Jeff Foxworthy, a comedian who is famous for his, "You might be a redneck" jokes, came up with a new list. This list was titled "You might be a teacher." The items were sort of funny and true. For example:
"YOU might be a school teacher if you think caffeine should be available in intravenous form."
There was a list of about 15, but one of the mockeries hit the nail right on the head ... and the head was mine.
"YOU might be a school teacher if you want to slap the next person who says, 'Must be nice to work 8 to 3:30 and have summers off."'
The urge to do that is becoming more like a voice inside my head that begs me to slap away. Yet, this summer, I've often wondered why I wish I were still at school. The answer hit me full force in the stomach, (after the nailing of my head) when I realized the reason. In a word: teenager. To be more specific, MY 16-year-old teenager who just got his driver's permit.
Being the youngest, he has had the advantage of watching the successes and the mistakes of his older siblings. He's faring well in the delicate art of navigating through the tunnels of teen tumult. He's watched silently and taken notes. He's studied these notes and, being a bright boy, he has come to an accurate conclusion: We're tired.
My husband and I have faced years of hormone hell, the foibles of failed friendships and the problems of peer pressure. But we have also had to do our own navigating through the snarl of PGT (parenting growing teens) without benefit of a GPS. What they don't tell you in the parenting handbooks is that teens will take advantage of that fatigue and will show no mercy. Good kid, bad kid, it makes no matter. It's the nature of the beast.
The stupidity of those who procreate know about the survival of the fittest, but after so many years we are way out of shape. I discovered this recently when HIS schedule became MY schedule.
The connotation of "the summer off" leaves many thinking of sunny days lounging by the pool reading mindless tripe such as where TomKat and Suri spent the Fourth of July. During the school year, I don't care about this, and from August to June, I still don't care, but in those blissful summer months I admittedly sneak a tabloid and become well versed in the drama that is Hollywood. My son's driver's permit and schedule have put an end to that.
Picture a typical day in the life of a teacher/mother of a permit-holding son:
* 7 a.m.: Wake up smiling because it's not 4:45.
* 8 a.m.: Read and answer e-mail while sipping a whole cup of HOT coffee while sitting. Dress for the gym. So far, so good.
* 8:30 a.m.: Wake groggy teen.
* 8:45 a.m.: Let still slightly grouchy teen drive to driver's ed ... knuckles still not completely white except when the neighbor's cat crosses in front of him. Breathe again when he misses.
* 9 a.m.: Head to gym, sweat and pretend to like it.
* 10:30 a.m: Leave gym hoping for ice coffee.
* 10:32 a.m.: Read cell text; "remember 2 get me in 28 minutes."
* 10:34 a.m.: Spend 10 minutes trying to figure out how to respond to text.
* 10:45 a.m.: Give up and sit in parking lot of driving school.
* 10:54 a.m.: Read text asking "where R U."
* 10:55 a.m.: Get out of car still wearing spandex gym clothes, and for spite, yell, "Hey, baby boy, I'm right here!"
* 12 noon: Let son drive himself to work.
* 12:05 p.m.: Sit and wait for boss to arrive because only a "loser" would wait outside.
* 12:30 to 2:55 p.m.: Eat, water flowers, do laundry, fold laundry, do boring errands, read about Brangelina (while in bathroom) and find out that she's hired another six nannies ... wonder how much it would cost to hire a teen nanny to drive.
* 2:55 p.m. Let him drive home.
* 3:30 p.m. Help find various pieces of uniforms from baseball, basketball, football practice/league/team.
* 4:30 p.m.: Let offspring drive to activity, watch activity, let teen drive home since he still needs 37 driving hours under my supervision. Swear at RMV under my breath.
* 8:30 p.m. Fall onto couch exhausted until woken by a lively teen waving goodbye with the promise to be home by 10. I don't have to drive, only wait up. Hook up coffee IV.
Jeff Foxworthy adds in his list that:
"You might be a teacher if you know how many days, hours and minutes until the last day of school."
There are 40 days, 12 hours and 46 minutes until I get to go back to school.
Kathy Kenney Marshall can be reached at kathykm@aol.com.
