Baby's Got New Shoes!

In which Jessie and Drummer Boy (soon to be re-christened muscleman or the Megalodon, as soon as I get his permission) plan a day that goes awry, but is rescued by new shoes and great problem-solving WITHOUT me!

With Jessie, there is always a curve ball. Every day, every event, every outing (planned or unplanned) seems to go just a bit screwy at the last minute. There is the random coyote-generated universe trickiness (“Mom, you have to come pick me up. I can’t get the #2 bus to get home because there IS no bus.” “????” “I don’t know why. There just isn't a bus!.” “Where are you?” I don’t know.” “Uh, then how can I pick you up? Look for a street sign.” “Okay. [SFX: walk, walk, walk] I’m at Bank and Lewis.” “Are you sure you can’t get to the bus?” “Mom, there IS NO BUS! And the road is blocked by POLICE.” I am beginning to see that this might be a problem. I hop in the car, and when I get there, I see that there is a protest march going on and the police have indeed blocked one of the main roads through downtown. Which means I can’t get to Jessie. Which means I have to think about HOW to get to her, or her to me. And, well, you know how it goes.)

Then there is the Jessie-engineered curve: (“W-e-ll, I was GOING to brush my teeth and get dressed before leaving. But then, I ran out of time? And I had to get the bus? And I really, really, really like these pajama bottoms? So, I just, like wore them? And they have cheetah spots, which are my favorite. And so, yeah. But now work says it’s not “appropriate” for work? So I have to come home. So can you pick me up?”)  

Or the interesting and unpredictable lack-of-skill scenario (“Mom, I am stuck on a little patch of grass in the middle of the road in the mall parking lot and there are SO MANY CARS GOING FAST!!!! YOU HAVE TO COME GET ME! I AM GOING TO DIE!” Unfortunately, there is no talking down or out of this one. The only solution involves a car key, a hasty note to a waiting client, and a quick wave to passing motorists as I dart through traffic onto the median and grab my daughter by the hand to lead her, sobbing, to safety.)

And while there are always curve balls, I am trying not to hold on tight and to encourage Jessie’s sense of herself as an effective problem solver. It is, well, hard sometimes. Okay, honestly? Most of the time! In fact, the only way I have been successful in letting go is when I physically leave the house. That seems to be the only way to loosen my grip on parenting. Which is doing great things for my friendships, but not for my work.

So. Yesterday I was at my friend CG’s for lunch. I was telling her about Jessie’s afternoon plans to meet Drummer/Muscle Boy at the mall—they were going to take the bus to meet the Boy’s mother at her work, and they were all going to look at the Boy’s new furniture.

I was trying to impress CG with my growth in “letting go.” This seems to be a big theme among the mothers I know and drag out for hikes and coffee and random book browsing.

“You see?” I was saying, with my story, and perhaps aloud, just in case she hadn’t noticed.

“I didn’t even make her look up the bus or tell me any details! I didn’t question HOW they were getting there or WHEN they were meeting! I showed her that I totally trusted her and drummer/muscle boy!”

At that moment, my cell rang. CG has lived, and rescued, our life enough to know that that was probably Jessie. And she was right.

“Hey, Jess.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“What’s up?”

“So, like, Drummer Boy can’t get hold of his mom. She’s not answering her phone. So I’m going to meet him at the college and we’re going to work out together and then go out for dinner.”

I restrain myself from asking if she knows what bus stop to get off at or how to find her way to the gym. I also restrain myself from asking if she has enough money or suggesting that she make a healthy choice for dinner. I also do not ask how they are going to meet up or when she might come home. Do you see how hard I am working here?

I do say: “That sounds like fun Jess!” and “Call me when you hook up with Drummer Boy!”

“Okay Mom!”

Phew. Well-negotiated Nan! I smile at CG. She gives me a thumbs-up.

We are past the raspberry and brownie dessert and well into the tea and coffee when my cell rings again. CG’s eyebrow goes up.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Jess.” [Notice that I do not even ask: What’s up?]

