For parents of high school seniors, we’re in the home stretch of high school life. We know by now what universities our kids are going to, we are relieved that we know and now we’re trying to figure out how to pay for that college education (can you start a Kickstarter fund for college? asking for a friend.) As adults, we can laugh off college, knowing for so many of us, college is just four more years of education, of more money that you owe just as you’re trying to set up your next-chapter life and how it looks like you will have to survive on ramen noodles in your on golden pond years the way you did when you were undeclared. But beyond all this worry, there’s this: the panache of Senioritis. Now that I know where The Teenager is going to college, and now that she’s completed the final requirement of a senior in her own high school (performing in a full length play, which she did in You Can’t Take It With You, the classic Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman farce about an eccentric loving family), I am fully in Senioritis mode. I didn’t go to parent-teacher conferences; why do I need to listen to another adult tell me about my child? I stopped reading the weekly emails from the school; I just DGAF. “With Spring Break coming up next week, why bother go to school today? Just sleep in! ” Yes, those words came out of my mouth! I didn’t have Senioritis when my daughter was in middle school and was graduating; I had, and still do, so much reverence for its administration, and its teachers, I was almost sad she had to leave to go to high school. And yet, here I am, only four years later, completely infused with Senioritis, counting the days until The Teenager graduates this high school, until she’s free to do whatever she’s planning to do this summer, until it’s time to move into that dorm room on the Boston Commons. The irony of course is that The Teenager does not have Senioritis; her grades continue to be stellar and she continues to care. Unlike her Mama, the Senioritis-infused slacker.
Senator Patty Murray: “”I watched and I wondered, ‘Who exactly is speaking for me?'”
Chrissy Metz: “I vow to stop being a martyr. I’m not saying I won’t choose my battles, I have to be willing to put myself first when the moment is right.”
Nell Scovell: “I would always get frustrated at myself because eventually, in my case, I did get hired again, and I would look back and say, “Why didn’t I make better use of that time?””
On the women who raised our children.
On Stormy Daniels.
And now have a laugh with Sasheer Zamata.