Chewymom

So, I hope that both of my blog readers haven’t missed me too terribly much. I had the illusion that once I finished classes and the kids were out of school, we would start enjoying the lazy days of summer. And I would blog. Instead I have traveled in and out of town more times than I can count, and when I have been here, I have either been confined to the laundry room or the pool. That, I suppose, is the one down side to having a pool–I became the instant lifeguard. For the neighborhood. Not that it’s all bad, mind you. I have quite a nice tan, considering I am usually pasty white with a few freckles.

So, a curious thing happened to me this past week. I had a glimpse of God’s sense of humor. Or maybe it was just his providence or his grace, and in my warped mind, I took it as humorous. It doesn’t take much to make me laugh. Which is why I still crack up whenever someone says, “fart.”

So anyway, I had some surprising time to think, and I became aware of a really strong sense that I needed to make a change in my plans. I’m not one to normally get all spiritual about sensing God’s direction in my life, because my God-experiences have more typically been that I weigh out pros and cons, pray, and then follow my heart. But I felt this strong sense that I needed to take a year off from school.

I had applied for nursing school at the end of May, after spending the last two years taking prerequisites and pulling up my GPA from my previous college work at Furman, twenty years ago. During which time I seemed to major in having fun. I still don’t understand why it annoyed my dad when I assured him that I was really becoming a well-rounded person.

Anyway.

I applied to nursing school and was told I would hear about my acceptance sometime in July. I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I knew that I would be accepted because the applications are ranked on a point system. There are a total of 200 possible points, and typically people with scores as low as the 140s-150s get in. I applied with the full 200 points. And until about a week ago, I had every intention of starting class in August and plugging away for the next two years so that I could graduate in 2010 and start working just in time to start putting kids through college. Since Ben has had his heart set on an out of state school since first grade.

But suddenly, I knew I needed a year off. Sally starts Kindergarten in the fall. Lots of field trips I could potentially attend–which is something I have missed out on with most of my other children since I had young ones at home. Sam will be in 5th grade–the last year in elementary school, and my last year to be welcomed by him to eat lunch with him. Drew will be in 8th grade, his last year of middle school, and although I can’t think of anything terribly significant about that, since he would rather stick pins in his eyeballs than have me show up at his school to spend time with him, still–that seems like a milestone year that I should be available to take part in. Ben is heading into his junior year with college applications and testing and such looming. And then Brig will be a senior. His last year of Special Olympic volleyball and basketball games, which take place during the school day. Not to mention the fun paperwork I have ahead as he turns 18.

I was fairly settled in my decision, but still, I kind of wondered if I was making the right decision.

I returned home after a week away and began sorting through the mountains of mail. I picked up an envelope from my community college and tossed it aside, commenting, “…and there’s my acceptance letter….” Later I tore it open, prepared to file it in my special nursing information folder. I glanced over the letter and saw blah, blah, blah…”high standards…” blah, blah, “regret…” blah, blah….WHAT??? REGRET?

I didn’t get in. My perfect 200 points, and I was rejected. My GPA was too low. Okay, now I had already decided not to go, but this was a blow to my ego! I knew I had the GPA. It’s a state law that you must have a 2.5, and I had not only earned a 4.0 at the community college (to counter the previously mentioned GPA from Furman), but I had the highest grade in many of my classes–averages above 100.

And yet the letter was confirmation. I had made the right decision. I did not need to pursue my nursing degree this fall. God’s sense of humor. Or maybe his grace, because he guided me into that decision before I got the rejection letter, allowing me to read it with mild annoyance and a bruised ego, rather than despair and shock. Had I not made the decision to take a hiatus, I would have been devastated. But I was not. Although highly offended would definitely describe my feelings.

So I marched my bruised ego right into the nursing office today to find out what happened. Because even if I’m not attending this fall, by darned, I wanted to be accepted so I could reject them! And besides, I have full intentions of pursuing my goals next year, so I wanted to be sure there really was some weird mistake, and that it wasn’t on my end.

