9th grade. May.

Tamarind:

The sophomores and juniors have a field trip to the biggest college fair in South Valley next week. I asked Miss Bliss if I could join them, even though I’m neither a sophomore nor a junior.

I told Miss Bliss that I’ve already made a list of my top 50 schools, and the fair’s only a couple miles away, and it’s not like one extra person would make a difference, and not all the 10^th and 11^th graders are going anyway. Shouldn’t HP encourage everyone to learn more about college, regardless of their chronological age?

It didn’t take as long to wear Miss Bliss down as I thought it would. She said fine.

“I’d rather have our school represented by a ninth grader who wants to be there than a tenth grader who doesn’t.”

I asked if Brimley could come along, too, which he doesn’t know about yet. Miss Bliss said if our parents wrote a note excusing us from class and signed the field trip permission slip, Brimley and I could go to the fair. My mother won’t have a problem with it, and Mr. and Mrs. Montague practically have Brimley’s lab coat and gavel picked out, so we’re as good as there.

Lilo:
My daughter is growing up fast. I was prepared to deal with dating and hormones and birth control at this stage. I did not expect Tamarind to act like a convict staging a prison break. She’s got three, actually two, years before she starts her applications, but every pore of Tamarind is screaming, “College now!”

I should be thankful one of my children wants to continue their education. The other is barely passing sixth grade.

Grover:

If my school had a field trip to a college fair, I’d be the first one on the bus. Anything to get out of class.

I have to do well on my finals. If I don’t, I might have to go to summer school, which sounds awful. Dealing with grumpy teachers while my friends play at camp? No way, man. After classes end in June, I’m not touching another book till August.

9th grade. April.

Tamarind:

So now I’m on the Math Team?

One of the members of Calculusaurus Rex got mono, so one of the alternates moved up, and Coach Taylor needed a new alternate and suddenly I’m wearing a denim blue polo shirt embroidered with a Spanish red dinosaur counting on an abacus.

Since it’s late in the school year, Coach said I probably won’t be in any of the matches, but my role is very important. I need to be prepared to step in at any time, even though there are two other alternates ahead of me. I met all the other Calculusauruses, and even though they’re older than I am, they’re super nice. And some of the tenth graders on the team are doing the South Valley Community College pre-college program this summer, so I’ll know people there.

Speaking of which, I went through a few phone interviews and one in person interview at SVCC for the jobs I applied to. I was waiting so long to hear back. I was worried that no one thought any of the skills I listed on my paltry resume would make me good enough to work for them. But someone finally offered me a job! I got hired as the Assistant File Clerk in the SVCC Admissions Office. I’m going to work really hard and be the best Assistant File Clerk they’ve ever had. I’ll only be working about three days a week total, but I’m excited.

Lilo:
How many organizations is Tamarind participating in now? Booster Club, Cinema Club, Yoga Club. Now the Math Team. Plus Food for the Spirit on the weekends. It’s too much.

Sometimes I wish my daughter would act like a normal teenager, hanging out aimlessly on the weekends.

And then I wonder why Grover won’t join any club that would have him as a member.

Never satisfied.

Grover:

Studying less does not work for me either. My grades haven’t gone down, so that’s good. But they haven’t gone up either, which was the point of my Orange book experiment.

I’m worried.

I looked at the Hennessey Park Middle School calendar, and I only have a few weeks before sixth grade ends. I need to figure this out.

9th grade. March.

Tamarind:

After many phone calls and discussions and bus maps, I’ve decided what I’m doing this summer. Well, somewhat. I’m taking two classes through the pre-college program at South Valley Community College: Algebra II (which will keep me on track to take my AP Calculus classes later) and Intro to Architecture (which will help me with my career). SVCC also has on-campus summer jobs, so I applied for a bunch of them. Now I wait and see if anyone wants to hire me.

I applied for some other jobs, too, based on their distance from Mom’s house or a convenient bus stop. So basically anything inside the boundaries of Hennessey Park. Our public transportation system is excellent as long as you want to travel within our small town. Mom and Dad said they would drive me wherever I needed to go, but they have their own real jobs during the week, so whatever I did would have to be on the weekend or weeknights. That might not work for whatever company decides to make me their employee. So I told my parents I’d come up with a plan and tell them what it was, so that I would not inconvenience them. I can take care of myself.

