The Great Bra Strap Controversy

Weather was warm and sunny the entire weekend in the country. The kids wore street clothes, not their uniforms, to do their marching and cheerleading drills. Tank tops and shorts.

AND...now that all the girls have marched into puberty, all the little bra straps are showing outside the tank tops. Sometimes it's just a little hint of a bra strap sticking out by the shoulder, which is passable in my book, but often the strap is closer to the spine and it's clearly visible in full. A lot of the kids make fashion statements...such as black shorts, black bra, and then white tank over it. Lots of different color brassieres, and patterns like polka dots. If these were bathing suits, they'd be adorable. But we're talking about underwear.

One thing I don't get is the apparent inconsistency with regard to the school administration's enforcement of dress code. We have been told in orientation meetings by the principal (both middle school and high school) that NO underwear is to be seen hanging out of pants, ever. I agree with this wholeheartedly, of course. But why are obvious bra straps OK? Is it because it's only the strap and not the cup? Or maybe because boys don't wear bras, and we don't want to discriminate?

Should I be content that my eyesight is slowly deteriorating and I can tune these things out in the near future? Sigh.

Do the Huddle!

Those of us over 40 remember the dance classic by Van McCoy: The Hustle. In those days, even if you were making up the steps as you went along instead of following someone's choreography, you needed at least six or eight square feet of dance floor space. Even today...if you're over the age of 18, apparently.

On Saturday at band camp, they had DJ night. The chaperones were naturally on hand to make sure the kids didn't leave the event unsupervised, and to do crowd control including separating couples who were a little too zealous with their bumping and grinding etc.

I was fully prepared to listen to some selections that I don't exactly consider to be music, such as rap with a drum machine beat...but I was NOT prepared to witness what today's teens consider proper dance floor form.

Think of the last time you went to a bar or bat mitzvah and they played Hava Nagila. Remember what it's like when everyone runs into the center and screams? OK, now picture everyone in the center, but standing there calmly, sort of like a football huddle without the strategizing. A dance floor posse, if you will. "Music" is played, and the teenagers either jump up and down or they pulsate in place. Occasionally a few will get jiggy wid it and will run screaming around the circle...but then they are reabsorbed into the mix. This went on continuously for the entire event, almost two hours. What the...???

It isn't often that I feel like a fossil, but now I know I'm not really a kid anymore...or maybe the definition of "kid" has been changed without my knowledge...

Middle School Madness

No rest for the weary. Who wanted to know why I stayed up 'til midnight doing laundry the other night? Last night was open house at the middle school...until 9:15. Son #2 is the polar opposite of Son #1...primal, boisterous, excitable, easy going about academics. Most of his teachers are the same ones his brother had in the seventh grade. Lots of fun last night.

• Math. I called the teacher a sucker because he was unlucky enough to get my second child too. His reaction: "Are there any more?" Heh heh.
• Health. Teacher throws a Nerf ball around the classroom to keep the kids alert and focused. Good thing it's Nerf. A few kids have already been hit in the head.
• Science. Growing radish seeds in Petri dishes. Excellent.
• Chorus. Kids have to dress in white and black for concerts. Teacher has a stash of her husband's nerdy ties in the closet in case the boys show up without a tie on concert night (kind of guaranteeing that no one will ever forget a second time).
• Band. Young, bubbly, gorgeous new symphonic band director. 148 kids in the band this year. 24 more rehearsals to go 'til the winter concert. Let's see how young and bubbly she appears to be come January.
• English. Teacher has aged, and mellowed, since we had her two years ago...the mellowing part could be due to the fact that Son #2 is not in the honors program so the teacher just couldn't care less. We hated her two years ago, and Son #2 loves her. Son #1's comments about this are not fit for polite society.
• Art. Another repeat teacher, lots of enthusiasm and passion, describes herself (and the rest of the art department) as crazy. Cheerful kind of crazy, which is OK in my book. Had the parents do an ambidextrous writing experiment. Good to know I still suck at writing lefty.
• French. Madame seems the same as she was two years ago. Bon soir et bienvenue! Spent the majority of her time talking about where in the world one can use an education in French, including her own daughter's employment with an international finance outfit in Manhattan. Et bien, c'est la guerre.
• History. Completely blown away by the teacher's quirky yet engaging personality, and mystified by his looks. Young guy. Body looks like a Weeble. Elvis sideburns. Bowtie (the old fashioned kind that you actually have to tie, none of this clip on nonsense). Mondays don't have enough going for them, so he does Bowtie Mondays. He has the entire school year's assignments and curriculum on his web site already. Loves his job to the point of obsession. The classroom seemed like the set of a reality show.

I had to give my son the lowdown on what we did in "class" and what I thought of his teachers when I got home. He was amused and pleased that I immersed myself in the experience. Hey, why not? It was only for an evening. He has to do this until the end of June. But he's smiling!

It's Raining WHAT?!?

Band camp weekend was held at a charming, well maintained place called Pine Forest Camp. Funny thing is, the entire campgrounds seemed to be overrun by oak trees, not pine trees. Every time a good breeze blew through, we had a rapid fire of acorns falling from above. This barrage sounded like gunfire when it hit the wooden cabins (one of the veteran chaperones called it The Blitzkrieg).

After a while I was laughing whenever I saw and heard it, except when my cabin mate got hit in the head with an acorn. They were landing in my crocheting as I sat on path patrol during rehearsals. They covered the ground everyplace. When we walked around, they were sometimes moving in synch like rollers, and we had to be careful not to lose our footing. People kept commenting that we never saw any squirrels eating the acorns. My theory is that they were full. We actually did see a few tiny squirrels throughout the trip, but there could've been thousands of them showing up at the all you can eat acorn buffet.

Wonder whether any squirrels read this blog. We'll soon find out. :-)

How to Make the House Smell GREAT on a Wednesday Morning

1. Tuesday night after the kids to go bed, take those six overripe bananas in the Ziploc bag in the fridge that you've been saving for "whenever" and put them in a plastic container. Mash them well, and stir in a liberal sprinkling of cinnamon. Refrigerate.

2. Put three cups of brown sugar in a container and set on kitchen counter. Get another container and do likewise with half a cup of oats, a cup and a half of whole wheat flour, and two teaspoons of baking soda.

3. Wednesday morning, get up 10 minutes early (the hardest part of all of this!).

4. Before you shower and start your routine, heat your oven to 350. Dump the bananas in a huge bowl. Mix in four eggs, a cup of vegetable oil, and a cup of plain nonfat yogurt. Mix in the brown sugar and then the dry ingredients until everything is just combined. Divide into three greased loaf pans and pop in oven.

5. Go about your regular business but don't forget to take the pans out of the oven when the contents have browned ever so nicely.

BOY were the kids excited to wake up this morning and smell the banana bread. And they even got to taste some before leaving for school.

One Time, at Band Camp...

Assuming I'm in the process of kicking a nasty respiratory infection to the curb, I'll be chaperoning my ninth grader's band camp trip to rural Pennsylvania this weekend. We leave Thursday at lunchtime and return Sunday at dinnertime. Schedule looks like this:

• Thu: arrive at camp, unload the bus, bring luggage to cabins
• Dinner followed by rehearsal
• Fri: breakfast followed by rehearsal
• Lunch followed by rehearsal
• Dinner followed by play time (movie or basketball)
• Sat: breakfast followed by rehearsal followed by lunch followed by rehearsal
• Dinner followed by last play time (DJ night)
• Sun: breakfast followed by last rehearsal followed by lunch
• Load up buses and head home

