Skip to main content

Growing on me

This has been the fall of self-doubt.  A constant theme in my life, I know. 

I started out the semester riddled with all kinds of worries - am I choosing the right path, what will I do with an English degree when I'm done, why are books more expensive than groceries for a month, what if I fail, what if this class is too hard, and on and on.  To add to this pile of worry, Eric moved to a new position at work and part of the new job is travel.  He's going to be gone most of October, a little of November, and a little of December.  Plus he'll be traveling at least once a quarter from here on out.  Juggling school and children and their school and football and homework and their homework and church and cleaning house and cooking and life in general - well, I'm not used to being so alone in my own house.  Oh, I've taken the kids on vacation alone.  A couple summers ago we even left Eric behind for over a month as we drove cross country.  But, that wasn't regular life. 

Regular life is harder.

Anyhow, I've strayed from my intended path.

So, here's me.  Overwhelmed, scared, lacking confidence.  And here's my new English professor.  A little bit crazy, about five feet tall, and a complete surprise.  She's kind of old, though not ancient.  But she bubbles.  She is constantly laughing, usually alone, at something.  She likes to start her lectures early and she follows a written, timed schedule.  She made us act out scenes from a play. 
I won't lie, I was off-put.

But, she hasn't given us any tests (yet, we have some coming).  We've only had to write one paper so far (amazing for a higher level English class).  And I've come to respect her constant joy.  I've started to enjoy her refreshing simplicity.

So what if nobody laughs with you. 

Today in class she showed, for reasons I have trouble comprehending, this video.  And it's pretty dang funny.

She's growing on me.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),

I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.

We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now.  I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar …