Hope and Super-Geniuses

My kids are geniuses.

I know every mother (at least secretly) thinks that their kids are super smart, the brightest and best-looking of all their peers. So you probably don't do more than smile at my proud-mommisms as you whiz past them to more reading about old people in university.

But I mean it. Einstein-caliber geniuses.

My youngest, at the ripe old age of 8, figured out the calculus concept of the integral, without even knowing what the Cartesian coordinate system was. The other night during tuck-in, he began explaining to me physical concepts like reflection and refraction. He played his first games of pool over the holidays, and could see where each ball needed to be hit and at which angle and spin in order to sink it while setting the cue ball up for the next shot. You could practically see the trigonometric concepts and geometric patterns flashing in his brain. No, he hasn't studied either of these to any extent.

My oldest devours history documentaries as if they were cartoons; he recorded an entire series on World War II so he could watch it in his spare time. He understands and can converse about the theory of relativity, quantum physics, and nuclear fission. He gets engineering basics and is already working on a brainchild for a long-distance water-spanning bridge. Needless to say, he's an incredibly creative thinker. He attempted to read Dune last year -- arguably an epic work involving many disciplines including ecology, meteorology, sociology, and philosophy. He took the SAT this year -- in the 7th grade -- and did better than 75% of high school seniors. His dad has downloaded chemistry and physics lectures from MIT for him to watch online, and he actually stayed awake through them and absorbed much of the material (better than what I can say sometimes...)

Maybe I do struggle with a mother's bias, but that's damn impressive.

You'd think that we wouldn't have to worry about their schoolwork, that fabulous grades would be a natural outgrowth of such intellectually-curious kids. And you'd be so wrong if you did.

We just had a conference with the 7th-grader and his teachers. By the third teacher I recognized a recurring theme, which landed me straight in the land of deja vu (or the Matrix resetting itself.) They all said something to the point of what a brilliant and respectful young man he is, but he just doesn't seem to care about completing and turning in assignments. The black cat reappeared today, because this has been a recurring theme for him throughout his education thus far (and little brother, too -- but this post isn't about super-genius #2.)

What I don't get is how he can watch me pour over my studies for four or more years now and not give his best to his homework? How can he not understand that he better apply himself now -- the first time around BEFORE he has a family of his own -- by watching his dad have to miss family dinner at least two nights a week because he's attending classes? Aren't we modelling some very important life lessons here? Those being namely: (1) You have to work hard to achieve your academic goals, and (2) There's no escaping (1), only postponing it (which is harder on everybody.)

He has known for several years that he wants to be a civil engineer when he's grown. That kind of clarity eluded me most of my life. (When I was in high school, I fell in love with music, particularly the trumpet. I wanted to perform. All of my educational and extracurricular pursuits were pointed toward an orchestral career. My father, well-meaning in his pessimism, convinced me to pursue instrumental education instead, because teachers have more financial stability than performers. The practicality of those-that-can't-do-teach drained joy's breath from my balloon, so that when my small college's instrumental music department collapsed, I didn't find another one.) And so I find myself here, finally on the clear path to what I want to be when I'm grown up, although I "grew up" almost 20 years ago. (Talk about a detour!) Many of my generation are late bloomers, but we are also innovative thinkers who prefer to do things on our own schedule and terms, whether or not that means inevitably achieving success the hard way. But that's a heavy burden to bear.

I assumed that #1 son had been spared the stubbornness of Generation X when he announced his bridge-building intentions. I was elated when he was open to his dad showing him college degree plans to get him there (even though he was only in the 5th grade.) Then there was talk of attending MIT or Stanford, or even West Point, and I was ecstatic that the curse of the hard-earned career without a college degree had been removed from his future.

And then there was a class failed last six weeks. Ouch. Not because he can't do the work, not because he doesn't understand the subject. Because he didn't do the work that he could've easily tutored other kids on.

I recently asked an old friend from high school, who is now a high school math teacher, "How do you raise the scary-smart?" He referred me to Mensa to give them challenging mental exercises. Maybe I should pursue that, but his suggestion sort of left me flat. I need to challenge him to keep up with the "mundane" work of his pre-AP and GT classes, let alone give him yet another distraction (albeit one of genius proportions.) How do I draw out that incredible intellect and apply it to completing daily tasks? How do I convince him that there's more to success than being naturally smart? That it's those that are willing to work at it that actually make it in life? That the ones that get where he wants to go are the ones that stand out in a crowd of bright kids because they were also disciplined? That so many super-geniuses are bereft of direction because they were too cerebral to apply themselves in practical ways?