Sounds exhausting, doesn't it? But all the veterans swear that the kids have a blast. My son's been playing the clarinet since the fourth grade so it's time he had a bit of fun. LOL. Being that this is a summer campground, they don't have the usual hotel amenities...though we're lucky we get to sleep in cabins with bunks, toilets, and showers. Some of the items that I don't normally take on business trips that I have to take on this weekend:

• alarm clock
• toilet paper
• towels
• shower curtain and hooks
• sleeping bag, blanket, pillow
• bug spray
• folding chair
• flashlights (for chaperone patrol!)
• rain poncho (rehearsals are held regardless of the weather)

This is as close to a bona fide camping trip as I've ever been. Even the trailer camping I did with my best friend as a kid, with the Good Sams, had more of the comforts of home. And I'm a little nervous about the flashlights. Hubby got the heavy duty kind at Home Depot, as wide and as long as my forearm. It's supposed to be in case I have to do battle with a small animal, but I'm wondering whether I'll get tired carrying it. Oh well, gotta go and see what it's all about, Alfie. Wish me luck!

"Drive Safely"

I know we use this as our parting sentence to loved ones as the social gathering ends. For me it's not merely reading a script; I say it because I truly hope and imagine in my heart of hearts that people will arrive home without incident. This morning I was reminded of the depth of my feelings.

Almost two years ago, the brother of a dear friend of ours was driving home from a Jets game on a rainy November evening. He'd dropped off his brother and was continuing to his own home nearby. Sadly, before he made it, his Jeep plowed into a tree. He entered a coma, where he remained until last Thursday evening when his body succumbed to pneumonia. The funeral was this morning.

The deceased had been a law enforcement professional for 25 years. Dozens of his colleagues assembled in front of the church to honor him with their official salute, including a bagpiper. Our dear friend, the clown of our social group who wears his inner child as a lapel pin, buried his head in his hands and sobbed as his best friend was rolled out in a coffin. I can't help being affected deeply when grown men cry with the intensity of small children, which often happens only in the rare circumstance when their hearts are truly broken.

Might the Jeep not have crashed if it had been traveling slower? Perhaps. Were there other factors at work, such as the glare of an oncoming car's headlights? Maybe. No amount of "what if" will bring back the 45-year-old federal agent who was a cherished friend and uncle, a beloved caretaker to his retired mother, a loyal officer in his local Polish-American club, and an all around nice guy who had seemed to have a fantastic long life ahead of him.

What we all should be able to agree on is that there is always the opportunity for disaster if we do not actively anticipate and correct for road hazards beyond our control. Yes I know I sound like a commercial for the Defensive Driving course, but it is absolutely true that the difference between life and death can be made in just a few seconds behind the wheel.

To all of you I once again say, with feeling: Drive Safely.

That WAS Easy!

Last night, when I arrived home from work, my brand new high schooler had a couple of school supply requests. So we had to zip over to Staples after dinner and pray that half the town wasn't also in the store. Full parking lot, but not a total disaster.

We were actually able to find what we needed, and when we got on the line it had stretched to the back of the store plus all the way down the back hallway to aisle 1 (a complete "ell" shape). If this weren't managed well, it would have taken us until bedtime to get out of there. Au contraire.

One gal was at the head of the line, directing people to one of eight different registers each time someone finished a transaction. She was cheerful and was greeting each customer personally, trying to keep people upbeat. About one third of the way back on the line, a team of two staffers was scanning and bagging people's orders, so that the transaction would go quickly once the customer arrived at the register. They too were friendly and positive.

Would you believe it only took us 15 minutes to work our way to the register, pay, and make it out the door? Even my son, who is often quick to point out the negative, was in awe over the smart and efficient management. This was BY FAR the best back to school shopping experience in the ten years I've been at it. Kudos to Staples. Thank you from a happy mom who was able to get home in plenty of time to make sure the three boys were showered and ready for bed, and to make the two Rosh Hashanah dishes I'd planned to knock off before my own bedtime (sweet potato casserole, noodle pudding).

