Acade(me)

Moving On

2006-11-29T22:35:00.000-06:00

I started this blog when I was in the throes of dissertation-writing back in July 2005. I wanted an outlet for airing my frustrations about the writing process, but the blog quickly evolved into a more personal statement. If you're a regular reader, you know bits about my life, my family, my struggles and my triumphs. For the most part, I've been pleased to share these things with you and also pleased to read about your lives on your blogs.

Lately, though, I've felt reluctant to write and reluctant to read. Reluctant because I felt like this blog was pulling away from its original purpose and was turning into precisely the type of blog I didn't want it to be. I've also felt reluctant to read a lot of blogs over the past few months because the writing didn't seem honest anymore. That's probably not even true and only makes sense to me, but suddenly a lot of blog-writing seemed artificial to me. In part, I think that's what anonymity or semi-anonymity does. I felt like I was reading (and even becoming) a blogging "character" instead of a real person behind a screen. That's uncomfortable to me, both as a writer and a reader.

At any rate, this is my final post on this blog. I will keep blogging, but as myself and on a site with controlled access. I would very much like to allow access to some of my long-term readers and blogging friends; if you, too, would like to read on the new site, please send an email to academeblog AT gmail DOT com. That way, even if you don't wish to reveal your identity to me, I can be very much myself with you. And I'd be happy to do it.

Blissfully Long Weekend

2006-11-26T22:05:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow another work week begins and I am definitely not in the right frame of mind for it. I've been reluctantly writing lectures all afternoon -- I cannot even bring myself to finish the last one for my Senior Seminar because it's just taking too much out of me. I've had to keep reminding myself all day that there are really only two more "real" weeks left in the semester; my final exams are scheduled for December 13 and 15. Then I'll have another blissful long break but still... after this short teaser break I'm completely unmotivated to work even two short weeks.

Our Thanksgiving break was lovely, positively lovely. Corinne, Ben, M (3 days older than ST) and Baby Eva (9 months) arrived late on Thanksgiving Day after getting lost in Midwestern State. (They never travel -- really, never -- and so any car trip longer than 1.5 hours throws them for a loop.) I had spent the morning of Thanksgiving preparing two turkeys (which had been in brine overnight), putting potatoes through my ricer, baking bread, and preparing my dressing and cranberry sauce. I was frantic, but then when they arrived everything seemed to calm down. They are such good friends of ours that just having them in the house made me feel instantaneously relaxed and happy. Corinne fed Baby Eva and then jumped into the kitchen to help me, T and Ben walked around our property, and ST and M giggled and laughed and ran around as only preschoolers can do. Baby Eva scooted around my hardwood floors, trying to catch Belle, our cat.

The meal turned out wonderfully, and for the first time in my life I made gravy that was actually edible and the correct consistency. (I only make gravy on Thanksgiving because it seems like the thing to do, and every year I buy a pre-made jar of gooey, gross gravy to have on hand just in case mine doesn't turn out. This is the first year I haven't had to use it!) After the meal we all sat around the table and talked each other's ears off before I served apple pie, pumpkin pie, and homemade raspberry sorbet (new recipe -- to die for).

One of the best parts of the weekend was watching ST and M. They have literally grown up together. Corinne and I shared our pregnancies when we lived right next door to each other, I was one of the first ones to hold M after she was born, and ST was born three days later (on M's due date). After the kids were born Corinne and I spent a lot of time together and we continued to do so as long as T and I lived in the neighborhood. ST and M are best friends. Watching them chatter away together, hug each other, run around like nuts, and even argue with each other was so wonderful. Although they hadn't seen each other since July 28, it was like no time had passed at all for them.

Corinne, Ben and the girls stayed until Saturday morning. By that time we had already crammed in a lot of memory-making events, including paddle boat rides on the pond, a bonfire by the pond and a visit to Santa for ST and M (where M was absolutely astounded that Santa could possibly know that she wanted a Barbie and a dollhouse... just like every other girl he talked to! ST asked for "a box of rescue vehicles from Dad's Special Store." Unfortunately, we have no idea what "Dad's Special Store" is. We've been told in no uncertain terms by ST that it is NOT Toys R Us. Hmmm). We also took in New Town's fantastic holiday light display near the lake, where we all attempted to sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" without waking Baby Eva who was sleeping in her carseat. We were not ready for them to leave on Saturday morning, that's for sure. There was still so much left to do, so much more to talk about.

But we will see them again, and soon. This visit merely confirmed something we all already knew: we will be friends for life, no matter the distance that separates us. It's rare to find friends who are as comfortable in your home as they are in their own (Ben took out the garbage, snored in front of the football game on the floor of our living room; Corinne ran the dishwasher, poked her head in the bathroom while I was in the shower to ask me a question, etc.), and people who make you feel even more comfortable in your own home. So comfortable and happy that you don't want your time with them to end, and you definitely don't want to return to the real world the next day.

My Morning in Pictures

2006-11-22T11:30:00.000-06:00

Overreaction

2006-11-21T21:31:00.000-06:00

Heard on my voicemail at noon, as I walked into my office at SMU. Voice of Miss Sharon, ST's preschool teacher.

