Kaleidoscopic Eclat

Since this morning’s 8th Grade Farewell, I am now officially the mother of TWO high-schoolers! How the hell does this shit happen? SERIOUSLY?

But I was up and showered and at the school at 8 freakin am this morning (SEE HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU, CHILD?) to watch my middle child, my oldest daughter, perform in her final band and choir performances of her Jr. High Career, and to watch her walk across the Transition Stage where the 8th grader becomes the Freshman.

Awwww. (Note the change in ribbon color - from Kosack Purple and Gold to Kardnial Red and Black)

And I’ve a lot of blurry photos to prove it! Mainly because I was too far from the stage - it’d be to easy to put the stage in the center of the gym, right? Right. Harumph.

But, here you go! The Class of 2012! (…o.m.g!)

And the students firmly believe that Transition isn’t complete without the Hug from Summer. Mr. Summer is the favorite teacher - he’s repeatedly asked to give the speech at the farewells - and he ONLY gives hugs at the Farewell. Not ever through the year, only that last day. So, my girl (And most everyone else) got her hug, and feels that she’s now officially graduated.

The difference between my son and daughter during this occasion? My son asked that I stay for the talent show and slide show, and thus I spent the majority of the day with him at the school. The Girl? Shoo’d me off as soon as the cake was eaten! “See ya later mom, ya don’t have to stay!” and off she ran with her gaggle of girlfriends! Harumph. Kids.

..when my oldest daughter, my middle child, allows me to take pictures of her. She’s full of 13 angst and impatience, and preference for being behind the camera rather then in front of one, so I don’t push it, often. But when she relaxes, she is stunning…

And some days, like today, her true colors come shining through!

The rule in my house about hair color: you must be at least 12 years old, and understand that folks will point, laugh, snicker. When you can handle that, you’re hair is up to you, you make the decisions. Simple, no? Longtime readers here know that I’m no stranger to funky hair myself, so it seemed a reasonable compromise. Today, my daughter decided to take a dip in the color pool….

with blue streaks.

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I know, I keep saying that, but they are! Maybe it’s just MY teenagers…

Me: What’s that in your back pocket?
Boy: my wallet.
Me: the OTHER pocket.
Boy: A love letter.
Me: YAY! FROM WHO?
Boy: Not telling.
Me: From G? (That’d be his best bud, a boy, of course.)
Boy: No.
Me: From Z? (The other best bud, a boy, of course.)
G: That I’d believe!
Boy: NO!
Me: FROM WHO?
Boy: SECRET ADMIRER!
Me: But you tell me EVERYTHING!
G: not anymore.
Me: But I’m your best friend, Boy!
G: Excuse me?
Me: Your best GIRL friend!
G: NOT ANYMORE!
Me: *Sulk*
Boy: I win!

He then tossed the paper at me. It’s a study guide for an upcoming test in power mechanics. *L* See? Don’t YOU wish you had (my) teenagers?!