Lilo:
One of my friends told me about this book called Meeting Your Half-Orange, your media-naranja en español. It’s supposed to be like The Secret, except believable, and mostly about finding what you want in your life through the power of active attraction. You identify what you want, write it down, and tell other people about it. Then what you want finds you.

You can also make a dream board. I put pictures of the stuff I want in my life on my board. Better career. More money. Happy children. Gentleman caller.

Let’s see if it works.

Grover:

While Mom and Tamarind were out doing something boring last week, I read part of Mom’s Orange book. I’m not looking for a life partner, but I would like to do better in school.

One thing the book said I should try was doing less to achieve more. I can do less. A lot less. I can’t really do more. I do my homework and I study and I ask questions and I get Cs.

So, this month, for all my classes, I’ll do just enough to get by. Better grades, here I come. 

9th grade. February.

Tamarind:

I have to do something with my summer. When I met with Miss Bliss this week, she suggested I find an internship that matches my career goals.

Hmm.

After what felt like an hour of staring at each other silently, she asked me what my career goals were. I didn’t feel “None” was an appropriate answer, so I blurted out, “Architect?!” Miss Bliss asked what my experience was in the field, and I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Legos”, so “None” sufficed.

Miss Bliss handed me a folder that she “usually reserved for sophomores and juniors” filled with recommended summer opportunities for teenagers. She also reminded me that I had planned to take classes at South Valley Community College in June so that I could take all the AP courses I wanted to during the school year.

Oops. I had forgotten about that.

“Have you enrolled? How do you plan to fit a job or an internship into your schedule? And, presuming you won’t age two years and acquire your driver’s license in the next four months, what’s your transportation strategy?”

Uhhh…

Miss Bliss told me to look through the folder, which included contact information for the pre-college program at SVCC, and discuss the options with my parents. Then she’d meet with me again in two weeks and we’d work on my “game plan for success.”

I have so much to think about.

Lilo:

When my daughter told me she was looking for a summer job, I couldn’t help but wonder about my own career path. 

How did it meander so far off track?

Years ago, when one of my previous bosses was away on family leave, I took on many of her director responsibilities, even though I was a manager. Then after a layoff, I moved to another company, where I took a step down to an analyst position, but I kept my previous manager pay rate. Then when I decided to switch industries to work in sustainable energy, I took a lateral move to another analyst position. So now, almost two decades into my career, I have the years of experience of an SVP, the quality of experience of a director, the salary of a junior manager, and the title of someone who was just promoted from their entry-level position.

I need to change this situation.

Grover:

I got my third quarter grades. Dad doesn’t understand why I’m doing bad. Not bad. Just not good. Mom thinks it’s the school. Dad thinks it the divorce. Tamarind thinks I’m better at some classes than others, so I should focus on those. That’s not really an option in sixth grade. We don’t get to choose our classes.

I don’t know why I’m not smart this year. Is it because I’m eleven and I got smellier and hairier instead of intelligenter? More smart?

9th grade. January.

Tamarind:
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

That was the question I asked Zinnia and Brimley on New Year’s Eve. The three of us, and Grover, were spending the holiday together, just like we had since forever. Last year we were at Brimley’s house. It was the first time we didn’t have to be watched by a baby-sitter, as long as we took care of Grover, too.

This time, all four of us piled into Dad’s living room with our sleeping bags and snack bowls and watched balls drop on a bunch of different networks. Grover fell asleep early, as usual. He has never made it to midnight.

As fireworks exploded in Sydney, Hong Kong, Dubai, and Moscow for the fifth time on the screen, Zinnia told us what we already knew: she wanted to be a professional dancer.  “With a contemporary jazz company or in a stage show for an international DJ.”

Brimley responded with, “I want to be a doctor, maybe? But if I have to do more biology, I don’t know.” Brimley’s father is a doctor and his mother is a lawyer. Specifically, a cardiologist and a corporate attorney for mergers and acquisitions. Big words. They have plans for their son.

Then my friends expected me to provide my own answer. “I haven’t decided. I could be an architect. I liked making those Lego buildings. At least you have a hook, Zinnia: dancer. And Brimley, you have ‘doctor, maybe.’ I have, ‘kinda good at some things,’ which is unacceptable.”

