gratidue-a-thon day 424: the retroactive freak or “wake me up when it’s all over” (thanks jocelyn)

 

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Yesterday was the last day of school for Ally. Sophomore year is AP history and we’re gearing up for the acutely important junior year,  featuring a tour of campuses throughout the stratosphere, endless SAT prep, and general pre-college mayhem, stress, and mental institution-worthy insanity. Ally chose to celebrate by going to an Avicii concert with about half of BHS. They chose USA themed apparel (because, I don’t know why), and made four plans for rides home in case any one of them failed. And in a red dress, high top cons, and a fanny pack (NEWS FLASH, THEY’RE BACK IN) she was off.

If you’re a parent of a younger kid, you are probably wondering how I can so cavalierly allow my daughter to head to TD Garden in downtown Boston, to see a band, and possibly get her hydration from something stronger than a Poland Spring. Well, here’s the thing: when you have an almost 17 year old, you have to let go a little. It’s just part of the imaginary rule book you get when you sign on to have a teenager. It grows on you, this letting go, and it doesn’t often come without concern, a panic-y feeling of understanding how crazy folk lock kids in closets, and a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach for the entire length of time your child is not in your house, but if you know your kid,(and btw, we had a comprehensive talk about safety before she left)  which I feel like I do, you have to let go, and as they say in AA, let God. Which if you’re not religious, which I am not formally, really translates to, let go, and fucking hope that you’ve taught your kid enough to drink responsibly.

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Now, Peter might fall asleep on the couch, but he always waits up for the kids. Miss Beauty Rest, here is out like a light around 10 ish. Maybe it’s because I know he stays up, or maybe it’s because I’m exhausted by then, or maybe it’s because I really know I can’t do anything and worry causes wrinkles, but I go to sleep. And last night, while Peter and I were catching up on Orphan Black, cursing Jake for not having installed the downstairs air conditioner (no we don’t have central air, and don’t remind me, because i want to sue the universe for this. Me and my love for old houses–pffft) and sweating like marathon runners, we both fell asleep on the couch–a hot mess. I declared my trip up the stairs to the air conditioned bedroom, and very unlike Peter, he followed and fell into a heap of sleep within seconds. All of which is to say that we both were sleeping like babies by 9 ‘O clock. I did, however, hear Ally come in, somewhere in there, her red dress swirling in the hallway, so I knew she was home.

This morning I woke up to several Facebook messages wondering if Ally was alright, telling me about the “headlines.” I ran to her room and woke her up, at 6:30, thank you, and she mumbled something about a bunch of people being dehydrated, drunk and doing drugs, but she was just fine. “That’s Avicii,” she said. When I inquired about whether it was fun, she yelled, “SO FUN,” and fell back to sleep. I ran to the computer and read the stories.

I am retroactively freaked out. All the freak I didn’t feel last night because I was sleeping, I am feeling now. But better retroactively freaked, right? Grateful Ally and her friends didn’t end up in a hospital last night. That would really look bad on a college application (although it could make a good college essay topic, hmmmmmm–crap, did I really just think of that–it’s junior year alright).

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