Well, it's done. The choice has been made and the weight of the world has been lifted.
My son decided to go the hard/easy route rather than the easy/hard route.
He decided not to trade what he wants MOST (college basketball scholarship) for what he wants NOW, (to stay at the same Junior high with his new friends, rather than start all over AGAIN at another new school so he can be part of an outstanding high school basketball program.)
He chose the road less traveled. By his school bus. In fact he chose the road not traveled at all by his school bus, which means it will become the road most traveled by me.
"It won't be easy," I told my sister, as I sighed deeply and did my best puppy dog pout.
"But it will be worth it," she said.
Later I saw my sister-in-law so I pulled the same sighing/pouting routine on her.
She looked me square in the face and said, "Ah, suck it up!"
It's not bad advice if you think about it.
I used it on my daughter tonight because for the past week she's been grumbling an awful lot about the lingering cold.
"Suck it up!" I said. "Two more weeks and we're home free."
But she didn't suck it up. Instead she wrote two poems for English:
I am protesting jackets!
No more snow! No more dead trees!
Too much ugly--time to take a stand!
If everyone goes on strike,
Won’t Mother Nature listen to us?
Slouching, pouting, shouting in my head.
I crave warmth--shouldn’t it be almost here?
Itching, twitching, antsy in my bed.
I see the sun—so far and yet so near.
The wind bites, chills run down my spine
I wear three coats, winter is the worst.
Please, Lord, I don’t mean to whine,
But please send spring or I am going to burst
Truly, she is showing signs of being a Crash Test Dummy, Jr. The silly goose doesn't wear one coat, let alone three coats.
And don't you have to wear jackets to go on strike from wearing jackets?
Don't believe a thing she says.
She lied in another poem too, which insinuated that I was obsessed with Twilight. Apparently everyone in her group thought it was hee-larious so they picked it as the best poem in the group, even though it clearly WASN'T.
So then she had to read it in front of the whole class and her teacher started deep belly laughing and calling ME a Twi-mom.
ME?!! A TWI-MOM!??
"But that's not true!" I told her. "You . . . lied . . . about me."
You know what she said to me?
"Ah, suck it up, mom!"
I guess what goes around really does come around, huh?
(Swirl, don't say a word.)
P.S. I will post the Twi-Mom poem as soon as the teacher grades it.