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pegkerrAt the beginning of the school year, I got the notice from that wonderful little organization Project Success, with the calendar of dates of college tours. They had a trip to Chicago to visit schools over MEA weekend and other trips throughout the year. I told Fiona she should do the MEA weekend trip.
"But that's the weekend of the church retreat! I really want to go to that!"
I cursed under my breath. Ordinarily a parent wouldn't object to a child going on a church retreat, but these Project Success trips are a really great opportunity, and I want Fiona to get started looking at some colleges. "Look, there's no school on November 6, and they're doing a trip to the University of Wisconsin at Madison. It's only $35! That's a real bargain. I honestly think you should go."
She agreed, so she filled out the form and I gave her a check for $35. About a week later, I asked her whether she had turned in the form.
She looked blank. "I think so."
That niggled at me. About a week later, I asked again. "Did you turn in that form and that check? Are you sure?"
"Well, I don't have the form in my backpack anymore, so I must have."
Another month went by. I heard nothing from Project Success about the arrangments for the trip. I asked Fiona a week ago: "Are you sure you turned everything in, Fiona?"
"I must have, Mommy."
"Well, I want you to go to the office at school to doublecheck."
A couple nights ago, I got a phone message on my cell phone from an insurance agent reminding Rob that he had been requested to contact them with Delia's Social Security number. (This was necessary for them to close the insurance file on the car accident he was in last year with Delia.) Apparently they had asked him for it a month ago. I told Rob about it, and he told me he'd call the agent with the number.
Yesterday I had another message from the agent on my cell phone. I called home immediately and told Rob to call the agent right now and give her the number.
When I got home for dinner last night, I asked Rob whether he had made the call. Of course he hadn't.
Of course, some of you will say, Peg, why don't you call the agent? Well, yes, I could. But damn it, it was his car accident. He promised he would call. He's the one home all day. With the phone. And the records with Delia's Social Security number right in front of him. It was his job to make the call. Call me crazy, but I would just like to not have to be the one who is always responsible for getting things done.
I pressed my lips together very firmly and went to make dinner. As I was putting the plates on the table, I asked Fiona casually what she had found out about when they were leaving for Madison tomorrow.
"Oh, I'm not going," she said. "I guess the roster was already filled up with people by the time I signed up."
I stared at her. "Fiona, I gave you the form and check six weeks ago. How could that not be soon enough?"
She looked at me with guilt written all over her face. "Maybe, um . . . maybe I didn't turn in the check?"
I gave her that look that mothers have been giving brainless teenage daughters for all eternity.
She went to her backpack, rooted around, and slowly pulled out the check. The look on her face said it all as her eyes met mine.
"I asked you again and again to go to the office to verify that they had it," I said icily. "I guess that means that you never did so. Right?" My voice rose to unacceptable levels. "Right?!"
"Hey," Rob said, stepping in at just the wrong moment to play the peacemaker, "that's enough."
I gave him a look that could have melted glass. I looked at Fiona and it was all I could do to keep from screaming, "You're just like your father!" I grabbed my plate off the table. "I'm eating upstairs. In my office. NOT WITH ANY OF YOU."
After a half an hour (I was too upset to eat the dinner I had made), Fiona and I left for a meeting at the school. It was, ironically enough, about what juniors and their parents need to know about the college admission process. I drove silently, not trusting myself to speak. We walked into the school, and then I stopped dead in my tracks and said to her, my voice shaking, "I want you to go to college. I want you to grow up and be an adult. But you cannot go to college and be treated like an adult until you start acting more responsibly. Your biggest challenges are keeping yourself organized and following through on tasks. Your Dad has trouble with a lot of these things. It has held him back professionally, and it has caused enormous pain and heartburn with me."
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She gave me a hug.
We went into the auditorium, where we learned about what lies ahead.
Ready or not, here it comes.
