All Hail the Bus Driver

Obligatory First Day of School Photo. I feel these facial expressions aptly foretold coming events.

When my older daughter was in early elementary school, I drove her to and from school each day as opposed to putting her on the bus. By the time the younger one was entering kindergarten, the older one -- then in second grade -- was chaffing for the tiny shred of independence provided by riding the bus to school. So I acquiesced, and packed them off to school on that gargantuan piece of yellow machinery.

Little Hadley came home that afternoon flushed and furious.

"That was TERRIFYING. The bus driver is a BUMPY AND TERRIBLE DRIVER! There were NO SEATBELTS!! She was RUNNING STOP SIGNS AND DRIVING SO FAST I COULD BARELY STAY IN MY SEAT!!! I will not ride the bus again. EVER."

Though Callie assured me it had not been quite the roller coaster ride dramatically described by her sister, Hadley's decision was final. Any attempts to put her back on that bus would end in child abuse allegations and hundreds of hours of therapy. I graciously accepted that her tender sensibilities were in direct opposition to the hardships she would face while riding group transportation, and queued back up in the carpool line for the remaining 6 years.

But folks, middle school would be different. She'd been toughened up by school trips (on chartered buses replete with air conditioning and facilities, but still), hardened by wandering the Atlanta airport (busiest in the U.S., natch) parking lot with her dad searching for a lost car for about an hour, and battered by a variety of illnesses, stitches and broken bones. Plus, her sister had been riding the bus to middle school for 2 years and threatened to disassemble anyone bothering her little sister.

So last Monday, we arrive at the bus stop 10 minutes early per Fulton County instructions. And I swear to you, right as we pull up, there's the bus ... lights flashing, stop sign out and doors open. As the girls ran toward the bus I hollered "make sure that's actually your bus!!!"

Yeah, apparently they didn't hear that suggestion, because about 5 minutes later I get a phone call. Before I even say hello I hear Callie say to someone "actually this is kinda funny" then to me "Uh, Mom. We accidentally got on the high school bus."

Let's recap: My 11 and 13 year old daughters were in the very back seat of a bus FULL OF HIGH SCHOOLERS and they were en route to the HIGH SCHOOL.

Sweet Mary in the heavens.

Then Callie says that while the bus driver spoke very little English (awesome), he kept repeating that he would be going to the middle school. Which he did indeed do, but only after taking a very circuitous route to the school, thereby prompting Callie to threaten to call the cops if he didn't PULL THIS BUS OVER SO MY MOM CAN GET US.

I only found out later that Hadley was already preparing to dial 911 if he didn't meet Callie's demands immediately. Thank goodness he stopped and picked up some kids they knew, otherwise I am pretty sure you'd have heard about us on the national news and how some kid in Atlanta caused an Amber Alert because she didn't like the route the bus driver took to her suburban school.

In the end, they arrived safely at school, on time and with a pretty funny story to tell.

That night at dinner I asked if they wanted me to just drive them in the morning.

Callie said "Seriously? Are you seriously asking that question?" Hadley just shot her eyebrows up to meet her hairline.

So if you're looking for me around 8:15 in the mornings, you know where I'll be. And it won't be at the bus stop.

The Last Day of Elementary School

After Spring Break I came to the equally delightful and horrifying realization that my baby was in her last few weeks of elementary school. I started sneakily snapping pictures as she was leaving for school in an attempt to chronicle the mundane, everyday task that was leading to this momentous event. The task that would cease forever, morphing into leaving for middle school each morning in August.

But all I turned out were these blurry images of her whisking away into her day. (This has nothing to do with the fact these images were taken pre-coffee, I am certain.) Grainy, unfocused, ghostly images chronicling the passage of time.

The images are a little like a fall day ... the ones where first thing in the morning when you step outside you can see your breath, just a little, but later in the day, you've long ago shed your sweater and you realize you're getting a little sunburn and  it seems like another lifetime when you proclaimed with slight shock "I can see my breath!"

I feel the same way about this week, about this child. Her last week of elementary school. My last child in elementary school. I feel 1,000 years old.

She's a ghost of the girl who when I took her to the kindergarten placement tests proudly proclaimed "I can read chapter books!" (She could, and I promise I did nothing to provoke this.)

