Forget the rest.

Shulamith's nine-year-old son Swen is in 4th grade. His teacher has a sign on the door to their classroom that reads: "Do your best, and forget the rest." They even sing a song at the end of each day about doing their best and forgetting the rest.

This is all most annoying to Swen, who is quick to point out that Ms. Despain doesn't even follow her own sign. "I do my best," he explains, "but she never lets me forget the rest. She makes me take home all the work I don't get done in class and do it at home. I already did my best, and I'm ready to forget the rest, but no, she won't let me." 

Hilarious as this sounds, it's even funnier to hear Swen tell it, with so much logic and obvious frustration with this teacher, who doesn't even believe her own dumb sign.

As I write this post, I am full on exhausted, so much so that I won't post it publicly until one of my prized proofreaders checks it out. Jay? Eli? Let me be clear here that I am not a person who takes any pride in being busy. Not at all. I cherish my precious down time; Shulamith and I often remark that we love our boring lives. They're awesome.

These past couple weeks have been far from boring and way too busy. Unlike Swen, an anxious perfectionist like me would never forget the rest. Never. I actually never forget anything. My crazy good memory is both a blessing and a curse. Given the choice, I wouldn't trade it, but it does have its challenges.

Recently, though, I've had to put some things on hold in order to do the urgent things right in front of me. I don't like that feeling at all; it challenges every fiber of my being not to be 100% on top of all things at all times. Forget the rest? Makes me anxious just saying the words.

Several unrelated circumstances have caused this unwelcome degree of busyness. First, I'm teaching six (!) classes this semester. Why would I do such a thing, you may be wondering. It was never my plan, but you see, the music to the adjunct dance is always guesswork. Enrollment always drives class offerings, which makes perfect sense; they're not going to pay teachers to teach classes that have few or no students. And because students like to wait until the last possible second to register for classes, administrators can never be sure how many sections of classes they will need.

It's frustrating for everyone. All administrators can do is their best to predict how many classes to schedule; then they offer those classes to us adjuncts and hope it all works out. Then they forget the rest. When offers come, we have to decide what to accept, knowing full well that in the end, some of our classes may not make. Shulamith has had classes canceled due to low enrollment only days before the start of the semester. Again, the music of the adjunct dance.

When you add the struggle of dealing with two schools, for me, each new semester feels like the proverbial perfect storm. This fall I was offered three classes at UVU and three at SLCC. I never imagined they all would make. One at UVU is at 7:00 a.m. and had only three students registered when I received my offer. "No way students are gonna come to English class at 7:00 a.m." I thought. "Not a chance." One SLCC class is online, and I didn't think that one would make either because students are super tired of online delivery. They want a class in a classroom with a teacher they can see and talk to in person. 

Desiring to teach four classes, I accepted all six. And yep, all six made. "Are you freakin' kidding me? All six!" How am I gonna teach six writing classes?" At this moment, I'm still not sure how I'm gonna do that. We're finishing up Week #7, and ever since the first set of essays came in from both schools the same weekend, and I made the mistake of counting them (84!), I've felt buried. Buried in papers. Buried in emails. Buried in life.

In addition, I decided this would be a great semester to sign up for the institute class I've been wanting to take, devoted to seminary teaching in the Church Educational System. The class meets weekly at the institute building up at the U., a 45-minute drive from my wilderness house in Bluffdale. This week, our assignments include creating and teaching two 90-minute lessons to seminary students around the valley. Okay, this is SO much fun, but also so much prep work! Section 111 of the D&C, which is part of "Come Follow Me" this week and also the focus of the seminary lesson, mentions how much the Lord loves us despite our follies, and how he will bless us right through them. Let's hope! Because choosing to teach six writing classes AND take this labor-intensive institute class would most certainly be classified as a "folly."

One lovely reprieve this past week was a quick visit from my brother Tom and his friend Yvonne. They were on a road trip to a 3-day music festival in Memphis in Tom's self-refurbished travel van named Leo. It was pure delight to eat lunch with them and visit for a few hours. I even tried a bite of Yvonne's sushi roll, my first ever! I hadn't seen anyone from my family since well before COVID; I am so grateful they made time to stop.

Anyway, I'm on overwhelm. At this moment I'm lying in bed eating See's candy and sipping Diet Coke, after returning from my 7:00 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. classes in Orem. I stayed up way too late last night reading, because I desperately needed some "me" time. Definitely paying for it today. And (obviously), I'm blogging! Those of you who pay attention to such things might notice that I generally write a minimum of four posts per month (or one per week). This past September I wrote only two. That makes me sad. 

After this tiny rest, I'll need to put on my big girl panties and tackle the remaining 31 essays of the original 84, because another set just came in Sunday night. Then Eli is coming over to prep both our seminary lessons for tomorrow. 

Do your best, and forget the rest. I'm trying, Swen. Really I am.