“Why are you freaking?” Zinnia stuffed her face with kettle corn.

“I don’t stand out! I have to pick something.” 

“Because of the book?” Brimley asked.

Zinnia turned to him. “What book?”

I plucked my copy of How to Get into College from the bedroom and handed it to Zinnia, who was still poring through it when I fell asleep.

I woke up that morning to find Zinnia hovering over my face. Apparently, she had spent the rest of the night reading every page, because once my eyes had opened, she started flapping the paperback in the air, shouting, “How is anyone supposed to do this?”

Lilo:
Disappointing.

I wanted to enjoy the New Year’s Eve singles’ party. I really did. My friends looked like they were having a good time at the event. But it felt like everyone else was either trying too hard or not trying at all.

I should have maintained my low expectations for the night. For some reason, I had high hopes for a night-time affair with a group of drunken strangers on an overhyped holiday. I need to reevaluate my goals.

Here’s my new New Year’s resolution: stop pressuring myself to find someone new. From now on, I’m only going to attend singles’ events involving activities I’m actually interested in. No more random parties with hundreds of people I have nothing in common with, except our mutual lack of life-partners.

The next gathering for the unattached of Hennessey Park and its surrounding areas will be a cooking class. I like food and cooking it. Sign me up.

Grover:

I wanted to stay up till midnight. I really did. But I was so bored. Not by the TV celebrations. Those were fun. I like watching the people crammed like sardines in Times Square.

The boredom came from Tamarind and Brimley and Zinnia and their future talk. It put me to sleep. I usually like hanging out with my sister and her friends because they’re cool people. They don’t treat me like a little kid, like Zinnia and Brimley’s older sisters and brothers do.

I thought this would be the one night when Tamarind’s obsession with college would be contained. Instead, the infection has spread to Zinnia. Brimley will probably be next.

Why is Tamarind so worried about getting into a school that she’ll be going to three years from now? Like they won’t let her in? She’s great at everything. I’m the one who’ll be going to Clown College, if they’ll accept me. I can bring my own red nose.

9th grade. December.

Tamarind:
Thank goodness finals are over. One less thing to think about over winter break.

The plan is to spend the first part of the week with Mom through Christmas Eve, and then go to Dad’s apartment for Christmas and spent the rest of our vacation with him until school starts in January.

I didn’t come up with this plan. Mom and Dad did. I wanted to have a simple Christmas, but yet again, I’ll be moving from house to house. I thought about saying something, but I didn’t want to upset either of my parents; they’re more fragile than they look. So I stuffed my feelings, and I went along with their decision. As usual.

Though, I do like having two Christmas trees.

Lilo:
It’s Christmas Day, and Tamarind and Grover are gone. I took them to Jencks’s apartment this morning, and then I drove to Mommy and Poppy’s house to spend the rest of the holiday there. But I miss my children. After much internal deliberation, I decided to open up to my parents and tell them how I was feeling. They in turn told me about their first holidays without all of their children at home, when we’d moved away for school or for work or for relationships. I realized that this is a preview of letting go once Tamarind and Grover go to college and won’t live at home at all.

At least Mommy and Poppy had each other in their empty nest. I’ll just have me. Maybe it’s time to get out there and see what’s shaking. My friends keep telling me about singles’ mixers, even though half of them are married and living vicariously through my unattached life.

Fine. The next one’s scheduled for New Year’s Eve. No pressure.

Grover:

Dad says I have the Boxing Day Blues. I told him that with two homes and no chimney, there’s no point in believing in Santa anymore.

I thought that when your parents split up, you get twice the presents, because they are each trying to buy your love and make up for traumatizing you for life. Tamarind told me our parents were downsizing and I should make do with the generous gifts I received and some children don’t get any gifts and don’t have any parents. I told Tamarind I expected Mom and Dad to give us more stuff to make us like them more. How else can we decide who our favorite parent is?

Tamarind gave me a dirty look and told Dad she was going to hang out with Brimley and Zinnia at the Monkey Bar.

And why wasn’t I invited?

9th grade. November.