Miss Sharon: ... and anyway, no need to be concerned, but ST has been pulling on his ear all day long and has complained more than once that it hurt. He's playing just great, but I thought you should know...

I delete the message and make a call to ST's pediatrician, who has a single appointment left for the afternoon. I take it, thinking that if ST does have an ear infection, I'd better get it resolved before Thanksgiving, when his best friend in the whole world is visiting.

At the pediatrician's office, 1:30pm.

Doctor: So, ST, you have a sore ear today?

ST: (bouncing a little and grinning, because this doctor is silly and he knows it) Um, yeah. It just hurts a little on the left.

Doctor: Hmmm. Why do you think that is?

ST: (pause, very serious look on his face) Well, doctor... I think it's cancer.

Doctor has to turn his head to keep from laughing right in ST's face -- I am not so discreet. Turns out ST's ear is perfectly fine (he's never had an ear infection in his life) but honestly, where does he get this stuff?

I'll Be Home for Christmas

2006-11-19T13:53:00.000-06:00

As I mentioned in my previous post, we're not travelling "home" for Christmas this year. This is the first time we'll spend Christmas without either of our families, since my Mom called a few days ago to say that she, Dad, Julie, and Rob are not coming here, either. Just as my Dad was getting ready to purchase tickets for the whole family to travel to Midwestern State (they would have come by train), my Mom decided that she "just needed to be home this year" and so they pulled the plug on the trip. My Mom is like that -- indeed, I was never wholly convinced that they would actually come for Christmas. She's very much a homebody and sometimes invents reasons to stay there. I can't really blame her: they have a lovely home, and it's especially lovely at Christmas. She said, "maybe we'll come next Christmas," but I'm wise enough to know that the same thing will happen next year. She'll find a reason that she "just needs to be home this year."

My sister Julie called this morning, wondering if I was upset that they weren't coming and that I wasn't going to be "home" for Christmas. To my surprise, I'm not upset about anything other than the fact that Mom got my hopes up ever-so-slightly for something I never really thought would happen. Sure, I love spending the holidays with my family. We have a lot of great family traditions that T and I are both sorry to miss, and we're sad that ST won't spend Christmas with his grandparents, aunt, and uncle. But at the same time, I know that I, too, "just needed to be home" for Christmas this year. Home State isn't really my "home" anymore. I haven't lived there since 1997. "Home" for me is wherever T and ST are.

This year, then, will be fun for us because we'll be inventing our own holiday traditions. We've never decorated much for Christmas or put up a huge Christmas tree because we were always going somewhere else for Christmas. This year, I'm going to work hard to make it special for ST, so that he knows what HIS family does for Christmas. Some of my parents' traditions will carry over: leaving presents from Santa outside in the snow, for example, or listening to The Nutcracker while decorating the tree. But I'm excited to think of new things to do, things that will be etched in ST's mind as special and unique to our little family. If my parents and siblings actually DO come for Christmas next year, they'll have to fit into OUR traditions.

What makes your holiday special? What are your family's traditions?

No Complaining Thursday, Ver. 2.0

2006-11-16T08:50:00.000-06:00

As per Betty's request:

Things I Am Not Complaining About Today

T and I have decided to stay here in Pond House for Christmas. Typically, we travel 8-10 hours north each year to see our families and then drive 8-10 hours back home, and this year we've decided to have our own celebration here, and to invite our families to spend the holiday with us. Much to our surprise, my family is actually considering breaking a 30+ year tradition to come to Midwestern State for Christmas, which would be amazing and fun. Even if they don't come, I'm pleased that we are staying put this year (for the first time ever).

Even better: MIL has decided to spend the holiday with her parents (who are very ill) in Arizona. But even better than that: we won't see BIL and SIL over the holiday, either, which will make Christmas that much merrier (for me, at least).

Speaking of holidays, I am very thrilled that Corinne, Ben, and their girls are coming to Pond House for Thanksgiving. I invited them way back in July before we moved, never imagining that they'd actually take me up on it (Corinne is very, very stuck in her ways). They will arrive Thursday morning and leave Saturday morning. Now to plan the menu!

I am a member of The Good Cook , a cookbook club. I just recieved the book Perfect Recipes for Having People Over on the same day I received my latest issue of Everyday Food. It does not get much better than that, friends.

I got my hair cut at a new salon on Tuesday (I usually just wait for my sister Julie to cut it for me, since she always knows just what to do) and the stylist did a fantastic job. I have pretty low-maintenance hair, and it was nice to have a stylist who didn't try to talk me into spending 20 minutes a day on my hair when I know I won't. I am finally free of the pony-tail and my hair, at last, looks tidy and healthy again.

I only have to prepare one lecture for tomorrow. I am holding mini-conferences with the students in my Senior Seminar, discussing their papers that are due December 4, which means no formal lecture preparation.

