Ah, the joys of motherhood. The trial and error…the give and take…the uncontrollable sobbing.
Oh, wait…that’s just me.
Connor is heading off on his 8th grade rite of passage to Washington DC. Five hundred and fifty smackeroos of my hard-earned green so he can tour museums and take cell photos of many, many monuments. Yes, folks...he's travelling to the home of our nation’s capital and, more importantly, land of GayGuy/StraightGuy. Honestly, Connor has no sense of how to prioritize.
Turning 14 also seems to have eliminated any ability he may have had to communicate effectively:
Connor: “Mom. You need to bring my suitcase into the school tomorrow between 3 and 4:30 or between 6 and 7.”
Kathryn: “What? Why?”
Connor: “I don’t know. You just have to do it. I suggest the 6 to 7 slot.”
Kathryn: “Wait. I’m confused. Why do they need to see your suitcase? Are they concerned it might not fit on the bus? What the hell is wrong with these people? Don’t they have anything else to do but critique the size of our suitcases? There’s more to a person than their luggage, you know…there’s empathy and having a killer sense of humor.”
Connor (Stares): “Are we having the same conversation? What the hell?”
Kathryn: “Connor. Language.”
Connor: “But, you just said it. Do you not hear yourself?”
Connor: “Huh? Oh. Ha…so not funny.”
Kathryn: “This is unacceptable. I’m calling the school.”
Kathryn (To lady at the middle school): “I know I’m probably the 4,357th person to call with questions….”
Lady at Middle School: “Actually, there have been 4,358. Good guess, though. Are you calling about the suitcases? ‘Cause 14-year-old boys are notorious for their lack of conveying information properly.”
Kathryn: “Thank you.”
Lady: “You’re welcome. We need parents to bring the packed suitcase to the school the day before we leave so we can check for contraband and avoid confusion during the 5:45am drop-off.”
Kathryn: “I’m sorry…contraband? Are we talking cigarettes and scotch here? ‘Cause I can assure you that----...wait. Did I just hear 5:45am? You did not just say that. I thought it was...like, 7.”
Lady: “More like energy drinks, PlayStations or weapons. Yes, 5:45. If you go to the school district website, click on middle schools, then click on our school, then 8th grade, then the tab for the Washington DC trip, it’s right there. You can’t miss it.”
Kathryn: “Okay. Weapons?? You’re joking.”
Lady: “Oh, you’d be surprised what we’ve found. Once, a kid had packed a huge rock.”
Kathryn: “Well, I don’t think you can judge them based on what they like to eat. I mean, maybe they were vegetarians…or maybe they’re training to be a chef or something. I don’t think that would make them a possible threat to society…although maybe the hot oil could splatter or something…”
Lady (Sighs): “I said rock. Not wok.”
Kathryn: “Oh.” (Silence) “So, I guess I’ll see you at 5:45 then.”
Kathryn (To Connor): “Have you heard anything about some kid packing a rock for his 8th grade trip?”
Connor: “No…but we heard a story about some kid who put Neosporin on his leg and he was allergic and he almost died. What idiot packs a rock??”
I then asked Connor if he’d forgotten to hand me any pertinent paperwork. He said, “I doubt it”. We then proceeded to empty the contents of his book bag:
Um. You be the judge...