 “O.K. So. Like I’m wearing my crocks and I forgot my running shoes and you can’t go to the gym with crocks so Drummer Boy bought me a pair of running shoes . . .”

“…..” That’s me pausing and processing. My daughter has size 3 DDD feet. Not the easiest to buy shoes for. And I’ve seen what Drummer Boy wears, usually shoes about 4 sizes too big for him. We are going to end up with expensive shoes that don’t fit and that are going to trip her up in the gym, where she will end up with a concussion or a major injury. And the store at the college would never even have shoes in children’s sizes. What the heck…

“Hey Jess, you know it’s not easy to get shoes for your size feet, right?”

“But the salesman helped us, size 3! I told him size 3!”

“Size 3? They have size 3? Where are you?”

“At New Balance, at the mall across the street from the college.”

New Balance. The ONLY place in the whole city that has shoes that fit her off the rack.

What can I say? Drummer Boy just scored big time with Dragon Mom.

I raise my eyebrows at CG, wanting her to note what I am going to say next.

“Jess. That is so brilliant! You guys ran in to a lot of challenges today and you figured it all out! What great problem solving!”

CG is giving me the thumbs up. I am indeed the new queen of letting go.

“Just  remember to get the receipt, because you have to pay Drummer Boy back and you don’t really know how much . . .”

CG is now giving me the chop off your neck sign.

I quit while I am ahead.

It's hard work, this letting go.

But getting easier with my coach. ‘Cause that’s what friends are for!

Livin' It Up on a Friday Night, or Ghost Mom

I’m jumping back in here to the blog after a long hiatus involving work and more work and then some work, and lots of bickering with Jessie—as we tried to find our way through the new “no-rule” experiment we are trying at our house (and a few major performances involving ALL our time and energy). I will share the best of the worst with you tomorrow (involving infamous text messages and a meditation breakdown) and hope that that will bring some closure to a difficult period and lead us into a joyous summer. Or at least make you laugh. Or at least make you grateful that a)your daughter has not yet reached puberty, b) your daughter is way past puberty, c)your daughter is not my daughter, or d) you don’t have any children at all!

But just in case you were wondering what I might do with all this spare time I have not blogging, or what I do for fun on a Friday night . . . I offer you this:

627

 Yes. That was the total number of notes on Jessie’s iphone when I first opened it up Friday night. Well, to be honest, the number was actually up in the 700s, but I didn’t think to photograph the number until I started to weed through and delete some of the notes and realized just how MANY 700 and some odd notes was and how long this was going to take me—since I couldn’t just batch delete, as there might be some that she wanted to keep.

Now, you might wonder why I would be the one sorting through her notes. The simple answer is because it needed to be done. And who do you go to when something needs to be done? Ghost Mama. That’s right… Us Ghost Mamas are the ones that slip in and start the work that needs to be done, leaving the finishing (and upping the odds that tasks actually will be finished) to the ones who actually own the task. I know one Ghost Mama who is, at this actual moment, virtually lurking, from her comfortable kitchen office chair up here in Ottawa, somewhere near Humbolt Redwoods State Park in California scouting out good biker/hiker camping sites for her daughters who are cycling down the West coast. There is no doubt that technology makes Ghost Mama work much easier, but it also, as I am finding, creates a new kind of adolescent messiness that rivals the proverbial teenager’s room in the kind of madness it can create. Whole gigabytes of garbage.

So. That’s what I was doing on Friday night. Taking out the garbage. Most of which involved wedding planning, along with a few Glee scripts and an invitation to Daniel Radcliffe to come volunteer at the Foodbank where, Jess assured him “I would make sure you were treated like a normal person.”

As I started to weed through the notes (and look at the clock), I realized I could be there all night. So I narrowed it down, making sure that she knew that cleaning up her note list would be one of her chores Saturday, to just the wedding invitation list, variously labelled as: “ Who’s invited to the wedding,” “who’s coming to the wedding,” “wedding guest list,” and of course “Hollywood people invited to the wedding.”