I'm hoping the answer came today, when he heard all of his teachers and his counselor echoing the same things he's heard us say way too many times to be heard anymore. I'm hoping...

Flexibility (subtitle: She's baaaaaaack!!)

Wow, the silent echoes off the pages of my blog have been deafening. They crash and split and whirr, because it's as if this poor little blog is an empty can!

So, what has she been doing, you ask? I'm (sort of) glad you ask. It gives me a chance to call out...

"Help! I've been sucked into the FaceBook vortex, and I can't find my way out!"

I have a friend who turned me onto FB, mainly to share family photos and keep up. I figured it wouldn't go much past that. Then my mother and aunt got on FB, then the premed group found and friended me. Next thing I know, I have about 100 friends that I went to high school with (and haven't seen since then), 20 more online buddies from my bodybuilding days, a gazillion relatives that I'm so thankful to have a means of communication with, and friend requests from people I've never ever met before.

I have a dear friend who is a writer -- very good and very aspiring (check out her blog here) -- who summed it up perfectly the other day.

"FaceBook is evil," she said in response to me complaining about how easy it is to get distracted by it. "I haven't written since I joined." She, too, has a family -- only hers is complete with a wonderfully energetic toddler -- and even more limited time on the computer than me (at least I can pretend I'm studying when my nose is in my laptop, and everyone leaves me alone.) FaceBook has sucked that little bit of time bone dry.

Well, fortunately I can say that FaceBook isn't the only thing that has kept me from this beautifully cathartic blog-venture. (How embarrassing would that be?!) So what else have I been doing?

Besides school, that is...

P90X. I recognized from my personal training experiences that it was a good program, so I coughed up my birthday money (yes, at 38, I still get birthday money -- well, from my mother-in-law at least) and ordered the systerm. One word: WOW! And another: time-consuming (it counts -- the hyphen makes it one!)

Not that I'm complaining. It's structured enough that I will do it. I've let myself slip enough. It'd be a complete waste to get unhealthy whilst struggling towards medical school, only to get there and have a heart attack! So I'm on my second round, and am loving the results. Plus, I'm training for a 10K run in April. Loving the feeling of being so active again!

One of the weekly workouts is a 90-minute yoga class on dvd, and another is an hour of stretching. The flexibility element of the plan is what really sold me on it. I can lift heavy and keep my heartrate in the 170's for extended time intervals; I did that a LOT in order to get stage-ready. But I never worked on flexibility enough, and suffered the consequences. Within three weeks of my start date I noticed that shoulder pain that had been bothering me for a couple of years was just -- gone! My hips don't hurt near as bad as they used to (yes, I know I'm too young for that kind of chronic pain) and my back is much better, too.

But the thing I'm noticing is the most flexible is my schedule. What?? Well, sort of. I've discovered that, yes, I can work out while everyone else is awake and at home. I've discovered that my sons love to work out with me. I've even convinced my husband that this is actually fun and he's doing it as he gets time. (You think I'm busy?!)

Even my class schedule can be flexible. This year is the first year my spring break has not coincided with my childrens' break; they landed on two consecutive weeks. My research super told me this was due to the university's review for reaccreditation. While I still don't quite understand exactly what affect that process has on my spring break, I have no reason to not take her word for it.

At any rate, I approached all my professors and research supervisor with this solution: I do work in advance (during TSU's spring break) and take my actual break the following week. Risky. Simple. Daring. Stupid.

Yes, yes, yes, and yes. And it worked.

Mature Student's Lesson Learned? Our professors want us in their classes for what we add and what we take away (we attend more closely and work harder than traditional students, or so I've been told). And they will work with us around other commitments to ensure we are able to excel in their classes.

Classes/professors are more flexible than I ever thought! Heck, I'm more flexible, in that I actually acted on a wild thought, applying a fix that I never would have accepted before.

Wes and I take getaways as much as possible. Valentine's weekend. Anniversary weekend. Birthday weekend (his, mine, the Queen's.) The second weekend in November, just because. It keeps us refreshed. Without them we would implode under the load. No matter how stressful work got, I am convinced it was *nothing* compared to juggling classes, homework and family. One of my professors said the other day that once we start working we'll wish we were back in school. I've had a fulltime career, buddy, and believe me -- it was nothing compared to this! (not complaining here -- I adore school; I'm just simply stating the facts as I see them.) Wes is in school parttime, in addition to his more-than-fulltime job. Neither of us would make it without the quick weekend getaways. They help us stay flexible when the pressure would otherwise cause us to seize up.

