Schooling in your 40’s

I stare with dread at the grade slot and my shoulders slump with relief when I see a 71% – 71? When I was in high school, I would have been mortified to have a 71, and now just seeing it is above 60% means I am passing. ¬†School is different when you are an adult. When you are an adult it is a huge accomplishment, to pass in college, and here is a list of reasons why… Being an adult, one uses a whole other part of their brain. Bills, taxes, the rent, utilities, groceries, the mundane drama of raising 4 kids alone while their erstwhile sperm donors slithered out the door like a couple anorexics from the desert bar at an all you can eat buffet. I go back to school because my son Mooky, now a rambunctious climb the fence and leap like a cougar in wait six year old child, jumped over the drivers seat on June 20, 2013, landing on the gear shift, pushed it in D3, the mountain climbing drive gear and as requested, it refused to quit until it climbed my body despite repeated attempts to coral the stubborn white beast. Before I knew it I sat under the wheels of the Grand Prix, where it could go no further because I was bigger than the frame to the ground. So here I am back in school, and proud of my 2.23 grade point average and know it will only go up from here.

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The Perfect Day Off

It’s a grey day, and amazingly, the kids are still sleeping past 5 A.M. I go down stairs and make a cappacino, with real heavy whipping cream. With a sigh I sit down and turn on the Television, the peace and ambiance of the room seeping into my pores. I love Christmas time for the holiday movies that come on, bringing a lift to one’s spirit and joy, that one doesn’t heretofore feel. So I sit and sip my coffee, and watch a movie, and then one at a time, my kids slip quietly into the living room, and Michael crawls in my lap, and cuddles with me, Shay on one side and Vay on the other, while Clay pulls up a pillow and sits on the floor and together we sit there, relaxing in perfect harmony. Lots of cookies, and peaceful meals and helping with the dishes, and getting the little bit messed up in the house picked up, and then I get the kids bathed and laid down. I read two stories and sing two songs, and then it is an early nite. Then reality crashes, an ugly noise reverberates through my subconscious, a crash, followed by a window shattering scream of rage, followed by word that would get a sailor discharged dishonorably fly out of mouths under the age of 10, cheerfully trying to compete with the noise of the bigger ones a innocent little three year old parrots the vulgarity, with the fervor of the mighty in his lungs. Fight after fight erupt, yelling, screaming, arguing, and tears for what feels like an eternity, hugs kisses, interspersed with smiles and laughter, the chores back up which causes more arguing and tears and hurt, and then the slings of a side armed hug, and the wet slap of a kiss on the cheek, which one does not rub off in the wee ones presence, because that would hurt their feelings. As the torrential nightmare of a day ebbs and flows, I finally see the 8:30 bedtime in the eye of time. I sit down and read stories, and sing songs, and turning out the light I go down stairs, and start working on all the things that were supposed to be done in a day. I sit down and a creaking noise of little footsteps happen, and then I get two visits, One from Shay and one from Vay, both whisper in a loud whisper I love you, and see you in the morning, and sneak back up to bed, and about half an hour later I hear the sound of wee little footsteps, then the three year old Mooky crawls slowly onto my lap, and pulls his feet up, and tucks his head under my chin and I realize, this is the perfect day off.