If you were not aware, my daughter is planning her wedding to her boyfriend, Drummer Boy, who seems to be as involved in this process as she is, although he doesn’t seem to have the same level of commitment to Yes to Dress. Also note that this wedding is not high on our “to do list,” as we have told Jessie that she has to live out of the house with friends before even considering booking the Santa Monica pier for her interfaith marriage (as you can see, she has spent a lot of time of this). Given that it took Dan and I 25 years to get married, I was finding it a bit disconcerting to have to scroll through more than 300 notes dedicated to guest lists for a glitter wedding in some foreign country.

But, once I had done deleting those, we (ah, I’ve gone all communal here, having spent more than half an hour swiping my finger and tapping delete. Swipe, tap; swipe, tap; swipe tap; sip coffee; swipe tap) were down to (see the number at the top of the phone screen):

281

Woo-hoo! 281 is a perfect number. Low enough for Jessie to be able to delete or sort, high enough to make it boringly painful, perhaps painful enough to convince her that having MORE THAN 300 notes about one topic is just a bit over the top.

So it went on her Saturday to do list, along with the chores she didn’t finish throughout the week, and which she had to complete before going out on her date with Drummer Boy. Ah motivation.

When Dan and I returned from grocery shopping Saturday morning, I reminded Jess that she had to sort through the notes on her phone.

“Oh, I already did that!” she said.

“How many are left?” I replied, telling her that I could show her how to email them to herself and then convert them to word docs to ….

“None!” she blithely and proudly announced.

“None?”

“No, I deleted them all at once. I don’t really need them,” she said as she disappeared into the family room to watch something on her computer.

Dan had to pull me away from the kitchen cupboard where I was slowly, repeatedly, gently—yes gently—banging my head. 

Jessie Flips: About Say Yes to the Dress

I have been watching You tube on my laptop a lot these days and the one show that I love watching night after night is Say Yes To The Dress. I am like obsessed with this show and it is my favorite. The reason why this show is my favorite is because of all the couples and their stories of how they met and how they got engaged and, of course the dresses. But the best part of all is when the consultants come into play and help the bride out. The consultants are there to support the bride and to help the bride pick the dress she is looking for.

One of the people that I like is Randy. Randy has a huge sense in fashion because he is the fashion director and his job is to support the bride go in the right direction that she wants to go in. He helps guide the brides; he is like their guidance to find the right dress that the bride wants. And I think Randy is the best at it than anybody. He’s confident and he knows what looks best on any bride, and to me he is the best fashion director.

And the reason why I watch this show is because I want to get ideas for my own wedding. Both [DB] and I have already planned out our marriage and wedding plan. And that is to get married on a beach in Southern California. But I talked with [DB] and I suggested maybe we could have a plan b just in case plan a doesn’t quite work. And Plan B is to have a traditional inter faith wedding in Montreal at St. Paul’s And St. Andrew’s Anglican Church with 22 people from our immediate families and our extended family. So watching this show Say Yes To The Dress gives me lots of ideas for when I get married.

Sugar Shack Sunday

Yesterday was Grey Cup Sunday, for those of you south of the border, that's kind of like the Super Bowl, and Dan and Jessie had a special football meal planned that included lots of meatballs and grape jelly. I was busy working to a deadline, but I did (again, MoM . . . maker of miracles) volunteer to 1) get Drummer Boy over here to watch the game with us, and 2) make chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter icing (and you wonder why I might have to Tell the Truth About Food?!).

It turns out that number #1 (DB) completely obliviated (I know its not a word, but it makes sense to me) the need for #2 (cupcakes), as their terms of endearment for each other kept coming fast and furious and out-sweetened just about anything I could have come up with for dessert.

I asked them if they minded sharing the variations with me (I try to leave the room when they are talking to each other on the phone or in person, as I am sure I would go into insulin shock) or with any possible readers out there. They got gigglier and gigglier as the list rolled out, laughing as they recalled when they used each endearment. It was almost a travel log of their romantic encounters ... from the boot room where they met to the board room where they advocated together for employment opportunities for people with intellectual disabilities just last week.

