This afternoon I am gripped with the whole TGIF vibe. I am looking forward to a largely uncommitted weekend and it feel so good! And we get a bonus day on Monday -- it feels like such a treat!
My poor son, on the other hand, has a very full weekend of studying. First semester finals are next week and he is taking an extremely full load. So he has a lot to get through. Unfortunately earlier in the term he had a flare-up of his depression and since it sort of immobilized him for several weeks, during which he didn't turn in any work, damage had been done to his grades. So this term we are not looking for his usual strong grade performance -- just getting through all the classes with a passing grade will be enough. The tide has definitely turned, though,and I believe he will be back to good grades for second semester. I am concerned about what this one semester of bombing will do to his GPA and therefore to his college options, but I am trying to let go of it and just live one day at a time. We can't change what we can't change, after all, and at least he is back on track now. It's like having a different kid in the house -- one whose company is a lot more enjoyable!
We don't even sing in the choir this Sunday. For reasons unclear to me the director scheduled this as a week off. Sam is the cantor (song leader, for those of you unfamiliar with Catholic customs) at 12:30 Mass, so I'll just wait and go to that one with him.
We have been a family divided for Masses for a couple years now. When Sam hit adolescence we went through the predictable fights about going to Mass. Except once he started singing in the then-offered teen choir at 12:30, I found out we had not actually been fighting about Mass at all. We had been arguing about getting up in time for Mom and Dad to sing at 9:00 Mass. Once I realized the time was the big issue, I capitulated and now he worships at 12:30 almost every week, while Bob and I go at 9:00. In a perfect world I'd like us all to worship together, but I'd rather have a son willingly worshipping at 12:30 than grudgingly at 9:00, and it is lovely to NOT have every Sunday morning filled with conflict. In my heart, I am just grateful that at 16 he still willingly worships.
Well, I have to run. I hear my flannel pajama pants calling my name, and who can resist a call like that?
One last thing -- if I have readers out there, I'd love to hear from you!