Yesterday’s post was a really great idea. I felt like I was obligated to go to campus and register for the class today. I was going to do it first thing, but C has been sick and I didn’t want to mess with his nap. Then I was going to do it after nap time, but C slept extra long and the city had a tree removal company take down a huge tree across the street and another around the corner and T was riveted, some friends from down the street hung out and watched as well. I think little boys can smell construction vehicles from a mile away-they led their mom right to our house. After that excitement it was lunchtime. So I told myself after lunch we were going. Seriously, for real this time.
The parking garage closest to where we were headed was free because it was move in day for the students, a pretty good sign. Did I feel like a little bit of a fool walking into the University College building wearing a baby and holding hands with a toddler? Yup. Did I feel like a bigger fool when I approached the main desk and asked if that was where I could sign up for a class and the woman pointedly but kindly said, “You REGISTER for classes at that window.”? Um, sure enough. Did I feel like the biggest fool of all time standing in front of the very young woman who registered me as I stuttered an excuse as to why I hadn’t managed to fill out the form properly? Yes, yes I did. But whatever. I signed up. And it only took about five minutes.
T mostly kept it together and his reward for that Herculean feat was to pick something out from the pastry case at the Starbucks next door. I opened the door and realized it was a stupid idea to even go inside. I couldn’t actually identify the end of the line. Did I mention it was move in day? But T would not be deterred by a long line, the repercussions of which (behaving himself for a very long time) he clearly did not understand. There were long haired, skinny, impossibly young girls in sorority t-shirts everywhere. They all looked exactly the same. We snaked our way to the end of the line and stood behind two of them. I had the startling realization that I was technically old enough to be their Mom. As that thought was rattling around my brain I heard one call out to a friend she obviously hadn’t yet seen this school year. “How was Milan?” “Fabulous!” an unseen girl replied, “I miss Europe SO much, I HAVE to get back.” My eyes rolled so hard I almost got whiplash.
And I realized a couple of things. It’s easy for me to feel superior around the undergrads. Because if I don’t feel superior I’ll just feel like a very old hag. Also, I was those girls a short 15 years ago, so I’m just rolling my eyes at myself (ok, not exactly those girls-no sorority, no looking polished and blown out and manicured, but just as annoying in different ways). I got snarky because suddenly the class thing seemed real and scary. The act of signing up for the class made me feel like a bumbling fool, I haven’t been in a college classroom since 1999. I’m going to be the oldest person in the room, including the teacher.
That’s the other thing. I know the professor. He’s actually the father of the boys who were hanging out with my boy as they watched the trees come down this morning and he happens to be one year my junior. So yes we’re friends. The other day he dropped by with his sons and we were hanging out in the backyard shooting the shit. I asked what he was teaching this semester and he told me about a new class he was developing. It’s called “Farm to Fork” and the first part of class is a traditional lecture about CNY food sources. Then the class moves into a teaching kitchen where a local chef will lead the students in creating a meal out of CSA baskets. How fucking awesome does that sound? Awesome enough to get me off my anxiety paralyzed ass and sign up for it!
So yes, I’m feeling stupidly proud of myself for doing something very easy. I’m also scared. Really scared. I shall be taking a metric ton of Imodium on Wednesday afternoon. Class runs from 3:45-8:45. I am fucking doing this thing.