Delicate Flower

I don't do well with transition. I tend to get depressed and cranky and panicky under the best of transition circumstances, but this spring it's a little worse. I dread the end of the school year just because of the two weeks or so that it takes the kids and I to get used to summer vacation. (I know, boo hoo, right?) (I'm a delicate flower.) I miss working and I really miss the kids going to school every day. I miss getting up at the same time every day and having the same routine and I don't like when that changes.

This spring it is worse because on Friday, Sam's last day of school, I am surgically having three teeth dug out of my skull. Yeah, I'm finally doing it, having the wisdom teeth removed. The closer this gets the more panicky I am feeling, and the panic seems to only be slightly dampened by beer and gin. Healthy, huh?

I find myself trying to remember old sayings from college: Hmmm, how did that go? “Beer before liquor, never been sicker”... oh yeah.  And then I mix a stiff gin and tonic and chase it with beer until I'm tipsy enough to go to sleep. It's a fine line to tread, because if I drink too much I'll get the spins. (No thanks!)

So today was my last day of work. I subbed in my favorite fifth grade class and it was bittersweet because I love them so much and now they are going off to middle school, but it's June 1^st and beautiful outside so the kids are absolutely hyper and nuts. Plus today they had an impromptu “special all-school recess!” for 15 minutes in the middle of their reading lesson, and then later the principal came around with ice cream for every class during social studies. Thanks! That really helps!

As Sam was walking out the door this morning he poked his head back in and said, “I have a choir concert tonite!” and then he left. Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Shit.

After school I was getting crankier and crankier because the kids were fighting over something stupid, and I was dreading going to this concert because Sam doesn't care about choir. He goes because he needs the A in choir, not because he's so in love with music. The concerts are crowded and hot and like I said, I was dreading it.

I think I must have put off a vibe because I went up towards the top of the bleachers and even though the gym was packed, there was nobody sitting by me. I didn't blame them, I could hardly stand to be with me either. I opened the program to see what I was in for and in the midst of my snit this was my inner dialogue:

“Okay, how long am I going to have to SWEAT up here... let's see... Don't Stop Believin'. What? What's this? Soloists? There are one, two, three, …..... THIRTY FIVE SOLOISTS! How long is this song? Then what, History of Everything. Holy shit, that's going to be one long goddamn song. Then what, Slap That Bass............ what the hell? Why would you sing a song about abusing a fish? Jesus Christ.” and so on and so on.

I managed to calm down after the first song because the kids are so darn cute. I love that the worst singers always sing the loudest. And I really love when those kids have a microphone. The song The History of Everything was not actually that long. (They left a lot out.) Then the show choir did a choreographed dance number to Dance Evolution. There's nothing like watching chunky seventh grade boys do hip thrusts to YMCA to cheer a girl up. I don't know if I was the teacher if I would have gone with having a bunch of 13 year olds doing hip thrusts, but it worked. Bold choice. They finally came to the last song. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel despite the stifling 150 degree temperatures and the smell of 800 sweaty bodies. The last song was called The Beatles in Revue.

Let me tell you something, the Beatles have had a lot of fucking songs. It was a concert all on its own and I wasn't the only parent there with a bad attitude about it. After about ten minutes an entire section of the bleachers started clapping after every song-portion, trying to force it to end. It didn't work. They went on and on and then ended with the complete tail end of Hey Jude. Fucking Beatles.