Why Can't They Be Like We Were...

Perfect in every way.

Well, crap. It seems that some of the kids here hang out in town. I reiterate: crap.

However, on a bright note. First day of school and my daughter gives me the look o' death on exiting the car. Never mind that I was nervous as hell about what time to show up, where to drop off, the fact that our entire family including the dog was in the car to cheer her on - let's face it, my license plate already says Rhode Island, I don't need to stand out anymore as the mom who doesn't know what she's doing. We all know I don't, anyway. Two o' the clock rolls around and I'm waiting in line in the spot behind the parents (that the parent handbook says we're not supposed to do and yet everybody does - just like BI?) who do know what they're doing and I see my child walking toward me. Trying not to smile. I wave to her and she doesn't glare, sink lower or try to ignore me. The omens are good. The stars seem to be aligned in my favor. Then she gets in the front seat. She never gets in the front seat. Had a really good day, she tells me. Met lots of people and the kids here are really nice, she says. They have a rock climbing wall in gym, Ma. (okay, now that's just cool.)

Wanna take a drive around?

Well...Erica's gonna call.

It's time to feed the baby anyway. Erica calls. The kid meets her two (maybe more) new friends at the library (where the "city" park is located as well) and then goes to hang out in town. She stops at a little costume jewelry shop and then gets fudge.

So, basically, it's just like hanging out on BI?

Not exactly. We went into the Dunkin' Donuts.

Kid after my own heart.

Can I sleep over at Erica's house Friday night?

And yet...she never listens to a thing her mother says. Didn't I tell her she'd make friends? Oy.

Makes me think of Debbie Tibbetts and Barbara Sinnow during our Junior High (Middle School, now) days. Those were turbulent, wonderful times. My daughter (who swears she's not going to any dances) mentions the first dance is the 16th. Hey, I love to shop for clothes for my gorgeous daughter. Dad hates to pay for them, but he's not here, is he? I mean, I've never shopped for a size 3 in my life, so I'll be damned if I'm gonna miss this opportunity.

It won't last. She's 13. It never lasts. (not the size 3, I'm talking about the good mood bubble) But my, oh my, what a happy household while it does.

Hmmm...tomorrow's trash day. Think I can get her to clean the cat box before school or am I pushing my luck?

P.S. Yes, Everett, you did stir the pot. Now she wants a digital camera for Christmas. I told her she'd be lucky if she gets food. "Here ya go, kid, Merry Christmas. I got you a ball of yarn."