Orientation

I’m setting up Camp Momma Goes Back To College out on the dining room table today.

This way,  during the tedious process of filling out forms, faxing forms, registering forms, looking up forms, misunderstanding forms, losing forms, cursing at forms, and formulating forms—I can be close by while my tribe of neglected children destroy the surrounding domestic structures.

I practice a very hands on approach to parenting.

So, I survived orientation yesterday.

And as it turns out—there was nothing to be concerned about.

I really don’t know why I get myself so worked up about things.

It’s not like I only got 4 hours of  sleep the night before and had to wake up 45 minutes earlier than planned to look for a bra.

Well, it’s summer. Don’t look all puzzled and stuff. We live in bathing suits. I don’t know why you people find that so incomprehensible.

So the orientation was fine.

It was really just fine.

And it’s not like I had to wear ugly shoes because my teenager took every last pair of cute flip-flop with her to Florida.

Couldn’t have gone better.

It’s not like I sat in the car for 30 minutes contemplating my gray hairs, wrinkles and ugly shoes in comparison to my fellow classmates—terrified to put the vehicle in park, turn off the ignition, and get out.

I was cool as a cucumber.

I watched lots of cars and buses, and buses, and cars…

I am filled with overflowing gratitude for this man and his ability to simply exist yesterday.

Well not just to exist. But to manifest his existence specifically in parking lot 1b. Which I managed to find on the first try.

And for his baldness. Thank you, sir.

Thank you Mr. Fellow non-traditional aged student.

Had I not observed him walk up ahead of me, I feel almost certain I would have stayed in the vehicle the entire day, playing countless games of Sheep Launch, enjoying my Tums and wishing my man would meet me in the back seat.

But it was fine. It really was. Other than my man never showed up.

I blended in nicely with the other 187 people. Seamlessly, in fact. No one seemed to notice my ugly shoes and for all anyone else cared—I was just another tag-along parent.

I didn’t stand out a bit.

It’s not like the transfer orientation advisor stood up with the microphone and announced across the grand auditorium that all returning adult students ages 25 or older needed to stand up—climb to the top of the auditorium stairs where she was standing and follow her to an extra special room set aside for geriatric adult students returning to college.

It’s not like anything like that happened at all.

If that had happened, I would have nearly passed out and told her how I was on the brink of dying from embarrassment– to which she would have responded with an uncertain smile.

Hunky dory.

It’s not like I had to use the UM orientation back-pack as a make-shift rain hat during our 10-mile up hill hike across  campus while my umbrella lie dry as a bone on the seat of my van.

It’s not like between the 287% humidity and the pouring down rain, my student ID photo makes me look like Tina Turner having a bad hair day—wearing glasses— minus the really long smoking hot dancer legs. That’s all your seeing of that. No sense incriminating myself more than absolutely necessary.

I’m not black, but I’m almost that tan from my summer job.

Orientation was splendid.

It’s not like I got separated from my group at the end of the day because I had to slip into the bookstore, buy a really cute sweatshirt that I later discovered to be  too small since apparently young college girls don’t have boobs. I happen to have boobs. I will need the next size up.

Peachy.

It’s not like I had to suck it up and ask this really cute Asian gal for directions because I was near tears after wondering aimlessly around with my map looking for my car in the sweltering heat and humidity.

Okay, so it was actually exactly like that. And so much more.

But I survived, made it out alive, escaped the wrath of The Children Of The Corn, transferred every last one of my Associate Degree credits, succeeded at the Math Placement Exam…

and never once opened my brand new bottle of Tums. Until I got home and my man asked me for a handful after being at home alone with the tribe of kids all day long. Poor guy. I feel really bad about that.

I vow not to wear ugly shoes on the first day of class. Amen.

~The Grasshoppa

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