Save me from the Rain-maniacs!

First, we have people in Galviston, Texas who don’t evacuate when a 19 foot wave surge is predicted. Every station shows the eye of the storm heading directly toward them, still they remain. Not just a few people - 15,000 people don’t leave for higher ground.

Then, we have Baltimore - the weather woosey capital of the world! We were expecting rain Friday evening, actually a bit of a thunderstorm. Winds and heavy rain fall were predicted. Many folks left work early. Just in case. They cancelled all public school and rec league sports activities, for the entire weekend. Just in case. The police where on the roads in full force. Just in case.

Its RAIN people – drive slower, use your headlights and bring an umbrella. How hard is this?!

Thank goodness we don’t get many hurricanes here in Baltimore. If there was actually some real threat potential, we’d be evacuating every other week. And trust me, there would not be 15,000 people staying behind. They’d be flocking out of town like a Baltimore beehive.

Don't get me started on the snow – that’s a whoooole other thing when you live in Bawlmer, hon.

Actually, the next major storm – I’m having a party. Anyone who is not a rain-maniac is welcome. Bring an umbrella and a bottle of wine. We’ll hunker down and ride out the storm together.

Forget the Slots, I Have Another Plan

Today I watched the most pathetic attempt at parallel parking. It was painful really. Made me think – we should re-qualify people to parallel park, annually. Heck, drivers should be periodically required to prove they actually know how to drive a car.

Think about it. Many professions require completion of continuing education to guarantee proficiency over the years. Yet, we hand some teenager a driver’s license and they are good-to-go for life?!

Think about your elderly loved ones. All eventually reach a stage when they have no business being behind the wheel, but no one has the guts to tell them. Who dares to ask Grandpa to hand over the keys? Not I.

Think about the increase in state revenue, from the re-take fees alone! We don’t need slots in Maryland, just driver recertification. It’s a brilliant financial plan really. It would create jobs, generate revenue, increase safety on our roadways.

It’s something to think about . . . .

Mystery of the Disappearing Mailboxes

Someone please explain the mystery of the disappearing mailboxes. What brilliant bureaucrat decided a swift and stealthy removal was necessary?

In case you are reading this from afar, I live in Baltimore. Towson to be exact. Our local U.S. Post Office decided to remove some 30 blue steel mailboxes from perches in neighborhoods around town. They simply disappeared. Overnight. No warning. No discussions. No community meetings. Just gone.

Don’t get me wrong – I applaud their effort to reduce wasteful spending. Apparently many of these boxes were underutilized. I support attempts to conserve gasoline resources and reduce vehicle emissions. No more driving around town to empty these mailboxes twice a day. The decision for a covert removal is where my problem lies. Are we 3 years old? Do you have to hide the pacifier to wean us?

The brilliant bureaucrat who devised this plan was right in one respect. Residents were not going to like it. People were going to stomp their feet, whine a little, and perhaps cry. Hey buddy - you work for the Federal Government, is this something new? You couldn’t come up with a better plan than tip toe into the nursery and snatch the security blanket from the crib?

If you don’t want us to act like 3-year olds, don’t treat us like 3-year olds. We get it. We can do the math. We understand the economics of “reduce.” It would have been nice if someone had given us a little notice. Or (gasp) given us a voice in the decision-making process.

Next time, just put on your big boy panties please and treat us like adults.

Survival Skills for Back-to-School Night

My back-to-school night blog launched a myriad of discussions. Some folks shared stories. Others expressed surprise that I still attended these, 20 years, 3 children and some 50 visits later. Still others asked my advice, as they too march toward this same milestone. “How do you survive 50 of these?” they ask.

I believe knowledge is worthless unless shared. So, here I offer you my top 5 tips for surviving 50 back-to-school nights.

1. Review the school floor plan with your child in advance. Be sure to find out which route and staircase your child uses to navigate between classes. (If you’ve ever tried to get to a 4th floor classroom at Towson High, you know what I’m talking about.) You don’t want to be late. Then, the teacher remembers you, and not in a good way.

2. Time your arrival at the school for a smidge after the PTSA elections, but just before they run out of the $5 school directories. (Sorry, If I'm offending any PTA members, but does anyone ever contest these elections? Have you ever heard anyone speak up when they ask “opposed?” Never happens. Just skip it. Trust me, everyone will be elected and the budget will be passed.) Use your time more wisely. Go home after work. Grab a bite to eat. Change into something comfortable. Then head over to school. It's OK really.

