Slippers, Homecoming and all that junk: An introduction to high school

I haven’t posted in such a long time, and I’ve been trying to plumb my little spirit to figure out why. Perhaps the combination of adolescent outrage at uncurated photos and news about them shared; a sense that the inside of my mind is like a swirl cone from the rundown boardwalk ice cream shop and sometimes I can’t think straight; living back on plain old home territory rather than a novel overseas landscape; when I’m working, it’s impossible to find space in the day or night to think another thought, even one as small as a half paragraph; and having quick ways to share news and photos on my phone ensure I have a lifeline to my parents, daughter and loved ones already…these obstacles conspire to stop me from pausing to gather my thoughts and share them. I need to seat myself in a mindful-moment corner and stay put. However, sharing the inside of the melting swirl cone may be a reckless idea because I can no longer provide any quality assurance.

Regardless, the end of the year always provides a good nudge to pause, reflect and look foward. So in that spirit, I will try to take stock of this year in this and a few subsequent posts, sharing events and changes to our lives in no particular order. I’m reading “Junkshop Window,” a collection of essays by family friend James Patterson, and love the idea of pulling out the junk, dusting it off and seeing whether any of the rubble might be treasure–or might be considered treasure later. I see my kids pouring over our printed collection of old posts from when they were little to reconstruct disappearing memories and construct their identities. Maybe a sporadic review of the year through a rear view window will help them remember this transitional year.

A key transition for all three of our pigs, as their aunt and uncle presciently called Tatum, Finn and Clara, was the move to new schools. Naturally, they continue in three different schools just to vex their mother. Boutique school shopping…it’s appalling, but here we are. It’s like it’s as ordinary as deciding between cheese grits, heuvos rancheros or yogurt parfait for breakfast. I can’t believe we became one of those families. For the record, we never intended that, it just kind of unfolded that way.

It seems like two of three of the pigs are happy in their boutique mud, metaphorically speaking, and one less so. Tatum is in 11th grade at a boarding school a couple hours from home, close enough to have overnight or weekend stays and far enough to have all the independence and social time that boarding school provides, which is fabulous. There’s a high proportion of international students at the school, including a roommate from Gautemala, and that makes us all feel right at home. Tatum has a pretty serious courseload included pre-calc, physics and AP world history, and it seems to suit her well. She’s on the volleyball team and I’m grateful I’m not required to drive her to Connecticut or Calcutta for games, like some of my friends have to do.

Finn continues at his small private school but moved from the middle to the upper school, which brings new responsibilities and freedoms. New responsibilities include more demand for time management and self-advocacy skills; new freedoms include a more infrequent requirement to be in school uniform. Homecoming this weekend shines a light on the hilarious, painful awkwardness of uneven maturity levels at the start of high school. Some kids are not ready to go at all–why stand around in too-tight dress shoes when you could be watching a Marvel movie at home with popcorn at the ready?–some are going with a date, and some are going in the amorphous pack that provides the cover of anonymity. It’s good to see the kids don suits and dresses, usually reserved only for Bar Mitzvahs or Christmas Eve services.

Clara and her friends tend to wear sweats and slippers to school, the opposite of getting dressed up. Yes, slippers. It seems that in the post-COVID era, many adults are just so surprised and happy to see teenagers standing upright and in public that all pretense of a dress code is being politely overlooked. It’s slightly disconcerting that Clara think that’s something more than pajama pants is getting “dressed up” for church. However, the public school system’s shrug at the pajama pants and slippers approach is better than the “you’re good as long as you’re genitals are covered” approach of Tatum’s previous private school. (For the record, by slippers, I mean extremely overpriced Uggs, which are the status symbol of choice in this high-end catchment area. We balance this with nothing by thrift shop clothes from ankle to head.) Clara is getting almost all As, math being a small exception, and has plenty of friends, but I have never once heard her be glad to go to school, alas. She would rather clean the bathrooms while dressed up than go to school, it seems.

Having three high schoolers is a new chapter indeed. I would take it over three middle schoolers any day of the week, even as a slightly embassed boutique school shopper.