Sure enough, rather than just trust that people at Furman University (or rather, computers at Furman University) can do math, and using the credit hours and quality points they had listed on my transcript, someone who apparently needs to go back and retake basic math had hand added my points on the bottom of my transcript. And forgotten to give me my quality points for one class, effectively making it count as an “F.” And lowering my apparent GPA. When the individual’s numbers came out different than the numbers on Furman’s computer system, the genius trusted…himself. And denied my nursing school app and wrote “nonqualifying GPA” across the top of it.

All is good now, though, because the director of the nursing program has given her approval, noted the error, and assured me that my letter of acceptance will be forthcoming.

And I will promptly reject it and restore my ego.

Mongoosemom tagged me for a little meme, so here goes:

1. WHAT DID YOU DO 10 YEARS AGO?

Ten years ago, I was facing my most difficult transition as a parent. For me, going from three to four kids after Sam was born was really hard. I think it was because I had kids in school, so I no longer had the option of just staying in my pjs, and being lazy when the baby hadn’t slept the night before. Plus, my kids were all so young–7, 6, 3, and newborn–grocery shopping was challenging, to say the least, and Chewydad was traveling a lot for work.
We were living in Atlanta, renting what had to be the ugliest house I have ever seen. It was “modern”–meaning it had a fabulous interior, but they just did whatever the heck they wanted to on the outside, so the front had these bizarre things jutting out everywhere–like the staircase and an upstairs closet. It was very weird.

2. FIVE ITEMS ON YOUR TO-DO LIST TODAY:

1-Call about guitar lessons for kids
2-Bake my Amish friendship bread
3-Schedule getting my mammies grammed
4-Go to dinner with girlfriends
5-Swim in our pool

3. SNACKS I ENJOY:

Oh my–I just enjoy anything called a snack!! Chips and dip, crackers, banana….Although really if it’s a “snack” I tend to like salty. Now, if you put the label “dessert” on it, that’s a whole ‘nother story!

4. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WERE A BILLIONAIRE?

This is a hard one. I know it would involve Africa in some way…helping the very poor over there. Make sure all of my nieces and nephews could go to college–fully funded. Sponsor more Compassion children. And travel and show my children the amazing world we live in!

I tag Molly, Nicole, and Skerrib.

I opened the door to the refrigerator to see this on the bottom shelf. Yes, it’s a paper plate with crumbs and a fork, and beside it a mostly-eaten container of Pringles, all on top of my vegetables. And I just have to ask…why???

I am sorry to disappoint you. I don’t think you found what you were likely looking for. My teens don’t even have jugs. But thank you for stopping by.

That site meter makes for interesting reading sometimes.

If you have not already heard the news, please click here and here, and keep the Chapman family in your prayers. I love what Steven Curtis Chapman and family have done to encourage people to adopt “unwanted” children. And this story hits so close to home because I have a five-year-old daughter and a teenager who drives. Especially be in prayer for the son who was driving–I don’t know how a person ever gets over something like this….

Check out what happens when a bunch of brothers decide to pool their resources! And when they come up short, they offer to thoroughly clean the house for housekeeper wages to make up the difference. I call that a win-win!

PS3 and ROCK BAND!

I got exactly what I wanted for Mother’s Day yesterday. A lazy day at home with my family, and a bunch of ooooold Dan Fogelberg tunes on my iPod. Today I set out for my walk/run. And might I add I ran for THIRTY MINUTES, y’all!! I had the iPod play all Fogelberg, and I reminisced.

In high school, I was ALL ABOUT the Dan Fogelberg albums. I could put them on my record player (yes, I am that old) and listen for hours. I would get lost in the songs about love. I would croon right along with Dan and get so caught up in the plight of the gambler, that I would momentarily forget that the cowboy-wannabe who had introduced me to Fogelberg had just dumped me. I would listen to the words of “Windows and Walls” and want to weep as I thought of my widowed grandmother living with us, primarily in the room below me, and how lonely she must be. Some of Dan’s songs were so deep I wasn’t sure I really understood them at all, but I put in hours trying.

Today I relistened to and relivedmany of those thoughts and emotions as I ran. And then a song came on that caught my attention. It seemed almost to be a good-bye song. And perhaps it was. I had not heard it before, so I suspect it is from a newer album, perhaps written after Fogelberg learned that he had prostate cancer.