What I did today to make the world a better place: I suggested to the office manager that we put out toothpicks instead of plastic forks for the cut up fruit we have in the break room every Friday, to cut down on waste. She liked the idea and is implementing it.
"But that's the weekend of the church retreat! I really want to go to that!"
I cursed under my breath. Ordinarily a parent wouldn't object to a child going on a church retreat, but these Project Success trips are a really great opportunity, and I want Fiona to get started looking at some colleges. "Look, there's no school on November 6, and they're doing a trip to the University of Wisconsin at Madison. It's only $35! That's a real bargain. I honestly think you should go."
She agreed, so she filled out the form and I gave her a check for $35. About a week later, I asked her whether she had turned in the form.
She looked blank. "I think so."
That niggled at me. About a week later, I asked again. "Did you turn in that form and that check? Are you sure?"
"Well, I don't have the form in my backpack anymore, so I must have."
Another month went by. I heard nothing from Project Success about the arrangments for the trip. I asked Fiona a week ago: "Are you sure you turned everything in, Fiona?"
"I must have, Mommy."
"Well, I want you to go to the office at school to doublecheck."
A couple nights ago, I got a phone message on my cell phone from an insurance agent reminding Rob that he had been requested to contact them with Delia's Social Security number. (This was necessary for them to close the insurance file on the car accident he was in last year with Delia.) Apparently they had asked him for it a month ago. I told Rob about it, and he told me he'd call the agent with the number.
Yesterday I had another message from the agent on my cell phone. I called home immediately and told Rob to call the agent right now and give her the number.
When I got home for dinner last night, I asked Rob whether he had made the call. Of course he hadn't.
Of course, some of you will say, Peg, why don't you call the agent? Well, yes, I could. But damn it, it was his car accident. He promised he would call. He's the one home all day. With the phone. And the records with Delia's Social Security number right in front of him. It was his job to make the call. Call me crazy, but I would just like to not have to be the one who is always responsible for getting things done.
I pressed my lips together very firmly and went to make dinner. As I was putting the plates on the table, I asked Fiona casually what she had found out about when they were leaving for Madison tomorrow.
"Oh, I'm not going," she said. "I guess the roster was already filled up with people by the time I signed up."
I stared at her. "Fiona, I gave you the form and check six weeks ago. How could that not be soon enough?"
She looked at me with guilt written all over her face. "Maybe, um . . . maybe I didn't turn in the check?"
I gave her that look that mothers have been giving brainless teenage daughters for all eternity.
She went to her backpack, rooted around, and slowly pulled out the check. The look on her face said it all as her eyes met mine.
"I asked you again and again to go to the office to verify that they had it," I said icily. "I guess that means that you never did so. Right?" My voice rose to unacceptable levels. "Right?!"
"Hey," Rob said, stepping in at just the wrong moment to play the peacemaker, "that's enough."
I gave him a look that could have melted glass. I looked at Fiona and it was all I could do to keep from screaming, "You're just like your father!" I grabbed my plate off the table. "I'm eating upstairs. In my office. NOT WITH ANY OF YOU."
After a half an hour (I was too upset to eat the dinner I had made), Fiona and I left for a meeting at the school. It was, ironically enough, about what juniors and their parents need to know about the college admission process. I drove silently, not trusting myself to speak. We walked into the school, and then I stopped dead in my tracks and said to her, my voice shaking, "I want you to go to college. I want you to grow up and be an adult. But you cannot go to college and be treated like an adult until you start acting more responsibly. Your biggest challenges are keeping yourself organized and following through on tasks. Your Dad has trouble with a lot of these things. It has held him back professionally, and it has caused enormous pain and heartburn with me."
She nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She gave me a hug.
We went into the auditorium, where we learned about what lies ahead.
Ready or not, here it comes.
What I did today to make the world a better place: I suggested to the office manager that we put out toothpicks instead of plastic forks for the cut up fruit we have in the break room every Friday, to cut down on waste. She liked the idea and is implementing it.