Everywhere I go I am shedding papers. Some are being turned in. Some are being left in my wake as I have assimilated them, quoted them, referenced them, and subsequently discarded them in the process of writing. Thank goodness for those big black metal clips because they are all that separates anatomy from nutrition from leprosy from telemedicine from...from...well, I forget. I have just finished the last paper, turned it in and "all" I have left to do this week is an anatomy exam tomorrow and a practical the following day. Then finals next week. Three days to breathe and the mania starts all over again for summer semester.
I told Buddy today that I used to have more stamina for this kind of academic pursuit. He posited that I now have more wisdom. I concurred, but my wits are still not as quick as they once were. My exam this evening was almost baffling at turns, but that was also true for the majority of my fellow classmates, so I am not too concerned. By my calculations at worst I got a B. That will suffice. Admittedly, I like A's and am not accustomed to much else.
I far preferred the parts of today spent on the phone with Squib discussing his new baseball which he named "Screwy." He is now very jazzed about baseball. As the parental unit responsible for sports, I am at last dealing with a sport I know. Soccer was, fortunately, a temporary thing and not much more than kicking the ball around. I am totally out of my element there, but baseball...yes, I can do baseball. Knocking the whey out of a little ball is very therapeutic and I have been known in the distant past to frequent a little go-cart/batting cage joint between my two locales to expend my frustrations. I find both absolutely entertaining. Go-carts more than batting cages...and you won't find me on the putt-putt course at all.
Yeah, I've been waiting for one of the boys to begin enjoying something a little more active. Alas, Beanstalk's opera fetish is admittedly maddening. I find myself yawning and sometimes stifling a laugh...classical music concerts not so much, but opera..see-yikes. And Lawrence Welk??!! Dear God, save me from the musical proclivities of my seven-year-old or teach me music appreciation. WAIT. I took that in college. It didn't take. Well, not ALL of it.
Squib is a Van Halen and Laurie Berkner (little) man. Sand, dirt, outdoors, ball-kicking, mess-making, (now) baseball-loving man. This I can do with some degree of knowledge. I won't have to keep asking dumb questions like "You're listening to Andrea Bo-whosits??" and exposing my uncouthness. Crashing and wrestling and chasing and other very unladylike behavior is very acceptable.
DISCLAIMER: Beanstalk is also very much a boy. He likes the outdoors and leaf-wrestling, water sports, and the like. He's just a lot more concerned about, well, clothes and music and dancing (I'm with him on the dancing) and culture (I'm into the culture thing, too, but out of my element when it comes to opera). It's my favorite thing about him. I do SO have to work at it at times, though. I mean real research and concentration. I'm hoping we can agree on some middle ground...like Sting.
On the other hand, Beanstalk is so...easy. Scared of nothing. Happy as a clam. Straightforward. Squib is complicated. Scared of thunder, darkness, and above all his own shadow. Clingy. Emotional. The questions he asks can never be taken at face value. He is always really asking about something else and you have to ferret that out. Like the phone number written on the front porch...
They're such...people. How did they ever get to be like that without me screwing them up completely? Do you ever wonder that about your kids? I do. And no matter what I'm doing they always have a hug for me a joyful shriek when they see me and say "I wub ewe, mawma!"
And that's way better than an "A"...