At any rate, we get a getaway next week -- and it'll be a doozy! -- because my profs were flexible, and because I was flexible enough to take a chance and ask.

Palm trees are specifically adapted to the weather extremes of their ecosystems. They are tall and long and stretchy so that they can bend and bow beneath the wind of a tropical storm. Put a mighty oak tree on a tropical island and it'll be uprooted and destroyed by the wind. Strength is necessary, and one must be able to withstand much. But I propose that flexibility is all-the-more important when it comes to surviving extreme times. And I would be willing to bet that any mature student reading these words (and I'm flattered that you do, by the way) would agree that the juggling act of classes, homework, and family and other commitments would constitute extreme times.

So everybody, breathe and stretch with me...

Waking the giant

Sleepy summer? Not quite. I've been running an experiment: Summer classes. Take five hot weeks of a Texas summer and pack fifteen weeks' worth of university-level coursework into them, then multiply by two, and you've got a year's worth of credit at the end of ten weeks PLUS one crazy mom (and two bored kids.)

Physics I and II. With a side of research assistance. Turned out it was a much bigger bite than I (or my family) could chew. The research was voluntary, so I dropped it after the first summer semester. Don't worry, I plan to return in the spring.

When I emerged last week after the last test for the summer, my country was fully embroiled in health care reform debate. Well, one side was calling the other side anything from organized thugs and Nazis to just plain rude, and the other side was loudly raising concerns of Socialism, government-subsidized abortion and assisted suicide. Needless to say, my interest is piqued. And so it should be, if for no other reason but the selfish: my future is intimately interwoven with and impacted by this legislation.

I know full well there are half-truths and exaggerations on both ends of the spectrum. I am not naive enough to believe that the government is all good or all evil -- nor are the people all making educated statements and stands. I can't believe everything I'm hearing from any media outlet, whether the source is "state-run news" or a "fair-and-balanced" cable network.

So I've taken the challenge to actually read the bill myself. I know I'm far from the first citizen to accept this challenge. I'm not even the first member of my household to do this; my husband has already started sharing his insights after doing some reading. I'll put his influential words on the back burner, however, while I look into it myself. Incidentally, Congress is populated by a bunch of windbags that like to write as much as they talk. My back and rear end are already sore from sitting here in front of my laptop, and I've only started. (It might be a long day.) And while I know that my views won't change the world, I feel I have a unique opportunity and responsibility to add my voice to the conversation. It is a pre-med student's voice, after all, and one that should have some knowledgeable words to share.

I've already formed some opinions, but won't share until I have the let them bake with the facts and solidify into truly beneficial viewpoints.

I will, however, say this. It is apparent from the well-attended town meetings occurring all over the nation that the American people are concerned enough to finally participate in our democracy. We're no longer content with drowsily settling with whatever our government decides is best for us, which is really what massive lobbying firms convince them, through lavish spending and pampering, is best for their big-industry clients. If nothing else, this issue has awakened the sleeping giant, and we're not likely to be lulled back to slumber anytime soon.

At any rate, more to come...

Diagnosis

It has been a long, silent period for my blog. Man, how life gets simple in its stresses when absolutely all you have time to do (in order to not fail) is study!

At any rate, I'm breaking my silence now, on a Good Friday that has been especially reflective for me, to post an eye-opening article. Written by Dr. C. Truman Davis, it's an essay of sorts describing his research into the practice of crucifixion, specifically that of Jesus, and his diagnosis of the actual, immediate cause of death. He takes the reader through the physiological events in Jesus' body from Gethsemane to the cross, in addition to giving a bit of a clarifying history lesson.

Dr. Davis writes, "Jesus experienced hours of limitless pain, cycles of twisting, joint-rending cramps, intermittent partial asphyxiation, searing pain where tissue is torn from His lacerated back as He moves up and down against the rough timber. Then another agony begins -- a terrible crushing pain deep in the chest as the pericardium slowly fills with serum and begins to compress the heart. One remembers again the 22nd Psalm, the 14th verse: 'I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.'"

It's a tough read, to be sure. But a good one. I was just meditating on this yesterday, wondering what the actual cause of Jesus' death was, and assumed it was mainly attributable to blood loss. Dr. Davis consulted the medical texts and gives his diagnosis. I was partly right...

