Accomplishment

Thursday, December 15, 2011
5:00 pm

This has been one hell of a day.  Mom and I wrapped a ton of presents at work today, after which I hightailed it home to grab my cap and gown, only to fly right back out the door again after about twenty minutes with The Hubbs, The Princess and The In-Laws.

I'm now standing in line in a room I never noticed before, tucked away next to the commons at school.  Like a good little sheep, I've found the line I belong in based on my last name, and now I'm moving forward at a snail's pace.

Oh.  It's my turn.

I give the lady my name, and she hands me a card with my name spelled phonetically on it.  I ask if there's anything else, and she relinquishes a Ziploc baggie with a bright gold cord inside.  I'm in danger of tearing up, so I thank her and walk across the room to trade in my coat for the aforementioned cap and gown.

The cord is for high honors: grade point averages of 3.75 and up.  I'm one of about ten in the graduation class of 200+ who has received one of these cords. 

An hour and a half later, feet aching from standing in line for so long, I'm slightly disenchanted.  I'm wondering why in the world I am bothering to walk at all.  Having kept in contact with The Hubbs since my family arrived, I'm acutely aware of the fact that this is about the worst place in the world for The Princess.  She's miserable.  Grampy has already left the auditorium with her and is presumably chasing her in some quiet recess of the school.

Finally - finally - the line starts moving.

I head into the auditorium, where the band is playing "Pomp and Circumstance."  The bleachers and chairs are completely packed.  I can't find my family anywhere, though I'm trying my damnedest to sneak a peek as discreetly as possible.

We file to our seats.  I'm in the front row.  The college president and board of trustees start their hullabaloo on the stage in front of me, and my irritation melts away.

Does it feel cheesy?  Sure.

Is it worth it?  You're damn right, it is.

At one point during the hullabaloo, graduating students with white cords (indicating honors - 3.5-3.74) are asked to stand, followed by those of us with gold cords.  I stand, and I'm in real danger of crying now.

Not to worry, though.  When I sit back down, my cell phone slides down out of its place in my bra (Don't look at me like that.  I couldn't get to my pockets with the graduation gown on, and I needed to be available in case The Hubbs needed me for some reason.) and onto my belly.

Shit.

As discreetly as possible, I unzip my graduation gown and retrieve my runaway (hot pink...I know, very subtle) cell phone.  Zipping my gown back up, I rearrange my cords and return the offending phone to its spot, where I sincerely hope it will remain for the rest of the ceremony.

As if on cue, my row is beckoned to line up to receive our diplomas almost immediately following my phone fiasco.  I follow the people in front of me, spotting Gumma and Nana with their cameras.  Ever the distinguished individual, I make a face at them on my way to the ramp that leads to the stage.  Gumma takes a very attractive picture, and Nana even manages to capture it on video.

A short while later, my name is called.  I head across the stage wearing my cap, gown, and coveted gold cord.  I receive my diploma holder.  I'm gently herded over to the president of the college for a photo op before heading down the ramp and back to my seat.

On my way back, I hear a stage whisper: "Amy!"  Looking to my right, I see my favorite Spanish teacher grinning and giving me a thumbs-up.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur.  All of a sudden, we're switching our tassels to the other side.  We've done it.  We've graduated.

The band starts up again, and the graduates are filing out of the auditorium.  Passing through the doors, I think, "That's it," just before realizing the entire faculty is lining the corridors back to the cafeteria.  They're clapping and cheering, and the sound is deafening.  I am grinning from ear to ear while simultaneously wishing I could find The Princess and get her the hell out of here.

The commons area fills up in no time.  I'm trying to organize a meeting with my family, so even though all I want to do is look for them, I force myself to stay put.  I've told them I'm right next to the Christmas tree, so that is where I shall stay.

There they are!  I see The Hubbs breaking through the crowd in my direction, accompanied by an extremely distressed little girl.  She has the eyes of a caged animal, and I can tell it won't be long before she hits her absolute limit.

We head back into the room where I started at 5:00 this afternoon, which is blissfully quiet and empty during this exciting time.  The Princess runs back and forth and back and forth and back and...you get the idea, stopping only to stim with the tassels on the ends of my gold cord.

Once our whole group is back together, we head for our cars and make our way home to relax and gorge ourselves on pizza from our little local place.  This is a much better idea than going out to eat, considering The Princess's evening thus far.  I just can't imagine subjecting her to any more noise or commotion tonight.

As we're sitting together in the living room of our little yellow house, it hits me.  I did it.  And I am well aware of the fact that this never would have happened without these people who love me.  These people who I love.

