In two tidy stacks on my kitchen counter sit volumes I & II of my capstone. Every last line read and triple-checked until my eyes are bleary and the words swim before my eyes, meaning lost into the exhausted ether. The footnotes in Volume I have been matched to the documentation in Volume II, the cover designed and carefully printed, and to the bindery is bound. C’est fini.
Bean went to school with me today. My lab this week was on vulcanology and igneous rock forming forced in the mantle. He dug it, and drew anatomically correct models of bumblebees being pelted by magma as he perched, looking so tiny, in the college-sized forum seat next to me. The fold-up mini desk was especially enchanting, and he boasted the rest of the day that he’s now been to college. My prof never batted an eye. I think I’ll take Abby and Jeff too, at some point.
Three classes at Eastern, and one class online with BYU. That’s it. Now that the capstone is done— seven weeks. That’s all that lies between me and graduation. And moving. 2498 miles of continent between me and a brave new world.
I found three boxes of photo albums— my children’s entire babyhood— in the garage, miraculously, utterly, untouched by the rain that ruined everything. How’s that for a tender mercy?
A sister from the RS called me this morning and wanted to know what they could do to help me. I couldn’t even put together a coherent sentence, and she said it was clear I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to say to that either. If I think too much about what I have to do before the middle of June, I worry I will start to scream and never stop. Or cry, and never stop. Or laugh maniacally and never stop.
Here’s a partial list: Graduate from college, sort and cull an entire house, pack what is to take, have a yard sale with what is to leave, sell bikes washer dryer furniture sofas, find a job in Virginia, register the kids for school in Virginia, coordinate cross country move, get ready for grad school to start, all the end of school stuff for a Kindergartner, a 3rd grader and a 5th grader and and and I can’t think about it anymore; see above, about the primal scream.
I’m treating myself to the Crate & Barrel catalog as a treat; it’s the first non-academic reading in months. Livin’ large- C&B and some chai tea. Ooooh yeahhhhh. Boom chicka wow woooowww…
Dandelion Mama 
My daughter took me to class with her one day. I loved it and wanted so badly to comment on the discussion, but she would have killed me. I still think the teacher was wrong, but oh well. As for all you have to do, you’ll get it done somehow, your list is already shorter by one capstone, congrats on that, and let the sisters help you. In a similar situation I couldn’t have managed without the help of some dear ladies who could see how overwhelmed I was.
I’m overjoyed to learn about the preservation of the photo albums.
Learning that the photo albums were spared gave me chills and brought tears to my eyes. Oh, I am so glad!
Keep breathing, Traci. Keep breathing. We’re all cheering (and praying) for you.
yeah! you deserve the catalog and the tea! Maybe a nap too!
Oh gosh! You saying you took Bean to college had me flash back to 1989 and a poor woman who dared take her young child to class. The professor embarrassed her and himself by asking her to leave and to never bring the child back to his class. I was mortified then and I’m livid now. I’m glad you had a better experience.
Wendy, I’ve had very good experiences taking my kids to class- Abby has gone many times, even to a final once. This was the first time I’ve taken Bean, but I’ve found all of my professors to be willing to work with me- I’m a single mom, and sometimes childcare falls through. At least I’m there!
I was thinking we were going to get a post about Roman Catholicism. 😉
Truly, God is good – and cares about the “little things” that are so, so very big to us.
I am thrilled with the tender mercy of the saved photo albums!
I understand the urge to utter that primal scream. I might have done that once (or thrice) last Saturday…
We are now at 3 weeks until our load-the-truck date. My house does not look as ready as I had hoped at this point. I just keep plodding along. It would be so much easier if the rest of daily life didn’t intrude on my packing time!
You continue to inspire. Our journeys are so different and yet have some similarities. I appreciate your insight, courage, and fortitude. We can do this!
One more thing:
Find a way to allow your RS sisters to help. When we unpacked here, I realized I did not pack a single box in my kitchen – not one single pan, bowl, plate, fork. It was an outward symbol of an outpouring of love, and it was a lifesaver for my sanity.
I am trying to accept the offers of help this time, as well, though it’s not always easy. However, it does help reduce the number of times you need to release the tension in a maniacal scream. 🙂
“I found three boxes of photo albums— my children’s entire babyhood— in the garage, miraculously, utterly, untouched by the rain that ruined everything. How’s that for a tender mercy?” Hurry and scan them and put them on a CD!!
On a totally contradictory note: Take a deep breath and slow down, kid. One day at a time. One thing that really really works for me is I tell God in the morning what I need to get done that day then I turn the day over to Him.
You got this 🙂
The best part about Christmas is that you can carry the
décor through every element. Taking an essence is analogous to what happens
listening to music. Only occasionally will an owner, particularly of young trees,
have to call in a tree-service task force.