My pleasure, Kathryn. Just something to think about.

Yes, indeed, Sally. I thank God every day for her job, for her co-workers understanding her and helping when necessary.

Our son is 32. Drives. Holds a job. Praise God for answered prayers!

Thanks Victoria, good point.

Oh I'm so glad for you, Sally. No, we discovered in second grade that our daughter has a learning disability complicated with ADHD and social interaction problems. Her family are her friends and support. She just learned to drive and she's 30 and holds a job. We love her beyond measure.

Thank you so much for your comment.

Good for you, Willis. I got to know the special education department intimately at school, advocating for my daughter and making sure she was in the highest level courses possible for her.

I graduated University of Pennsylvania with a bachelor's in English, creative writing concentration. I have an associates in Communications. I substitute teach pretty much 5 days a week and write Y.A. short stories, essays, and poetry, and of course this memoir about attending college as a mother of five.

Thanks again for your kind words. They are greatly appreciated.

Definitely hats off to you, Victoria. What a challenge. I never felt that I was in any way heroic, just lucky. There were other women, some with as many as five children and in the middle of divorces, so I was lucky.

My major was Professional Teacher with concentration in special education. I taught and administered thirty-four years and am retired now.

What was your major?

Thank you so much for your kind note, Willis. You are VERY brave, my dear. My twins, the youngest of 5, were in second grade before I tried to handle college. My oldest was in 8th and has a learning disability and needed to be retaught each night in addition to doing homework with the other four younger children.
Bravo to you, Willis. What did you study?

Thanks so much for the words of encouragement. And just so no good dead goes unpunished (LOL) here are the second 7 lines:

Heat shimmers on asphalt. There are no kids in sight. The mountains hide beyond a brown haze. The buildings crouch ready to trap the unwary. Was I totally delusional, thinking a few years of teaching in rural Northern Arizona should be the next step in my retirement plan? I imagine the pierce of beady eyes and the stink of slavering breath rising from the road that leads to the parking lot. I poke at my forehead. Stop that Stephen King stuff, Janine.
“Who’s Stephen King?” Reg Fickett, my old college mentor asks. I haven’t heard from Reg since I was a struggling first-year teacher. He was alive then.