My teenage daughter long ago decided to do a Senior Project. A Senior Project was and is absolutely indispensable to her life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.
And, because she waited until the very last minute (despite knowing the requirements and deadline for months), last week found her hustling to secure her internship.
There is much to say in defense of the eleventh hour. That little rush of adrenaline can actually make us more focused. Not that I have too much experience to draw from. I tend to be more of a planner. In fact, in four years, I only pulled an all-nighter once at college (well, only once because of schoolwork as opposed to partying or working a graveyard shift at my summer job). I had to write my thesis paper for "Aesthetics and Criticism in the Arts." This was years before word-processing, but only days before my graduation. I sat down with a 2-liter bottle of TaB and wrote the entire paper in one night on my portable electric typewriter. Not exactly my shining hour, academically. But, I did earn an "A" and a valuable lesson.
Procrastination isn 't always bad.
Of course, I never said as much to my own daughter.
She figured it out all on her own.
Anyway, there she was less than a week from the due date for all her materials and she didn't have an internship yet. Even my typically implaccable daughter was starting to worry.
She reached out to two potential sponsor organizations: a state-run animal rescue farm about an hour (several towns and three highways) away, and a therapeutic riding center somewhat closer by.
"What if I don't hear back from them soon enough?" she worried. I resisted my usual jump-in-and-fix-it approach to life (to her life). There were still a few days and I decided to let her solve it herself. Worst case, I rationalized, she could simply continue volunteering at the stable she's worked at for the past six years or so. It wasn't what she wanted, but maybe it would teach her not to wait so long next time.
Not this time.
The animal shelter did get back to her. Even better, they were thrilled by her interest and resume, and very eager to hear more about her "large animal" experience. In fact, they scheduled an interview for the very next day. She went, met with the stable manager and volunteer coordinator. They quickly agreed that the internship was a great idea all around. She left with signed Senior Project paperwork and a confirmed schedule for her six-week assignment.
When she had first set up the meeting, I'd immediately thought about how I could clear my own deck. "I'll go with you," I'd offered, thinking it would be a good time to catch up.
"No, thanks," she'd responded instantaneously. "I think it's better if I go by myself."
Of course it is, I realized then.
And, of course it was.
If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.
Historically, here in our historic town, the concept of a "snow day" has been met with mixed emotions.
On the one hand ... "No school? SWEET!"
On the other ... "WTF, we're going to be in school all summer!"
The way our calendar works, each snow day (or any other cancellation for that matter) must be made up at the end of the scheduled year. Once, when the roof of her antiquated elementary school was buried in snow and they feared it would collapse, my daughter was faced with so many days off that first grade would have to continue into July. In the nick of time, the school board realized that they would have to pay unbudgeted salaries and utilities, and they stopped the insanity on June 30th, to the delight of young and old.
However, like so many (so many!) other things, snow days are a little different when one is in one's senior year of high school. My daughter will graduate the second week of June, come hell or high snow banks, no matter how many extra days the freshmen, sophomores and juniors have to make up.
This means, of course, that her response to a snow day is one of sheer, abandoned, unequivocal joy.
This also means, Murphy's Law being what it is, that while we had seemingly countless snow days last winter, we had none this winter. Zip. Zilch. Zippo.
(And, of course, this finally means that life is "soooo unfair" and the world is out to get her. Because, these days, everything seems to lead to that same conclusion.)
At the end of last week, lo and behold, the phone by our nightstand went off and a lovely recorded message from the district's superintendent informed us that due to the incoming storm (it hadn't actually started yet), there would be ... wait-for-it ... no school!
Hallelujah!
The same message then came in on my mobile, my husband's mobile, and my office phone. Because that's the way we roll.
When she finally woke up (peacefully, with neither blaring alarm nor bellowing parent), my daughter was thrilled. She settled onto the couch with puppy on lap, cell phone in hand, and computer propped up a couple of cushions away. She ate chocolate chip muffins and watched back-to-back-to-back episodes of Grey's Anatomy.
Then she got bored.
Being a considerate mother, I made some suggestions. She could read. She could clean her room. She could review the article about which she was supposed to write a scholarship competition essay. She could apply for her Senior Project internship. She could pack for the trip we were about to take.
My ideas were not particularly well-received.
After much moping around, she grudgingly bundled up and took the dog for a walk. Then, although I was fairly certain (and correct it turned out) that our flight would be delayed, I insisted we leave for the airport early.
Thinking about the afternoon, I have to wonder. Should I have stopped everything and had a heart-to-heart with her? Should I have pointed out that maybe school was more interesting than she gave it credit for? Was this yet another teaching moment I somehow missed?
Nah. It was just a snow day.
If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.
Yesterday morning, I had an overdue bagel and coffee with another mother. Our daughters, both seniors now (and mine already 18, wtf?) used to be inseparable. They were pretty much attached at the hip through preschool, pre-K and kindergarten. And while they ended up at different elementary and middle schools, they stayed good weekend friends for years.
These days, they have different interests and travel in different groups at school, but our families have remained close.
Most of our conversation (the place was probably ready to kick us out after 2+ hours) was catching up on our whirlwind summers and comparing notes on the looming college application process. Every few minutes though one or the other of us would say something like: "They're seniors. Can you believe it?" Or "Where did the time go?" Or "How did we get here?"
These are the same bewildered murmurs I'm hearing from all my fellow mothers. We're all thinking the same thing. If our daughters are finishing high school, how old are we?
Wait, don't answer that.
We know our girls have wonderful adventures ahead of them (if they can get through the next six months of unrelenting stress). We're proud of their accomplishments. We're compassionate about their challenges. We (usually) excuse their attitudes. Most of all, we want to help them make good decisions and move forward positively and productively into their next oh-so-exciting chapter.
And, in the moments when we're not offering opinions on essay prompts or SATs, senior projects or safety schools, we miss them.
Well, not "them" them. Not the sometimes sullen (okay, often sullen, almost always sullen) teenagers we're currently cohabitating with.
We miss the old them.
We miss the princesses and the mermaids and the astronauts, the ballerinas and the gymnasts and the softball players and the ninjas. We miss making cupcakes and reading bedtime stories, doing art projects, watching Disney movies. We miss zoos and museums, amusement parks and bicycle rides. We miss science projects and field trips. We miss tucking them in at night and waking them with hugs and smiles (not exasperated yet utterly toothless threats).
And speaking of teeth, we miss the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, the Great Pumpkin and Santa Claus. (We even miss that ridiculous — and, let's face it, kinda creepy-looking — Elf on the Shelf.) We miss dancing and twirling and splashing and skipping. We miss holding hands and all things first: first words, first steps, first teeth, first haircuts, first grade.
We miss sharing their secrets and being the one person, the one and only person in the whole wide world, they can't wait to see after school.
I wonder sometimes if my daughter misses any of the magical-mundane moments I do. I think she probably will some day.
But, right now, she has too much to look forward to.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
