Hoo boy, since I last posted, I’ve been to Heck and back.  Not quite Hell, just the wrong side of Heck’s tracks.

OK, every once in a while I have to briefly mention the dark side of parenthood.  Currently, it’s my son, AKA Boy.  I know a lot of you can relate to some degree – he’s 14, probably bipolar and probably has a bit of Asperger’s.  In other words, he’s at a horrible stage in life, wildly emotional and even more socially awkward than I was at 14, not an easy feat at all, as I was all but paralyzed with social I’m-not-worthiness.

He started his Freshman year high school (School X – there was no time to switch him to Awesome School before the school year began) a couple of weeks ago and it’s been a rougher start than even we expected.  He knows nobody at the school and his rather extreme social awkwardness/anxiety overtook his very soul.  In short, he won’t go to any classes at all because he’s too freaked out to enter a room full of strangers.

SO.  You know how it is; one family member freaks out, everybody freaks out.  It’s been super freaky around here.  Don’t think I’m looking for pity;  we pride ourselves on our ability to function amidst chaos.

But there’s really GOOD NEWS, I hope.  School X is proving to be Awesome because they’re not giving up on the boy, they’re actually working with us to accommodate him.  THIS IS HUGE.  I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS SCHOOL DISTRICT.  We may end up with a highly creative way of getting the kid through high school that doesn’t involve home schooling.  Woo hoo!

In other news, our college Freshman daughter is, we think, adjusting quite well.  See, I went to college 600 miles from home, and being so on my own was a lot tougher than I expected.  Girl’s school is 6 miles away.  She lives in a dorm (single room – uh oh) but is able to come home on weekends to get a decent night’s sleep and a decent meal.  I LOVE this SO MUCH.  I’m not ready to kick my baby from the nest just yet.

She’s not quite ready to fly away yet, BUT.  She’s also only 6 miles from her boyfriend.  He has his own car.  She has her own dorm room.

I gave her a pack of condoms.

Oy.  Parenthood is Heck.

Can’t post today.  I’m moving my daughter into her DORM.  Her COLLEGE dorm.

My firstborn’s in college.  I can’t STAND it!

And I thought we were broke before.

More later.

While you guys shop for back to school supplies, I’m shopping for a new school.

I know!  Who thinks about changing their kid’s school three days before school starts?  Why me, of course, because clearly I need to inject a little extra drama in my family’s lives.

See, our son Ethan is in the Special Ed for Off-Kilter Kids school program.  No, that’s not its official name;  even Boulder schools aren’t THAT weird.

See, the special ed staff for at our local high school (Let’s call our high school “School X”) granted us an audience at the very end of last school year.  In a very rushed hour, they learned all about or incoming freshman son, and set up his class schedule.

Then they took off for the summer.

All summer I ruminated over how I’m not sure I like our high school’s Special Ed for Off-Kilter Kids staff.

This was made far worse when our son’s psychiatrist told me that he liked another high school in our district better for kids like our Ethan.  Let’s call this other school “Awesome School” because it really is THE shining star school in the district.  Our School X is #2.  Which bugs me because I only like the best.  Yes, I AM that much of a snob.

Anyhoo, the school district staff all came back to work a few days ago;  school starts this upcoming Tuesday (Eeeep!!!)

SO.  I set up a quicky meeting with Awesome School.  I liked them a lot.  Really, a LOT.

Dilemma time!  I’ve had to make a Pro & Con list.  Behold.

School X

PROS:

- It’s 3 minutes from home.

- It’s 3 minutes from home.

- It’s 3 minutes from home.

CONS:

- It’s not Awesome School.

AWESOME SCHOOL

PROS:

- It’s Awesome School.

CONS:

- Its head of Computer Sciences has 14 cats.

Looks like School X wins.

Yesterday’s comments got me thinking, which usually leads to trouble.  I loved all of  your comments and had to agree with them all, too.  But one comment reminded me of something I saw yesterday that freaked me out a little.  OK, a lot.

The Hotfessional wrote: My biggest beef lately with bras is that they ALL want to put me in a push-up. Really? Like I need my breasts up to my chin?

I should have such problems.

Anyhoo, this comment reminded me that I was shopping for even more bed accessories for my dear daughter’s dorm when, there they were, across the aisle in the girls’ clothing department.  Training bras.  OK, that’s normal, right?

Wrong-o!  All the teeny pre-teen bras are now underwired PUSH UP BRAS.

Push up bras for little girls.  Who have nothing to push up in the first place.

OY.  Never mind that American marketers keep upping the message that women should look like Barbie.

And never mind how differently young men and young women dress:  The guys look like they’re in The Big House, the babes look like they’re visiting the Playboy Mansion.

But please DO mind how the media sexualizes little girls.  Our daughters.

Please think of the underlying message when you shop for girls’ clothes.  Because you may be unconsciously teaching them values that perpetuate icky messages like the 1950’s underage upskirt ad below.  GAAAAAAA!

…And while I’m on the subject of scantily dressed women…

I just tossed all of my bras into the charity bin.   How un-recessionista of me, purging hundreds of dollars worth of perfectly good garments!  This is because, although I’d taken the sworn advice of not one but TWO alleged bra fit experts, none of the dang things fit or made me look hot.  Not even tepid.

Both brassiere-fit experts insisted vehemently that I’m a D cup.  One practically wrestled me to the ground until I begged for mercy until I purchased a couple of DD cup bras.  Despite being horrified that I could have achieve such insane busxomness, and being the idiot trusting soul I am, I invested in several gigantic-cupped bras.  And for the first time in my life, my firmly-supported boobies entered the room before I did.  This may be cool when you’re 25 but after that?  Can you say matronly?  Trust me, when you say that word about yourself, it hurts worse than a pointy steel underwire.

Long story short, I no longer care what the professional fitters’ tried and true tape measure formula says, I swim in D’s and don’t even get me started with the Double D’s!  I am a C cup, thank you very much.  May I add that I look infinitely better in a C?  I look hot, not fat.  My girls look 20 years younger.

The Recessionista Mama’s moral?  The classic measurement method doesn’t work for everyone.  If you’ve got a good sturdy rib cage like mine, the method may be off by an inch or two.  This means either or both your chest and cup sizes may be wrong.

SO.  Even if you hate bra shopping as much as I do, try on a variety of sizes close to the one you’ve been told you’re supposed to wear.  Yes, this means spending more time choosing styles and searching for sizes.

Yes, it means dealing with more of those hideous bra displays in which the straps get all tangled together on those hateful little plastic hangers.  Yes, I know you eventually get to the point where you just leave a hopelessly tangled rats’ nest of intertwined bras and hangers dangling from the rack.  It’s part of the process.

Yes, it means spending more time in that dressing room with the disturbing unidentifiable odor.

Yes, if you go to Victoria’s Secret, it means sending the 19 year old salesgirl who just quit her job at Cinnabon back to search for your size a dozen times, which will take hours but will seem like days. Then you’ll have to endure her off the mark opinions.  Trust me, she’ll always tell you that the most expensive bra looks best on you.

Buy bras that feel comfy from the start and look good under your clothes.

The whole point of buying bras is looking and feeling good about yourself, right?

Buy only bras you’re sure feel and look the way you want.

You’ll spend less and feel sexy.

Ahh. Gratification feels soooo good.