Yesterday, while in the car with T, some awful Justin Timberlake song came on the radio (T actually listens to popular music -- I refuse). "Dad!" ST screamed from his carseat behind us, "PLEASE turn off this CRAP!" While I do not condone his use of the word "crap," I do appreciate his taste in music.

The Yoke Is Lifted

2006-11-12T12:48:00.000-06:00

As of yesterday, I am all caught up on my grading. Even those stupid reading quizzes have been recorded and filed away. This means that I have no more grading responsibilities until December 5 (the day after my Senior Seminar students turn in their 10-12 page assignments).

I am quite nearly giddy.

First Snow

2006-11-11T08:24:00.000-06:00

We had our first measurable snow here last night. Our yard at Pond House was transformed into a shimmering winter wonderland. The snow will probably melt later today, but it certainly gave us a lovely reason to get out of bed early this morning.

The Whole Class Does Not Deserve an A

2006-11-08T17:53:00.000-06:00

I finished grading my exams this afternoon and posted the results for my students online. ST was sick last night and then I got sick, too, and so I had to cancel classes for today. That meant that my students won't see their actual exams until Friday (I was going to return them today), but they have already seen the grades. The grades were almost a perfect bell curve, with the average being a B-/C+ out of 88 exams. I was happy with the distribution.

The students are not, of course.

I have already received five emails from students complaining about how hard they studied and how "surprised" they were by the exam, particularly the multiple choice section. The exam contained no surprises. It contained a mix of general and particular questions, questions that would reward those who understood the broader concepts of the class and those who had done a close reading of the course materials. I think the students expected a multiple choice test to be "easier" than an essay exam. No one received 25/25 on the multiple choice exam; the highest grade, after I looked at the results again, was 23/25. When I made the curve for the exam, I acted as though the multiple choice section was out of 23 instead of 25, which raised everyone's scores slightly. But there are still three people who failed the exam, a handful who received Ds and low Cs, and then a huge clump in the mid- to high-C and B range.

Students, however, are convinced that any effort they put into the exam deserves an A. They are sure that if they work hard enough, and even if their answers are blatantly wrong, they should still get an A for trying. A B and certainly a C is simply unacceptable to them. On the one hand, that's great: they should strive for excellence. But the hard fact is that no matter how hard you strive for excellence, it is sometimes out of your reach.

Not every student deserves an A. Not every student will get an A, no matter how hard they worked or how passionately they argue in my office hours. I'm trying to figure out how to tell them that without making them bitter, but I suppose there's no way around it. Sure, I'd like to give the whole class As, to see their smiling faces looking at me when I turn the exams back, and to read the glowing student evaluations about how "fair" and "nice" I am. But giving them all As is, of course, doing them a horrible disservice. Grade inflation doesn't happen in the real world: a poor job results in a poor evaluation, no matter how much you complain.

When will they learn that? And why, oh why do I have to be the one to teach them?

Attitude

2006-11-07T08:56:00.000-06:00

Earlier this semester, I had a meeting with one of my students, Dirk, from my Intro to Subfield course. He'd just received the grade I'd given him on a paper (an A-) and was "deeply concerned" about the fact that he did not get an A. "I'm not here asking you to change my grade," he said, curly hair flipping out from beneath his stocking cap, "it's just that I've never received such a low grade on a paper before. In high school I got all As, no questions asked."

I gave him my "this is not high school" speech, explaining to him that while his paper was good, it did not deserve an A. I gave him my reasons, and he seemed to understand them. Then he pulled out a sheet of paper and showed it to me. It was an academic progress report from his last year at high school. "See?" he said, shoving the paper in my lap, "I'm smart enough to be doing better than A- work in your class. I mean, this is an intro class, after all."

I could feel the blood rush to my face, and resisted the strong urge to roll my eyes. After explaining to him that this "intro class" did not mean that it was an "easy" class, he launched into a 15 minute speech about how he's discovered that, because he's so smart, he can quadruple major. Why get just one major, or even two, when you can get FOUR? He then proceeded to tell me about how he was the smartest child in his family, and how he always had to help his older brothers and sisters in their classes (two of them are in college as well). Our meeting ended with me chuckling softly to myself as he left my office.

A few weeks ago, we had an exam in my Intro to Subfield class. Dirk always sat in the back of the class. He never took notes, despite the fact that everyone around him was scribbling madly. He would just sit there, sweatshirt flopping open to reveal a grungy t-shirt beneath, same curly hair twanging out everywhere from beneath the red and white stocking cap. He looked the same on exam day, only this time he was busy filling his exam book with his essay answer. Indeed, he was the last one in the room when the exam period ended. "Dirk," I said, "time to turn in your exam. Class is over."

He didn't look up at me. "I got the exam three minutes late," he said, writing.

"No matter -- you're already two minutes past the exam time," I said, ready to grab his exam booklet. "Finish that sentence and that's it."

"No, I still have one full minute left," he said, still writing and not looking up.

"No -- it's over." I closed his exam book and took it.

He stood up and stretched. He's one of those lanky kids who, when he stretches, seems like one of those ancient flying dinosaurs: huge, a bit menacing, and ugly.

