Generation Exhausted

A League Of Their Own

Kira does an amazing job of giving a bleachers'-eye-view of children's T-Ball.  Seriously. It's really like that.

We're long past T-ball around here now, but Middle and Little are both playing softball. It's Little's first season with a pitched ball, and overall, she's doing really well. So's her sister. So we're long past the point where they're out in centre field picking dandelions or hollering "not fair!" because someone caught the ball they dared to hit.

But girls are mysterious creatures, and watching these girls aged 10-15, I've seen stuff that boys would just never do.

These aren't girly-girls. They don't fuss about getting dirty or encountering a bump or a bruise. Instead, their angst is entirely focused on the uniform.

"Tuck in your shirt," says the umpire.

Girl, believing with every fibre of her being that a tucked-in shirt is the ultimate in bad fashion, says, "It's too short. I can't."

They argue back and forth, until the umpire says, "Anyone coming up to bat without their shirt tucked in is automatically out."

The pitcher's hair is a different colour than it was last week.

One of them has a pink sliding pad and matching batting gloves.

Infield distraction is caused by pockets filled with sunflower seeds.

Over on the teenager's diamond, it's not much better. Nine girls take the field, one teeny-tiny scrap of their shirt-tail tucked in. Their waistbands are all folded down, because only weirdos would let their pants hit higher than their bikini line.

Girls sure are different sometimes.

But I can still solve SOME of her problems

Oldest is poised tentatively on the edge of adulthood, wanting to move out but knowing that the mature, rational, and financially feasible choice is actually to stay at home for at least the first year of U. So, partly to compromise, and partly because teens need teen spaces of their own anyway, we've been fixing up the area of the basement Formerly Known As Her Foyer. Also, The Library. It's the area just outside her bedroom, and we've even promised that Oldest and Middle can put in a little fridge and kitchen table, and maybe even a cappucino maker.

Thus, Oldest has made her first foray into one of early adulthood's most rewarding experiences:

She bought furniture at a garage sale.

The chair was understandable. It's borderline antique, and is covered in a yellow, paisley-ish fabric that is old enough to be kind of funky. I'm a little jealous - it's very comfortable and just right for curling up with a good book. It cost five bucks and was a breeze to get in the door and down the basement.

The love seat, however...

Ten bucks for an overstuffed, beige-y behemoth of a love seat. Moving it from the minivan to the porch involved two episodes of "ouch!", three instances of "no, lift it this way!" and one very loud "It's on my FOOT!" That's the point at which it became my problem, since it was obvious we couldn't shape up and sing as a group.

It stayed on the porch for a couple of weeks while I mulled over how to best move it in. Then it was moved to the backyard, where it became ultra-cool seating for the After Prom BackYard BBQ. When the rain hit the following day, it was hustled into the screen tent.

Today, my friend and I brought it into the house. Which was pretty much a breeze. Getting it down the stairs, however...

One good thing about furniture that cost ten bucks - you really don't second guess yourself when your self says, "Self. You need a saw."

Yup. We sawed the bottom edge off. And down the stairs it came, along with half the plaster in the basement stairwell.

Adult Life Lesson #437: Think about the moving process before you buy. Or at least get it cheap enough that dismantling isn't out of the question.

When she does eventually leave us (not for a long long long LONG time, I hope) the love seat won't be going with her.

It's not quite like starting Kindergarten

Last week, we accompanied Oldest to Head Start, a pre-orientation day for students who will be starting at the U in the fall. There was a mommies and daddies component to the day as well. I know most of my US readers will not be surprised by this, but Canadian schools are just coming around to the recognition that experiencing an 18th birthday does not necessarily mean "poof, you're a grown-up".

Oldest was experiencing the conflict that is typical in teens her age - appreciative of our interest but wanting to distance herself from us. So it was a day of compromise, some of it reluctant.

In other words, we got to drive her there, but we weren't allowed to sit with her.

It's an ongoing challenge, and I can't blame her for feeling conflicted. While statistical evidence and study shows that our interest and involvement gives her an edge, it's hard to embrace when most of the people she knows often appear to be teenage orphans. Out of the several hundred students in attendance that day, I would suggest that less than 15% of them were accompanied by their parents. Most of the ones that were, were students coming from out of town. The vast majority of local students were there sans parents - either because their parents didn't feel there was a need to attend, or because the kids were able to convince their parents of such.

As the first year of post-secondary looms, I struggle with this. Personally and professionally, I strive to avoid the "I'm a better parent than..." mentality. I firmly believe that most parents act according to what THEY believe is best for these kids who are in the last chapters of childhood/first chapters of adulthood. What I don't understand is why parents don't see or understand that their presence/engagement will continue to be important - and eventually, appreciated.

In other words, adults need parents too.

Admittedly, a balance is desired. I'm not quite as "engaged" as the mother who stayed up until 3 a.m. the night before choosing her student's courses and navigating the registration process because the kid hadn't gotten around to it. But when Oldest was choosing her courses several weeks ago, I paid attention and offered my thoughts. It was up to her to decide how much weight to give those thoughts - but at least she had them to consider. I'm much more comfortable with that than with "Don't ask me, it's your life."

Decades ago, it was widely believed that throwing your kids into the pool with the expectation that they would "sink or swim" was the way to teach them. We know now that giving them a lifejacket and letting them get used to the water over time leads to more swimming and less sinking.