Lots going on lately. Beginnings, endings, starting, finishing. I hardly know which way is up anymore.
I finished school last week. I officially (or soon will, once it arrives in the mail) hold a master's degree. An M.B.A. It took nearly two years and seemed like it would last forever. I turned in my last assignment on Thursday and then just sat there. Huh. That's it? I think I expected balloons and streamers to fall from the ceiling. Nope. It was rather anti-climatic. No big fanfare. No claps on the back. No cheering audience.
Even now I think I'm supposed to be working on a paper. I felt guilty sleeping in this morning. I'm so used to having deadlines looming over my head. I can sleep in now. I have my weekends back. And yet, somehow, it seems wrong.
Maybe because I did it by myself. No classmates. No group discussions. Just me. Sitting at my kitchen table. Early mornings. Late nights. Weekend afternoons. Whatever it took. Just me. Often a cup of coffee. Usually some music. It became a routine, something to always think about. My crazy mind thinks that maybe I should just keep going. I always wanted a PhD, right? No. Not really. Right?
D went to her junior prom last night. I think I'm still processing that. That and the almost $300 I spent between the dress, the shoes, the handbag, flowers, and the fake eyelashes she had to have. I went to take pictures of her with her date. Her boyfriend. Boyfriend. KY and I went to dinner afterward. He asked, "How does it feel that your little girl is growing up?" Damn it. I was okay until then. Then, in that moment, I wanted to run and get her and hug her and bring her home and watch cartoons with her. I didn't want to her to grow up. To be with a boy. To move on, in any way.
KY's insightful observation? "You can't wait for her to leave. You're so tired of having her around and want her to move on and then you cry and can't stand the thought of her leaving and want her to stay forever. I can't keep up with it all." Really? Imagine how it feels to be inside my body.
Because I do want her to go. Parenting is exhausting. But I don't think I will ever be done either. I don't want her to be in love. She tells me how she feels about her boyfriend and I don't want to know. I want, more than anything, for her to be happy. But does it have to be him? Does it have to be that way? I don't get to choose her happiness and part of me is relieved. But another part of me thinks that is just crap. It's confusing to say the least.
Next year she will graduate. Which means a couple of things. She will start her new life. And so will I. I don't have to stay here anymore. Her leaving means I get to leave too. I get to Start Over.
This summer we are road-tripping. Checking out schools for her and a new location for me. It both thrills me and terrifies me. I like the familiar. Change generally freaks me out. Even when I choose the change, it's a challenge. And this is a big change. I have my sights set on a spot on the map far, far from this current X. It's a big leap.
Yep. Lots going on right now. Plans, adjustments, goals are all changing. I don't know yet how I will land. Or where. But I think it's time. It's time to shake it up a little bit. Time to reach a little higher and a little farther. It's time for a new adventure. It's time to grow up.
Maybe.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Sunday, May 05, 2013
Thursday, December 06, 2012
Enemy Mine
I have created an enemy. Because I have declared war.
D sort of fell apart in school last year. First we thought it was the mono, and then found out it was depression. At the time her health seemed more important and, unfortunately, her grades took a back seat. Way back. Like back of the bus.
This year we were determined not to let that happen. She even declared that this was going to be her year. Her year of success. And it went well at first. She came home talking about school, describing in excited detail the pig organs that they were dissecting. She was getting an A. In science, of all things!
The Fiddler play was rough. It was a lot of work and she was often tired. I let her sleep in. I even let her skip a class here and there. But I let her because her grades weren't suffering. It seemed like this really could be her year.
And then, all of a sudden, once Fiddler was over, so was she. The exhaustion caught up to her and she just quit. Literally. As in quit going to class. I talked to her. I talked to her teachers. Everyone is willing to help her. Everyone has given her second and third chances. It's up to her now. And she's smart, I know she can do it. I think she has just enjoyed the extra attention a little too much.
She's now in the throes of the Christmas choir season. The special jazz choir she's in is performing gigs all over town. Chamber of Commerce. Old Mill. High Desert Museum. Private parties. It's a lot of work but she's enjoying it. But it's a lot of work and it's all she cares about. And it's a lot of work so she's understandably exhausted. She's tired.
