Titles? Ain't nobody got time for that!

by Patti

 As you read this, just know I need my fingers to get used to the idea that they are typing something. Something other than reports and summaries and lists, that is. Plus: I got stripper nails. Typing with stripper nails is a whole new world. There is something frustratingly limiting yet deliciously freeing about stripper nails, and I've come to the conclusion that I have waited far too long in life to experience them. Also: I've been a little busy, you see. Busy with work and  life and appointments that I finally made (stripper nails!) - and kept! Like you haven't, right? So you know what I mean. But you know what? Suddenly, at the moment that I am preparing to catch a flight for a work trip, the mood struck me, and I told myself, SELF! Go with it!

So.

The kid turned 12. Last month I rented a van - a real., 12-passenger kind-of-van - and, after slapping a number of embarrassing signs on it and decking out the interior with streamers and balloons,

I stuffed 10 screaming tweens into it and cranked the tunes all the way to a hotel! With a pool! Near a mall! And those 10 screaming tweens ate pizza, and shopped, and swam, and watched movies, and had pillow fights, and sprayed whipped cream, and stayed up 'til a billion o'clock. But, oh, did they have fun. And I still cannot believe, not without feeling slightly panicky and totally melancholy and fully bewildered that my baby - my baby -  the one that came out of me screaming into the world, hair curly and damp, eyes wild and wide, hands flailing and sure - is now 12. Can I get TMI on you? I pulled her out. I did. I leaned forward with the deepest of gasps and final-est of pushes, and pulled her right out of me and onto me, and she was born. And it was magnificent. And now, 12 years later, I am pulling her out of bed, out of cars, pushing her onto buses, into classes, into life....

You know what else happened? Braces. I mean, of course, right? She's 12 now; braces are pretty much a must. They're not on her teeth just yet; that will happen in two weeks. But she's had all of the pictures done, and suffered through the mold process - which basically entails the stuffing of mushy clay into the mouth and lots and lots of gagging - and she's picked out her colors. Did you know they have colors now? They have colors. In "my day", the only "color" was metal, and there seemed to be a hell of a lot more of it in a pubescent mouth than the braces of today.

S has picked out her colors: Baby blue. Or mint. Or pink. Or neon green. I DON'T KNOW. The picking-out-of-the-colors seems to cause more stress than the actual braces. Two weeks to go, let's pray this awful world problem of what color to pick will be solved in time. God FORBID.

Since the braces are an inevitable part of the junior-high uglies, I made a promise to my child that had her leaping over the moon: I told her she could get contacts. I mean, the kid's glasses are unbearably cute, what with their oversized frames on her undersized face. But let's be honest: Glasses AND braces? So two weeks ago, we headed to the eye doctor for her annual eye exam, where, surprise! She's a year blinder! With new prescription in hand, we determined that S was ready for contacts. Did you know that putting in contacts for the first time is pretty much as easy as shoving a frisbee into a coffee cup? That poor kid spent an HOUR AND ONE HALF trying to get in just the first contact.

But she did not give up! And today, two weeks later, she is a total pro, putting in those contacts at lightning speeds. She still has her hipster glasses, and she still loves them unabashedly, but she now at least has the option to geek it up or geek it down at will. When you're 12 and the world is perceived through the amped-up eyes of pubescent drama, options are crucial.

Guess what? I have lot's more to say. Stay tuned.....