A shadow of the kid whose kindergarten assistant teacher relayed (with much amusement) Hadley's story at share time, while the other kids talked about new shoes and soccer games, "this weekend my family is going to Knoxville for a football game ... but we really just go for the tailgating!"

Or when the same teacher found my child in the cafeteria having stabbed a Salisbury steak through the center and gnawing it around the edges like a gravy and meat popsicle. A phantom of the one who would burst with pride when she was the line leader, or had a speaking part in the play, or received a compliment from her teacher on excellent classwork.

But was it really that long ago? Seems like yesterday. Seems like forever.

Her older sister says "you're famous at middle school! Everyone knows you, even the teachers, even the boys, and they all LOVE you!" (I have a love/hate relationship with this comment.)

But then, somewhere inside the young lady who is now nearly as tall as me, resides that little kindergarten girl. Bursting with pride while doing the fifth-grade version of being the line leader as a member of Safety Patrol and student council. Performing on that same stage with 20 memorized lines in a Shakespeare production, or singing and dancing with her friends in the talent show.

And would you believe, that same kindergarten teacher ... the one who recorded her reading aloud and posted it online ... is one of her fifth grade teachers? And nearly caused that young lady to burst with pride and excitement just last week by complimenting her writing ability and encouraging her to grow this talent? Talk about full circle.

She may be taller. She may pack her own lunch to avoid cafeteria food requiring spearing. Now we share books, passing them back and forth and dissecting them later like a book club for two. I like to believe we're both older ... and wiser.

Let this be known: she can grow to be 6 feet tall and be the leader of the free world if she so chooses. Matters not. She will always be my baby, that little birdie with the bob haircut and big bow, the tiny Chiclets-size teeth and backpack full of well-worn Magic Treehouse books, saying "you know whaaaattttttt?" anytime she needed to buy a little time to fill the silence. (She still does this sometimes.)

It's the nice thing about being a mom. We may forget where we put the car keys, or to pick up the dry cleaning, but we never, ever forget our babies from when they were babies. Even when they do us the wild disservice of growing into lovely, independent young adults heading off to middle school.

Get ready world ... here she comes.

7 Rules for Kids on Instagram

I recently read a fantastic blog post written by a church youth group leader about Instagram. It's a very informative article with thoughtful advice on helping your kids guard against some prevalent pitfalls of  the photo-sharing website. (Read the original post here. For a very brief overview of Instagram, read this post.)

I have two daughters. Both will be in middle school in August. Both have Instagram accounts, as do the vast majority of their friends. But just like I wouldn't set them loose to babysit colic-ridden infant twins in an unfamiliar city without some thorough instruction, I definitely wasn't going to set them loose on the internet armed with a camera and the ability to type without providing some guidance.

Some of these tips I offered from the get-go, some we learned the hard way, and some I developed from plain ol' observation. This is certainly not a definitive list, but it has given us a common understanding on what's okay and what's not when it comes to Instagram.

Here are our Middle School Rules for Instagram (and really any social media. For that matter, life in general):

Make your account private. Only allow people you know to follow you, and do not assume just because someone is your follower that they are your friend. In fact, assume any 14-year-old girl you don't personally know who asks to follow you is actually a 54-year-old balding man with a protruding gut who smells of rancid bacon grease and wants help finding his lost puppy. In other words, run away screaming and let an adult know if someone you don't know tries repeatedly to befriend you online.

Never put anything in writing between midnight and 6 a.m. Here’s the thing: when you’re in middle school, the hormones are raging, you suffer occasionally from advanced stages of paranoia (“Is she looking at my hair? She hates my hair. My hair is terrible. Everyone in school thinks I am a loser because of my hair. I am SHAVING OFF MY HAIR THE MINUTE I GET HOME.”), and when in a group you can justify nearly anything being a good idea — almost all of which will be terrible ideas. Throw in a little sleep deprivation and you have a recipe for disaster. Give yourself the opportunity to make more thoughtful decisions after a good night's rest. Turn off that phone.

Ask Yourself: Would I Do This In Person? For example, would you sit at the lunch table and say "OMG, Becky! The party Friday was the BEST! Everyone had an amazing time! All the cool kids were there, and that boy you have a crush on? Totally there! Sucks that you were the only girl not invited. Must have something to do with your hair." Probably not. Good manners aside, you don't want to hurt your friend's feelings. So why would you post pictures that will do just that? Just because you can't see or hear the hurt doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It does. Obviously every single person can't be invited to every single social gathering, but be sensitive to how your pictures impact other people.

