...I say thumbing my nose and stifling a yawn (trying to hide my intellectual shame).
Two nights ago I first heard about the new superconductor circling underneath France and Switzerland. I was finally in my pajamas after a l-o-o-o-n-g day, ready to veg with a glass of wine and the last half of a CSI rerun, totally minding my own decompressing business when Wes walks in and casually announces:
"So they've built a new superconductor and plan on testing it this week. Some people think it's going to create a million tiny black holes through which the planet will be sucked up and destroyed."
Normally, I'd banter with, "Really? So, who exactly is 'they'? Our swinging neighbors? I wondered what all that racket was this weekend, but I assumed it was just one of their legendary parties." And then segue into some asinine conversation about swingers and black holes, which Wes would've thoroughly enjoyed.
That's what I'd normally do. This night, as shot as all my nerve endings and synapses were, I responded with, "Huh."
Announcement forgotten.
Until last night, when Wes felt the need to educate me on the Hadron supercollider. He calls me into the office -- again, finally in pajamas, kids finally tucked in for the night, just as I was heading to the kitch for (yep, you guessed it) a glass of wine -- with a tantalizing note of excitement in his voice. You know the note, a bit flirty, a bit intriguing, the excitement edging its tones with something that says, "I know something that's gonna interest you, and you HAVE to come here!"
So I went to the office, all a-quiver with anticipation of this fascinating tidbit that I'm sure he had for me, only to find a cued-up YouTube video (view it here if you dare: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3iryBLZCOQ ) -- it's this ridiculous rap-styled tutorial, way too long and repetitive to remain interesting, about the Large Hadron Collider (LHC). It's one of those pop-culture knock-off attempts to convince science dummies and kids exactly how hip science really is. It's like Bill Nye, only worse. (I shouldn't say that; I actually like Bill Nye. I had a crush on him when I was a kid -- or was that when my kids were little? Hmmm, can't remember...)
So finally when the bad rap is over, I had to ask with a sigh, "Where on earth did you find that?" He answers. Then I had to ask (while stifling a yawn), "Why on earth did you want me to see that?"
He answers by explaining the concept to me. About 2/3 of the way through his lecture, he finally catches on that I'm not very interested -- I think it was when my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I slumped over onto the ground where I immediately began snoring.
I finally commented, "I don't think it'll destroy the world, and I don't really have an intellectual or spiritual problem with it -- I don't think this is heresy or blasphemy or the Tower of Babel, necessarily. What I do think it is, is an astronomical waste of money, time, and effort."
Maybe I'm wrong. But I just don't see what good it will do for humanity to know exactly what happened to all the antimatter (which, by the way, if "they" don't know where it went, nor has it ever been seen, how do "they" know it ever existed in the first place?) or to find the ever-evasive Higgs proton that's supposed to be the central component of nuclear physics (or something) that nobody has ever actually seen.
Unbelievable. It's unfathomable to think that so many people get excited enough about this to spend their life pursuing it, and billions and billions of dollars that could be used to -- I don't know, provide clean drinking water and peace for millions in underprivileged countries that we in the "progressive western world" have pillaged for their resources for centuries??
But maybe -- just maybe -- as one who is studying chemistry for a minor, who will be taking physics in the next several months, maybe I should be interested. Maybe I should be intrigued and entertained by geeks in hard hats and labcoats lipsynching rap lyrics and saying, "yo, yo, that's how we do it in the LHC, b*tch!"
*yawn*
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Just when you think...
Just when I think my kid is growing up too fast...
I mentioned a few posts back that Nathan, who is now Nate, has embraced puberty and the pseudomaturity of the middle-schooler. I sighed over his sudden interest in his personal grooming and his newly-honed fashion sense, and I chided myself for the need to check on him.
The next day, I did drive by his bus stop. Not because I was checking on him, but because my truck was pointed in that direction when I parked it the night before, and that's the way I had to drive to leave our neighborhood. Honest!! But since I was passing by, I thought I'd wave, suppressing the kid-embarrassing maternal urge to blow him a kiss.
When I looked for him, he wasn't there. Other kids were there, even his best friend Matthew. Oh, no! Panic set in.
So I did what any mother would do -- I rolled down the window and asked Matthew if he had seen Nate.
"Uh, yeah," Matthew said, "he's in the tree."
With my eyes I followed his pointing finger into the top branches of the corner tree, and saw my super-cool, hairgel using, newly matured son. "Hi, Mom!" he proudly called over the sound of rustling leaves.
Good, the little boy isn't gone after all!
I mentioned a few posts back that Nathan, who is now Nate, has embraced puberty and the pseudomaturity of the middle-schooler. I sighed over his sudden interest in his personal grooming and his newly-honed fashion sense, and I chided myself for the need to check on him.
The next day, I did drive by his bus stop. Not because I was checking on him, but because my truck was pointed in that direction when I parked it the night before, and that's the way I had to drive to leave our neighborhood. Honest!! But since I was passing by, I thought I'd wave, suppressing the kid-embarrassing maternal urge to blow him a kiss.
When I looked for him, he wasn't there. Other kids were there, even his best friend Matthew. Oh, no! Panic set in.
So I did what any mother would do -- I rolled down the window and asked Matthew if he had seen Nate.
"Uh, yeah," Matthew said, "he's in the tree."
With my eyes I followed his pointing finger into the top branches of the corner tree, and saw my super-cool, hairgel using, newly matured son. "Hi, Mom!" he proudly called over the sound of rustling leaves.
Good, the little boy isn't gone after all!
... and I'm okay with that
In the minds of many observers, the typical science student is very serious, very singular in focus, and very boring. I know this because I've been that observer. I've seen the girls that are too busy studying to fix their hair and makeup. I've overheard the passionate discussions about the lab experiments being conducted that week while I stifled a yawn. I've giggled inside when I see a science geek's eyes light up when discussing the mathematics of DNA sequencing. Yep, science students, whether it's because they think in different stratospheres than the rest of us, have impressed me and many others I've talked with, as being pretty dull. And I've maintained this stereotype, even after becoming a science student myself.
Weird, I know.
And I have, for most of my life, harbored one single fear, one concern that can send me shrieking into the back closet locking the door behind me -- that I would become boring. *gasp!* I think this hangup against monotony is the culprit behind my ever-changing hair color, my many and diverse interests and pursuits, and probably my _________ I dunno, you fill in the blank. Whatever strangeness that can be seen in me, blame it on my boycott on boredom!
I have, subconsciously or otherwise, carried this dread of becoming uninspiring into my degree path. Since I've re-entered university, and since I've declared my intent to continue on to medical school, I have taken three dance classes (modern, ballet, and contact improvisation), a science-fiction literature class, and have entertained the thought of voice lessons as well as ashtanga yoga. The only thing that has kept me out of art classes is the time commitment; I could never find a way to squeeze a 4-hour life drawing class into my schedule (darn it!)
This semester, along with 12 hours of math and science classes, I registered for Arabic Cultures. My thinking? My ultimate goal in this life of doctoring is to do medical missions, and specifically, missions to Arab countries such as Egypt and Sudan. So when I saw the class offering I jumped on it, figuring I'd need to know a little something about how to conduct myself within these cultures when the time comes.
On the first day, members of the class were asked to introduce ourselves with our name, major, and why we were taking the class. I carefully constructed my introduction in my mind as my turn approached (as I'm sure everyone does, right?!) The professor was taken aback, expressing surprise that a biology student would be remotely interested in anything other than microscopes and biospheres.
Stereotype confirmed. *sigh*
As the semester started rolling, however, I found myself giving too much time to this class, which stole time from organic chemistry and calculus. The stress started adding up more and more as the weekends ticked by with busy family schedules -- birthday party for the boys, homework for the boys, shopping for the boys, church activities, and a girls' night which I had on the calendar for months (not to mention an ever-pressing urge to blog!) And for some reason, my husband still wants dinner and clean laundry, and an occasional snuggle. I know, can you believe it?! I didn't have near enough time to commit to the books, and the lectures were whizzing past, leaving me dizzy. I wound up Sunday night with my head in my hands, tears streaming down my face, wondering what on earth was I doing?!
From some other place, somewhere far removed from me, from deep recesses of some ancient well, I heard my voice shouting, "God, you gave me this dream and goal, but why?! If you want me to do this, you need to show me how!!" Okay, so it wasn't that dramatic, but it was a desperate prayer -- and one answered right away with an overwhelming sense of peace as the solution made itself apparent.
I dropped Arabic Cultures Monday morning. I explained to my professor that I knew now why so many science students seem uninterested in anything but science -- because there's no time for anything but science when science is your major.
The same day, I officially declared Biology as my major, with a minor in Chemistry. By filling out one single, simple form, I embraced the uni-dimensionality (is that even a word?!), the singular focus of the science student. I officially became boring.
And I'm okay with that.
Here's the thing. Despite my natural interests in the arts and literature, and my lifelong avoidance of math and science, I am finding I have a good aptitude for the coursework in my major. Still, at times it can be a slog. I don't have a burning fascination for the subject matter of the medical prerequisites; sure, I'm interested, but I can rarely go as far as to say it intrigues me. I don't lie awake puzzling over cell meiosis and why vertebrates evolved the mechanisms of sexual reproduction. I don't dream about ways to bend protein sequences just so, in order to achieve a desired outcome. I don't wake up and bounce out of bed, eager to titrate acid solutions and calculate the derivative of tangent.
I do lie awake some nights, though, wide-eyed and dreamy as Wes and I discuss the future's possibilities. I visualize myself scrubbing in for surgery. I thrill at the thought of setting bones in Africa and playing with the children of patients in far-flung impoverished countries. I cherish the thought of hugging a grateful patient and praying for those in need in real time. I dream of working with my husband to bring proper healthcare to the people in whatever corner of the earth God leads us.
Organismal biology and genetics and organic chemistry and physics (and a list too extensive and tedious to lay out here) are the steps that will take me to those smiling faces, equipped with things that can help them live longer, fuller lives. So that they, in turn, can impact their world in a way they couldn't without the medical help and the loving touch that I will one day give them.
Maybe I am boring -- but maybe not; I still have word-creating powers!! (Recall, if you will, uni-dimensionality? What'd I tell ya, I'm a supergenius!)
But for a season, I am a Biology Major and Chemistry Minor. This is what I do, and not much more.
... and I'm okay with that.
Weird, I know.
