the backpack

There's a backpack in my basement. I dont like it. It was on a tremendous after-season sale. It's nice looking: black with gray and red trim, a few pickets to hide things in, and those neat-looking but pointless bungee cords on the front. (Seriously, I've never seen anyone use that feature. Ever.) If I were a kid I would love it. I'm pretty sure that my kid will love it. Therein lies the problem. It's for him to pack his books, crayons, and the like and go to school. I know that Nathan will enjoy both the backpack and going to school. And I'm having a hard time dealing with it.

My friend talked me into buying the backpack on Black Friday because it was only two dollars. She bought the other three for her two children because, apparently, children are pretty tough on backpacks and they break in the middle of the year forcing desperate parents to pay full price for a new one. Not having prior experience in this area, I took her word for it. This will be my first year to send a child to school. Forget him being ready, I don't think that I am.

Thousands of parents across the country are counting the days until school starts again and I act as though I'm sending him to a concentration camp. My sentiments are being very unreasonable, I know that. And it's fun to see them grow and learn new things. But I'm sad that this innocent phase in his life is soon to be over. Soon he'll have homework and after-school activities. His time will be scheduled more by his school day than by family activities. I love coming home for lunch and seeing my boys. I dread not having him there.

Starting school is the end of a wonderful phase of his life but also the beginning of another wonderful one. Truthfully, I wouldn't want him to stay home forever. This is the beginning of his really really growing up, and there's actually a part (small!) that's excited to see what will happen next.

There's a backpack in the basement. I'm dealing with it.

"B" Happy

Final grades are due to the registrar today, which means that I can view all my grades tomorrow. It's lovely to be able to see them immediately instead of waiting for the grades to be sent in the mail. Just another invention from our impatient society. :) Although I'm most likely going to be on the honor roll again, I thought it was time to reflect on a lesson I learned right after William was born and I had just started the PTA program.

"B" Happy

 So there it was in my hands, another graded exam. It wasn't bleeding red too badly, but just enough life had been drained from several of the problems that the score dropped to a B. Yet more proof that I'm a failure. B's are unacceptable when I'm capable of coming home with A's. Or at least that's what the perfectionistic and somewhat self-destroying internal voice whispers quietly. That insidious whisper intones "are you crazy? Who did you think you were kidding to be trying to go to school, commute a long distance, and be a wife and mother to two small children? You're nothing." Suddenly that voice's logic implodes on itself as I realize that the voice was right about the facts and wrong in the conclusion. I am overwhelmed, overloaded, and any other "over" that you can think of. Yet I am not a failure. The fact that I am able to accomplish this much and even pass my classes, much less ahead of class average, proves my success.

At times the voice is capable of being motivating, of pushing me to achieve all that I am capable of doing. Yet the voice is also stuck slightly behind the times, not realizing that priorities change and the 4.0 grade-point average and another certificate of being on the dean's list are not the only measurements that I judge anymore. Much more important are these: have I read to my children today, prayed for my family, have I done housekeeping basics, packed a lunch for my husband??? Have I tried my best with my limited time to learn that study material? I will admit that it is humbling to see anything less than a ninety on a paper, to worry that the teachers think I am not trying. But in the end life is about more than grades and will it really matter to my future employers or patients that my diploma says "with highest honors?" The grades that I truly want are of more lasting significance; a good relationship with my Savior, my husband, children, and my friends. So I'm going to take that exam and be proud of that grade instead of ashamed. I'm going to be thankful that God is allowing me to do this well period and praise Him for providing for my family. Tomorrow when another grade is handed back, it might still sting if I don't receive an A, but I will not be devestated. I'm going to thank God for all the people praying me through this.