I smiled at him. "Well, what did you think of the exam?" I asked, trying move past the exam-snatching incident from a moment before.

"Easy," he said. He walked out of the room.

A few days ago, I received the results of the multiple choice section of the exam. The exam was 25 multiple choice questions and then a long essay. The class average on the MC portion was 15/25. Dirk scored a 22/25. In class yesterday I mentioned that, while I hadn't yet graded the essay portion of the exam, I had the results from the MC portion. I told the class what the highest score was, and that they'd see their exams on Wednesday (provided that I finish grading the essays today -- ugh).

After class, Dirk came up to the front of the room. "Where's my multiple choice score?" he said, looking at my papers on the table and moving some of them around. "You said you had them."

I was miffed. Miffed that he was touching my things, mostly, and that his tone was so demanding. "I don't have them here. You'll see them on Wednesday."

"But if you have them, I want to know my score," he said, face bearing not even a trace of good-naturedness.

I shook my head. "Well, you'll just have to wait. No one else has seen their scores yet, either."

He stomped away, mumbling something about being the smartest person in the class.

Students like Dirk, although I don't encounter them very often, drive me insane. I can see that he has some potential. He's a decent writer, and he seems to study the material and know it well. I've read his essay, and it's OK. I just hate his attitude, the way that he acts like I should treat him differently because he's "smart." I wish I could just shake him and say that a truly smart person would lose the attitude, treat people kindly, and accept that the rules apply to everyone equally. When I saw his exam score, I was actually relieved -- he'll be happy with it, I think, because he'll have a solid A on the exam. I'm relieved because he won't come to my office hours again, and I won't have to listen to him blather on about how much of a genius he is. I just don't want to deal with him, because he makes me feel defensive and like I want to strangle him. Just looking at him annoys me: I discovered long ago that I cannot stand to look at men with longish, unkempt, very curly hair. I don't know why. Just bugs the heck out of me.

Off to grade more essay exams.

Blind

2006-11-02T08:48:00.000-06:00

On Halloween night, I sat at our kitchen table grading the papers for my Senior Seminar. The papers, 6-8 pages in length, were their first "real" assignment. I finished grading late into the night, well after Superman and SuperDad were in bed.

When they wrote the papers, I asked them not to put their names on them. They included only their ID numbers in the header of the paper so it appeared on each page. I graded them (the grade is on the last page of the paper) and then handed the papers over to Amy, Administrative Wonderwoman, so she could look up the ID numbers and put the last names on the papers for me to turn them back. I recorded the grades quickly before heading off to teach, taking little notice of which grade matched which name. When I handed them back to my students yesterday, I honestly couldn't remember who received what grade.

I had a professor who used this same method, grading the papers without knowing who wrote them. I felt, as a student, that it was a more "fair" way of grading, since the professor could not let his personal feelings about the student influence the grade he gave. I know a lot of the students in my Senior Seminar fairly well (indeed, I am the faculty advisor to about five of them), and I was worried that my knowledge of their situations (e.g., Student A needs this class to graduate, Student B has never received a grade less than B+ in any course in our discipline) would color how I viewed their papers. I liked not knowing who the author was.

Until I handed the papers back.

I think I'm a pretty fair and consistent grader, and I like to believe that, by reading my detailed comments, students know why they received the grade that they did. But when I saw their sometimes horrified, sometimes elated faces as they saw their grades yesterday, I felt horrible. I didn't like the fact that I felt like they were staring up at me, feeling "betrayed" somehow by the grade they had been given. I especially didn't like that one of my best students, one who is headed to law school, looked so dejected about her grade as she sat, fully prepared for class, in the front row. (I later found out that she earned a C on the paper.)

Although it was easier on me at first to grade the papers blindly, it is harder on me later. I stick by my grades and I don't think I graded any of the papers too harshly. A C paper is a C paper, no matter who wrote it. But somehow I wish I could've softened the blow, couldn've written something encouraging and personal to the students who didn't do as well as they (or I) had hoped. Grading is definitely the worst part of this job, but facing a roomful of students who have just been graded plays a close second.

Recuperating

2006-10-31T08:03:00.000-06:00

My parents were here this weekend. They arrived on Friday night and left yesterday morning. From the moment they arrived until the moment they left, we were in full work-mode. As a result I am completely exhausted: I am still recuperating from my weekend.

What we accomplished (now with photos!):

Stripped cutesy 1980s wallpaper from half-bath off of the kitchen. This was a bigger project than I imagined it would be, simply because the wallpaper was so old it was coming off in tiny shreds. This weekend I'm hoping to paint in there, as soon as T and I can decide on a color. After the stripping experience, I'm very glad it was the only room that was wallpapered.

Mom stripping wallpaper

Installed new microwave. The house came with a microwave, a greasy white Whirlpool Gold that was held together with duct tape. (Classy!) We've replaced it with a stainless steel microwave to match our other appliances. Now the only white appliance left in the kitchen is the dishwasher. The replacement dishwasher I want is kind of expensive, and since this white one works fine we've decided to hold off on making another big purchase.