And I have, for most of my life, harbored one single fear, one concern that can send me shrieking into the back closet locking the door behind me -- that I would become boring. *gasp!* I think this hangup against monotony is the culprit behind my ever-changing hair color, my many and diverse interests and pursuits, and probably my _________ I dunno, you fill in the blank. Whatever strangeness that can be seen in me, blame it on my boycott on boredom!
I have, subconsciously or otherwise, carried this dread of becoming uninspiring into my degree path. Since I've re-entered university, and since I've declared my intent to continue on to medical school, I have taken three dance classes (modern, ballet, and contact improvisation), a science-fiction literature class, and have entertained the thought of voice lessons as well as ashtanga yoga. The only thing that has kept me out of art classes is the time commitment; I could never find a way to squeeze a 4-hour life drawing class into my schedule (darn it!)
This semester, along with 12 hours of math and science classes, I registered for Arabic Cultures. My thinking? My ultimate goal in this life of doctoring is to do medical missions, and specifically, missions to Arab countries such as Egypt and Sudan. So when I saw the class offering I jumped on it, figuring I'd need to know a little something about how to conduct myself within these cultures when the time comes.
On the first day, members of the class were asked to introduce ourselves with our name, major, and why we were taking the class. I carefully constructed my introduction in my mind as my turn approached (as I'm sure everyone does, right?!) The professor was taken aback, expressing surprise that a biology student would be remotely interested in anything other than microscopes and biospheres.
Stereotype confirmed. *sigh*
As the semester started rolling, however, I found myself giving too much time to this class, which stole time from organic chemistry and calculus. The stress started adding up more and more as the weekends ticked by with busy family schedules -- birthday party for the boys, homework for the boys, shopping for the boys, church activities, and a girls' night which I had on the calendar for months (not to mention an ever-pressing urge to blog!) And for some reason, my husband still wants dinner and clean laundry, and an occasional snuggle. I know, can you believe it?! I didn't have near enough time to commit to the books, and the lectures were whizzing past, leaving me dizzy. I wound up Sunday night with my head in my hands, tears streaming down my face, wondering what on earth was I doing?!
From some other place, somewhere far removed from me, from deep recesses of some ancient well, I heard my voice shouting, "God, you gave me this dream and goal, but why?! If you want me to do this, you need to show me how!!" Okay, so it wasn't that dramatic, but it was a desperate prayer -- and one answered right away with an overwhelming sense of peace as the solution made itself apparent.
I dropped Arabic Cultures Monday morning. I explained to my professor that I knew now why so many science students seem uninterested in anything but science -- because there's no time for anything but science when science is your major.
The same day, I officially declared Biology as my major, with a minor in Chemistry. By filling out one single, simple form, I embraced the uni-dimensionality (is that even a word?!), the singular focus of the science student. I officially became boring.
And I'm okay with that.
Here's the thing. Despite my natural interests in the arts and literature, and my lifelong avoidance of math and science, I am finding I have a good aptitude for the coursework in my major. Still, at times it can be a slog. I don't have a burning fascination for the subject matter of the medical prerequisites; sure, I'm interested, but I can rarely go as far as to say it intrigues me. I don't lie awake puzzling over cell meiosis and why vertebrates evolved the mechanisms of sexual reproduction. I don't dream about ways to bend protein sequences just so, in order to achieve a desired outcome. I don't wake up and bounce out of bed, eager to titrate acid solutions and calculate the derivative of tangent.
I do lie awake some nights, though, wide-eyed and dreamy as Wes and I discuss the future's possibilities. I visualize myself scrubbing in for surgery. I thrill at the thought of setting bones in Africa and playing with the children of patients in far-flung impoverished countries. I cherish the thought of hugging a grateful patient and praying for those in need in real time. I dream of working with my husband to bring proper healthcare to the people in whatever corner of the earth God leads us.
Organismal biology and genetics and organic chemistry and physics (and a list too extensive and tedious to lay out here) are the steps that will take me to those smiling faces, equipped with things that can help them live longer, fuller lives. So that they, in turn, can impact their world in a way they couldn't without the medical help and the loving touch that I will one day give them.
Maybe I am boring -- but maybe not; I still have word-creating powers!! (Recall, if you will, uni-dimensionality? What'd I tell ya, I'm a supergenius!)
But for a season, I am a Biology Major and Chemistry Minor. This is what I do, and not much more.
... and I'm okay with that.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Go G(r)eek!
Fashion Statement of the semester: Go Greek! Whether your signature style is a black tee emblazoned with these words in pink, or a strapless beach dress with 'Go Greek!' scrawled across the chest, we gotcha covered (mostly)! You and the several hundred other girls involved in sororities on campus that are dying to look just like you.I was struck by yet another element of my life on the perimeter, and no, not the fact that I live out of my truck during the week. The two little words 'Go Greek' showed me my extremely limited involvement in university organizations, academic or otherwise. I am a member of the TSU Premed/Predent Society. I considered joining the Non-Traditional Student Organization (NTSO) but I got the strange feeling that there would be much whining about the woes of scheduling, families, and not fitting in (heh, that's what I do here!) And as a requirement for a class this semester, I am a member of the new Arabic Cultures Club -- we'll see how that goes, but methinks it'll be interesting.
