Why isn’t anyone else wearing puffy sleeves?

Well, it happened. I registered my first-born for high school today (even though I’m only 23, so that was awkward.) I’m not sure either of us was completely ready for it.  While I silently pondered questions like, “Am I hotter than at least 75% of moms?” and “Could maybe one person mistake me for a high-schooler if I had on sunglasses and they only caught me out of the corner of their eye?” Henry was having an epiphany. “Mom, I’m like 3 years away from moving out of our house. How do you be an adult? Like, how do you write a check? How do I know if this chair goes with the other furniture?”

We snaked through the lines and paid for activities, a yearbook, PE clothes, a locker (wtf, we have to PAY for a locker?) and loaded the lunch account. I followed Henry as he ran upstairs and down between the two main buildings that comprise Boise High, high-fiving and bro-hugging along the way.

I have to admit, I was back there for a minute. It’s all way too familiar, ya know? The cheerleaders with their big bows and too-tan legs, the goofy greeter from student council with green braces, acne, and a shocking level of self-confidence, the earnest girl handing out flyers for the BHS environmental club.

So, in honor of the wonderful misery that is high school, and the fact that it’s #tbt, I give you ALL THE HOTNESS.

Clearly left and right me had to move over to make room for the sleeves of middle me. (That my date is obviously crushing, how dare you, sir! There is NOT room on the porch for my dress and you at the same time.)
Clearly the left me and right me had to move over to make room for the sleeves of middle me. (One of which my date is obviously crushing…how dare you, sir!  I’m sorry, there is NOT room on the porch for this dress and you at the same time.)

My genuine hope is that Henry will experience all the trials and tribulations I did; the good, bad, fun, ridiculous, embarrassing, empowering, and memorable, so that three years from now he will have the life-experience to go out on his own with confidence (and know that OBVIOUSLY that chair doesn’t belong in this room.)

Carry on, my wayward son
Carry on, my wayward son