Just Another Saturday

So. The local high school hosts a Rising 9th Graders Parents' Breakfast, during which parents ingest enough information to instill in them a healthy fear of the next four years of their children's lives. Parents are taught all about freshmen year (and how doing it wrong will ruin your child's chances of going to a good university), course scheduling (and how doing it wrong will ruin your child's chances of going to a good university), Advanced Placement classes (and how not taking enough of them will ruin your child's chances of going to a good university), clubs, both academic and social (and how not joining them will ruin your child's chances of going to a good university), and Social Media (and how too much of it, too late at night, will ruin your child's chances of going to a good university).

(For the record: While I'm quite certain the last statement is true, I reserve judgement in regard to the others.)

So. I'm not a morning person. Morning hurts me. Other things that hurt me include:

Doing my hair
Putting on makeup
Wearing anything that is not yoga pants
Pretty much anything girly

The Rising 9th Graders Parents' Breakfast is held on a Saturday. In the morning. At the ungodly hour of nine. The mothers of every single rising ninth grader in the community are sure at attend, thus requiring many, if not all of, the Things That Hurt Me.

Because I have enough Mother of the Year points stashed away to be a shoo-in for the next three years, I determined to do this one thing right. I emailed my RSVP. I set my alarm. I got up, showered, did my hair and makeup....

and put on yoga pants.

I left the house.

I came home.

I posted this on Facebook:

Six days later, I posted this on Facebook:

It was cancelled. I know this because when I rolled over and grabbed my phone at 9:30am, I had seven text messages telling me so. After that, I largely forgot about the whole thing. Yesterday, my friend Ann Marie posted the following on my Facebook wall:

I heaved a big sigh. This rising freshmen business was taking over my life. Maybe I wouldn't go. That would show them. In a fit of rebellion, I went to bed without setting an alarm. I tossed and turned. I woke at 6:30, hoping it was late and the decision was made for me. I woke at 7:00 and acknowledged that, dangit, I was going. I woke at 7:30. I woke at 7:45. I woke at 8:00 and knew that if I was going to make good coffee before going to the coffee, I needed to get up.

I got up at 8:30, brushed my teeth, stuck my head under the shower, applied SPF and mascara, and left.

Debbie was driving by. She stopped and I hopped in. I checked her out. Wet hair, makeup, jeans.

When we arrived, we saw the whole wide world.

Teri. Jeans, sweater, hair, makeup.

Charlotte. Some cute and coordinated combo that I would never dream of, as always.

Cindy. Pants and an ironed, button-up shirt. Hair and makeup.

Pynne. Jeans, sweater. Hair, makeup.

Danielle. Jeans. sweater. Hair, makeup.

ANN MARIE. Pants. Gorgeous purple sweater. Perfectly matching earrings AND necklace AND perfectly matching Uggs. Full hair and makeup. I kicked her in the shin. She laughed and commented on my yoga pants.

Debbie and I grabbed chocolate chip scones, orange juice, and (bad) coffee. We took our handouts and sat down at one of a room full of long lunch tables, fighting flashbacks of school lunches of yore. We listened and took notes like the stellar Mothers of Future College Students that we are. When it was over, we got up, chatted with other moms (and one stray dad), and left.

When I walked into the house, armed with sheaves of handout papers and a monster caffeine headache, I was glad I'd hauled my hiney out of bed and gone. Even if I didn't agree with every bit of it, the information was valuable. The Wonder Hub, from his perch on the couch, pulled his gaze from the television and said,

 

 

 

"Your yoga pants are on backwards."

 

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