Week 3: Manic Monday Madness; A Reincarnation of Marvelous Monday Musings

Here we are at I Made It! Monday, again!

I’ve sat and I’ve stared at that one line for nearly 20 minutes. Thus far, today has not been my day. I barely made it out of my bedroom door and people have not stopped talking to me since. I haven’t even gotten two swallows of coffee in me, or a cigarette. I’ve been awake for almost an hour. I probably don’t “need” the cigarette anyway….

People, just stop talking!

Why is it that people think that because your feet are moving, in the general direction of the bathroom, that you are wide awake and ready to actually comprehend a word that they are saying? Excuse me, can I pee first?!

Maybe it’s because I got woke up by a Jack Russell/ Rat Terrier mixed puppy licking my face. I prefer to wash my own face, usually with a washcloth, not a tongue.

And then my husband’s been in one of those moods. The moods that just grate under my skin like poison ivy. Itching and spreading. It spreads over every word he says until I just want to rip my own skin off, or at least my ears so I can stop listening.

Stop listening to everything…. At least he bought some Motrin.

I’ve noticed something lately. When people talk quieter, other people tend to listen harder. Sounds like common sense right? Well, it should be. Especially if you’re talking to a Rah Plotts who hasn’t had coffee yet. Whisper to my brain people, whisper!

Ugh, so about this past week. Has it been a week of accomplishment? A week of learning? Hmm, not so much. I think it has been, quite literally, an ‘I made it to Monday’ type of week.

College has found it’s routine. I took two relatively easy classes this semester. Not by fault, but merely because that’s what was available with my signing up so late and all. Plus, I needed to get them checked off anyway. I had intentionally picked a math and an english class. One “hard”, one “easy”. English has always been easy. Not the grammar stuff, but the writing. I could always ace my way though any English Comp class with my ramblings. Math was the hard one. Not hard per say, I’ve always been really good at math and can work it out quite well. But let’s be honest, math takes brain power, writing doesn’t.

Boy was I in for a surprise! My math class is so easy it’s like being in Kindergarten again. It’s an algebra class. A class I took last year but my old college will not transfer the credit over because, well, for the reason that they’re my old college. I aced the algebra portion of the test to test me out of the class. Of course, going into hour two on a day of very little sleep I skimmed over a lot of the algebra 2 concepts. Formulas and what not that my brain just wasn’t doing for me that particular day. I scored like a 78 or something on the second half. So rather than putting me into Algebra 2, they put me in Algebra 1, in which I aced last year, aced on the test out, and am going out of my mind with boredom in class.

I am already halfway through the semester in homework. I go to class, twice a week to listen to a teacher, who in my opinion is doing my classmates an injustice by attempting to teach these concepts the way she is. We then have an hour of required time in a tutor center each week. To do what? Twiddle my thumbs some more, obviously. I’m tempted to bring my laptop and just work on other things, useful things, things that will make the 5 hours of my week not be wasted away. But, I know I can’t do that. Showing up is not half the battle, I actually have to let the teacher know I’m “there”. Ugh… there’s not enough coffee in the world some days….

English on the other hand. My “easy” class that I would have fun and breeze through. Not so much. On the very first assigned essay I was given quite the wake up call. Apparently, this teacher paid attention in grammar class. Darn it! If you’ve read my stuff, and know a thing or two about proper grammar, you are well aware that I don’t use commas correctly, nor do I use the proper tense of verbs throughout a piece, and unless spellcheck jumps my shit, it’s gonna be spelled wrong too. But it flows, and I know that. If it ain’t broke why fix it? Well, to be honest, I signed up for this class for a two-part reason. One, it would be “easy” and fun, and I needed that to counteract the math class. Two, it would improve my writing for this.

So, like I was saying, it came to essay number one. As I begrudgingly learned that “the writing process” is not really the cruel entity I’d like to believe. All that editing and re-writing! Okay, draft number 3 was better than draft number 1…. Then it came to the fun stuff. She required grammar to be CORRECT! And, to top that off she requested that we remove any of the following from our writing; am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been. Do you know how many times I use the verb “was” in an essay? I do now! I even ran into one sentence that I literally used four of these verbs! Ugh, what a headache. But… it did improve my essay. The main point, this was essay number ONE! And it required that much extra work! Yup, the concept of easy went out the window as fast as my verb usage.

Guess what? You will still see the word ‘was’ in my blog. I was going to remove it. But then I am, is, are not going to be, being, been the writer that you’ve was, were coming to love. Neaner neaner English Comp professor! Just kidding, the verb concept is being tucked away in my back pocket for possible use in the future.