I've never really had the desire to rush a sorority, even when I was a traditional university student 18 years ago (gulp!) There's a bit of non-conformity in my DNA that involuntarily scoffs during rush week. But I see the human need, even in me, to belong to something bigger than oneself, to have a group with which to identify.
That group, for me, would wear a tee-shirt that boldly pronounces
GO GEEK!
No, really!
Actually, the group I most readily identify with is the one for whom I am the most responsible: my family. While I feel a touch of pride in my Premed Society membership (read: I pay my annual dues and attend as many meetings as I can squeeze into my packed schedule) and I tend to wear my Mature Student Martyr patch prominently on my shoulder, the ones that depend on me the most are the three boys (hubby included) that live in my house.
I'm good with that. But I still struggle with the involvement issue. No, not to belong to a sorority or any other social clubs on campus, to make sisters for life. Medical schools look at involvement beyond your GPA when assessing potential students. They want to see more than just premed society membership, they want to see involvement such as holding office. They want to see diversity of interests and the discipline shown by fulfilling and maintaining commitments, all while holding a solid GPA in the toughest sciences and math classes.
My family is made up of four multi-faceted individuals, with far-ranging interests and passionately held viewpoints. Debate around the dinner table is common, as well as silliness and raucous laughter. We read up on diverse subjects, we study much, we experiment with art and music, we enjoy exotic and eclectic cuisine -- Luke loves ahi tuna, and Nate continuously requests Moroccan lamb stew -- and we exercise our bodies with many different activities (we get bored easily.) While we may not see eye to eye on everything, we all agree on one thing: We're a bunch of geeks! I'm a firmly committed member of this geek society, a fixture in the family landscape. I hold offices, such as Head Buyer, Executive Chef, Domestic Administrator, and Secretary of Schedule-State. While I defer to Wes as President, I tend to think I hold a lot of pull in the decision department. All while staying on the Dean's List, and stretching myself to the outer limits intellectually with 15 hours of university-level classes.
Surely, this will be enough?!
I'm hoping that the committees at the med schools I apply to see it that way, at least.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Open letter
My sons,
You probably wonder why I am choosing to go to school when you, who are required to go, would rather not. You probably shake your heads in bewilderment when I scramble to finish assignments and worry over grades, knowing that I have chosen this stress called Higher Education, that I don’t have to do it, so why do I? Why do I take away attention that used to belong totally to the two of you, and put it on things like History, Psychology, and English? Why do I have to spend so much time with my nose in books while I used to spend it building Lego mansions or creating crayon masterpieces or snuggling with you? Why now, since I seem to have been fine without college for all of your lives, do I choose to return to school now?
When I was about your age, Nathan – around back when I was ten – my mother went to college. She had been waiting tables at a dinner theater, bringing drinks to people there to be entertained and to get drunk. On a providentially pivotal night, she discovered that the most important mentor of her youth – her high school band director – was seated at one of her tables. He was as surprised to see her as she was to see him! He said to her, “Lee, what are you doing here?” It wasn’t a query of pleasant surprise, although he was happy to see her. Rather, it was an expression of disappointment, for she had been one of his most promising students, the first chair flautist in one of Texas’ best high school bands. He was basically asking her, “Why are you settling for this when you could have everything you’ve always wanted in life?”
The question struck her in her center, and she began asking herself, “What am I doing here?” The next semester, she was studying music at Eastfield Community College in Dallas.
Your Nana Lee worked most of my childhood. She sold real estate and she worked as a secretary, but she mostly worked as a cocktail waitress, because the money was better. Neither she nor my dad finished college. They were passionate about me and your aunt, and about music, but because they had to work most of the time to support our family, they couldn’t spend much time with any of us. It’s easy to get stuck in that pattern – do something you don’t love to make money for the kids you do love, which takes time away from the kids, but you don’t have enough education to make money doing what you love, so you keep on doing something you don’t love…
It wasn’t easy, but finishing college changed her life completely; Nana Lee no longer settles for something less than what she wants. She earned her degree shortly after I had already left my college education hanging high and dry. Sure, I started – studying music no less! But life’s road can be full of twists and turns that are easy to miss if you’re not careful. I let a few of those turns throw me off for about 15 years.
I don’t regret any decision I made, because around all the turns I found you. I met Daddy and came into the strongest love I have ever known: one that grows stronger steadily by the day, and one that produced two amazing boys. When Daddy and I met, we were both in university limbo. After a wild 14-year ride of courtship and marriage, we are both just now getting back to our educations. Unfortunately, you two seem to bear the biggest brunt of our procrastination. Because our time is filled with more than just you and your care, you have to share the load of household chores. I can only imagine that’s not as bad as sharing your parents with the university.
Why am I doing this now? I refuse to settle for anything less than best. I realized shortly after you were born that Nana Lee wasn’t just settling for second-best for her life, but also for my sister’s and mine; that was what she endeavored to correct by going back to school. You two deserve the best, and your children will deserve the best. If I can give you anything (besides my good teeth and charming disposition) I pray I can give you this wisdom: Never settle! Finish your education before you set off on your own road in life, so that the trip will be smoother, so that your families will not have to settle for less of you in their lives. Learn to do what you love for a living so that you won’t be picked dry by a boring job. That is the best way to ensure that there will be more of you to share with them.
Live well, my sons! I love you both.