Here they are: I dare you not to gag. They include (in no particular order, and I have thrown a few non-food related items in there, but there were very few)

raspberry danish

cupcake

strawberry tart

sweet cheeks

strawberry shortcake

hot stuff

sweetie

honey

sugar muffin

sugar lips

honey bunny

hot tamale 

hot pepper

sweetie pie

punkin pie

coco lips

my sweet apricot

short stuff


Most of those came from DB. When I was driving home he admitted, with a grin and a very endearing giggle, that he loves to call her those sweet names to make her giggle.

I have to remember to take my antacid and give thanks for weight-lifting boyfriends with a penchant for advocacy and endearments.

Jessie Flips: About Hanukkah

The Hanukkah Chronicles Part 2: The other side of the family

As you all know, I will be going to Montreal for my first ever Hanukkah. Sure, there was a conflict before but we changed it all around!! I will be going to Montreal for Hanukkah on December 15, 2012. Which is great, because on Dec.8 I have community day with Propeller. And I think that this is a perfect solution.

Drummer Boy is my boyfriend and life partner and he asked me to join him and his dad  to visit his dad’s side of the family. Jeremy’s dad’s family is part Jewish Orthodox. This is my very first time meeting them and I’m nervous but still really excited. I’m excited because this is the next step in our relationship. I already met his mom’s family, their Greek side, I will be meeting his Jewish side of the family. DB already met my family at my parents’ wedding. The reason why I’m nervous is because I don’t know what would they think of me and what if they wished that DB married a Jewish woman?

I know what your thinking, your probably wondering why be nervous? When meeting another side of your boyfriend’s family you need to be yourself and be polite. DB had told me that this side of his family would love me. Sure, it might be scary at first but it’ll be worth it. And in the end if they like me then I’ll be happy.   

It’s great that DB and I are meeting both of our families because it gives us time to get to know each other more and both of us get to know the other’s family traditions. It’s amazing how you can explore the other’s family faith.     

Thankful Tuesday: A List

This is Tuesday, so I am joining in the Thankful Tuesday party over at Micha Boyett’s blog, Mama: Monk. This week I am thankful for:

• Mentors for Jessie who handle her chronic lateness and disorganization with just the right balance of lovingkindness (Jess, you are a very important part of this organization and we all love your contribution and creativity and hard work, so we would never fire you or ask you not to come back) with realistic and accommodating consequences (we won’t pay you for the class you were late for, especially since you were leading it). I am learning so much from them about gentle teaching.

• Mail for delivering prizes won from a 31 for 21 blog contest, especially when they come from Colorado and include a wonderfully inspiring book by Margaret Bender (of The Ordinary Life of an Extraordinary Girl blog) called From Grief toCelebration: How One Family Learned to Embrace the Gift of Down Syndrome. And, the bonus, it’s signed by Alex. I am so looking forward to reading this!

• Boyfriends who take girlfriends (who happen to be daughters) to Remembrance Day ceremonies and hold them when they cry in remembering all those who died during war. This was Jessie and Drummer Boy’s first date totally devised, arranged, planned, and executed by themselves, independently. What a thoughtful and heartfelt date. Jessie returned at the end of day still swooning from sharing a meaningful time with DB.

• A lover and life-partner I can call a husband (because we arenow married, after 25 or so odd, really odd years) who is willing to put all to do lists and agendas aside to walk the Westboro strip with me in balmy weather, wandering in and out of bookstores and shoe stores and coffee shops and little local boutiquey design stores, holding hands and kissing every now and then. Ah, for those late warm fall days and someone to share them with.

• Friends who read your blog and take the time to email you (because you have both been in and out of town and in and out of work, and have not actually talked or seen each other for more than a week) and say they like it and say that what you write resonates with them in a way that is not limited by disability or even circumstance. Friend who like your writing and encourage you to keep doing it, even when what you write about is streaked with desperation or frustration.