3. Remember school is a social environment for parents as well as students. Take the time to stop in the hallway, say hello, chit-chat or high-five your friends. Socialization is the cornerstone of back-to-school night survival.

4. Ask your child which friends they have in each class. This lets you know which parents to look for. After all, you need someone to sit with in the back of the classroom and whisper to as the teacher drones on. I mean really - what are they sharing in a 3 ½ minute session that you did not already read on some take-home paper last week?

5. Always go for the extra credit. Sign the parent sign-in sheet, pretend to take notes and be sure to introduce yourself to the teacher before you leave. Your child will get good-parent bonus points for this. Trust me, they’ll need it. You don’t know what they are doing every minute of every day and really, you don’t want to know. Just go for the bonus points.

My daughter said, “Mom, what if there are teachers who read your blog?” I said, “You know honey, your teachers are wiser than you think. Trust me, they have their own private list of back-to-school-night survival skills.”

Perhaps one day, a teacher will share these with me. If so, I’ll be sure to post them on my blog. After all, I believe knowledge is worthless unless shared.

I'm With Stupid

If you have teenagers, you know by now that you are stupid. Your life experiences are meaningless. They add up to zilch, nada, nothing. You can’t remind them to pick up the pace or they’ll be late without getting the “eye-roll.” Translation: “Duh! I know.” You can’t offer study help after a bad test score without getting the “open-mouthed stare.” Translation: “Like you would know?!” You can’t suggest they wear a coat in January, without getting the “slumped shoulders-grunt.” Translation: “Leave me alone.”

It can be enough to make a parent see red. It can be enough to make one wonder where one went wrong. Or, it can motivate you to try a different tact.

Three teenagers and repeated reminders of my apparent stupidity, led me to retaliate one day with a little help from the comic strip Charlie Brown. Remember the classroom scenes? The invisible teacher never spoke actual words, just the muted trombone sounds - "mwa, mwa, mwa.”

“Yea, I know mwa, mwa, mwa, mwa-mwa, mwa-mwa,” I said one day, with my hands making exaggerated yakity-yak gestures in the air, “just take the coat.” Surprisingly, this worked. I had their attention. My kids laughed and they listened.

I used this ice-breaker, and others, many times over the years. Life’s too short to waste time on power struggles. If you ever feel like your teenager is wearing an invisible “I’m With Stupid” shirt and standing next to you, you are probably right. I say go buy yourself an “I am Stupid” shirt, stand next to them and have a good laugh.

Back-to-School Night: the end of an era

My first Back-to-School Night was in 1989, Mrs. Desmarais’ 3’s class at Northwood-Appold Nursery School. I came home scarred for life.

The evening had just begun when a gentleman walked over and said “Hi. I’m Sarah’s Dad.” Quickly learning my birth name was no longer relevant, I introduced myself as “TJ’s Mom.” “Oh, Sarah talks about TJ all the time,” He exclaimed. “Really?” I replied. Sarah’s name had never been uttered at our house. “Sarah says she wants to marry TJ and have his babies,” he responded. I was dumfounded. I smiled and nodded, in a bit of a stupor.

Next, Mrs. Desmarais shared with me TJ’s overwhelming fondness for the housekeeping corner. In fact, she shared, he spent his entire self-directed-play time there, every day. He loved cooking, cleaning and tending to the baby dolls. “Really?” I said again. He was strictly a guns and trucks fellow at home. What was his father going to think when I got home?

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful as we sat in miniature chairs built for 3-year-olds. Mrs. Schmidt played records (yes - records) on her (you guessed it) record player to share the music our little ones were learning. Mrs. Desmarais talked on about field trips to the pumpkin patch, story time and how the children were learning to use their inside voices.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Nineteen years and nearly 50 Back-to-School nights later, I am now a Pro. I saunter in to Back-to-School Night with all the knowledge and finesse of a well seasoned veteran. With my youngest now a high school senior, last week my Pro career ended.

I was wondering – does that mean I get to use my birth name again or will I forever be known as so-and-so’s Mom?