- written in the fall of 2005 -
You probably wonder why I am choosing to go to school when you, who are required to go, would rather not. You probably shake your heads in bewilderment when I scramble to finish assignments and worry over grades, knowing that I have chosen this stress called Higher Education, that I don’t have to do it, so why do I? Why do I take away attention that used to belong totally to the two of you, and put it on things like History, Psychology, and English? Why do I have to spend so much time with my nose in books while I used to spend it building Lego mansions or creating crayon masterpieces or snuggling with you? Why now, since I seem to have been fine without college for all of your lives, do I choose to return to school now?
When I was about your age, Nathan – around back when I was ten – my mother went to college. She had been waiting tables at a dinner theater, bringing drinks to people there to be entertained and to get drunk. On a providentially pivotal night, she discovered that the most important mentor of her youth – her high school band director – was seated at one of her tables. He was as surprised to see her as she was to see him! He said to her, “Lee, what are you doing here?” It wasn’t a query of pleasant surprise, although he was happy to see her. Rather, it was an expression of disappointment, for she had been one of his most promising students, the first chair flautist in one of Texas’ best high school bands. He was basically asking her, “Why are you settling for this when you could have everything you’ve always wanted in life?”
The question struck her in her center, and she began asking herself, “What am I doing here?” The next semester, she was studying music at Eastfield Community College in Dallas.
Your Nana Lee worked most of my childhood. She sold real estate and she worked as a secretary, but she mostly worked as a cocktail waitress, because the money was better. Neither she nor my dad finished college. They were passionate about me and your aunt, and about music, but because they had to work most of the time to support our family, they couldn’t spend much time with any of us. It’s easy to get stuck in that pattern – do something you don’t love to make money for the kids you do love, which takes time away from the kids, but you don’t have enough education to make money doing what you love, so you keep on doing something you don’t love…
It wasn’t easy, but finishing college changed her life completely; Nana Lee no longer settles for something less than what she wants. She earned her degree shortly after I had already left my college education hanging high and dry. Sure, I started – studying music no less! But life’s road can be full of twists and turns that are easy to miss if you’re not careful. I let a few of those turns throw me off for about 15 years.
I don’t regret any decision I made, because around all the turns I found you. I met Daddy and came into the strongest love I have ever known: one that grows stronger steadily by the day, and one that produced two amazing boys. When Daddy and I met, we were both in university limbo. After a wild 14-year ride of courtship and marriage, we are both just now getting back to our educations. Unfortunately, you two seem to bear the biggest brunt of our procrastination. Because our time is filled with more than just you and your care, you have to share the load of household chores. I can only imagine that’s not as bad as sharing your parents with the university.
Why am I doing this now? I refuse to settle for anything less than best. I realized shortly after you were born that Nana Lee wasn’t just settling for second-best for her life, but also for my sister’s and mine; that was what she endeavored to correct by going back to school. You two deserve the best, and your children will deserve the best. If I can give you anything (besides my good teeth and charming disposition) I pray I can give you this wisdom: Never settle! Finish your education before you set off on your own road in life, so that the trip will be smoother, so that your families will not have to settle for less of you in their lives. Learn to do what you love for a living so that you won’t be picked dry by a boring job. That is the best way to ensure that there will be more of you to share with them.
Live well, my sons! I love you both.
- written in the fall of 2005 -
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Go-Time
Last night I heard myself say words I've never said before:
"Tomorrow is just go-over-the-syllabus day; I don't really have to go to class."
Wes looked a bit like a puppy dog who cocks his head in confusion, trying to decide exactly what it was he just heard. His eyes changed almost imperceptibly, just enough for me to get the message -- which was you're kidding, right?
"I'm kidding!" I say backpedaling fast (I wasn't.) "Of course I'm going!"
When I finally got out of the house this morning, about 15 minutes late (grumble), I had to resist the urge to drive by Nathan's bus stop on the way to Luke's neighborhood school, just to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. Nathan has been up early every day this week, pulled from the comfort of his bed by the anticipation of his new middle school status. He's decided to revamp his image, telling his teachers to call him "Nate" and using hair products. *sigh* He seems to be embracing preteenhood and life in junior high. But it's more than the social life of the prepubescent that's making him seize the day. I told Luke this morning, "I think Nathan is actually excited about the work of 6th grade!" To which Luke rolled his eyes, looking horror struck, muttering, "He is! It's so weird!"
Luke is the opposite, at least to hear him tell it. He started telling us how much he was looking forward to next summer break before this summer break was over. He complains about learning new things ("I already know everything" -- he told us when he was four years old -- "I'm a genus!" Yes, as in, genus-phylum-species), about being bored, about getting up in the morning ("I'm way too tired for school this morning!"), and on and on... But he has come home happy and full of stories the last two days. On the first day of school last year, I came downstairs to find him sitting at the table totally dressed, including his backpack and bicycle helmet, eating his Rice Krispies. I saw him pedaling up the alley on his morning commute today, faster than he's ever ridden. Does that sound like a kid that r-e-a-l-l-y hates school? I didn't think so, either.
At any rate, I knew the boys were fine. They know the school-morning drill, and they execute it well. I also knew my compulsion to check on them was nothing more than a thinly-guised stall tactic.