• Opportunities that emerge that coincide with Jessie’s passions and gifts—for performing, for advocating, for infiltrating the mainstream—and that make the world seem like her oyster. She is (we are!) so graced to be living at this particular time, when barriers have been broken down and she is part of a new generation forging new roads into the heart of the community. As an early traveller and pathfinder, she is making connections and dealing with people who crave her generation’s input and are willing to see her and her peers’ gifts and contributions. So even though there is still prejudice, mostly there is opportunity and openness. She is well loved and respected. That is a good life.

And for Mama: Monk’s Thankful Tuesdays, so I can pause at the beginning of my week, in the midst of deadlines and rescue missions, and breath in blessings.

What are you thankful for? Write is and post over at Mama: Monk. 

The Hanukkah Chronicles, Part 1

This is how Part 1 begins. Part 1, because I know there will be other parts given that a) this is Jessie,  b)this is Jessie in love, c) this is Jessie in love with Drummer Boy (DB) who is as organizationally challenged as Jessie is, and d) this is seen as a MAJOR MILESTONE on the road to WEDDED BLISS, which involves a beach wedding and living happily ever after in Orange County California with Drummer Boy, as he pursues his wrestling (WWE to be exact) career, and his best friend, who will be managing him. Jessie, of course, will be walking the red carpet right onto the set of Glee along with Lauren Potter. Did you catch all that? So. Just in case you got confused, this is Part 1. And this is how it begins.

Drummer Boy has invited Jessie to celebrate Hanukkah with his father’s family in Montreal. This will be a chance for DB to share his religious and cultural heritage with her, not to mention introduce her to his paternal Grandparents!  This is a BIG deal, for both DB and Jessie. They have talked about this for a long time, trying to figure out when it might happen. This is almost even bigger than, well, other moments you might conceive of in your wild imagination. Bigger certainly if you measure it by emotional energy.

So, they are ready for this. Jessie’s first Hanukkah, first time meeting DB’s bubba. And DB says it’s in December, and Jess is already nervous (I swear she watches the soaps without me knowing, else how to account for this nervousness?) and then we ask DB’s Dad for the date.

December 8. December 8 sounds awfully familiar to me. Too familiar.

After DB leaves with his Dad, we look on the calendar and find that December 8 is Propeller Dance’s Community Day. A very big performance and celebration. Jessie falls to the floor, a puddle of tears. “Remember . . . “ I say and Jessie finishes the sentence through her tears, “every problem has a solution …” but I can tell that she doesn’t quite believe this one.

I do get to hear a diatribe about the importance of sharing your partner’s religious background, about the importance of meeting family, about … well, a number of things that I can’t quite recall because I stopped listening after the first sentence. She didn’t have to convince me of anything. I knew it was important to her and DB and told her so. But somehow this little glitch fed into her bizarre and reoccurring need to re-imagine her and DB as star-crossed lovers overcoming exceptional odds to be together. Exceptional odds like, for example, me and doctor lady (DB’s mom) driving them on dates, or maybe us even setting up dates for them, or maybe us paying for those dates, or maybe us making sure they have uninterrupted and private time together, or maybe … you know, those kinds of exceptional odds.

After recovering from her oh-the-world-is-unfair-and-no-one-understands-true-love meltdown we discussed the options and I assured her that if it conflicted with Propeller, this was one time where I thought she should do exactly what she judged to be best, as I understood how important it was to share Hanukkah with DB and his family. I think I left her gob-smacked, as I had to explain this about 6 times, assuring her that this was probably the one time where work might not take precedence. Of course, I was wrong. Wrong because Community Day is a big day and Jessie is definitely expected to be there as part of her job as teacher and performer.

Three public (i.e., in rehearsal) meltdowns later, I make an executive decision. I step back from real world consequences and having her develop her frontal and other cortices by problem solving and decide to just tell her that we will make it possible for her to do Community day AND get to Montreal in time for Hanukkah.