No sending subliminal messages. Before you post a picture, ask yourself "what's my intention?" Because if you are posting a picture with the caption "I Love You, Kate! You know how to be a true friend. Unlike SOME people," this is called being passive aggressive. Big no no. This includes the "feeling left out" and similar posts where your intent is to get someone to say "what's wrong?" Post fun, silly pics all day long ... but don't drag 500 followers into your tussle with a friend or your personal moping session.

Will this photo be remembered at my high school graduation ... in a bad way? These photos of adorable, gorgeous, innocent middle school girls displaying their latest gymnastics technique in a most unflattering way? Or the ones with a girl performing a back dive while wearing a bikini that with the tiniest provocation will likely be located at the bottom of the pool -- without them in it? Terrible ideas. While not overtly or intentionally inappropriate, trust me when I say you must make sure your photos aren't going to earn you the nickname "butt-cheek girl" or worse. These are not names you want to be remembered by come senior year.

Follow the "Would I Do This In Front of My Mom?" rule. If you wouldn't do something in a room with your parents, your principal or your preacher (for example, use foul language), then don't do it online (like post a picture with the F-bomb superimposed on top of the picture.) Because guess what? We're watching. Incidentally, if you wouldn't say "I think it's awesome when my friend Sam drops the F-bomb" in front of that same parental crowd, don't like Sam's F-bomb photo. Because guess what? I can see what pictures you like, and ... have I ever told you about guilt by association? Because that applies here.

If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. I know this sounds harsh. But here's the thing: there are people who won't use great sensitivity on Instagram. Most of the time it's unintentional. Unfortunately, there are a few who will use it like a virtual weapon, trying to make themselves feel better by making others feel bad. We can't control what other people post, but we can control how we interact on Instagram. If it is going to bother you to see pictures of others doing things without you, stay off Instagram. Instagram is sorta like a prescription: the doctor prescribes a medicine because the benefits outweigh the nasty side-effects, and if the side-effects aren't worth the benefits you change course. Same with Instagram. If you find it's more upsetting than it is fun, it's time to take a break until you're feeling more secure.

Have my kids skirted some of these rules? Yep. How do I know? Because in order to have an account, they have to let me follow them. And I check up on them regularly, usually every day. It's not because I don't trust my kids -- I do trust them. But I also know it's a heck of a lot easier as a kid to follow the rules if you know there will be spot-checks, course corrections, and consequences for missteps. So I shamelessly stalk them online, and remind them with the occasional "Love that cute picture you posted today!" or by correcting their grammar in the comments section. Which is met with universal disdain, but sure does give me the giggles.

Moms and dads: do you allow your kids to have an Instagram account? What are your rules for your kids when it comes to Instagram?

Friends

Something interesting has happened since my last post about middle school. I have received texts, emails, phone calls, Facebook posts and had real-live, face-to-face conversations (remember those?!) about one topic:


Mean girls. 


Though this topic isn't for girls only. Girls can be mean to other girls, they can be mean to boys, boys can be mean to girls and other boys, too. And it starts early these days -- well before middle school. Sometimes as early as second grade, sometimes even earlier.


This was supposed to be a quick, short post (ha! haha!), so I'll throw out a few things I've told my girls when they've come home upset:

• There are just people out there (children and adults alike) who just aren't very nice. I remind them this isn't about them, it's about whatever that person is dealing with that day, or in their lives in general. Sometimes that manifests as not playing nice with others. 
• Be kind without being a victim. 
• Know the difference between tattling and making an adult aware of bullying, whether the bullying is physical or verbal, or both.
• Understand that kindness breeds kindness, and the folks who are breeding the other stuff ... well, it catches up to them eventually.
• Not long ago someone said to me that a true friend makes you feel better about yourself, not the other way around. Be the kind of person who makes others feel better about themselves ... that catches up to you eventually, too.
• Remember, this too shall pass.

I know my kids aren't perfect. I am sure they have hurt other kids feelings, left other kids out, or stood by when they should have stood up for a friend. But I hope most of the time they think of how it feels to be on the other side and do the right thing.


What are your strategies for teaching your kids to deal with the not-so-nice kids? How do you teach your kids to be kind? 


The above photo is from the little house my husband built for the girls a few years ago. The "Friends" plaque was their decorative addition.