Commentary on Change

Thank you to my friend Lynn for forwarding this amusing quip, which is attributed widely to someone named Robert C. Gallagher:

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

Safecracking

This morning I showed up bright and early at the high school, as soon as they opened the building. Oldest son was unable to open his locker after the freshman orientation session on Wednesday morning, after trying in vain for half an hour. Son #3, who normally must be pried from his pillow at 7AM on a school day, wanted to join us, so he popped out of bed at 6:45 to scarf down three waffles...and was therefore along for the ride.

The principal's assistant, bless her heart, took us under her wing as soon as we arrived in the main office. She personally escorted us to the locker and tried the combination. Presto...it opened right away. Seeing the dejected look on my son's face, she explained that there's a trick to it...grabbing the left side of the locker and pushing on it while you pull the door out with your right hand. He tried it a few more times and didn't get it open, so our guardian angel promised to have a custodian loosen the cylinder. Just to be helpful, before we finished with the locker, Son #3 memorized the combination. Ya never know.

We walked the halls in sync with my son's schedule to get him more used to the surroundings. The map looks like a hand (the palm is the central commons area where the library, main office, lecture hall, and auditorium are). But there are some connecting hallways too, like the webbing on a duck's foot. We ran into a friend of ours who teaches earth science there. She gave us some good tips about navigating the corridors, and showed us the magic location of the building's elevator. She also gave us some insider info on some of the teachers...apparently the first period teacher is "tough as nails and doesn't take any %$#@." Some of my best teachers fell into that category!

Wonderful ending to this story...after walking the schedule we went back to the locker and tried it again. This time it opened without a problem. Big relief to cross one item off the "first day worry" list. Whew!

Here's to Your Health

Today we got a memo from our HR department and our chief officers that we would have a new health insurance carrier for medical and pharmacy as of October 1.

The good news: we're not enduring a 32.5% increase in our premium by staying with the previous carrier; it's a major network so all our doctors seem to be in it; we already have some documentation about how it's supposed to work; costs and policies are at least as good as they were before.

The bad news: we have to remember to produce our new insurance cards any time any one of the five of us sees a doctor in the near future (up to a year for those who only see us for annual checkups); we have to verify that everything works as advertised; there's almost always something funky with how the prescription plan handles diabetic supplies. I know, Hubby has been a diabetic for close to 40 years, and we should be used to it by now...we just don't have to like it.

I guess another point for the "good" side is that we have another month to prepare. Off we go into the wild Blue Cross/Blue Shield yonder.

Asking for Help

Hey, I like to think I'm an expert on help because I manage a help desk. But we are in the business of giving it, not receiving it.

This morning my dad was out around town, on foot, as he often is on a weekday morning, running errands. He's 83 years old, and used to work full time until about two years ago when his old beater of a car conked out after more than 200,000 miles. He worked in New Jersey (one heck of a commute, even for a young person) and couldn't afford to get a new car. So now he walks and sometimes he takes the bus when going more than a couple of miles.

My brother alerted me that he'd been trying to call for a few hours, with no answer. Dad normally isn't out for that long. Sure enough, there was a problem. He'd fallen down on the street, and strangers came to his rescue by calling the police. They checked him at the local hospital, treated him for cuts and bruises, and released him. Would you believe that he waited on the corner for the bus home because he didn't want to tell anyone that he needed a ride? My brother scolded him for that (via long distance phone call) and encouraged him to accept assistance from me with grocery shopping and errands that are some distance away.

Of course I followed up with a phone call. Dad basically pooh poohed me, although he did express his appreciation. I felt a bit frustrated, but thinking about it now, I wonder what I will be like when I am 83 and the Three Amigos want me to call them to ask for a ride to the grocery store. I might pooh pooh them unless it were something too heavy for me to carry or unless I were feeling ill. I hope I remember today's events and thoughts some thirty five plus years into the future. If not, remind me please...