In the truck on the highway, I asked myself in frustration, loud enough to be heard over the morning news on NPR, "What's my deal? I'm never late on the first day!"
I didn't have an answer.
Texas State University is in a little-big town called San Marcos, about 20 minutes down IH-35 from my little-little town, which is about 30 minutes south of Austin. This campus rocks -- sprawling across several miles of hills, it's an aesthetically-pleasing blend of old and new, with a river running through it. San Marcos' population explodes every new semester with the incoming class moving in for the first time or back for another round. Yet San Marcos stubbornly holds on to its redneck spirit, its old-timey small-town feel, refusing progress. That includes bridges.
There are no bridges going over the railroad that goes right through the center of town. And the tracks are used many times a day by trains. Long, s-l-o-w trains. Inevitably I find myself waiting on a train while en route to class at least once per semester, reading the graffiti on the boxcars that serve as sort of travel stickers, letting you know in which cities the train has rested overnight. But I've never waited for the train on the first day of classes; I'm usually early enough to miss it.
Not today. (I hate trains.)
Since I already own my own home and I don't think Wes would like dorm life, I commute. Commuters park on the outer rim of TSU campus, known as "the perimeter." There is a bus system that shuttles commuters from their parking lots in outer Mongolia to the heart of the campus, but to call them reliable would be like calling Genghis Khan a teddy bear. I usually walk in. If possible I return to my truck to change out books between classes, which means I walk in (read: climb The Hill) several times a day. I gained a couple of pounds this summer with the cut in activity; after today's walking I'm surprised it wasn't more! Anyway. It's about a 15-minute walk at a comfortable pace, or an eight-minute walk when I'm late, like this morning. Despite the speed, the panting and sucking of wind, the pounding heart, and the sweat pouring down my back and face, I sunk down into a chair in my 8:00 calculus class -- late.
I've had two lectures thus far today -- Calculus II and Organic Chemistry I -- neither of which was just go-over-the-syllabus day. In fact, the syllabus was abandoned within the first ten minutes of both classes as we dove right into the material. By the time I was done with calculus, I had my answer to why I was late: I'm afraid I'm not ready for this semester. I've scheduled 15 hours of intense courses. Add that to Nathan's new school, Luke's old reticence to do school at all (don't even get me started on homework -- uggh!), Wes' demanding work schedule, involvement in ministry at our church, the responsibilities of home ownership, and the unyielding guilt of never spending enough quality time with the kids -- well, it can be pretty overwhelming. The last time I did a semester like this, I swore it was the last time ever. Yet here I am again.
Why, you ask?
I'll tell you why.
I keep thinking, if I can't hack a heavy semester in undergraduate school, what will I do in medical school: Curl up under my bed in the fetal position and suck my thumb? And then, what will I do during the gruelling hours of internship and residency: throw down my clipboard and stethoscope while telecasting my crazy desperate wordless scream around the ER? No, that's not acceptable. This is my proving ground, this is go-time, (this is insane!) this is necessary to build my foundation, my character, my study habits.
Besides that, if I don't pick up the pace I won't leave TSU until 2015! I'll get the "Most Semesters Matriculated" award handed to me with my degree. That's not acceptable either.
This is doable. This may be my life for the next several months, but it's doable.
Okay, now I'm ready
"Tomorrow is just go-over-the-syllabus day; I don't really have to go to class."
Wes looked a bit like a puppy dog who cocks his head in confusion, trying to decide exactly what it was he just heard. His eyes changed almost imperceptibly, just enough for me to get the message -- which was you're kidding, right?
"I'm kidding!" I say backpedaling fast (I wasn't.) "Of course I'm going!"
When I finally got out of the house this morning, about 15 minutes late (grumble), I had to resist the urge to drive by Nathan's bus stop on the way to Luke's neighborhood school, just to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. Nathan has been up early every day this week, pulled from the comfort of his bed by the anticipation of his new middle school status. He's decided to revamp his image, telling his teachers to call him "Nate" and using hair products. *sigh* He seems to be embracing preteenhood and life in junior high. But it's more than the social life of the prepubescent that's making him seize the day. I told Luke this morning, "I think Nathan is actually excited about the work of 6th grade!" To which Luke rolled his eyes, looking horror struck, muttering, "He is! It's so weird!"
Luke is the opposite, at least to hear him tell it. He started telling us how much he was looking forward to next summer break before this summer break was over. He complains about learning new things ("I already know everything" -- he told us when he was four years old -- "I'm a genus!" Yes, as in, genus-phylum-species), about being bored, about getting up in the morning ("I'm way too tired for school this morning!"), and on and on... But he has come home happy and full of stories the last two days. On the first day of school last year, I came downstairs to find him sitting at the table totally dressed, including his backpack and bicycle helmet, eating his Rice Krispies. I saw him pedaling up the alley on his morning commute today, faster than he's ever ridden. Does that sound like a kid that r-e-a-l-l-y hates school? I didn't think so, either.
At any rate, I knew the boys were fine. They know the school-morning drill, and they execute it well. I also knew my compulsion to check on them was nothing more than a thinly-guised stall tactic.
In the truck on the highway, I asked myself in frustration, loud enough to be heard over the morning news on NPR, "What's my deal? I'm never late on the first day!"
I didn't have an answer.
