The moms weren’t fooling anyone. As the bus carrying their children drove away, some of them let out a cheer. Three child-free days! Yeah, right. The moms were fighting back tears, some of them unsuccessfully. Dads, of course, don’t cry; they just have panic attacks.
The Grade 6 class was on their way to Quebec City and Tadoussac, which is far enough away that in some parts of the world it would be another country.
“Mom! I’m homesick. I want to come home!”
“I’ll come get you.”
Nuh-uh. Not this time. Our children were gone, in the care of their teachers who with this single trip proved their dedication to their profession and their unmitigated masochism.
Putting our children in the hands of others for short periods is a rite of passage, especially when they’re this age, on the verge of adolescence and high school. They’re growing up. Yet, there is no getting over the fact that they are still quite the dummies. And I say that with great warmth in my heart.
“I’m a tween,” announced Abby who turned 12 the day she left for her class trip. If ever there was an age that needed a nonsensical made-up word, this is it. Abby announced it proudly. Really, though, it’s nothing to be proud of. There’s nothing pretty about tweenhood.
Exhibit A: This past weekend, Abby hosted her birthday party, and by “hosted” I mean “basked in the glow of attention, cards and sugar.” My wife and I reached the consensus that this would be the last of the by-invitation birthday parties in our house. Once you hit 13, you become too cool and/or self-conscious and/or angsty for parties. Somehow the girls at Abby’s party seemed to sense this. They partied like it was their last.
In other words, they screamed.
They screamed like it was their vocation.
Little girls giggle and squeal. Tweens shriek. They shriek like they’re being paid.
“ABBBBBYYYYYYYYYYY!!!” For no reason at all.
About an hour into the party, I watched our neighbours get in their car and drive away, destination: didn’t matter. I was a little jealous.
One minute the girls were running around pretending to be princesses and goddesses of varying aptitudes and domains, the next they were chasing some boys who just happened to walk by the house. (Coincidence? I think not.) They had fresh polish on their nails and cake frosting in their hair. Did I mention the screaming?
It’s a confusing time – I mean for the parents.
Now that she’s 12, Abby has permission to shave her legs. Sunday morning, our eldest daughter taught her how to manage it. (A touching moment, and hopefully one that involved learning the words to “Nobody Knows the Stubble I’ve Seen…”) Leg-shaving, I gather is a big deal, a big responsibility, and (as I’m sure she’ll soon find out) a big pain in the butt.
I mention this only to contrast with the phone call I got on the first night of her trip, which went something like this:
“Dad? Ummm, Fanny was on the bus and, well, she dropped her camera? And then it got kicked, yeah, umm, it got kicked around a bit? On the bus? And the pictures she took today disappeared, and then there were pictures that she didn’t take that showed up? And it’s her mom’s camera and she’s worried? And… [muffle, muffle, muffle] Oh wait, never mind, her pictures showed up again. I should go because this isn’t my phone. So, bye! Love you!”
As I write this, those children are probably on a rickety whale-watching boat with low gunwales, moderately supervised by exhausted teachers. Now do you understand why the moms at the bus might be anxious?
Sometimes I think we expect too much of our kids. Abby alone, with her severe dietary restrictions, has to keep track of all her food and medication for three days. She can barely keep track of her shoes. How on earth can we send them off to high school? How on earth are they going to manage? More to the point, how are we?
I would not want to be a tween again. I’m not sure if tweens existed in the seventies, but regardless, it sounds horrible. Then again, if you’re going to make mistakes, what better time to do it, when you can still crawl on mom’s lap and buy into the assurance that everything will be okay. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always screaming.
Drinking Tips for Teens 
The camera kicked around on the bus is a lovely little scene – nice one Ross! Good inflections right?
OMG totally?
I can totally understand why you’d be nervous about Abby – but I bet she’ll surprise you! I’m always surprised at how much my kid can actually DO on his own when he doesn’t have to fake it in front of his parents (so that WE’LL do it). And you don’t have to tell me about shrieking girls – my neighbor teaches Saturday morning art classes in her house and it’s typically 6 girls of varying ages (7-11) who shriek for 3 straight hours. My son is mortified that I would even suggest he go next door and draw. It’s even worse when you put said girls into the pool – it turns up the frequency and volume of shrieking.
There was definitely a pool involved. And a trampoline (the aforementioned neighbours’; I won’t have those paraplegic-makers in my yard). And water guns.
Oh god – that’s SHRIEKING CITY
I remember the tween years. Not fun. Loved the line, “they screamed like it was their vocation”, and I think you captured the feeling of that last by-invitation birthday party perfectly.
Later on, though, those parties go from being, “How much sugar did you have?” to “How many rum-and-cokes did you drink?”
Oh boy, you think the Tweens are bad? sigh…I’m not saying a word. Just wait until…no no. I am nostalgic about all the screaming-that’s all I’m saying.
My other kids are 17, 19 and almost 22… 🙂 So I hear ya!
My dog likes to bark, so I kind of get where you’re coming from with the shrieking. Probably not a great comparison, but it’s the best I can do. Happy 12th Birthday to Little Miss Ross Jr.
It is, actually, because in both cases there’s not a hell of a lot that you can do about it. Humane things, anyway.
“If ever there was an age that needed a nonsensical made-up word, this is it.” Perfection.
Just you wait…
ZOMG! I read this post and was “EEEEE!” and then I was all “Whoa!” and then at the end it was all “AAAAAAAA!”
NGAAAAAAAAAGHHH!!!!
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