But first, so it turns out it isn’t going to be easy to apply for my masters degree. (I know…I was surprised too) And the deadline for this September has already passed. But that’s ok because I have to complete a GRE exam as part of my application for NEXT September.
Whaaaaat? And there’s MATH. Noooooooooooo!!
Adding and subtracting fractions and remembering what the heck an integer is? Why God, why?
Can you tell I’m terrified? Not a little. A lot. Math. It isn’t really the math I fear so much as the overwhelming sense of inferiority and helplessness it swamps me with. Who likes to be reminded they’re not smarter than a fifth grader?
Anyway. I see you, math-wall, and I am going to climb you. I’m going to get high school math workbooks and GRE prep books and I’m scheduling my exam date so I have a deadline and…and if I fail I’m going to try again. And Again. Until I get this. Grrrrrr.
Why? Because my good friend Bobby went blind at 40, learned Braille, went back to University, earned a 4 year undergrad degree in Sociology and then completed a Masters. Or mostly finished. In any case he’s teaching at UNB so that is AMAZING.
Holy crap if I can’t handle a measly GRE and a year and half masters degree WITH BOTH EYES, I’m not worth the math sheet I’m sweating over.
So that’s my update on my Masters Degree Adventure.
Quickly to recap my Ojichaan Settling Adventure:
(On my way out the door yesterday with both kids trying to get to the doctors office because Benji has been screaming non-stop all day)
Ojichaan:“My clothes are missing.”
Me: “Your CLOTHES are missing?”
Ojichaan: “Clothes are missing.”
On my way to his room to check his closet for a shirt he may have dropped he says:
“Door is shut.”
So I check the patio door and unlock it, open it for him. He’s still making his way back to his room from the living room. I wait. Benji screams. Ellie throws her shoe at the wall.
I come back out of his room and meet him in the hallway.
“Door is shut. Bathroom,” he manages to say. I look at the bathroom door. It’s shut. I try the knob. It's locked. How does this happen?
Feeling a lot like MacGyver I rush around with a butter knife and after a few minutes manage to get it open. He smiles and says ‘Thank you, thank you! Arigato, arigato.”
Feeling like a super hero for not only figuring out what he wanted but fixing the problem, I proceed to herd the two demented cats (I mean my kids) into the van and onto the road.
Baby steps people.
I’ll finish off with a revelation I had this morning while weeding the garden. I love to garden. Even the crummy bits like weeding.
Out there in the early morning sun by myself, focused on the seedlings and clearing the weeds I felt whole. There is a solace gained by the solitude in a garden. It’s this perfect mixture of fun - playing in the dirt - and divinity - sharing my space with God and nature. The sun on my back, the birds overhead, there’s something spiritual about working outside in a garden, helping things grow and bloom, nurturing and caring for the young seedlings.
Anyway. If you come by the house and my kids are duct-taped to the couch in front of a movie and Ojichaan is napping because I slipped him some wine in his juice, you know where to find me.
That's right, I'll be outside in my garden, pulling weeds by hand and muttering to my tomatoes.