifth) of Alyssa and Jayda participating in the sport.

Her mom is never at concerts, never at plays, never at meets or games where the marching band is performing. Jayda also plays the oboe (she does NOT) and while she’s third chair (behind Harmony and, oh, let’s just say Alyssa also plays the oboe) she shows up and what more can you ask of a child who’s parents are never, ever there?

Her parents are divorced and her dad lives about an hour and a half away. But that’s no excuse. Yes, Jayda is mean to him, but that’s also no excuse. The man is her father. He’s his job to show up for his child, even if she’s an ungrateful brat. The adult looks beyond the brattiness and see the pain and works to overcome it. Right? Right!

Then there are those of us who are somewhere in the middle.

Okay, so I totally admit that I definitely fall closer to Marie’s side of the spectrum than to Jayda’s mom’s side. But while yes, I attend the music boosters meetings, I’m not an officer. And yes, I did take charge of about half of all of Olivia’s class parties from kindergarten through third grade, sharing the responsibility with Deb Porch, the only other working mom but also the only other mom willing to take on that responsibility. But those are extremes that I didn’t want to have to take on, there was no other choice.

I attend the junior parents’ meetings because someone has to. But, go me, I’m not in charge.

I try to let Alyssa do her own thing, supporting her as she figures out who she is and where she’s going. I don’t want to mold her into a mini-me. I don’t want her to live my life nor do I want to try and relive my youth through her.

But I also want her to know that I’m always there. Always cheering her on from the sidelines as she lives her own life.

And wow, this is a judgey-ass post. Sorry. I obviously have strong feelings about being too involved and not being involved enough.

Good thing I’ve found the perfect balance of involvement, huh?

Sorry, I’ve got to go, the hair and makeup crew for the musical can’t make do without me.

And don’t even get me started on all the snacks that Tom, my mom and I brought to give Olivia during a one hour concert. Damn, you’d think she was four years old the way we cater to her. Yikes.