Saturday, February 16, 2008

Rite of Passage

Oldest recently celebrated his fourteenth birthday, and tonight he attended his first church dance. He can be kind of shy in certain situations, so I wasn't sure how he would fare. After he got home I asked, "Did you have fun?" As he was loosening his tie, he mumbled, "Yeah."

This is usually about all the information we can get out of him, but I decided to dig a little deeper. He had expressed some hesitancy about actually dancing instead of just hanging out with friends, so my next question was, "Did you dance?" Once again he gave the monosyllabic, "Yeah."

So far, so good. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try one more question: "How many girls did you dance with?" To my amazement, he nonchalantly replied, "Oh, I stopped counting after four."

I think we can call the evening a success. :)

Friday, February 15, 2008

Freedom, Sweet Freedom

I finally dropped Creative Nonfiction. As I handed the drop slip to the representative at Student Services, a huge weight disappeared from my shoulders. I'm still slightly disappointed in myself for not being able to juggle everything, but the sense of peace I feel now leads me to believe this was the right choice. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to snuggle up with a bottle of cough syrup. I plan to spend the weekend sleeping and reading and not stressing out.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

To drop, or not to drop: That is the question

I began this semester registered for more classes than I could realistically handle while working part-time and taking care of my family. Still, I decided to plow ahead, pretending that I could juggle everything. The first couple of weeks went deceivingly well, but once actual essays and exams came due, I began to feel the pressure. I got a “B” on an exam (shudder!) and turned a paper in a day late. More importantly, behind the scenes there have been many late night panic attacks as I ponder my inadequacy as a human being.

I keep telling myself not to stress out, that I had planned on dropping a class all along if I felt the need. Unfortunately, now that I’ve started, I’m finding it unbearable to actually drop. I feel like a failure for even considering it. At the same time, something has got to give. When I was diagnosed with pneumonia earlier this week, I was almost relieved because I thought I might be able to use the medically mandated down time to catch up on some reading. Not so. I still haven’t learned how to sleep and read at the same time, so instead of catching up, I have fallen even further behind. After three days at home, I finally went back to class and work today, but I was left so exhausted afterward that I had no choice but to sleep some more. I don’t know how I will ever dig out of the academic hole I am in.

The most frustrating part of all is that the class I will probably end up dropping is one that I have been looking forward to taking ever since I started back to school: Creative Nonfiction. This is the genre I feel most comfortable with, and I desperately need the writing practice, but there are several issues that make this the class the best one for me to drop. First of all, Creative Nonfiction has the highest workload of all my classes right now, which also means that it would provide the most relief if I dropped it. Also, the class only counts as an elective while the other classes I could drop are required for one of my majors. Finally, no one is really participating in the online class, so I’m not even getting the feedback I need to grow as a writer. Still, I’m afraid to drop because I don’t want to be a quitter. So, I end up the same place I always do when I debate this decision: I am simply deciding not to decide – yet. But the final drop date is getting closer, and I’ll have to choose.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

The Void That is My Blog

So, I thought I'd be able to keep the blog afloat with writing from my Creative Nonfiction class. Instead, I've discovered that I don't have enough journal entries to do much good, and half of those are ones that I don't really care to share with the blogosphere either out of concern for my own privacy or the privacy of others. I guess all I'm trying to say is, "I've got nothin'."

Besides not having time to keep up with the blog, a few other things have been neglected, like:

  1. Sleeping - I'm actually considering having another baby just because I think I could get more sleep living with a newborn than I'm getting now. Although, I have to admit that none of my homework ever has poopy diapers, so maybe I'll nix that plan.
  2. Reading - Sure, I'm reading what I absolutely have to for classes, but it doesn't leave much time to read anything else like blogs, cereal boxes, stop signs, etc... I've downloaded this month's book club selection on MP3, but until I can learn to read one book while I listen to another, it won't really help.
  3. Cooking - All I can say is thank goodness for a) my crock pot and b) the fact that Rhett isn't afraid of domestic duties. And a big shout out to my mother-in-law for raising him that way!
  4. Sweeping and vacuuming - Does anybody know where I can buy leashes for dustbunnies?
  5. Plotting revenge against that wench that sits across from me on Tuesdays and Thursdays - I'm still not exactly sure why she despises me so much, but she certainly revels in making snide remarks and shooting me dirty looks. The good news is I don't really have time to care.

Well, I guess that's it for now. I'll post when I can, but don't hold your breath - unless you're the wench from school, then hold it till you pass out, baby.

What?!? I'm multi-tasking.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Open Letter to Little Boys Who Own Pocket Knives

To whom it may concern:

No matter how good of an idea it seems at the time, never, under any circumstances, use this:

pocket knife
When what your really need is one of these:


Or you could very well end up looking like this:

stitched-up finger

And while the injury itself may not be life-threatening, you may feel as if you will die of boredom during the six-hour wait at the emergency room.


All mothers of little boys who own pocket knives