The Idol Finale Party: All Are Welcome

BioMom and Seven are hosting a neighborhood "Idol Finale" party.

Note that I said "they".

Once she got the "go ahead" from BioMom about the party she started dreaming up the invitations, who she would invite, the dress code, etc. etc.

On the way to school yesterday BioMom had a serious heart-to-heart with her about how they were only going to be able to invite a few people from the neighborhood; our house is small, pizza is expensive, etc. etc. This conversation was in response to the enormous list of girls, teachers, and school administrators that Seven had planned to invite to the soiree that day.

BioMom: We can invite those girls individually for play dates instead if you would like.
Seven (brushing this off): Okay. . . Okay. . .

Yesterday afternoon, Big and I walked up to Seven's school (I refer to it as Hogwarts as it has a castle-feel to it) to pick her up. As she packed up her backpack, I noticed a large number of hand-made cards and a list of about twenty people, several of whom had checks by their names.

Me: What's that?
She: Oh, its a list of people I've invited to the party!

That night BioMom had planned on bribing the kids with fast Greek food and an ice cream in exchange for spending a little time at the local gardening shop. On the way there, BioMom explained to Seven again, that the party would remain open to only neighbors. Seven was in tears. She had, as suspected, invited all of the girls in the first grade in addition to her teachers, several students from other grades and a few administrators to the "Idol Party". BioMom talked about calling all of the parents and explaining the situation. Seven bawled: Can't I just have a FEW people from school? This conversation went on for a good 45 minutes.

We spent too much time at the gardening store and had two kids-on-the edge slurping small vanilla cones in the back seat of BioMom's car as she did all she could to control herself watching Big's car seat turn white as the ice cream dripped all over his chin and fist, and onto his lap.

Seven, on the other hand, recognizes the inherent value on the DQ cone, unwilling to let any escape her clutches, licked and sung unrecognizeable songs to herself as we wound our way around the lake to our house. At one point we heard her announce (possibly to herself):

Mrs. Picard's coming to my Idol Party!!!!!

BioMom and I looked at each other with exclamation points above our head.

Apparently one's short term memory worsens as one approaches the pre-teen years.

The Permanent Record

I found myself, the other day, playing the "permanent record" card with Seven.

Sometimes you literally can't believe the things you hear yourself saying to your kids.

She was the Queen of Dawdletown on Tuesday.

I usually try to sneak out in the morning and head to the Y for a little workout before the day gets going. By the time I return (around 7:30), Seven and BioMom are (usually) well on their way toward heading to the car and to their respective destinations (school and work).

Tuesday, however, by 7:30, Seven was still upstairs, in her jammies, reading in the rocker next to our bed despite several reminders from BioMom about school, breakfast, being late, etc.

I took a shower, pointedly not stepping into the fray, thinking that she would face the natural consequences of her actions: being tardy for school.

At 7:40, she had just decided to meander her way down the stairs, apparently unaware of the time-space continuum, a constraint faced by most mortals on this planet.

Me: Do you know that you are most certainly going to be late to school today?

She: (ignores me completely).

Me: Do you know what that will mean?

She: It's no big deal. We just go to the office. Ms. [First-Grade-Teacher] does't care if I'm late!

Me (in the voice of the Peanuts Adults): Bwah Bwah, Bwah Blah Blah PERMANENT RECORD Bwah.

We sent an email to her teacher yesterday asking her to gently remind Seven of the importance of punctuality. She gave her a "homework assignment" to try to get dressed and ready as quickly as possible.

The best laid plans. . . .

She was up at 5:30 and then again at 6:30, ready to get ready. Needless to say, that teacher owes me a double-latte.

Last night our performance-conscious Seven wanted to clarify with me this concept of a "permanent record." You know, the whole, be late now, don't get into good high school, don't get into good college, be miserable-for-life, thing?

She asked: What if I don't get into a good college?

Me: You'll be really happy and have a fantastic life no matter what college you go to and even if you're tardy.

She: Expresses relief.

Tardy, schmardy.