Four More Days...

From early May to the last day of school in June, life in suburbia runs at a frantic pace. Between little league, class parties, final camp decisions on top of everyday life- dentist/orthodontist, laundry, groceries, school, house, cars- I don't know how I get anything done.

The weekend was Pride, Jake's final baseball game and picnic, a birthday invitation delivered at that game for later that day, an exploding bottle of Diet Coke, friends for dinner- and that was Saturday.

Sunday was Father's day- which meant getting the boys to actually make cards for Walter and Allan, let alone help with the 'brunch' they decided to have for them. When I told Zachary he had the fork on the wrong side of the plate, he started rolling on the floor, yelling that he couldn't do it! After brunch, Zachary's playoff baseball game, drop Ben off and pick him up from a friends house, take Jake to tryouts for fall soccer- yes, fall soccer.

And then the regular work of Sunday before the week- laundry, garbage out to the street, clean the refrigerator, cook dinner and discuss the playoff game loss with Zachary.

Don't forget the Celtics game that started at 9PM.

I'm whupped. I'm so tired. Four more days to go and a million more miles, it seems. Each day, except today, has a school event of some sort- or two. The kids are wired for sound, bouncing up and down at 7:50AM this morning begging to go to school- the doors don't open till 8:20AM.

I need a day without a schedule.

I need a day without dentists, or concerts, or baseball games.

I need a day without having to remember who belongs where and what time they have to get there, when they need to be picked up and what they have to have with them.

I need a day where we can all hang at the dinner table without somewhere to go.

I need a day where I don't have to get in my car. And not have to order pizza as a result.

I need a day without laundry or towels or sheets or something dirty that must be cleaned for a game or event or just because it's been so hot it smells bad.

I need a day.

And I'm almost there.

Middle School Picnic

I was allowed- and yes, I do mean allowed- to go to Ben's middle school picnic today for his "team" at school. The 6th grade is divided into three teams- Yellow, Orange and Red.

Ben is on Orange and today was a day at a park very close to our house for a BBQ and hanging out in the sun. Parents were asked to volunteer to bring some of the extras- sodas, chips, desserts- and come by if they wanted.

I signed up for sodas and stopping by. Ben looked at the slip and said, NO WAY.

Oh, come on, I won't talk to any of your friends.

Well...

ONLY if you bring soda and PROMISE not to talk to me at all.

Deal.

NOT AT ALL, Mom.

I know. Got it. I'll chat with the teachers.

He was a bundle of nerves last night but managed to not get in too serious of trouble. This morning, the soda list was given to me along with the reminder not to talk to him.

Got it.

After witnessing what felt like genetic-pituitary madness, I decided Middle School is the single most awkward time of your life. There was one boy who was over 6 feet tall and several of the girls who were barely over 4 feet tall. Boys who were all bones and limbs, and girls who were so filled out I wasn't sure if they were students or classroom aides.

Until they started to talk and then I knew the familiar lilt of sassy-knowitall- obnoxiousness that only comes from a 12 year old.

Not a single one of the 80 kids were even remotely comfortable with their bodies. They moved as if they were only half under control of the steaming pit of hormones inside them.

There were the quiet girls who brought books to read- they broke my heart. I remember being painfully shy. There were the table of mean girls- you knew they were tearing everyone apart, laughing at people and completely full of themselves. Tough boys, a few terribly shy boys who didn't even bring books to read but wandered around the edges watching.

The one new twist from when I was in middle school was the sports playing. It was completely co-ed, girls and boys playing basketball, baseball. In my day, I was almost always the only girl who played ball. It was great to see.

I helped set up the table for food. I chatted with teachers and other parents. Ben was not to be seen.

After lunch, he came up to me. Mom, bring Beanie.

Huh?

Bring Beanie over.

How would you ask that?

Please... please bring Beanie over.

Ok.

I was amazed he spoke to me so I went to get the dog. I did a few things around the house- dishes put away, folded a load of laundry- and Ben called me.

Mom... where are you?

On my way.

Recently, it's been clear that having parents- especially gay parents- is mortifying for Ben. He's uncomfortable with it and I'm guessing most of his new friends do not know. It's why he didn't want me to go in the first place.

It was nice to have him call and want me there.

Okay, he wanted the dog there, not me.

Beanie and I arrived. Ben ran over to get her leash and immediately became the center of attention. The shy girls put their books down and came and pet her. The awkward boys ran over to pet her. Ask her name. What kind of dog is she...

Mom... what kind of dog is she again?

He spoke to me in front of his friends. Whoa.

Golden mixed. She's a little of everything.

I was called into action when she did her business on the field- picking up poop seems to be one of my callings in life. Other than that, I went and sat on a shady bench.

Eventually, Ben tired of parading Beanie around and brought her over to me. The kids, however, didn't tire of petting the dog and asking questions. She is so demure and gentle even the most timid kids made it over at least once.

Watching those kids today gave me a new sense of empathy for Ben. The girl he used to "date" hounded him relentlessly around the yard. His buddy he's known forever- a goofy boy whose body is being completely driven by sugar and impulse with no volume control- danced around him suggesting a million different things to do.

He kept it all together, remaining cool, aloof and annoyed by everything and everyone. I know his fears about being different, not fitting in, desperately wishing he was like everyone else. A storm of uncertainly brews inside him and he is only just beginning to learn how do deal with it.

On the outside, today? He pulled it off masterfully.

And if you're ever feeling old, fat, insecure, unsure, or generally pathetic? Go to a Middle School at the end of the day and watch the kids file out.

If nothing else, it'll give you a little perspective.