New Microwave (Stove/Oven purchased August 2006)

Demolished entryway closet. We had a closet between our main entrance and our garage entrance just off the kitchen. The closet made the corridor between the two entrances rather tight, and so we ripped it out. This was a huge project that involved a lot of re-wiring and lots of gypsum dust from the new drywall, but in the end the new entryway is a LOT larger and is precisely what we wanted. T is continually amazed by what my Dad knows how to do -- my Dad is not trained in construction at all, but seems to know how to tackle any project, large or small. "I definitely married up," T said last night. "I married into talent!"

Closet progress: Saturday and Sunday. The half-bath is the doorway in the back; the kitchen is the entrance to the left. I'm taking this photo near the main front door entrance. The white door on the right is our garage entrance. New tile flooring coming soon to replace poorly-laid and very ugly vinyl. Clearly, we still have to mud and tape the drywall and then repaint.

Removed ugly Love Boat light fixture in the stairwell, and patched holes where matching Love Boat sconces once hung. This job was tedious for T and my Dad and still isn't quite complete because T had to re-mud some of the drywall patch after he found a few bubbles. We haven't yet replaced the light fixture in the stairwell because we can't find anything we really like. We want something in the Mission/Arts & Crafts style (since that's what most of our furniture is), and everything we've found thus far is a bit too "curvy."

Wired for a garbage disposal. A major source of frustration for me in my kitchen is the lack of a garbage disposal. Dad told T how to wire an outlet for one, and to T's surprise he was able to do it himself! Now we just need to hire a plumber to install the disposal. "I do everything BUT plumbing," Dad said. "Too messy." Agreed.

So it was a busy weekend, but a lot of great projects were completed or mostly completed. I told my parents that I was never again going to clean BEFORE they arrived, since the place is always trashed minutes after they walk in the door! I am going to be mopping up gypsum dust for the next month and a half, I'm sure, and I've already had to wash everything that I had sitting on my kitchen counters (cake safe, utensils, toaster) twice.

I have a busy week ahead, too. Exams and papers to finish grading, a few complicated lectures to write, and lots of other paperwork to get off of my desk. Add that to the fact that my little Superman has to go trick-or-treating tonight... I'd better get cracking!

ST's serious "Man of Steel" face; just look at those abs!

On Being Married to a "Do-er"

2006-10-26T18:05:00.000-05:00

I am married to a "do-er." T is one of the most ambitious and goal-driven people I've ever met, and that was a huge attraction for me when we first met. He gets his mind fixed on something and then he methodically chips away at the obstacles until he reaches his goal, usually in less time than it takes "normal" people. He's like this with everything: when we were in college together he would study for his exams and write his papers with a clear method; he sets financial goals for us and then has all of the micro-goals we need to meet mapped out in Excel; when he was training for the marathon he ran last year at this time he trained according to a strict schedule spread out over six months, missing only one training run due to a slight injury. He's a very accomplished person as a result, but he never gloats about what he's achieved. His successes are due to planning and hard work.

The problem with being a "do-er" like T is that he sometimes gets focused on one single goal, and that goal overwhelms thoughts of everything else. When he was training for the marathon, for example, we talked about training ALL THE TIME and he was obsessive about keeping his training journal, food intake journal, and making sure he rotated his shoes for every 30 miles logged. While he still helped around the house (he's good about stuff like that), his heart was just not in it -- he was thinking about running, about meeting that goal. It was a little frustrating for me, but in the end I was extremely proud of him for running the marathon in under four hours (his goal for his first marathon) without injury.

His latest obsession: Pond House. I suspected that Pond House would consume him the moment we stepped onto this property for the first time in May. As he looked around and saw the lawn that needed maintenance, the empty and cavernous basement just waiting to be finished, the large garage in need of insulation, and the dock in the pond in need of repair, I could almost see and hear the wheels turning in his head. Those wheels have not stopped turning for a moment since we've been here.

When T comes home each night, we eat dinner, clean up, and then he's off to work on something for the house. On nights like tonight, when I have to prepare for classes the next day, he takes ST along with him: tonight they're at the home improvement store looking for bathtub drain covers, light fixtures, and moulding. For his birthday, he asked for gift certificates to the same store; he's asked for the same thing for Christmas. He regularly reads all sorts of home improvement magazines and books, and often spends his lunch break in his office, eating his lunch while looking up things like "pond weed management" or "radiant heat efficiency" or "installing crown moulding" on the internet.

Talking to him last night, I just had to laugh. He started by asking me about work and how it was going, asking me questions about my students and my colleagues. But, soon enough, the conversation turned to the bathrooms and when we would get rid of the brown tub, when we would replace the mauve carpet, when we would put in a window in the dining room, when we would put on a screened-in porch. "You know, the more we chip away at these little projects, the more I want to really tackle the big ones," he said to me. He wants the ugly brown tub gone ASAP (hurray!), the ugly gray tub next, and then the carpet. "We have the money to do it. Let's just do it, don't you think?"