Guess what I’m doing late in the afternoon on Saturday December 8, right after Propeller’s Community Day?

Thank you, thank you. Just another Hail Mary Pass brought to you by MoM: Maker of Miracles.   

31/21: Bittersweet

Yesterday’s Retro Jessie postwas bittersweet. In typing it up again (the whole series was done on a different and incompatible computer system), the irony of re-posting a letting go piece from 1996 just when we are struggling with that same process right now, left me deflated and somewhat depressed. Perhaps, if it weren’t so close to Halloween or the days were lengthening instead of taking on those long November shadows, the reposting would make me laugh, or just refocus me on the love part.

Instead, my sadness was fed by a Sunday morning sermon on Job and a car full of CDs by women singer-songwriters with dark and love-lost stories of loneliness and aging regrets.  I came home, went to bed, and pulled the covers up over my head. I let my family fend for themselves (I think this made them happy) and in my head argued that I was regenerating positive energy. Or not. Whatever.

Let us just say that there are points in the transition years where I have no idea whatsoever about what we are doing or where we are going. While there is the Jessie-defined North Star—a clear and welcoming vision of a bright and loving future—the getting there is a very bumpy ride with many detours and sinkholes and one-lane reductions. I am very slow at learning what I am supposed to be learning (and obviously have not learned it yet). I know it has to do with letting go, and letting go again, but I also know, because it is Jessie, it has to do with support, and that particular mix for an adult achieving independence is a particularly tricky concoction. 

Oh I wish we still had that Harry Potter potion maker that Jessie got one Christmas, and that in addition to elixirs of life, polyjuice potions, and veritaserums, there was a nicely package potion for parenting into adulthood. But, alas, we sold it at the last garage sale and I am not sure we had any potions left.   

At heart, this transition bit makes me see just how much I struggle with loving and letting go. And I read about other families going through a similar process and find them all so much more, well, positive. And energetic. And loving. And witty! Oh I long to write about this period with wit and humour and good grace. But mostly I just yell. Or answer cell phone requests for redirections after getting on the wrong bus. Or drive to pick up said lost traveller.  

So, for today, I will not detail the yelling Saturday morning we had trying to let natural consequences reign, but will leave you with the only photo we managed to take at the previous evening’s Down Syndrome Association’s annual  general meeting—which is a wonderfully attended dinner dance (free for members!) for families and friends of all ages. 

Jessie and drummer boy sat at a table of more than nine young people their age, and we had to drag them away at the end of the evening. It was a Halloween theme; I can’t remember exactly what drummer boy and Jessie were, except that there was some underlying punk theme. I will post another time about having to read the riot act about dirty dancing at a family dance.      

Some Days



 Some days are just blessed affirmations and involve the right balance of winter sun, worship, affection, a good book to delve into, right relationship, a daughter in love, and of course, chili and the Super Bowl game on TV. Not to mention a 7.8-kilometer long frozen canal with a Winterlude festival offering free bus shuttles, ice sculptures, and beaver tails! 

Happiness and contentment reign, at least for this moment, in our family.

Identity Theft

The problem with the “family” computer is that it really is my computer, in my office— which actually happens to be the family room. Go figure.

I gave up my basement office years ago when Dan started to work freelance from home. But somehow, when he got a job and started going to a real office in a real downtown office tower, I never quite got my office back.

The point being (yes, the point) that many people end up using my computer in the evening because they don’t want to go to their own offices and computers because then they might have to actually go up (Jessie) or down (Dan) stairs.
So. Many different people log on to Facebook from my computer and unless you are very, very careful you just might end up posting under an identity that is different than your true and rightful identity.

Which might not be a problem—unless someone is posting love messages. And the love message happens to read:

Apparently that is the message I sent Drummer Boy, Jessie’s boyfriend, the other night.

I just have one word, and it’s probably the same word he has: YUCK!!!!

Finding Her Way

Jessie has a pretty straight-forward relationship with the GPS.