Texas State University is in a little-big town called San Marcos, about 20 minutes down IH-35 from my little-little town, which is about 30 minutes south of Austin. This campus rocks -- sprawling across several miles of hills, it's an aesthetically-pleasing blend of old and new, with a river running through it. San Marcos' population explodes every new semester with the incoming class moving in for the first time or back for another round. Yet San Marcos stubbornly holds on to its redneck spirit, its old-timey small-town feel, refusing progress. That includes bridges.
There are no bridges going over the railroad that goes right through the center of town. And the tracks are used many times a day by trains. Long, s-l-o-w trains. Inevitably I find myself waiting on a train while en route to class at least once per semester, reading the graffiti on the boxcars that serve as sort of travel stickers, letting you know in which cities the train has rested overnight. But I've never waited for the train on the first day of classes; I'm usually early enough to miss it.
Not today. (I hate trains.)
Since I already own my own home and I don't think Wes would like dorm life, I commute. Commuters park on the outer rim of TSU campus, known as "the perimeter." There is a bus system that shuttles commuters from their parking lots in outer Mongolia to the heart of the campus, but to call them reliable would be like calling Genghis Khan a teddy bear. I usually walk in. If possible I return to my truck to change out books between classes, which means I walk in (read: climb The Hill) several times a day. I gained a couple of pounds this summer with the cut in activity; after today's walking I'm surprised it wasn't more! Anyway. It's about a 15-minute walk at a comfortable pace, or an eight-minute walk when I'm late, like this morning. Despite the speed, the panting and sucking of wind, the pounding heart, and the sweat pouring down my back and face, I sunk down into a chair in my 8:00 calculus class -- late.
I've had two lectures thus far today -- Calculus II and Organic Chemistry I -- neither of which was just go-over-the-syllabus day. In fact, the syllabus was abandoned within the first ten minutes of both classes as we dove right into the material. By the time I was done with calculus, I had my answer to why I was late: I'm afraid I'm not ready for this semester. I've scheduled 15 hours of intense courses. Add that to Nathan's new school, Luke's old reticence to do school at all (don't even get me started on homework -- uggh!), Wes' demanding work schedule, involvement in ministry at our church, the responsibilities of home ownership, and the unyielding guilt of never spending enough quality time with the kids -- well, it can be pretty overwhelming. The last time I did a semester like this, I swore it was the last time ever. Yet here I am again.
Why, you ask?
I'll tell you why.
I keep thinking, if I can't hack a heavy semester in undergraduate school, what will I do in medical school: Curl up under my bed in the fetal position and suck my thumb? And then, what will I do during the gruelling hours of internship and residency: throw down my clipboard and stethoscope while telecasting my crazy desperate wordless scream around the ER? No, that's not acceptable. This is my proving ground, this is go-time, (this is insane!) this is necessary to build my foundation, my character, my study habits.
Besides that, if I don't pick up the pace I won't leave TSU until 2015! I'll get the "Most Semesters Matriculated" award handed to me with my degree. That's not acceptable either.
This is doable. This may be my life for the next several months, but it's doable.
Okay, now I'm ready
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Tickling the edges of my...
(heh, made you look!)
I am on summer break between university semesters for 21 hours and 54 minutes longer. In the previous months of summer I've engaged in various activities to entertain, embarrass, madden, frustrate, and then completely bore my husband, two children, and Copper the dog. But in between activities I managed time to read. For mind-drugging pleasure, not for my education (aah, sweet bliss!)
The three most recent reads have been memoirs of one sort or another, the first of which was Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen. Julie Powell happened into a dream career with a desperate attempt to assign meaning to her life with a deranged project (cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child) and a blog to chronicle it. Shortly after that hilarious romp-through-the-pages, I dived into Atul Gawande's Complications. While not a memoir per se, Complications is narrative nonfiction, especially on the state of medicine today, at its best. I was mesmerized by his prose, and paused throughout not only to marvel over his words but also to put myself in his position (and to pray over my own future in medicine.) Gawande got his literary start writing for online publications, such as Slate, while he was a resident. The final book in my personal summer reading club was totally dee-licious brain candy -- Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster -- which is (you guessed it) accompanied by her own amazingly popular blog, jennsylvania.com.
As I was devouring this literary buffet, I could feel something growling underneath the surface, a temptation of a thought tickling the edges of my conscious mind:
Start a blog.
Why, you say?
I'm glad you asked.
Among the other exhilerating events of my summer, I turned 37 in July (moan!) I have two bouncy not-so-baby boys -- Nathan, 11, and Luke, 9 -- a wonderfully goofy, geeky, and altogether good husband -- Wes, also 37 -- a mortgage, and a dog in the backyard. I also had -- until a few years ago -- an identity crisis. I started my college career in music education, and took a break from it 18 years ago; when I realized I was still on break, I was in a graphics design career, surburbia, and motherhood. I had sowed the seeds of my youth into my family and a string of jobs that were taking me further away from where I thought my life would go. It's quite exhausting, looking for yourself while chasing a toddler and changing a baby's diaper before going to work. Somehow, the search for who you are gets subordinated to everyone else's needs: your husband's, your childrens', your boss's. Exhaustion and self-neglect inevitably led me to burn-out.
When Luke started kindergarten I finally stopped the hamster wheel and got off. Where to go now? Exploring! When Luke started first grade, I became a(n unsuccessful) personal trainer. When Luke started second grade, I went back to school.