I hesitated. "That's a lot of money," I said, "and we have a lot of other things to do with that money." I'm not even sure he heard me. His eyes were closed and I could hear his brain turning, turning, turning. In the next moment, the phone rang. He answered it. It was my Dad, who launched into a conversation about all of the projects he and T would do this weekend while my parents are here. As soon as I realized it was my Dad, I knew that it was no use talking about it any further: there is little that can stop T when there's a goal and there's a plan. When we bought this house, we started in on a whole new kind of marathon.

All Complaining Monday

2006-10-23T22:03:00.000-05:00

Since I haven't posted since No Complaining Thursday, this post will be devoted to all of the things I AM complaining about today: All Complaining Monday. I am not by nature a complainer: it takes a LOT to make me angry or sad, and I tend to see the bright side of everything. But... well, it's Monday. It's raining. And I'm tired and a bit cranky. Hence, All Complaining Monday (PM Edition).

Things I AM Complaining About Today:

1.) For some odd reason my face seems to be breaking out. Not anything major, but I generally have very clear skin and so this is particularly annoying. Of course the mini-breakout could be due to the fact that I consumed huge quantities of quality dark chocolate with MIL this weekend, but I'm going to rule that out. Dark chocolate is good for you. Look it up.

2.) Our mostly well-behaved cat Belle is driving me insane. If I leave anything out on the kitchen counter she will hop onto the counter to investigate and chomp on it. Example: this weekend MIL and I planned to make my Nearly Famous Vanilla Cupcakes, and so we left a stick of butter on the counter to soften (as you do). When we returned from a short trip to the grocery store, we discovered that Belle had eaten the middle of the stick of butter and had left greasy paw prints all over the kitchen. Gross. She is now going up there even when there's NOTHING there to entice her. This is annoying, and she never did that at our old house.

3.) I was lecturing this afternoon and totally lost my place in the middle of explaining something very complicated. I hate it when that happens. I think I confused my students even more than they already were after doing the readings. This means I'll be doing damage control on Wednesday, and I hate doing that.

4.) I have a stack of 35 6-8 page take-home midterm exams to grade. I have had them since October 13. I have not touched a single one of them yet. That stinks. I am praying for a teaching assistant to fall from the sky and take care of them for me. I'll let you know what God's response to that is.

5.) I had tentatively scheduled a lunch date with a new friend in a different department. We had scheduled the lunch last week and I was really looking forward to it. However, T and I also have a completely clogged bathtub drain that has not responded at all to OTC plumbing products. As luck would have it, the plumber could ONLY come between 9:00am and 2:00pm tomorrow. Raincheck on that fun lunch date, please.

6.) ST has decided that it's "Dad Week" (his term). This means that Mom is persona non grata for the time being. I'm not sure what happens during "Dad Week," but it must be pretty doggone fun and it stinks that I'm not included. T, of course, thinks it's funny and I have to admit that I do, too, but I am already missing bathtime ("Only BOYS in the bathroom tonight, Mom!") and storytime and "Dad Week" has just begun.

7.) My students are taking a midterm exam on Friday. It is half multiple-choice and half essay. This means that I will have essay exams looming large over my weekend with my parents. I will have to accept that the exams will simply not be touched until at least Tuesday of next week. When the teaching assistant fairy comes to grade my other exams, I'm sure he/she will grade these, too. I'll keep you posted.

8.) I have an intense craving for cauliflower. I ate the last bit of it tonight with my dinner. Every now and again (every 2-3 months, maybe?) my body seems to NEED cauliflower -- I don't know why, but I do know that I'm unhappy that I can't satify my current cauliflower deficiency.

9.) Today the left leg hem of my favorite gray pants from Ann Taylor fell. It was a rainy/snowy, disgusting day. This means that I was essentially walking on my fallen hem, grinding muddy water into the fabric before I had a chance to make an emergency pants repair with masking tape. Now I have to dry clean the pants AND hem them again. Very annoying.

10.) It is COLD here. Average temperature for this time of year is around 56 degrees. We have not seen 50 for at least two weeks. It was snowing today. I love winter, but I'm not quite sure I'm ready for it. ST has already lost one pair of mittens, T can't find the scarf that goes with his dress coat, and I have no idea where the red scarf Mom made especially for me ended up after the move. Unfortunately, it's supposed to average around 40 degrees the rest of the week.

No Complaining Thursday

2006-10-19T08:30:00.001-05:00

Concept courtesy of the fantastic Betty.

Things I'm Not Complaining About Today:

1.) My BIL, with whom I generally have a rocky relationship, called last night to talk to T. T was still at work (worked until 9:00pm last night, but I'm not complaining) and so I talked to BIL for almost 45 minutes! The conversation was actually -- dare I say it? -- enjoyable.

2.) T and I finally put up the beautiful mirror in our dressing area, the same mirror that was sitting in our bedroom for several weeks awaiting installation. It looks awesome.

