mishmash

One and Two are diligently working on their valentines.  This year, for the first year ever, I bought valentines for them to distribute - heart-shaped suckers to be exact.  Every previous year, we have made some heart-shaped card for every student - through blood, sweat and tears.  I took this year off, and I am enjoying the ease of this pre-made valentine business.

Green Girl has inspired me to have long deliberations and discussions around here about the monitoring, or lack thereof, of texting.  See, One (and Two, actually, but it is certainly more of an issue with the 5th grade set) has a free texting app on his iPod touch, and he has dived headfirst into the world of texting.  As is the name of the game with the first-born child, we are unprepared for this new experience.  We are left a bit in the dust, scratching our heads, trying to figure out the best way to parent.

Bob is steadfast in his belief that we need to allow our children freedom and independence.  Sometimes they will fall, but we need to trust that they know their limits and will turn to else when they need help.  I am a bit more leery of that freedom.  May come from being a social worker, or from talking with other parents, but I have been struggling with the desire to be more controlling, more involved, more watchful.

Tonight, on the drive home from One's indoor flag football game (which he LOVES, which is radically different than how he felt about tackle, which is just so damn great to see), I decided to trust Bob's instincts and One's judgments.  That is, until he gives me a reason not to.  I explained that to him tonight.  "Here's the deal," I said.  "I will not check your texts until you give me a reason to.  Once I have an inkling that you are being unsafe or inappropriate, I will demand you give me your passcode and I will read them."  He asked how I would get that inkling, and I explained that most other parents are checking their children's texts, and therefore what he is writing.  He played it cool, but I could tell he didn't like that.  He grumbled, "I can't wait until I'm an adult."

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On Saturday, I went to an acquaintance's birthday party.  She turned 40 and threw herself a bash at a local hotel.  She and I aren't too close, but she is friends with a bunch of my good friends, and they were going, so I decided to go also.  I should add that I got invited too.  I noticed that she stumbled on my name when introducing me to others' at the party (hee hee).

Anyway, I was leery of the party and shared my leeriness with Stephanie, whom I ran into at Trader Joe's on my way over there.  Birthday Girl had a block of rooms saved for us to rent at $39.  I don't know, that sounded like trouble to me.  $39 for a hotel room?  My friends decided to rent the room so they wouldn't have to drive after a night of drinking.  Smart of them, but I kept my options open.  In the end, I ended up driving home.  I was glad to crawl into my bed.

But, back to the party.  Birthday Girl was born when her mom was 17 years old.  B'day Girl's mom has had a hard life - at least, she looks like she has.  She said to us, about 3 minutes after meeting us, "I got pregnant after having sex outside with my boyfriend.  Abortions weren't legal yet, so here she is!"  We laughed uncomfortably.  It was obvious that Birthday Girl has heard this story many times.

We had a great time.  We didn't really mingle much with the other party goers.  We ate some, drank more, and laughed ourselves silly.