Hooky?

Despite ten feet of snow outside our house, our family went up to Vermont this past weekend. (The trip was planned months before greater Boston's "snowmageddon.") Apparently, the skiing was amazing (yours truly wouldn't know, since I spent my time in a coffee shop working on my laptop). My teenage daughter wanted to stay an extra day. 

We said, "No."

We had our reasons. My husband and I both had to work Monday. We hadn't paid for a three-day weekend and it would mean getting in touch with the owner of the condo we'd rented and figuring all that out. Plus it would mean more money for lift tickets, ski rentals, restaurants. I was also feeling a little under the weather and wanted to get home.

At no point in our — albeit, brief — discussion did we worry about our daughter missing school.

Bad parents, right?

I'm not going to lose any sleep over it.

Historically, we have pulled our daughter out of school many times for myriad reasons. It began, I think, in first grade when we let her miss school for a week so we could go to Disneyworld with another family (they pulled their two girls out as well). A year or two later, my sister and I took her on a cruise in late September (another week away). Then, there have always been the Friday absences in order to facilitate ski trips, sailing in Maine, weekends with family in New York and friends in Ohio.

It was certainly easier (and less controversial) when she was younger. Somehow missing a day of third grade isn't as daunting as missing two AP classes, Honors French, Physics and Pre-Calculus. 

I do get that. But, I think our high school overreacts a bit.

This year, my daughter had an opportunity to train with a world-renowned equestrian coach. He was in the area and she had been accepted in his cross-country clinic (she was, btw, the only teenager in the group — the rest were all adults). Her participation would mean missing two studies and French. I said "Absolutely!"

The school said, "Absolutely not."

Sure, they let her leave, with a note sent in advance and accompanied by me, her mother and legal guardian. But, the next day, her transcript (available online in real time) said "Unexcused Dismissal." I called the school.

"You need a doctor's note," the woman in the office told me.

"But, she didn't go to the doctor," I explained.

"You still need a note."

So, here's the conundrum. Had I simply called in that morning and said she was sick and staying home, it would have been fine. She would have missed five classes rather than one. But, it would have been fine.

Had I forged a note from "a doctor," that probably would have been fine too.

But no, I told the truth, and my daughter was being punished. How does that make sense? And what lesson are we teaching my daughter?

Fortunately, I was able to contact her guidance counselor who, in turn, was able to fix everything. The "Unexcused Dismissal" became, simply, a "Dismissal." The counselor agreed with me that it had been a great opportunity and that my daughter would make up any work she missed. But, we'll think twice before we go ahead and do something like that again.

Maybe that's the whole point.

Last month, there was a story in The New York Times about whether discretionary school absences should be permitted. Jessica Lahey, the author and both a parent and teacher, explained "I have seen the havoc these absences can wreak on students and their teachers. It takes a lot of time to pre-plan for student absences, to package work that will approximate missed lessons, chase children down for that work, and invest extra one-on-one time in makeup sessions." Yet she admits that she's taken her own kids out of school for events and trips.

So what to do?

Some states have rules about "chronic truancy." But, that leaves a lot to interpretation. Although we've allowed our daughter to miss school at least a day or two every year, she's virtually never sick. So her attendance record is still quite good, better than most. Her grades are also good. This should all count for something, right?

Then again, am I in fact arguing that kids who tend to get sick and don't have great grades should be penalized where family vacations are concerned?

That isn't fair either.

I guess the school has to do what it feels is right for all its students, while I have to do what I feel is right for just my one. We aren't going to see eye-to-eye on this issue because our missions and responsibilities are different. That's all right. We don't see eye-to-eye on other things either.

Despite the great ski conditions in Vermont, my daughter was at school on time, homework done, this morning. (She wasn't exactly thrilled about it. But, she was there.)

For the next few weeks, I'll have to make sure she stays healthy and her attendance record is perfect. 

Because we have a long weekend coming up the end of April.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Smooth Sailing

This morning, my tween daughter and I had an argument.

You see, she had made plans to meet a friend at the beach at 2:00 pm. I knew about these plans. She also had plans to join that friend and her family for dinner afterwards. Alas, I did not know about these plans. I have nothing against the friend or her family. But, we had already accepted an invitation for a cookout at my in-laws.

As per usual, my insistence that my daughter change her (until then, secret) plans met with ... shall we say ... a bit of an attitude. According to her, I "just don't understand." I was also "ruining her life." When words failed, she resorted to sound effects.

My tween daughter does an uncanny impersonation of Chewbacca from the original Star Wars.

At any rate ... disagreements are pretty much par for the course these days. But, this morning's interchange took me by surprise. We hadn't had a single argument for seven days.

In that glorious fight-free week, we sailed with friends from Boston to Bermuda and back again. We visited pink beaches and crystal caves. We ate way too much and saw way too many shows in the ship's "Stardust" theatre. We went sightseeing, shopped and had a proper British tea at a fancy hotel. We lay by the pool, flipped through magazines and listened to steel drums.

Best of all, we got along.

I was reminded over the course of the vacation just how much I like my daughter. She's funny and smart. She makes entertaining observations. She's polite and appreciative. She holds her own in adult conversations. She's an uncomplaining traveler and eager to try new things, see new sights. It sounds corny, I know, but I felt like my daughter was back. We left whoever has been inhabiting her body for the past year in Boston when we pulled away from the dock.

