Educational Anarchy: Musings of a Homeschooling Mom: For My BFF Amy

Yes, I have a BFF. We became friends in the third grade when, after I was kissed by the captivating, bespectacled redhead Danny Noe at the top of the curly slide during recess which resulted in my life and limb being threatened by the bully Libby Mellinger, she saved me and immediately we became inseparable. Her name is Amy, and I love her like a sister.

I was thinking about all the things we have done in our lives, and how she is the only one who gets why I am funny (everyone else actually believes I want my husband to die. I don't, really, at least not until the estate gets a little bigger). She is now the lovely mother of 4 wonderful children, and also homeschools (though she is not rebellious like I am). We both lament our messy homes and lack of free time, but ultimately really like our children and want to be with them.

In youth, we were forever trying to be popular. Amy coined this phase "our never-ending quest for popularity". I am sad to report the quest just sort of faded, and neither of us reached the pinnacle of social success. Our biggest attempt included choreographing and performing an alluring dance (with 3 other friends) to "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang in the 5th grade talent show. She, the more realistic of the two of us, knew that if anything we'd become less popular. I, the one who is perpetually embroiled in unrealistic fantasy to this day, envisioned Queen Bee Christy Metzing asking us to teach her and the other popular kids the dance at recess and taking us into their fold. Since Amy is infinitely smarter in all ways, our social stock did indeed plummet.

But we always had fun. I loved going to her house, because her mom was a great devotee of Hostess snacks. I don't believe there was ever a time that the pantry wasn't well-stocked with Crumb Cakes. Once, we buried an old lipstick in her yard, and we tortured her brother, who to this day speaks only in grunts. We immensely enjoyed torturing my mother, once by brandishing matches in the woods and threatening to "blaze a trail". In our baton class, we were taught a routine to "Superfreak" by Rick James. Whatever was that teacher thinking!

We were once yelled at by the elderly couple across the street from my house while singing/playing piano for our own rendition of, "Tonight, I Celebrate My Love for You." Later on, I realized with horror that we had just performed "Kiss" by Prince on karaoke night at the Bombay Bicycle Club in front of my future step father. Music, for some reason, was always a big part of our time together.

We went to rival colleges, I to the great Indiana University, she to Purdue (also known as Undue Perversity). She was in a sorority; I just mocked them with my unsuitable, mohawk wearing boyfriend and shot the poor pledges with water guns during rush. She married the perfect man; I, well, didn't. She's tall and dark; I am squat and blond. But through it all we have never forgotten all the times we've laughed until we cried (and after all our collective kids, probably peed a little, too). Amy always listens and doesn't make fun of me when I am sad, at least not until later when I can see the humor. She is as good as a soothsayer in predicting the next girl to be eliminated from America's Next Top Model, too.

So here's my ode to Amy, the best girl there is!