(There used to be a mirror filling the entire wall above the counter here, topped by those ugly Hollywood dressing room lights. The wall also used to be painted the color of gel toothpaste; now it's the same color as our bedroom. You can't see it here, but we also replaced the cabinet hardware in this dressing area as well as in our bathroom. The old hardware was cheap fake gold crap. It's black now -- and at $6.99 per knob/pull, it had better look nice! The countertop still needs replacing, but that will probably have to wait until the new year. And hey, I'm not complaining about that.)

3.) One of my students came to my office hours to discuss graduate school and her own graduation from SMU. She was convinced that she would graduate in Fall 2007, and was unhappy about it. I looked at her academic report from the Registrar's office and, together with Amy (Best Administrative Assistant EVER), we figured out a way for her to graduate this spring. Both student and professor were very, very pleased!

4.) My MIL is coming for her first visit to Pond House tomorrow. We're excited to see her -- mostly ST, who has been counting down the days all week: "Tomorrow when I get up it will be just one more day until Grandma comes!"

5.) After watching the BBC news last night and seeing a report on the China-North Korea border, ST wanted to know what "China" was (he was convinced that he'd been there, given that he's eaten Chinese food). We pulled out his atlas, looked at all of the countries, and figured out where China was in relation to the United States. On the page where the 50 states are listed and described there was a small picture of an American flag. "Oh!" ST said, smiling, "That's the same flag we have in my preschool!" Then to my amazement he stood up, put his hand over his heart, and recited the Pledge of Allegiance. I had no idea he knew it. (His version went, "... one nation, under God, unbelievable, with liberty and justice for all.")

6.) Today I am writing a lecture (to give tomorrow) about one of my favorite topics ever. It's nice to be able to talk about things you really, really care abut.

The Great Preschool Songbook

2006-10-16T22:46:00.000-05:00

In our Honda, 3:35pm today. ST humming something in his carseat.

Me: ST, what's that song you're humming?

ST: It's a song that we sing in preschool. It's a song for kids.

Me: Really? Can you sing it for me?

ST: Sure. (Sings) It had to be you.... it had to be you... I stumbled around and finally found somebody who....

Me: That's not a preschool song. That's a love song.

ST: Yes, it is. I know I love it.

(Later that afternoon he started singing snippets of "I'll Be Seeing You." Turns out they're listening to the Rod Stewart Great American Songbook CD in preschool -- I called to find out! I can't stand Rod Stewart, but at least he's learning the standards, which is what we play at home anyway when we're not listening to NPR. Anything to keep him away from the garbage that is Justin Timberlake!)

For phdme: what the heck is up with Sting these days? First a crappy, sappy duet with Sheryl Crow (shoot me now!) and now crazy LUTE music? I guess once you've made it to the top you can afford to get weird.

Open Letters, All Unsent (Ver. 2.0)

2006-10-15T22:29:00.000-05:00

Dear Julie,

I really do appreciate that you call every Tuesday morning. I enjoy hearing from you. However, is it so much to ask that you let me speak once in a while? Is it impossible for you to concentrate on anything but your own life? I have something important that I want to share with you, but I cannot because you will not let me get a word in edgewise. While hearing about the great outfit you wore Saturday night, how stupid your boyfriend is, or how dull your coworkers are is fascinating, I'm starting to feel more like a brick wall than your sister.

With much love,
Your Big Sister

*****

Dear Dad,

Please be careful what you say to T. He thinks you are God. Since your most recent telephone conversation, T has decided that we not only need to reconfigure one of our hall closets, but we need to completely tear it out. I like that you give him good advice and the confidence he needs to take on more complicated projects, but could you at least talk him into installing our new microwave or ripping out the brown tub before closet demolition begins?

Love,
Your Oldest Daughter

*****

Dear Neighbors Around the Pond,

I beg you: stop burning leaf piles on Sundays. My eyes are so puffy and watery now from the smell and my head is going to explode with a headache that's been building all day. This has happened on three consecutive Sundays. Can't you do this mid-week, when I don't have time to spend outside?

Sincerely,
Pond Neighbor With Sensitive Nose

*****

Dear T,

Yes, quite honestly you DO look very handsome and manly when you're outside using your new chainsaw or your new leaf blower. Maybe if you'd come inside at some point during the weekend I could show you just how attractive I find you lately.

Love,
Your Wife (With the Puffy and Watery Eyes)

*****

Dear Belle,

You are a cat. Cats are not supposed to like homemade Pumpkin-Ginger Bread, especially not cute little mini-loaves that are perfect for stashing in lunchboxes. Cats are also not supposed to fall asleep on the stove, leaving loads of cat fur and tiny pawprints all over the smooth cooktop. Cats are not supposed to sit at the table when we're eating dinner. You are a cat. We love you dearly but -- well, you're a cat.

Love,
Your Adopted Mom Since 1998

*****

Dear ST,

You have been quite nearly the perfect boy this week. I try to tell you this every day but in case I've missed a day: thank you.

Love you always,
Mom

P.S. Thanks, too, for the lovely hydrangea you found in the garden this afternoon. I would have missed it. And yes, I promise to "teach" you to wash dishes this week, since you're so insistent. As always, I love having your help. Hope you had fun jumping in the leaf piles this morning!