Not only was this new and improved version of my daughter with me for the duration, she actually seemed to want to be with me. There were countless tween and teen girls on the boat due to the fact that two different dance companies had been invited to perform. We saw them everywhere — bikini-clad at the pool, posing flirtatiously for the ship's photographer, making out on the Promenade deck with teen boys they had just met (yes, really), and prowling in packs through the Atrium en route to the disco.

But, my daughter, I'm proud to say, was not interested.

In all fairness, I may not have been the draw. (In fact, I'm fairly certain I was not.) We cruised with my best friend, whom my daughter adores, and, more importantly, her 18-year old. My daughter was no doubt pleased to be hanging out with this older girl. I have a hunch that if the teen had decided to go to the disco, the tween would have happily tagged along. As it was, we stuck together, presenting a unified, if multigenerational, wall of girl power.

The vacation ended, as vacations are wont to do, too quickly. Before we knew it, we were back in Boston. We have nice suntans (thanks to SPF 30), a couple of pounds to work off, and hundreds of pictures to sort through. We have wonderful memories of good times with great friends.

And, I have something even more precious. I have reassurance that my beloved daughter is still in there somewhere.

Packing Envy

Ahoy, mates!

In less than 24 hours, my tween and I are supposed to leave for a 7-day cruise to Bermuda. We'll be sailing with my dearest friend and her 18-year old (whom my daughter idolizes). Our plans include lying by the pool with stacks of chick lit books, indulging at the midnight chocolate buffet, visiting the famous pink beaches, and dressing up for high tea at one of the island's fancy schmancy hotels.

"La dee dah."

I say "supposed to leave" because I'm not at all confident that the trip is going to happen. I haven't even begun to pack yet and the prospect is ... well ... daunting.

Have you ever noticed that the idea of "time off" is a little misleading? I find that you tend to smush two weeks of work into the week prior to the break; then you have to work doubly hard the week thereafter to catch up. So, with a little simple math, you're really doing four weeks worth of work in three. Granted, during the week in the middle you get to lie around on a beach towel with an umbrella in your drink. But, still. It hardly seems fair.

So, you might assume that I haven't started packing because I've been in pre-vacation work-my-tail-off mode. Indeed I have been, but, that's not the real reason. The four of us are sharing a tiny cabin and we agreed up front that we would pack light. Now, I'm stymied. How can I fit seven days and seven nights of cute cruise outfits into one little roller bag? How many shoes do I need? How many purses? Should I bring a hat? Am I really going to work out every morning? If so, I practically need an extra suitcase just for my size 10 sneakers.

I know, I know. These may seem like very silly questions and I may seem like a very silly woman. But, my concerns are real to me. My suitcase has been sitting — accusingly empty — in my bedroom for several days as I ponder.

In addition to my own packing, I have to tackle my daughter's. (I know from experience that letting her take care of it without me would be a mistake — we'd end up with 21 tee shirts and 2 pairs of shorts. Or vice versa.) But, that will be a piece of cake. After all, there will be 'less there there.'

Swimwear, for example. According to our itinerary, we're "at sea" three days. This will give the moms plenty of time to lie around with the aforementioned umbrella drinks. And, the girls will pretty much live in bikinis. Oh, maybe they'll pull on a pair of short shorts when it's time for lunch. My point is, there won't be a whole lot of fabric going on.

Compare this now to my poolside attire. My bathing suit (which, according to the tag is going to make me look "Slimtastic!") is much more, shall we say, substantial. Basically, you could take the fabric in twelve bikinis, sew it all together, then add some underwire and spandex, dye the whole thing black and you might get close. Plus, I need a sarong because no matter how slimming the suit is, it doesn't hide my thighs. And, I also have to have a long tee shirt dress for walking to and from the pool ... or over to the bar.

Sigh.

Or consider tops. The tween and teen will no doubt sport adorable tanks. Me? Not so much. These days, sleeves are a grownup girl's best friend. The same holds true for bottoms. While Abercrombie's shorts are short and getting shorter, I prefer Talbots' elegant capris. Again, that's just more fabric to pack. And finally, we have to plan for evening wear as well. We have invitations to the Captain's champagne reception. It's very exclusive — just the Captain and the four of us ... oh, and the other 2,800 guests. The girls will probably wear flimsy little sundresses. I'll be in black silk trousers and an embroidered jacket.

Do you see what I mean?

The fact is, 13- and 18-year olds can show a lot more skin than I can in my late 40s. They aren't self-conscious about their bodies and they shouldn't be. But, no matter how much yoga I do or how many Zumba classes I take, at this stage in my life I feel the need to cover up a bit.

It is what it is.

At my daughter's age less is more, and at mine more is necessary. (Puh-lease, don't get me started on how our cosmetic cases differ.) I just have to stop stressing and start packing. After all, this time tomorrow I'll be lying by the pool with three of my favorite people. And, assuming I can fit everything, I'll be there in my bathing suit, sarong and tee shirt dress.

Chances are, I can probably find a little extra room in my daughter's duffel.