Tamarind:
Thanksgiving. The first real holiday we’ve had to split between parents. Wednesday and Thursday with Mom, and Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with Dad. This house rotation is not fun. I wish Mom and Dad could move from home to home instead of me and Grover. That’s the only bad part, though: living in two places, making sure I have duplicates of everything. Sharing a room with Grover at Dad’s apartment isn’t terrible, since it’s only on the weekend, and Grover usually falls asleep on the couch at night playing video games.

The good part is that my parents look happier than they have been in a while. At least Mom does. Dad looks a little lost. He’s lived in this apartment for over four months, but he’s not always sure where things are, or where they should be. Like where to put the cereal or the bread or the peanut butter. He asked me if they went in the cabinet or in the refrigerator. I told him Mom puts most stuff in the refrigerator so it doesn’t go bad as quickly, but technically those items could go in the cabinet. Then Dad shoved everything in the grocery bag in the refrigerator, even the canned peas, and he wandered into the living room to watch a sports documentary.

Thank goodness our grandparents came over on Friday. They brought food. At least it looked like food…

Lilo:
Last weekend, while my kids were away, I watched a marathon of Couponing to the Max. In an attempt to save money, I later decided to apply what I learned to the upcoming Black Friday. What was I thinking?  It’s like I watched a day’s worth of track and field and decided to compete in the Olympics.

On Thursday night, after Jencks picked up Tamarind and Grover, I reviewed my strategy for the next day, a meticulous itinerary designed to simultaneously stock up on bargains and take my mind off of not having my children with me for the rest of the holiday weekend. I asked my mother if she’d like to join my excursion. She vehemently declined, but my father eagerly invited himself along to function as backup and defense. I jokingly suggested he wear his old high school football jersey. Why was I surprised when number 86 showed up at my door at dawn, ready to feel the adrenaline rush?

                                                                                                 

I had big goals for Black Friday, involving six different department stores and over 100 coupons, including combinations of offers that allowed me to either acquire items for free or get paid to take them out of the store. I also knew that if I was going to do this, I couldn’t become a hoarder, primarily because I didn’t have enough space in the townhouse to create a stockpile like the couponers on the show.

Poppy and I started at the grocery store around the corner. That is also, coincidentally, where we stopped. I didn’t realize how exhausting accumulating all those items could be, especially when fellow customers were elbowing us out of the way. Couponing cuts five hours worth of bargain hunting into a 22-minute episode. I lasted about an hour and half before I wanted to collapse. Poppy put up a good fight, but he had no objections to returning home early.

After we organized two shopping carts worth of boxes and bags and cans and bottles into my kitchen cabinets, I took a well-deserved mid-morning nap on the couch while Poppy attempted to take in a smattering of college bowls on the TV. When I woke up around noon, the LACal Coyotes were leading the NorCal Sea Lions 28 to 6 (Go Coyotes!). Poppy was knocked out on the loveseat, imitating a buzz saw.

I went to the kitchen, baked one of the 10 frozen pizzas I’d purchased for 50 cents each, and ate a steaming slice over my sink full of dirty dishes.

It was a good day.

Grover:

Two Thanksgivings means two days of eating. That’s what I had planned, anyway. Thursday was turkey, ham, yams, lumpia, green beans, pumpkin pie, enchiladas, cornbread, roast pork, and adobo with mostly Mom’s side of the family. I had never called them that before because we used to have one big party at Grammy and Grampy’s house since it held the most people in the yard and everybody was everybody’s family. Now that Mom and Dad aren’t together anymore, not as many people showed up, and the ones who did looked uncomfortable around Mom.

Friday was not what I had expected either, but for a different reason. Our grandparents on Dad’s side brought what I thought was another full Thanksgiving meal, and I was ready to chow down. We opened the containers, and all the food looked normal and smelled normal. But when I ate it off my plate, it tasted blech. Abuelito said something about cleansing his colon, so all the dishes he and Abuelita cooked were either low-cholesterol, low-sugar, low-fat, vegan, or raw. Raw? How do you cook raw food? They didn’t bring any sushi or sashimi, so what were they feeding us?

When I asked our grandparents why they couldn’t have made the new stuff and some of the old stuff, too, Tamarind told me to stop complaining because this was a healthier way to eat. I noticed she didn’t finish her kale and quinoa casserole or her gluten-free apple pie. Neither did Dad. I bet all the leftovers will still be in the refrigerator when we visit next weekend.