But you know what? So am I. I'm tired of keeping track of everywhere she has to go. I'm tired of getting up early to take her to school because she's too much of a diva to ride the bus. I'm tired of emailing her teachers to make sure she's on track and where she's supposed to be. I'm tired of the excuses. I'm tired of spending money on all of her activities. I'm tired of working, going to school myself, being depressed, and still taking care of her. I'm tired of making dinners she doesn't eat and following up on homework when I have my own to do.
So this morning I turned into That Mom. I did something I never imagined myself doing. I'm still a bit in shock over the whole ordeal.
She wouldn't get up this morning. She was tired, she needed to "rest." What she "needed" to do was play her I'm-a-star-and-deserve-special-treatment role. She wanted to miss her science class yet again. I tried to explain to her that she made the choice to be in this choir and that because she made that choice, things will be harder for her. But there is no reasoning at 6:30 in the morning. And I hadn't had a sip of coffee. So I snapped. I gave her a five-count warning, to be fair. But then I did it. I poured cold water on her bed and on her pillow. Yes. I. Did. That happened.
I wish I had a picture of her face when it happened. Or even mine, because I probably looked totally crazed. She yelled, "That's going to be wet all day now!!!!" I answered back, "Well, it's a good thing we have a dryer in the house."
But she got up. And I bet she gets up again tomorrow.
Yeah, her diva days are over. The excuses are old and used up. There's a new mom in the house and she might not like it. In fact, she'll probably hate me. But maybe she'll thank me when she's 30 and not working at McDonald's.
Maybe.
D sort of fell apart in school last year. First we thought it was the mono, and then found out it was depression. At the time her health seemed more important and, unfortunately, her grades took a back seat. Way back. Like back of the bus.
This year we were determined not to let that happen. She even declared that this was going to be her year. Her year of success. And it went well at first. She came home talking about school, describing in excited detail the pig organs that they were dissecting. She was getting an A. In science, of all things!
The Fiddler play was rough. It was a lot of work and she was often tired. I let her sleep in. I even let her skip a class here and there. But I let her because her grades weren't suffering. It seemed like this really could be her year.
And then, all of a sudden, once Fiddler was over, so was she. The exhaustion caught up to her and she just quit. Literally. As in quit going to class. I talked to her. I talked to her teachers. Everyone is willing to help her. Everyone has given her second and third chances. It's up to her now. And she's smart, I know she can do it. I think she has just enjoyed the extra attention a little too much.
She's now in the throes of the Christmas choir season. The special jazz choir she's in is performing gigs all over town. Chamber of Commerce. Old Mill. High Desert Museum. Private parties. It's a lot of work but she's enjoying it. But it's a lot of work and it's all she cares about. And it's a lot of work so she's understandably exhausted. She's tired.
But you know what? So am I. I'm tired of keeping track of everywhere she has to go. I'm tired of getting up early to take her to school because she's too much of a diva to ride the bus. I'm tired of emailing her teachers to make sure she's on track and where she's supposed to be. I'm tired of the excuses. I'm tired of spending money on all of her activities. I'm tired of working, going to school myself, being depressed, and still taking care of her. I'm tired of making dinners she doesn't eat and following up on homework when I have my own to do.
So this morning I turned into That Mom. I did something I never imagined myself doing. I'm still a bit in shock over the whole ordeal.
She wouldn't get up this morning. She was tired, she needed to "rest." What she "needed" to do was play her I'm-a-star-and-deserve-special-treatment role. She wanted to miss her science class yet again. I tried to explain to her that she made the choice to be in this choir and that because she made that choice, things will be harder for her. But there is no reasoning at 6:30 in the morning. And I hadn't had a sip of coffee. So I snapped. I gave her a five-count warning, to be fair. But then I did it. I poured cold water on her bed and on her pillow. Yes. I. Did. That happened.
I wish I had a picture of her face when it happened. Or even mine, because I probably looked totally crazed. She yelled, "That's going to be wet all day now!!!!" I answered back, "Well, it's a good thing we have a dryer in the house."
But she got up. And I bet she gets up again tomorrow.
Yeah, her diva days are over. The excuses are old and used up. There's a new mom in the house and she might not like it. In fact, she'll probably hate me. But maybe she'll thank me when she's 30 and not working at McDonald's.
Maybe.
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