I donated blood again today. After last May feeling like the floor of a taxicab, I went against my better judgment and did it again. God. I’m. Tired.
I was on the borderline to do it this time, I guess. Iron had to be X amount and I was X +1 or 2. Do you think they asked me if I wanted to go ahead? Nope! They just stuck me and I started bleeding. I was tempted to speak up and ask if it was really okay to donate if I was so low, but I wouldn’t want to look like a wuss, you know. Sigh.
Yes, this is all my boss’s fault again. I love her. I do. But how come working for her means I have to open a vein every 3-4 months?
So now I’m a tad woozy (wah wah, poor me) and feel a bit like falling into a coma for a week. No such luck. After work, I have to take the puppy to obedience class. Shoot me now.
In happier news, we recently received mid-term grades for sons #1 and2. (Son #3 is too young for midterms just yet – wait two years.) Son #1 is doing extremely well in middle school so far, and when I questioned the teacher as to what standards they were using (he’s in a special Life Skills room) she was actually able to answer. I was stunned. And very proud.
Son #2 is my little Einstein. Not that I can spell that. He could. He can spell anything. He was giving his little brother a lesson on friction the other morning while they were dressing and telling him what the surface temperature is on the sun. Hells bells, I have no clue what the surface temperature is on the sun. Nor do I really care. But that’s beside the point. Son #2 is getting pretty much straight As, and those As are in the high 90s percentage wise. And yet, there is reading. He has a B in reading. He would have an A, as all his grades there are equally astronomically high, except for one unit test on which he earned a 73%. He still has not explained what the hell happened on that day. I have no idea what it could be, but if it happens again, there’s a woodshed he can go to. In fact, he’s facing grounding tonight if he doesn’t bring home his science notebook to study for a test tomorrow. Odds are pretty good he doesn’t need to study for it, since it’s his strongest subject, but I’m not letting him slide. He’s known about this test for a week and that notebook has yet to make an appearance.
But I digress. We’ve established Son #2 is freakishly intelligent. I’m thrilled, I am! I just wish he could tie his shoes. Or sit still for five minutes. He wishes he played a sport better and, upon reflection, maybe I do, too.
Assuming his academic career continues on this way (he’s only in 4th grade, we shall see) odds are pretty good he’d have his choice of colleges. I’d love to see him go to somewhere slightly more prestigious than State, but whatever he wants. He’ll get to choose, and then we’ll try to help as much as we can. Here’s where that sport comes in.
These days when you say the words “academic” and “scholarship” together in a sentence, most high school guidance counselors look at you like you’re smoking crack. Right there. On school property. See, if Johnny can read and put together a semi-coherent sentence, we’re very proud of him and want his scores on our district test results. But if Johnny can’t pass or slam dunk, we really don’t want him at our college. Because we all know playing sports is why we go to college. Or perhaps I’m just saying that because I work at a state college.
Or not. I went to a small, private, religious college (yes, I went to a religious college and am still agnostic as allgetout) where academics was supposedly the focus. Tuition was sky high! And yes, I got an academic scholarship – that paid about half of my books bill for the first semester. The girl down the hall, though, had a full ride on a volleyball scholarship. Same with the football players. Most of them got generous scholarships, if not full tuition. And we had no prayer of making any main college athletic rankings. Trust me.
So in a world where school teachers make barely above minimum wage and professional athletes can buy private islands, is there hope for a bookish kid with straight As anymore? Even if he can’t tie his shoes or get his shirt on the right direction without parental intervention?
Or is it just the anemia talking?