The obligatory post

Where were you when...

JFK was assassinated?
The space shuttle Challenger exploded?
9/11 happened?

The first, not even a twinkle in my 2 year old mother's eyes.  The second, I was 3 1/2 years old, probably at Miss Brenda's play school.

The third, I was 19 years old, a sophomore at Agnes Scott College.  Brushing my teeth before class, my roommate called to me from our room down the hall.  I walked back and saw what was happening.  We watched for awhile, then left to walk to class.  I stopped in the art building to watch for a minute on the small TV there, and continued to the dance center.  I slung jazz hands for an hour, then watched again from the art center as one of the towers fell.  I ran to the student center, where the majority of the students gathered to watch the events unfold.  I clustered with friends.  I called my parents.  I cried.  I went to sociology class, where we discussed what had happened.  I went to some friends' apartment, had some drinks, watched the news more.  Classes and CNN are what occupied my time for about 2 weeks.

So yeah, I remember where I was. 

Life with a 2 year old

This morning
Me: "Ty, can I have a hug?" (arms spread wide)
Ty: (Not even looking at me.)  "No."

5 minutes ago
Me: "Ty, what are you doing?"
Ty: "Playing with nose."

I walk in to the playroom to find a pencil stuck up his nose (eraser end, not pointy end).

I'm sure there will be many more to come.

Also, an update to my last post: I got a B.  Thanks professor, for curving the grade a little and having those bonus questions!  Tricky little bugger, he was so damn specific on the questions that I got one wrong because one of the answers said "refers to" in the sentence instead of "defined as."

Daily Challenge

I'm stressed about the first test I took for grad school.  It was last Tuesday.  I studied hard all weekend, during the week, and right before it.  I reviewed, took notes, re-read the chapters.  I took the multiple choice test, and felt confident.  I even answered the optional bonus questions.

I'm fairly certain that I failed.

After turning in our tests, the professor went over the answers with us.  Imagine my surprise when I found out that many of the questions I felt so confidently about were trick questions.  Imagine the class outrage when we all discovered that because of these trick questions, the majority of us failed.  We bitched about it during the dinner break, then resigned ourselves to the fact that at least now we know what to expect.  But I was still angry.  All of my hard work for a test that I failed.  And it wasn't that I didn't know the answer.  I did.  I felt GOOD.  And it was still wrong.

My confidence was really shaken that night.  I started doubting myself, my decision to enter grad school while parenting 2 (soon to be 3) young children, even my ability to read and interpret information on multicultural counseling, a topic I am extremely excited to learn more about.  Almost a week later I'm still stressed about it.  I can't read this professor.  He contradicts himself a lot, and we have to second guess a lot of what he's said.  I like him, but as a professor he frustrates me.

I have a midterm in my other class this week.  We get to take in 3 pages (front and back) of notes.  This professor told us a little about what to expect, what to really look over, and the format (short essay form-- whew!  Thank you, Agnes Scott College!)  But for all of my calmness and confidence about the last test, I'm freaking out over this one.  I've been really shaken up by my last failure.

I wrote all of this as part of a Daily Challenge website that I use.  I get a daily email of something to do, like an exercise or becoming aware of something health-wise, and complete it.  I don't complete every challenge, but I do what I can.  I chose to do this one somewhat publicly because I think it's important to face mistakes head on.  Yes, I made a mistake with the last test.  And I'm hoping I can learn from it.

Besides, I got the two bonus questions right. :)

It makes me a better mother

Yesterday, I dropped the kids off at a Mom's Day Out program.

5 hours, all to myself!

I met with my academic advisor, ran around trying to find a nap mat for Ty (before his nap time of noon), and drove back to the church to deliver it.  I met Steve for lunch, picked up some diapers for the kids, and finally hit up the massive Borders liquidation sale.

(Great selection of fiction, but not of anything else.  The kid's section is cleaned OUT.)

By the time I picked up the kids, I was exhausted.  But I was so excited to see them.  We played and hung out on the couch.  Lily took a late afternoon power nap (she didn't nap much during the day, apparently).  I was so patient with them.  Ty's whining and new-found defiance didn't bother me as much.  I was calm and collected, and could laugh at their ridiculousness, rather than get frustrated.  When Ty didn't want to eat dinner, I said "OK," and left it out for him in case he changed his mind.  I didn't yell or get angry.  I told him that he could eat dinner when he was ready, or wait for his bed time snack, his choice.

It's amazing what a little break can do.  Some parents are cut out for spending all day, every day with their kids, and not getting frustrated.  They do crafts and have fabulous adventures.  I'm not that type of mom.  I love spending time with my kids, don't get me wrong.  We color, read, run errands, play with friends, go to the park.  I also love spending time with ME.  When I get a little break from them, it makes me a better mother. 

(It will also make me a better student-- that time is usually going to be spent working on class assignments and studying for tests!  I have a midterm next Wednesday, and my 5 hours of alone time Tuesday will be spent compiling my 3 pages of open book notes for that.)

All in all, it was a great day for all of us.

Well, maybe not all of us.  While Ty skipped off without a backward glance when I dropped him off, Lily wailed and reached out for me.  Sorry, baby girl!

FINALLY got a shot of her being still.

Of course wearing a "Cars" shirt.