At the ripe age of 55, many parts of my brain do not fire up with the alacrity easily summoned in my youth. Of course, I can no longer mow the (large) lawn without staggering into the house afterward and reaching for over-the-counter pain relief, either, but that's another story for another day.
I will start my rant/musings by stating that my daughter and I are very blessed that she attends a magnet school of the arts. The sight of her one classroom - wide expanses of work tables, easels scattered about, and the shelves bursting with paints and brushes is a joy to behold. If I were 8 inches shorter and sporting a few less wrinkles and errant gray hairs, I'd creep into that class, snatch up a canvas, and paint the entire day.
Darling daughter is also taking a design class this year - a clothing design class. At the start of the school year, I was ecstatic. Her teacher, while tough, is excellent. So, when Jennifer announced that her assignment was to design a fantasy character costume, which would eventually be created, I was thrilled. Our house is awash in fabric and embellishments. Jen sketched an outfit she deemed "The Ice Cream Princess" - delightful, feminine, colorful, and fun. When the formal announcement to begin sewing came, I was confident that the assignment would be a breeze for her.
I was wrong.
On a Saturday evening, as we were in the car, Jen piped up, "Did I tell you that Ms. G. wants us to make the Ice Cream Princess costume?"
"No," I replied, "When is it due?"
"On Thursday." Jen answered.
Though I could hear my voice escalating in parental panic, I couldn't stop myself. "NEXT Thursday???" I quasi-shrieked.
"Mom - the car windows are open. And, yes, it's due next Thursday."
Perfuming the interior of the car with exasperated, and occasionally profane utterences, I drove us back to the house and sprinted inside. It was Saturday evening. Goodbye to Sunday's planned lawn work and ibuprofin - hello STRESS.
Everything we needed to construct the costume was to hand. By Sunday evening, the costume was 75% completed. I was silly enough to imagine a little leisurely sewing on Monday evening, as I fed my intellect by speculating on the next elimination on "Dancing With The Stars".
I was wrong.
On Monday afternoon, my daughter hopped off the bus and into the car, eyeing me warily. "Um, there's been a change with the costume."
I glanced at her, but didn't comment. Jen's voice took on the rapid, breathy, I'll-deliver-the-bad-news-all-at-once tone. "Ms. G. says that she doesn't think all the kids will be able to get the costume done by Thursday, so she changed the assignment. She said we now have to do the tee shirt design project."
Mind you, the tee shirt project also existed only on paper. Taking a deep breath, I sought clarification, "And when will the tee shirt project be due?"
"Um, this Thursday." The same day the Ice Cream Princess costume was originally due.
Again, the ride to the house, and another mad dash inside to paw through fabric. I couldn't tell who danced to what that evening on "Dancing With The Stars", or who should've been voted off. I cut fabric and Jen stitched and stitched until our eyes were pink with exhaustion and we collapsed into bed. By Tuesday evening, as someone left DWTS, the shirt was completed.
On Wednesday, Jen got off the bus, and hopped into the car. Same wary look on her face. Same breathy voice. "Um. Ms. G. says it doesn't look like everyone will be able to get the tee shirt project due either, so she pushed the due date out until next Monday."
Too tired to drum up any significant emotion, I tonelessly asked, "And the Ice Cream Princess costume? Is that now due Monday, as well?"
"No, she hasn't said when that will be due." Jen replied. "but since my shirt is done, Ms. G. thinks it would be nice for me to wear it to the Art Gallery opening at the school tomorrow night."
This is where I go on record by admitting I am a bad mother. I should be proud of my daughter for taking her assignments so seriously and for striving to meet assignment deadlines. My daughter's wearable art was praised...deemed good enough to be proudly worn to school. Yet all I could think of was the hope I would not run into Ms. G. and indulge in rude commentary about her capricious deadlines for projects.
Fortunately, I did NOT see Ms. G. at the art gallery. Jen got an "A" on the tee shirt project. The still-75%-completed Ice Cream Princess costume is languishing in a closet, as we are now in the throes of the annual, and much-loathed Science Fair project.
But I have a sneaking suspicion Ms. G. is about to push my Extreme Cursing Button very soon. Yesterday, Jen got off the bus, hopped in the car, gave me a wary glance, and piped, "Ms. G. had made a few suggestions for changing the Ice Princess costume."
"Yes?" I queried.
"She thinks it would look really great with some fake fur around the neck, and to add some leggings."
&$!@*#, oh, I mean, stay tuned...