She hates it.

Apparently it makes me yell and swear.

“Don’t bring that GPS!” she insists if she sees me grab it as we go out the door.

“I won’t go if you bring the GPS!”

This has something to do with the trip to Boston we took last year. How I made her call Dan on the cell phone (he flew into Boston while we drove down from Maine) and say we were going to be hours late because the %^&*$ GPS had me going in the %^&* wrong direction, and now we were somewhere near *&^%(#$ Woburn and &*&^%$@ hours away from ^&*^%$ Boston. ^&*#!!! With another ^&^+#$ for good measure—just in case the cows in the field hadn’t heard me the first time. Jessie didn’t really have to relay this to Dan over the phone, as he was able to hear me perfectly clearly.

However, as I have learned to restrain myself (or how to read the GPS so I don’t end up in a river), Jessie is beginning to see its benefits.

Take, for example, the other morning—the first morning she was traveling to the Y's Owl Summer program completely solo, with no coaching or what I call “invisible support.”

“Invisible support” usually involves me hiding in bushes or sitting in the car around a corner making sure she is getting where she needs to go, but there to intervene or guide if she calls. This is not a strange lurking disease or a bad case of helicopter parenting, but a very well-known tool (at least among some of my acquaintances, which might tell you a bit about who I hang out with)—used by parents of children with disabilities to provide experiences of independence without full frontal pain (such getting hit by a car, for example). I.e., mom’s there if you need her— she appears magically and reinforces your sense of her omniscience, but is not there at all if you don’t need her and you can feel proud that you did it all by yourself!

While we had practiced and rehearsed the trip (me with her; me with her, but distant; me following behind in a car etc…) in all its variations, the trip to Y's Owl is, in all honesty, a challenge. A long bus ride and a long walk down a street with only one sidewalk (and that one under construction). All complicated by the return trip home—which requires the same long walk along the same street with the sidewalk under construction, PLUS crossing (with lights) a six-lane major road. Given that sequencing (not to mention directionality) is not Jessie’s strong suit, there were bound to be some random street crossings leading to unplanned explorations of the city’s nether regions.

So I wasn’t surprised when I got a call from Jessie just at the time that she was supposed to be arriving at the YsOwl site. But I was surprised by her request:

“Mom . . . I think you better bring the GPS!”

And she was right! She was so lost I couldn’t, at first, find her on google maps. (You are WHERE? Okay. Find a street sign and read me BOTH names. Watson Creek? But the only Watson Creek I can find is a greening reclamation project outside the city?!?!)

It turned out she had, as predicted, crossed roads when she shouldn’t have and turned the wrong way down streets. I finally did locate her and told her to stay put until I rescued her. I was no longer interested in teaching, just in getting her to her program on time so I could get back to work (hmmmm, and I wonder WHY I work from home!).

As we drove up to YsOwl Jessie noticed Drummer Boy (also doing the same summer program) at the bus stop, waiting for the others to join him.

“What’s up DB?” she yelled out the window.

“I got lost,” he replied, “I walked the wrong way.”

“Then how did you get here?” I asked, since there was no mother/rescuer/maker of miracles accompanying him.

“Oh, I just know that if I get lost, I re-trace my steps.”

Brilliant boy. And while my daughter may need a GPS to find her way around the city, it looks like she doesn't need one to find a good guy. She's already got one.

DB Usurps Coveted JB (Jonas Brothers) Spot on Bedroom Wall

It has been a whirlwind of weddings (blog to come), flash mob rehearsals (next blog), graduation preparations (blog to come), and summer program registrations (not blog-worthy, except the bus training part, so . . . blog to come) all culminating in Tuesday’s final high school graduation and celebratory dance at Drummer Boy’s house outside the city. All the Storefront students (12 of them) were invited, with the graduates themselves being chauffeured along Ottawa’s renowned canal and out to DB’s house in a white stretch limousine.