Help! New Creatures Living in My House!

A cursory search of my son's room turned up these inhabitants:

The feared and dreaded Dragon, threatening to chew up in his plastic jaws all that crossed his path.The fiercely brave Dragon Tamer, sent to capture and train the feared Dragon from the region called Lukesroom.Battle for control ensued, but the dragontamer's cunning strategy wore out the dragon, breaking him of his independent spirit that had made him dwell in the mountain alone and dreaded by all the villagers surrounding it. The Dragontamer approached...

...and the Dragon, with newly earned respect for the Tamer, submitted, and allowed him to mount and ride.

A new partnership, forged in the fires of competition and honor, was sealed as the Dragontamer shouts to his steed, "CHARGE!!!"

Queen Mom of the lands surrounding Lukesroom heaved a sigh of relief, breathing, "Phew, glad that's over!"

7.1

This is week one of my seventh semester at Texas State University. Or, as I'm calling it here, 7.1. My first semester was the perfect picture of me sticking my toe in the water before diving in; I took only six hours. Most semesters since then I've taken only 12-13 hours. My first two semesters were spent fulfilling core education requirements -- the stuff all majors require like history and English. It was during this time that I realized I accomplished so very little in my first college attempt, and thus, I was basically starting over.

My third semester was my first really serious challenge in the sciences: general chemistry, freshman biology (for majors), college algebra, and a philosophy class, and (oh, yeah) weight training (because heavy metal rocks!) That semester totalled 14 hours with labs and it nearly did me in, so I scaled back my hours the next semester. Oh, and I added a dance class for my second physical wellness requirement. Other classes included the second half of general chemistry, pre-calculus (which I took without taking the foundational trigonometry, mind you; if you're reading this before you've embarked upon your own education, don't make that mistake) and the core communications requirement -- a basically easy semester (except the math.)

At that point, I was still considering physical therapy, and dance was proving to be an intriguing therapeutic modality. At least that was my excuse to take TWO dance classes the following semester. I also enrolled in an athletic training class for the physical therapy requirements, calculus I, and an honors literature class. Only one class in the entire lineup fulfilled a medical school prerequisite. Pretty safe to say, an amazingly fun semester.

And an almost complete waste of time.

I shouldn't say that. I visited three medical schools that semester, convincing me that truly was the path I wanted to take. I got involved in TSU's premed society. And I learned a killer improvisational dance form. I had fun, and refreshed myself for the rest of my undergraduate matriculation.

Then last semester hit. That's when I started this blog, so if you've been observing faithfully, you pretty much know what that was: An uphill slog through knee-deep mud, complete with requisite bitching and moaning while I actively pulled my hair out and scared my children with my manic study habits. At least that's how the first part of it went. I must say, I think I ended rather well. Now I'm a full-fledged premed student, logging hours in classes such as microbiology, genetics, physics, and more organic chemistry.

This point of this inventory? I'm glad you ask:

I returned to university six semesters ago. I have enough college credit hours to be a senior ready to graduate this calendar year. Yet, for all intents and purposes, I am a sophomore. My projected graduation date is in December of 2011. About five months after my 40th birthday.

*sigh*

College is a different journey when undertaken several years into life, and you have passengers along for the ride. There are advantages and disadvantages. The advantages include an undying fascination with the subject matter. Any subject matter. I am a woman starved in the midst of famine, and my classes are a veritable feast that I can't stop myself from gorging on. I am still amazed at how much I enjoyed math and chemistry (my parents marvel at that, too; you wouldn't believe the looks they give me when I tell them how much I'm digging this stuff.) I am pursuing my education with a purpose. I'm not looking for myself, because I've already found her. I can see the end, and am taking steps with purpose towards it. I have a plan, and I'm doing the plan, so each semester I can tick off as one step closer to finishing it.

Not only am I interested, I appreciate the financial commitment I've made. I have a professor that put it this way: education is the only business in which the customer (the student) will pay full price for a product/service, but will gladly accept less than full service/product. But not me; being a more experienced consumer, I will eek every last cent out of my purchase. I attend every lecture, every study session, every lab. I put in extra time reading and studying. And that professor's comments helped me realize that I'm paying for knowledge, not a piece of paper, and not a good grade. That tidbit will help me focus on even more effective study habits.