There was more to my week besides college, believe it or not. We took my son to his open house. Back to public school for him. We home schooled last year. I loved it, the freedom to learn in the way I think kids should be learning. But, living in the neighborhood we live in prevents him from just going off and making friends. Watching him slowly slip into the despair of lonesome I decided to let him return to public school when he asked to. You may not agree but, in a very short few years he will be 18, off into the world with what education he has, and HE will be the one to have to live with his education, not me. Who’s to say that homeschooling really is the best route? Who’s to say who’s opinion is right? Although he was only nine when he asked, when it boils down to it, it’s his life not mine. Of course this idea does not cross over to every decision. He does not have a choice over getting an education or not, but how he gets it, I guess I can allow for wiggle room there. Either way, like it or not, he’s my kid not yours. So neaner neaner to you too! =)

His open house went well. He seemed really shy, especially when talking to his teacher. He did not approach any other children. But, he typically makes friends easily enough, so I’m sure it will come quickly after the start of the year. I worry though. I worry because of past experiences. Past times where I’ve SEEN him being bullied and he says, “Oh, they’re just my friends.” No hunny, when they’re rubbing your face into the dirt they are NOT your friends! When they’re playing monkey in the middle with your backpack, they are NOT you’re friends. I sometimes wish he would just punch one of “them” in the nose as hard as he can when they hassle him, then maybe it would all stop. But, he doesn’t. He doesn’t stand up for himself the way I wish he would. More so, I wish I knew why. Why, since even kindergarten, he has tried to hide the things going on that I cannot see. How can he go two years crying his eyes out every day on the bus and I don’t know until 3 years later when a friend of the family that rode the bus with him mentions it?

I’ve always given him the 3 step rule. Step 1: tell the kid to stop. Step 2: tell a teacher. Step 3: push back. If the kid didn’t stop slapping you in the back of the head when you firmly asked, then tell the teacher. If the teacher doesn’t stop the kid from slapping you in the back of the head, turn around and punch the little fucker in the nose. One can only take so much. As long as he follows “the 3 step rule” he will never get in trouble at home for standing up for himself. He has actually followed through on this rule once. Once out of YEARS of being bullied. It worries me. Worries what I have done, what has happened to him, to crush him so much that he can’t stand up for himself.

I guess it could be worse. He could be the bully. I guess, it’s just hard. It’s hard to sit back and watch your child experiencing the hardships of life and not being able to swoop in and make life perfect for them. I guess, if I were to make life perfect for my child I’d have many other areas I could tackle as well!

He’ll be okay… I’m sure… as long as he doesn’t turn out to be another Newtown tragedy… I joke… but not really…. The uncertainties of parenthood suck. What if I’m doing it ALL wrong?

It’s a brand new city. A brand new school. Maybe, it’ll be a brand new start. Tuesday it all begins. I’m more nervous than he is.

I’ve verging on the feelings of “Oh Lordy, I’m talking to much, telling too much, revealing too much.” My hand twitches towards my mouse to highlight it all and hit delete. You have no idea the effort it takes to resist this urge. But, then again, maybe you do. That tiny, itty bitty, little ‘maybe’ is the reason I fight to leave my words upon this screen. I know that ‘maybe’ is in your mind too.

I’m not perfect. I’m clueless far more often than I’m not. And, I don’t mean the rich blonde valley girl that says “like” too often. Although, I’ve been like known to like do that on occasion. I’ve never wanted a convertible Volkswagen bug, so I think I’m safe on that stereotype. I do stress though and I struggle too. 99.9% of the time, I have no idea what I’m doing or if I’m doing it right.

I’m probably doing far more right than I’ll ever believe, you probably are too.

The best thing that I can share with you this Monday. A Monday of too little coffee, too little nicotine, too much noise, both inside my head and out. The best thing, really the only thing, that I can hopefully inspire you to do is…

Resist the urge to ‘delete’.

The most powerful thing we may ever do, is to do the uncertain, with certainty.


Categories: 2015

Tags: , , ,

1 reply

  1. Being a parent is the hardest job ever! I’m with you in that I wish I could protect them from life’s bullshit. But we can’t. It’s impossible. And, for that matter, by experiencing the hard knocks, they grow. I just try to encourage them to talk to us about their “stuff” and provide good advice. It’s somewhat out of our control. That’s the scary part.

    Liked by 1 person

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