So, Emily the cutie (that is her official name), started her junior year at college today on the same day that people around here are posting their adorable first-day-of-school-kid pictures.



And I miss her and worry about her CONSTANTLY because that's how I am.

But, anyway, I found this old Livejournal post from December 2005, from my first month blogging, from when people actually commented on my blog and I actually knew everyone who did. All very weird.


My daughter wants to quit sixth grade.

Yesterday, as a result of a student rep meeting, the school stopped serving cookies.

Em, my daughter, said at the student rep meeting that it seemed strange to her that the school sells cookies for a quarter and salad for a dollar, when there’s this big “Healthy Eating Campaign.” She said it made it easier for rich kids to eat healthy. She said buying a cookie is more convenient than no more salads.

The principal wrote in the minutes, “Kids question cost of healthy food vs cookies.”

The cook read it, thought, “They want no snack food. I’ll get rid of the cookies.”

She did.

Now. there are no more cookies. Now, there is no more ice cream. Not Em’s intention. Nor did she know it was happening. She likes cookies. She loves ice cream. She just doesn’t eat them all the time.

So, yesterday, a mean eighth grader named Sebastian spent all of recess running around demanding to know whose fault it was. Someone said Em mentioned something about cookies at a rep meeting. Sebastian with an ever-growing gang of followers found some of Em’s friends and surrounded them.

“Do you know Emily?” they demanded. “Where is she?”

“She’s in Mr. Stackpole’s room, working on an essay.”

The bell rang. Three eighth grade boys sprinted for Mr. Stackpole’s room, where ring leader, Sebastian yelled in Emily’s face, “There are no cookies! There are no cookies! Bitch!”

Em had no idea what he was talking about. She tried to ignore them. They didn’t stop. Her classmates filtered in.

“You took our cookies!” Sebastian screamed.

Em gave in, looked up at the face of a big eighth grade boy, who easily outweighs her by a hundred pounds and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yes, Em does say sentences like that. I hear them all the time, especially when I ask her if she’s ready for school.

So, the boys leave when the teacher comes. Em is filled in about the cookie thing. All the 7th and 8th graders are angry at her. The principal talks about it at the honors banquets. Emily, really, really, really does not want to go to school again.

“I’m afraid of eighth grade boys,” she tells me this morning. “I’m really afraid of them.”

“That’s okay,” I tell her.

“Is that what men are like?” she says. “I think I’m afraid of men.”

I nod. “Not all men. Not all boys. Not all people are like that. Girls are mean too, right?”

“Yeah,” she says and stares out the window, “But boys are so big.”



And as I'm reading this post, I'm sort of wondering how this event helped shape Emily into the awesome person she is today. How awesome?

1. She could be my body guard.
2. She goes to Harvard and has a super-high GPA but she is still nice and not pretentious.
3. She still thinks healthy choices should be as inexpensive as not-so-healthy choices

I am proud of her, so super proud of her. Not because she is strong or smart, but because she has so much integrity and so much will, because she battles it out in crappy situations and doesn't publicly lose her cool. I am proud of her because she is such a warrior. And I really can't wait until she doesn't have any more first-days of school. I think she can't wait either.

Two more years, Em. Unless you go to graduate school. Maybe take a gap year, okay?