Now, the disadvantages:

• I am older than several of my professors, and all of my lab instructors.
• My peers call me "ma'am."
• I can't take as many semester hours as other science/pre-professional students due to family commitments and schedules, nor can I attend all the organizational meetings. This will make my undergrad tenure longer than others in this major.
• I can't live in an apartment near campus, so my commute is a bit further.
• I occasionally have to listen to complaints from my children that I'm spending more time with textbooks than I am with them. Consequently, I have to battle mommy-guilt for that.
• I can no longer "pull an all-nighter" when I want, but when I don't want to "pull an all-nighter," I am visited by hormone-induced insomnia and do anyway.
• There's more laundry, more dishes, more cooking, more chores here than in the typical college student's home. Also more noise, more distraction... just, more.

Alas, at the end of this second inventory, I am convinced that the advantages (although they're fewer in number) far outweigh the disadvantages (because they're bigger.) And I'm convinced that every disadvantage has an accompanying advantage that wipes it out.

7.1 may not be as close to the end of my undergrad as it would be to Someone Else's, but it's right where I need to be. And I'm ready to face it head-on.

Come on, lucky seven!

Thankful

Today I am relishing my last day of domesticity and family calm before tomorrow brings the whirlwind of activity known as Mom's Semester. Most of my books are in. My schedule is printed and ready. I'm doing a few home projects that I know I won't have time for once I get rolling academically again, namely laundry, changing bed linens, cleaning the floors... you know, all the household fluff jobs that don't have to be done.

I'm kidding -- I know laundry is necessary, and clean sheets are a must, but I also know that I don't get to these tasks nearly often as I should when I'm in the throes of a busy semester.

Last night we had several dear friends over for steaks. I termed the night my Final Fling. I said good night to each family at the door with, "Thank you for coming -- see you in the summer!" Of course it's an exaggeration, but only by a little. It seems that all my schedule can hold while class is in session is homework and studying, classes, academic organization meetings, and family (sadly, in that order.)

It may not sound like it to the poor stranger stumbling into my blog, but I am thankful for the opportunity to be pursuing my education. Although I had a job that I liked, I am glad that we took the opportunity that presented itself five years ago to get off the double-income hamster wheel. Not that a career isn't a worthy thing for a woman to have; a career is what I'm ultimately after here. But I was working because I had to work, and our family was paying for it in stress, tight schedules, and day care tuition. Other people were raising our children so that I could continue working in a job that I pretty much stumbled into. It wasn't the career of my dreams or goals, and it finally became a cage that I was glad to escape.

Finding your calling in life and pursuing it is such an exhilarating process. And I'm aware of how fortunate I am to have the freedom to do that. Sure, the prep work (aka my education) is a long arduous process, and I'm only in the first phase of it. But each day I get out of bed, knowing that I am really living! And for that, I'm thankful. That, and these things:

I am a woman obtaining higher education. I live in a country that does not forbid its women to learn to read, or to work outside of their home. I live in a country in a stretched economic period, yet my husband has a steady job (that isn't threatened by cutbacks) that he enjoys, at which he excels, allowing me to go to school instead of work to supplement the family's income. My husband has great favor in his career, and I have great favor with my husband. I have a husband who supports me and my goals. I am married to my best friend, my biggest fan, my business partner, and the hottest guy I ever dated. I am so thankful!

My boys understand what I'm doing and support me, too. Once, when I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with all the studies and decisions and responsibilities taking my time away from the kids (and the guilt that comes with those things) I remember telling Nate how hard this whole college-thing was. Lucky Nate gets to hear some of my thinking-out-loud; I started running down medical career options that didn't take as big a commitment as MD does. Nate thought for a second, then asked, "But you want to be a doctor, right?" "Yes," I responded. "Then you can do it. Don't settle, Mom"

See how blessed I am? I am so thankful!

I have friends that believe in me and believe for me to journey well on this path I've chosen. Although my best friend made sniffily-sad faces a few times yesterday as we talked about the upcoming semester -- all in jest (I think) -- I know she is cheering me on. She provides a warm, safe second home to my boys when work takes dad and school takes me. She provides encouragement and a listening ear when I lament an impossibly difficult class. She prays for me, and I for her. And when the semester is done, we take at least one day, just the two of us, and play. No kids, no husbands, just girls. For her, for all my friends, and for those days with them, I am so thankful!

And tomorrow, I'll start a challenging semester of stretching my skull so that my brain can hold more. I'll be one more step closer to my undergraduate degree, medical school, and my destiny. I'll have yet another chance to meet new people, influence them well, and encourage them to be their best as I endeavor to be mine.

Yes, I'm thankful.