In my marriage, I wore the tassel in the family.  With every fiber of my being, I would have bet that it would’ve been ME in going back to graduate school and Nick would be at home, baby in one arm, diaper bag in another, and cell phone cradled in the overextended neck.  But, no.  That’s not where life took us.  That’s not where we are right now.

Today was Nick’s first day for his MBA program.  And what a fine choice and privilege it is for us to pursue additional degrees so we can open even more doors to our family’s future.

But, graduate school isn’t what it used to be.  I completed my grad degree in 2004 as a single, newly minted master of psychology and pastoral ministry.   My cohort was roughly 75 students and similar to me: overly addicted to intellectual stimulation with an ever increasing love of the academic life.  We loved the academic world;  surrounded by brainiac professors and manaical graduate assistants, late talks about “my place in the world,” and a fastidious devotion to the pursuit of truth.

That and a lot of alcohol.

But it isn’t 2004 anymore and I’m not a single, Boston bar hopper.  Somewhere in the past six years, my life blew up with marriage, jobs, moving, change, growth, and responsibilities surpassing my individualistic desires.  My pursuit of truth has changed.  From diplomas to diapers.  Discussion to lullaby.  My make-up bag is untouched.  The snazzy going-out purse is now a rather dull grey messenger bag, scattered with pacifiers, a stuffed animal, and a bulb syringe.  I know, it’s dead sexy.

What happened to me?  (And I don’t ask that in a whiny voice, I mean a reflective one…)

I guess the best answer I gave myself today was this:  I learned how to compromise.   In 2004, about 99% of my days were all about me.  Today, 2010, my days are mostly about other people.  And the pursuit of truth is found in the murky waters of everyday life.  The ivory tower does not always have the best view.  That took me about five years to understand.

When a parent goes to graduate school, the entire family goes to graduate school. Even though there’s only one student charged, everyone pays tuition.  Tuition of time, attention, presence, thought, and engagement.  Like a hanging mobile, one piece cannot be moved without the entire plane moving with it.

By 12noon today, I was tired enough to go to bed.  And I had slept plenty the night before.  While Nick is up to his neck in orientation, classes, meetings, and trying to get his footing in a whole new base of knowledge, I am waaaaay over my head with Isaiah and keeping our job-sharing job going. And writing.  And trying to remember to drink water.

I could list the hundred different things that went wrong today.  I could list the thousand things that went right.

Or I could reflect on the hard pill epiphany of the day: behind every hard working parent in gradschool is a harder working parent at home.   And that opportunity – to seek a better place and identity as a family through the means of higher education – is a privilege that has no room for complaints.

**in the car at 5:21pm**

– after explaining at length how my day went –

Me: So, how was it?  Tell me everything.

Nick: I will.  I just feel bad that you had a bad day.

Me:  I didn’t have bad day.  I had a very hard day.  There’s a difference.