Thank you, guys.  You know who you are.

1...and Story Time

One more day until graduation.

*

The Princess is four and a half years old.  She does not speak.  She will stim all day if you let her.  She rarely (if ever, depending upon who you are) responds to verbal requests, though this particular point is getting better on a daily basis for those closest to her.  She has sensory issues.  The littlest thing can set her off.  Try as I might, I can rarely figure out what triggers her meltdowns.  All I can do is hold her and soothe her the best I can.

All of the autism stuff aside, this has got to be the most generally happy kid I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I consider myself lucky as hell that God chose me to be her momma.  I feel blessed every day for what I have with her, her daddy, and our splendiferous pooches.

But my heart breaks a little every day, too.  Other moms of four-and-a-half-year-olds are taking them to see Santa at the mall, having their pictures taken with their smiling faces reflected perfectly in the camera lens.  These other little ones are writing their names and holding amazing conversations.  They sit quietly in their rooms and read, because they want to.

The Princess couldn't possibly understand an abstract concept like Santa Claus.  She can't tell anyone what she wants for Christmas, because she doesn't speak.  She also has no interest in television or most other things that are marketed for kids her age, so it's a moot point, anyway.  Taking a picture with a stranger in a loud, hot, crowded mall?  Forget about it.  Writing?  Not yet.  We're still in the I'd-rather-eat-crayons-than-draw-on-the-paper stage.  Conversations?  I'd be happy with the ability to say yes and no.  Hell, I don't even care if it's verbal.  Shaking or nodding her head would be the coolest thing in the history of the world.  Reading?  More like tearing the pages out of books and stimming to her heart's content with the scraps.

Our girl has received many books, as most little ones do.  The difference between her and these other kids is that she doesn't seem to understand what books are all about.  After a few misguided attempts to let her figure them out, the surviving volumes have been moved to a safer place, out of her reach and - largely - out of our minds.

The Hubbs and I love to read.  I know a lot of people say this, but we mean it.  When given the option to watch TV or read a book, we'll almost always choose the latter.  Throw on a little bit of classical music and we're good to go for the entire evening.  In case you're interested, we've been playing the heck out of Pandora's Mannheim Steamroller Christmas station lately. 

Sunday evening, The Princess climbed up on the loveseat with me while I was reading, and she snuggled up next to me in the sweetest little hug.  After drinking in her affection for a few minutes, I slipped to the basement where her books are, and I grabbed two choices: the original Winnie the Pooh treasury and Wet Albert. 

I brought both books upstairs and gave her a choice.  She chose Pooh Bear, so I put Wet Albert away for the time being and The Princess, Pooh, and I went into her bedroom.

I read her the entire first short story, one about Piglet and a Heffalump, before bed.  Did she sit still?  No.  Did she hang on every word?  No.  But she paid attention in her way.  She spent those 20 or so minutes in constant contact with me, climbing all over me as I read her the story.  From time to time, I asked what she thought, and she mumbled back at me.  Not in English, but hey...I'll take what I can get.  I stopped a couple of times to either rearrange myself or take a breath, and she went forehead-to-forehead with me until I started again.

She loved it.

I loved it.

Finally.  She's four and a half, and I can finally have story time with my daughter.

2...and Spaghetti-O's

Two days until graduation.  Eee!

*

Remember when I told you about the pistachio pudding?  Well, apparently Spaghetti-O's are right up there.

This weekend, The Princess carefully spooned four bowls (in a row...my little bottomless pit!) into her mouth.  Sitting at her little white table (topless...I'm no fool), she shoveled that stuff in like it was goin' out of style.  Looks like we're entering yet another growth spurt for our little bean pole.

We've also noticed recently that she really seems to favor her right hand.  Seems like we might have a little righty living in the room next door.  :)

28

Twenty-eight days and counting.  That's right: four weeks from today, at 6:30 in the evening, I will graduate from my little community college with my Associates Degree in science.

Back when I was in high school, I kind of assumed I'd go to college.  So did my teachers, my parents, and everyone else in my life.  When I made the decision to "take a year off," I was criticized from what seemed like every possible direction. 

Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?

If you don't go now, you never will.

No one will give you a job without a degree.

Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?

(and the list goes on and on...and on)

Over the course of my "year" off, which actually turned into a decade, I found quite a bit of time to ponder these criticisms.  One by one, they eventually became less mocking and less applicable in my mind.

That decade off gave me time to grow up, something most people don't get to do before going to college.  Let's break down these criticisms one by one, shall we? 

Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
Me, that's who.  Yes, I have always been good at art.  Yes, I loved it in high school, and I was considered one of the most promising in my class.  But my teenaged brain held pizza, long jump, fast cars and cute boys all in the same high regard.  The fact of the matter is that I didn't have any worldly idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Art school seemed really cool at the time, but it felt like I'd have been playing, and that somehow didn't sit right with me.  If I wasn't one hundred percent on board from the get-go, there's no way it was going to work out.  I'm pretty proud of the fact that I could see that then.

If you don't go now, you never will.
Bull.  Sure, it's hard to get back into the swing of things as a "returning adult student," which is the charming name they give to folks like me - you know, those of us who embark upon the furthering of our educations at or after the ripe-old age of twenty-five - but I can say with full confidence that I was far better equipped to deal with the responsibility of my college education ten years after graduating high school than I would have been way back when.  I am fully convinced that I am taking far more knowledge with me out of this endeavor than I possibly could have as a kid.  'Cause that's what I was at 20.  A kid.

No one will give you a job without a degree.
Really?  That's funny, 'cause over the last ten years I've only had one real dry spell, and that was during this bitch of a recession that has effectively knocked the whole country on its ass.  There's a lot to be said for skills, people.  And just off the top of my head, I can name at least ten people who went to college, graduated with a degree and a boatload of debt thanks to their student loans, who have not been able to procure jobs in their chosen professions.  These are the people who are now working two or three low-paying jobs to pay off their loans while bitching day in and day out about what a waste it was to go to college.  Oh, and by the time my high school classmates were out of college, I already had at least four years on them in the job field.  You know, the real world?  Where experience counts?  Yeah.  That one.

Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
Um, no.  Do you?  Again, not really the best argument.  While the people I mentioned in the last point were still in school, I was making money.  Not minimum wage, not millions, but money.  I was doing very well for my age.  By the time many of my friends graduated, I had bought my very own house.  I was running neck-and-neck with my friends' parents in the salary department.  Of course, that particular bubble eventually burst and now I'm back to making a more modest wage, but the fact is that it is possible.

I've never been a big fan of unsolicited advice.  Just like when we're talking about our kids, there are so-called experts all over the place just chomping at the bit to tell us what we should and should not do, waiting around every corner to judge, judge, judge.  But when it comes to me, my family, my life, and my education, I am the only expert, thankyouverymuch.

I may not have had all the answers at eighteen, and I'm glad I had the wherewithal to recognize that fact at such a young age.  Instead of prolonging my childhood by moving into some dorm with constant parties, I grew up.  I bought my little yellow house, married my sweetheart, adopted our two bulldogs, and had The Princess.  How could I have known at eighteen that this is where I would be down the line?  I couldn't, and that, my friends, is why I didn't make the decision about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life before it even began.

Come December

Heaven help me; I'm taking 10 credit hours over the 8-week summer semester, and my first class met last night.  The (normally four-hour) entire class period was taken up with a bunch of us feeling like preschoolers, learning - and attempting - to introduce ourselves and start a polite conversation.  I'm glad she cut class short, because I don't think I could have handled any more on the first day.  And I'll have it again tomorrow.  For four more hours.  Did I mention the fact that it's a Spanish course, and the only things I know how to say in Spanish are a few (fairly impressive) insults?

Okay, breathing now.

I'm also taking Abnormal Psych and Marriage & Family as correspondence courses.  I've found over time that my psych/sociology courses are usually the ones that work out best from home.  Here's hoping that hasn't changed since last semester.  Want to know another super-fun little tidbit about Marriage & Family?  My first assignment is due today.

Oh, right...breathe.

And in the middle of the semester, right before midterms, I'm hoping to take a long weekend (over the 4th of July) with The Princess and The Grumps.  We'll be heading down to our family vacation spot a few hundred miles south, as long as I can swing the gas expense (crossing my fingers!!!).  The day we leave, as well as the day we get back, I have Spanish class at 5:00.  Oh, and this will be my first time attempting a road trip with The Princess for such a long way...not to mention the fact that it'll be just me and her in the car.  Reinforcements won't be far away, with The Grumps in their truck, but I'm sure it won't be anywhere near the same as having someone actually in the car with us.

Breathing.

Even while I sit here psyching myself out over the new semester (and new material), I can't help but feel excited.  Once this semester is done, I only have one more to go before I have my Associate in Science degree.

Next big life decision: what the heck do I want to be when I grow up?

But before I go jumping headlong into that pool, I think I'll take some time to enjoy where I am right now...or, more accurately, where I'll be come December.