If you're the kind of person who likes organization and planning ahead, and if you're also the kind of person who suddenly finds herself with a teenage daughter ... well ... you can just kiss all that order good-bye. The thing to keep in mind is that your life and (especially) your schedule are no longer your own.
About three weeks ago, my daughter sent me a text from school. (This, btw, happens all the time. Not just with me and my daughter but with every mom and every daughter I know. It continues to surprise me that the school lets kids text while they're in class. Sheesh! But, I'll stop before I sound like an even older old lady than I actually am.) Here's the text:
can you sign me up for world history sat? i'm late so there will be a late fee
There was a little emoticon sad face referring, I assume, to the additional fee. (No "Hello," though. No "Thank you.")
I was walking when I received the message and I thought that thanks to the miracle of modern mobile I would be able to register her for the test from my phone.
Nope.
Turns out, when you go online to the College Board (the organization that manages all the standardized testing), you practically need security clearance from the CIA. Not only do they warn you that the process takes 20 minutes, but you have to upload an official photo of the test-taker (would that be the testee?). I didn't have one handy and when I went to get it, I timed out. So, the 20-minute process was more of a 38-minute process. The late fee wasn't so bad, but finding an available venue proved to be.
My daughter's high school was no longer available (read, "sold out," like a Rolling Stones concert, although probably quieter and with less drugs). None of the schools in a 5-mile radius were available. Or a 10-mile radius. Or 20. Or 50. I found a location in Rhode Island, one in New Hampshire, and one in Maine. So what did I do? Booked a different location in New York. It's my hometown and we were planning a visit anyway.
We drove down Friday afternoon, arriving at about 8:45 pm. My daughter had to arrive at the downtown high school early (early, early), so we went to bed soon after. The next morning, we took two subways (and an unexpected cab; one "local" turned out to be an "express") and arrived exactly when the official paperwork said to be there.
I guess the official paperwork didn't know what it was talking about. We stood outside the school (with about 1,200 other nervous teenagers) for 40 minutes. Finally, a guard came by and asked all the "subject SAT" people to go on in. I gave my girl a quick squeeze and headed off.
The test was supposed to be an hour. Some quick math and I predicted she's be done by about 9:45. This gave me 75 minutes to explore Chinatown and the lower Eastside. I timed it well and arrived back at our meeting place (Union Square park) at quarter to ten. In some ways (although not in the way that mattered most), my timing was perfect. I had just sat down when I received a text:
hi mom, it's me we haven't started yet
Uh-oh. I had at least another 60 minutes to kill. I bought an iced decaf with soy milk and trolled around the Nordstrom Rack, which was just opening. Eventually, I found a couple of those free newspapers and sat and read them. Finally (a mere four hours after we'd arrived for her one-hour test), I received the last text:
leaving now will meet you in park
'Turns out my daughter and another 35 students had spent the first two hours sitting in a school hallway (where my daughter had the pleasure of seeing not one, not two but three gigantic cockroaches). Apparently, they didn't have enough proctors. This was inconvenient for us, but would have been downright maddening if my daughter, like many of her fellow test-takers, had been there to take multiple exams.
This was her first SAT, and the way I look at it, the system let us down in more than a few ways.
Why did no one (neither her guidance counselor, who has her class schedule, or her AP World History teacher) clue us in to the fact that it would be a good idea to schedule the exam this spring? She learned about it, by accident, in the cafeteria. Thus the late fee (and proverbial fire drill).
Why did more than a thousand kids have to stand online outside the school when they had arrived on time, as requested?
Why were there not enough proctors?
And why were there more than enough cockroaches?
The SATs are terrifying enough. It seems to me that all the additional angst could have been avoided. Except, maybe the cockroaches. It's NYC, after all.
I think we'll stay closer to home the next time.
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
Loyal readers, I apologize.
Since starting my "Lovin' the Alien" blog two and a half years ago, I have never gone this long without writing. It's been a full ten days since my holiday post about Halloween hos. This is a new personal record (and not one that I'm proud of). Even when I've been away on vacations in the past, I've written from the road or scheduled posts in advance. But not this time.
My bad.
Of course, I do have a very viable excuse. A veritable slew of them, in fact. I'm running a marketing agency. I'm writing movie reviews. I'm dealing with a small fleet of old cars that need maintenance (and in one case, a new front end, thanks to last month's red-light runner at the intersection of Storrow Drive and Beacon Street). I'm trying to make it to yoga. I'm trying to make it through Zumba. I recently published my book.
None of this is new. (Well, the book and the fender bender are.) But, the past week has flown by with no time to write for one main reason ...
I am the mother of a teen.
Here is a handful of the most recent maternal activity that kept me away from my laptop.
AP World History
Between September and May, my daughter has to cover all the history of the world. Holy ancient civilizations, Batman! That's a lot of history. And a lot of dates and rulers and wars and dynasties and cultures and ... and ... and. Her teacher is wise and tests the students every other chapter or so, rather than save it all for one or two major traumatic exams.
Of course, this means that we have mini traumatic exams every week. 60 multiple choice questions. Daunting. After the first test, we brainstormed and came up with a system. My daughter studies; she presents what she's learned to us; then we quiz her. I highly recommend this process — but it takes at least a couple of hours. Every week. Usually after a particularly long day of work. With a cold coming on.
You get the picture.
Multiple Halloweens
This kooky, spooky holiday has become more complicated as my daughter's gotten older. Gone are the days when she chose a single outfit and stuck with it. (Winnie the Pooh, the yellow Teletubby, a ghostly cowboy, a combo kitten-fairy-princess because she couldn't make up her mind.)
This year, we had to dress up for school (she borrowed my rasta mamma outfit), dress up for the stable (she and the pony were clowns — don't ask) and, dress up for the annual Hunter Pace, an elaborate costumed equestrian event (she and her teammate — and their horses — were Mexican Day of the Dead). They did win the blue ribbon, so it was time (lots and lots thereof), well-spent.
A Tale of Two Cities
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
No, I'm not talking about the French Revolution. I'm referring to the analytical essays my daughter has to turn in every other week for her English class. And, more specifically, the time she asks me to discuss and review and proof and print them.
As always, it's a bit of a conundrum. I definitely don't write the papers for her. In fact, I often irritate her (okay, piss her off royally) by circling a passage and suggesting that she revisit it to find her own mistake. But, the process does take time (please refer to AP World History paragraphs above).
Items Missing in Action
In the last few days, we've lost an envelope of cash (costume reimbursement from the parents of the other Day of the Dead girl), and a watch. Not just any watch, mind you. The $125 "Ultimate Event Watch," a cool $125 timepiece that is, apparently, absolutely critical (to the tune of $125) if you're going to compete in three-phase equestrian events.
Did I mention it cost $125?
Not only did these two mysterious disappearances cause worry and stress, but they necessitated multiple people on multiple occasions searching through the pony barn and car upholstery. Happily (surprisingly), both were found.
The time spent, though, was gone forever.
At the end of the day (and why do so many of these fire drills happen at exactly that ... the end of the day?), I know that I am lucky to have a daughter who cares about her schoolwork and her grades, who puts thought and passion (and often my money) into her extracurricular activities.
I also know that this time will pass — too soon — and she'll be off at college ...
leaving her loving mother-proofreader-costume designer behind.
If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
