Every Little Thing is Going to Be Alright

The amount accomplished the weekend is almost unbelievable...and exhausting all over again.  Thank God for Adam and his helpfulness.  The troubles that I have been having at school and with a particular instructor seem to carry on.  My attempt to make things right by groveling and full disclosure...didn't work.  I'm disappointed.  I am.  I thought it was done.  I made literally every effort to make things right, but, in the end, damage done.  Maybe it was too much.  Maybe it wasn't enough.  Either way, I'm still paying for it.  I guess the clean slate I thought I had...I didn't.  Grades are subjective, and what I have found is that mine are now subject to a little more scritunity and a lot fewer points.

(NOTE: I don't want to delve too much information, but to clear up confusion, a well-meaning person meant to send an email to me, questioning the motives and tactics of an instructor.  It was understood in the text of the email that I questioned them, as well.  Unfortunately, the email was mistakenly sent to the instructor.  Since the sender is not a student and I am, what ensued was a figurative avalanche of $#!+.)

But, you know what?  It's ok.  I'm frustrated, but I'll work harder.  I did all weekend.  I have five weeks of this session to go.  Certainly, I can make it.  I can.  Maybe I'll learn a little more.  Maybe I'll develop better habits. (See the Work Hard and Be Nice below.) This, too, shall pass.  And if it just happens to be a miserable number of weeks...ok.  I'll take that.  You can't win them all.

As I shuffled back to bed last night, exhausted and struggling mentally, while Adam finally got his break from the kids, and was still swimming in the highlights from the Butler game and a new craft beer, I decided that a cold, empty bed just did not sound good.  Instead of turning right into our bedroom, I turned left into Patrick's.  He didn't budge as I tried to wedge in between a number of his superheroes and books.  He didn't flinch when I started to play with his hair.  I laid there for a couple of minutes, listening to him breathe until I decided to get up and go to bed myself.  From the dark, I heard a tiny voice, "You're not going to leave, are you mom?"  I replied, "I have to, buddy.  There just isn't enough room for all of your toys and me."  Without hesitation, or even opening his eyes, he lifted his head and said, "Do you want me to scoot?  Here, I'll make more room.  See?  It's easy to make things work."

In the dark, I smiled.  It is.  Sometimes.  But at least something I am doing is right.