The evening, by all accounts, was a wild success. (DB’s mother deserves a commendation and award for making it a very special occasion—something all the students, and parents, will talk about for a long time to come!) When I arrived to pick up Jessie, I found her seated on a chair like a princess, enraptured by the show DB was giving—a hip-hop song and choreography composed for and dedicated to her. His intense performance was matched by her intense response—an electric current that ran almost visibly between them.

When we arrived home around midnight, I sent Jessie up to get ready for bed while I finished loading the dishwasher. Then, I heard a bizarre tearing/whooshing/scrunching noise echoing down the stairwell. Having admonished her to be quiet because Dan was already sleeping, I went upstairs to see what midnight madness was occurring.

Jessie was trying to shove a large amount of paper into her small room-size garbage can.

“Jess! What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of Joe Jonas,” she replied as she waved her arm across the room, calling my attention to the now bare (previously plastered with Joe Jonas posters) wall beside her bed. The noise I had heard was the sound of posters being torn off the wall and squashed into the garbage pail.

“I’ve outgrown the Jonas Brothers. I don’t need them anymore. I have DB!”

I stood there stunned—it was a moment I had always prayed for (the absence of the Jonas Brothers from our basic house décor and background sound), but now wondered if I was really ready for it.

I then turned and caught her just as she was about to cut into a group grad photo that one of the parents had printed off and given to each of the students when he came to pick up his daughter from Drummer Boy’s party.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting out me and DB. I’m going to put THAT on the wall beside my bed!”

Jessie has truly graduated.

True Love, Hockey, and Values

In the midst of the madhouse of Jessie hosting her PATH (a planning session for her future held last weekend) and the rehearsals for the Propeller Dance show (this weekend) she has had time to follow (just on radio and the newspaper) the Stanley Cup and Vancouver’s trouncing. Never mind that a year ago she would not have been able to correctly name even one NHL team, she now pounces on the newspaper (another first) to see the hockey scores because the love of her life—Drummer Boy—is an avid hockey fan. This morning’s newspaper was, of course, filled with the debacle of the rioting in Vancouver that followed the Canuck’s loss. Jessie was upset. At the loss that is, not the riot.

“Drummer Boy says the Boston Bruins [I didn’t even know she knew the name of the team!] don’t deserve to win!”

“Jessie,” says Dan in a firm voice that he rarely uses. “It was a RIOT! . . . over a HOCKEY GAME! We have to have some perspective here. Rioting over a hockey game is just not right!”

“But Dad, Vancouver should have won! It’s not fair!”

“But a riot? Come on Jessie. You have to have some values. And not just agree with Drummer Boy on everything.”

“I do have values,” says Jessie with pride and determination, “And one of my values is Drummer Boy!”

This is where Dan kicks me under the table to let me know that this might not be the time to give her one of my lectures/rants, as it would probably not have the desired impact.

Final score: True Love 10, Feminism 0.

Time of My Life

Really. Here I am working diligently, hard, in the back room that is my office. Jessie has come home with her new boyfriend, whom I will call Drummer Boy (because he plays the drums, luckily we don't have drums ), before I drive both of them  to H'Art studios for a new Thursday night art session (where old boyfriend, Tall Thing, will also be, that should prove to be interesting!).

They are in the living room. Talking. I am in the back room. Working.

Jessie comes in and turns on the stereo, thoughtfully. She mutes the speakers in the back room, leaving the ones in the living room on where she and Drummer Boy sit. I wait to hear maybe Disney, Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, even Blink 182. I listen and expect to hear dance music, hip hop, funk. Because they both love to dance.

But instead, loud and insistently filled with gag-reflex romance (okay, guess I'm old and have turned more toward jazz) and hormones (the teen ones, not the middle-aged faulty ones) I hear "Time of My Life." From Dirty Dancing.

You know the one: I've had the time of my life ... and I owe it all to you ... and lots of oh babies and woooo hoooo and mmmmmmm and with my body and soul I want you more than I'll ever know... and then lots of silence from that front room.

Hmmm. Gotta go!