So, the stalking worked. Just call and make yourself a pain in somebody's neck, and voila–daughter has no more evening classes. Hooray! Sitting in that registration session, looking around at all the heavily pierced and tattooed slouchers in the room–I think there were three other young people out of one hundred there who might look a person in the eye–I was a little concerned about my fifteen year old walking across that campus every night at 9:30.
August 10, 2010
Ladies and Gentlemen, Please Keep Your Hands In the Vehicle at All Times
I attended the first bout of my own classes last weekend–more of an opening ceremony than class, I think. There are ten of us in the graduate cohort; I'll be with these nine people for the next five semesters, assuming nobody else drops out. One lady didn't make it through our second day before she dropped, and there are a couple others who won't surprise me if they do, but the rest seem pretty solid. It feels so good to sit in a room with adults and carry on an intelligent, focused discussion! I'm loving it.
I'm also possibly in over my head. A full-time load is considered 6 credits and I am registered for 13. Why? Because that's how the credits fall unless I want to wait until after graduation to take the classes I need for the endorsements I want my license to carry. And I don't. So I won't. I register for the classes and I read every waking moment and I hang on for dear life. Don't knock it. You ride your roller coasters, I'll take my classes.
Actually, I have two weeks before classes really start to study during, and I've cut back again on my childcare load, so we should be good. Busy, but feasible. (We'll insert that disclaimer, just in case the dean who gave me permission to take the overload has somehow come across this blog…)