I was so grieved back in December when I learned that Dan had passed away. Which seems odd because it isn’t like I knew him or anything. I wouldn’t be looking around my table at Christmas, grieving over the empty space. But because Dan shared his soul through his music in a way that spoke to me and that walked me through many years of teenage angst, I guess I felt a kinship with him and felt like I had a window into his soul. And today I was just thinking how thankful I am that sometimes God creates a life and breathes depth and skill and music into it that allows it to weave amazing lyrics that touch the hearts and lives of so many people in with haunting and soulful melodies that stir the soul. And I’m thankful that Dan Fogelberg and his music were such a part of my teen years and beyond, and that now–even though the records are long since scratched beyond recognition–I have those songs available to me again on my iPod.

Someone is offended. Or so I have heard, fifth hand.

All I really know is that it is someone from my church. Who told someone, who told an entire group of people, who told someone, who told someone, who told me. I’ll admit that I’m not shocked that I’ve offended someone. I am a queen of opening my mouth to change feet. I know that I offend my children daily—I make them eat their green beans, I take away cell phone privileges, I play *“Boogie in Your Butt” as I drive up to the middle school, and I occasionally even refuse to order pizza. It offends the heck out of my gang. (*Disclaimer–the above link may, ironically I suppose, offend some of you. But I’m very juvenile, and I find it really, really funny.)

I’m guessing that this offense goes a little beyond having to eat green things at dinner or having your mother play “Boogie in Your Butt” in front of your friends, and I am also guessing that it has to do with my blog. But that’s all it is–a guess–because the offended party chose to discuss this with others, and the circle grew until it got back around to me. I do not like to offend people, and so I want to apologize. But that is made rather difficult because I don’t even know what I am apologizing for. I guess I’m not even sure if I’m sorry! I mean, I am sorry if I have hurt feelings, but I’m not sure if whatever I have said is something I would regret saying (or writing) or if it is something I would say I feel strongly about and still stand by.

And I guess that brings me to a point about this blog. I started it anonymously. I never really intended for it to become something for local friends to read. It has become that, and I have tried to get used to that idea. It’s a little weird because real-life acquaintances know intimate details about my musings, but I don’t know the same about them. My blog is where I hash out my ideas and thoughts. It is a journal that I have chosen to make public. I need to operate within the realization that it is public, and I have no doubt I should at times use a more effective filter on my brain-in-print.

I would ask that anyone (especially local folks) who reads this do so with the understanding that first, when I write about things, it isn’t always about this city, this church, etc. I have lived in five cities and been a member of seven churches in my married life. Not every issue I write about has to do with situations that my local acquaintances are familiar with, even if there does seem to be a correlation. Also, realize that I often hash out my thoughts on major issues using minor examples. I am thinking aloud. And I am currently questioning a lot of my long-held beliefs. That doesn’t mean I am questioning your beliefs, although if I make you think I don’t mind. But I am having my own mid-life crisis working through a lot of things that I have always believed just because, and I have to know if I still agree with myself. It is highly likely that you will be shocked and dismayed. That you will question my spirituality, my faith, even my sanity. I hope that you can handle that, and handle realizing that you are seeing some inner-workings of my heart that are often reserved for intimate friendships, or for the safety of an anonymous blog. If you are not comfortable with it, I would ask that you click away. Really.

And if you truly do feel that I have said something hurtful or offensive to you, I am asking that you talk to me. You can comment on here–you can even do so anonymously. Just like the people who commented on this post. Except they only think they are anonymous. (We know who you are…we have not forgotten…punishment is still forthcoming.) Or you can speak to me face-to-face. But I would ask that if you choose to continue to read my blog and find me offensive, please let me know.

And if you are one of the people who has chosen to keep the rumor mill going by passing it along that “Chewymom is offending people…” well, all I can do is point you to a little game you probably used to play in Kindergarten where you sat in a circle, and the first person made something up and whispered it to the next. And on it went back to the starting point, and then you compared the two versions. And laughed hysterically, because they were nothing alike. And hopefully learned a lesson about rumors. The lesson being that rather than being a party to spreading rumors, if you go to the source, you are more likely to find out the truth than if you keep spreading a more and more distorted version.

As usual I have said in 1000 words what could have been said in probably fifteen words or less. If I have offended you, I am sorry. And please talk to me about it. The end.