I love music. I am passionate about the arts. My fitness fetish led to a fascination with human health and anatomy. And I've discovered another obsession -- medicine.
Nathan started junior high school (gulp!) and Luke started fourth grade yesterday, and I start my sixth semester at Texas State University as a premed student studying biology...tomorrow.
I consider myself many things. I am a mom of two very active boys. I am a fulltime student. I am a manic wife to a mid-level manager who, while not a workoholic, is a self-confessed adrenaline-junkie who is not satisfied unless challenged and is an oh-by-the-way-premed student, also. In his spare time (you can stop laughing now.) I consider myself creative. I consider myself fun. I think I'm reasonably funny (although others may not get the punchline.) And most of the time I can at least appear to have my sh*t together. But one thing I don't consider myself to be is original. I'm betting there are others that might enjoy reading about my journey because they're on a similar one, or want to be.
A casual survey of cars in my subdivision has turned up many university parking permits. Some of these cars hold carseats, toys, week-old french fries, and sour sippy cups that have rolled under the seat. I realized that many in my generation -- maybe not a majority, but many -- have opened their eyes recently to find that their break from college took them a decade or so down their life's path, and they have found themselves, two houses, a career or two, and babies later -- still on that break. Many have found that their original degree and career was not all that and a bag of chips, and have decided to change their lives by going back to school, kids in tow. The small population I've studied (or, at least, their cars) here in smalltown Texas is proof of that.
So I'm not the only one. Huh.
I am on summer break between university semesters for 21 hours and 54 minutes longer. In the previous months of summer I've engaged in various activities to entertain, embarrass, madden, frustrate, and then completely bore my husband, two children, and Copper the dog. But in between activities I managed time to read. For mind-drugging pleasure, not for my education (aah, sweet bliss!)
The three most recent reads have been memoirs of one sort or another, the first of which was Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen. Julie Powell happened into a dream career with a desperate attempt to assign meaning to her life with a deranged project (cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child) and a blog to chronicle it. Shortly after that hilarious romp-through-the-pages, I dived into Atul Gawande's Complications. While not a memoir per se, Complications is narrative nonfiction, especially on the state of medicine today, at its best. I was mesmerized by his prose, and paused throughout not only to marvel over his words but also to put myself in his position (and to pray over my own future in medicine.) Gawande got his literary start writing for online publications, such as Slate, while he was a resident. The final book in my personal summer reading club was totally dee-licious brain candy -- Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster -- which is (you guessed it) accompanied by her own amazingly popular blog, jennsylvania.com.
As I was devouring this literary buffet, I could feel something growling underneath the surface, a temptation of a thought tickling the edges of my conscious mind:
Start a blog.
Why, you say?
I'm glad you asked.
Among the other exhilerating events of my summer, I turned 37 in July (moan!) I have two bouncy not-so-baby boys -- Nathan, 11, and Luke, 9 -- a wonderfully goofy, geeky, and altogether good husband -- Wes, also 37 -- a mortgage, and a dog in the backyard. I also had -- until a few years ago -- an identity crisis. I started my college career in music education, and took a break from it 18 years ago; when I realized I was still on break, I was in a graphics design career, surburbia, and motherhood. I had sowed the seeds of my youth into my family and a string of jobs that were taking me further away from where I thought my life would go. It's quite exhausting, looking for yourself while chasing a toddler and changing a baby's diaper before going to work. Somehow, the search for who you are gets subordinated to everyone else's needs: your husband's, your childrens', your boss's. Exhaustion and self-neglect inevitably led me to burn-out.
When Luke started kindergarten I finally stopped the hamster wheel and got off. Where to go now? Exploring! When Luke started first grade, I became a(n unsuccessful) personal trainer. When Luke started second grade, I went back to school.
I love music. I am passionate about the arts. My fitness fetish led to a fascination with human health and anatomy. And I've discovered another obsession -- medicine.
Nathan started junior high school (gulp!) and Luke started fourth grade yesterday, and I start my sixth semester at Texas State University as a premed student studying biology...tomorrow.
I consider myself many things. I am a mom of two very active boys. I am a fulltime student. I am a manic wife to a mid-level manager who, while not a workoholic, is a self-confessed adrenaline-junkie who is not satisfied unless challenged and is an oh-by-the-way-premed student, also. In his spare time (you can stop laughing now.) I consider myself creative. I consider myself fun. I think I'm reasonably funny (although others may not get the punchline.) And most of the time I can at least appear to have my sh*t together. But one thing I don't consider myself to be is original. I'm betting there are others that might enjoy reading about my journey because they're on a similar one, or want to be.
A casual survey of cars in my subdivision has turned up many university parking permits. Some of these cars hold carseats, toys, week-old french fries, and sour sippy cups that have rolled under the seat. I realized that many in my generation -- maybe not a majority, but many -- have opened their eyes recently to find that their break from college took them a decade or so down their life's path, and they have found themselves, two houses, a career or two, and babies later -- still on that break. Many have found that their original degree and career was not all that and a bag of chips, and have decided to change their lives by going back to school, kids in tow. The small population I've studied (or, at least, their cars) here in smalltown Texas is proof of that.
So I'm not the only one. Huh.
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