*****

Dear Student,

I appreciate you letting me know why you were absent from class. I wondered where you were. But honestly, there are some things about your life that your professors don't need to know. Which organs you are missing is one of those things.

Take (better) care of yourself,
Prof. Me

Rewards

2006-10-10T10:51:00.000-05:00

Most of yesterday afternoon was spent in meetings with students.

Student A (Senior Seminar): "You mentioned the possibility of doing student-faculty research. I know there are a few students in our class who wanted to work with you, but I'm hoping I got here first!"

Student B (Senior Seminar): "Can we do the Jeopardy thing again sometime? I have other classes with the people in Senior Seminar, and everyone's still talking about it. None of the other professors in this department do creative things like that." (The last bit is untrue -- there's lots of creative teaching in my department -- but the comment made me feel good nonetheless.)

Student C (Intro to Subfield): "At first I thought I'd hate the reading quizzes, but I get way more out of lecture when I'm forced to read the stuff in advance. I hate to admit it, but the quizzes are a good idea." (Third reading quiz is tomorrow.)

Student D (Intro to Subfield, Zombie Class): "I know it was awkward for you to crack down on the class last week, but thanks for doing it. It's much easier to talk in class now."

Student E (Senior Seminar, via email): "I've been meaning to tell you this for a few weeks, but I'm really enjoying this class. I wasn't sure what to expect, but you really put in a lot of effort to make the class interesting and fun. And you know what else? I've been here three years, and you're the only professor who knows my name. Thanks!"

Some days, I really DO love my job.

The Last Nice Weekend

2006-10-08T22:57:00.000-05:00

Our weather forecasters here in Midwestern State encouraged us to live it up this weekend, as they predict some rough weather for the end of the week. "This is probably the last nice weekend of the fall," one meteorologist noted with dismay. T and ST perked up at the announcement, realizing that they had better spend every last second of the weekend outside just to take advantage of it. And that's precisely what they did.

On Saturday (after I begged ST to go grocery shopping with me in the early morning, just so I'd have some company), T and ST were outside from 8:30am until 10:00pm, coming inside only for bathroom breaks and meals. (Indeed, T was so dirty from yard- and pond-work that he took his meals on the patio just off the dining room.) They mowed, mulched, trimmed, burned brush piles, played, split wood, swepts, visited with the neighbors, went for ice cream, washed the cars, installed a new rock border between the woods and our lawn, practiced hitting the baseball and kicking the soccer ball, laughed, and finally, when they HAD to come in because the fires were out and ST was getting cold, they bathed and slept. Today was hardly different for them, except that ST was inside more due to numerous time-outs (ST and the neighbor boy were pushing each other's buttons all day long).

I was not outside. I spent the weekend inside, unfortunately, with only small spurts of outside fun. Part of this was due to the fact that nearly everyone is burning leaves or brush at this time of the year and the smell of burning leaves and brush gives me an instantaneous headache. I've had a headache all weekend, it seems. The other reason is that I was stuck grading a zillion (or 90) really bad 3-page papers from my Intro to Subfield students. This took most of the evening Saturday and part of today. But I did do other things, none of them terribly interesting:

Decided on books for Intro to Other Subfield and Senior Seminar on Favorite Things for next semester.
Started writing syllabi for both of those courses.
Prepared lectures and Powerpoints for tomorrow's classes.
Baked banana bread.
Baked Sour Cream Chocolate Chip Cookies.
Cleaned kitchen.
Finished painting in Master Bath and Master Closet/Dressing Area.
Installed new light fixture in Master Dressing Area.
Found new microwave to replace disgusting one that came with this house; will order it this week.

Not a bad weekend, but I sure wish I could have/would have spent more of it outside. After all, who knows when the next nice weekend will be?

Just Like Old Times

2006-10-07T14:43:00.000-05:00

Until today, I had not graded a paper since May 2005. I had forgotten how mind-numbingly boring it is. I had also forgotten the sense of relief one feels upon finally reading the paper of a student who "gets" it, that student paper that captures every piece of knowledge the assignment was designed to capture.

I am lucky that this is my first grading experience this semester. Thus far, Amy (Awesome Administrative Assistant) has graded small assignments and reading quizzes for me. ("I just loooove to grade!" she wrote to me when I asked, unbelieving, if she'd really handle my reading quizzes. She enjoys it and she does a great, quick job.) Thirty writing assignments down, sixty more to go. It will be a long, boring evening. (I've got rooms to paint, doggone it! How dare this job interfere with my decorating plans!)

Visits

2006-10-05T14:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we confirmed that the end of this month will be busy with visits from family. On October 20 my MIL is coming to town to visit Pond House for the first time, and the following weekend my parents and my brother Rob are coming.

When MIL said she was coming, T and I both felt a little panicked. My MIL is a sweet woman and I enjoy her immensely, but both T and I are worried about her reaction to this house. She's a very, very particular woman, even more so since FIL died in 2000: her house is neat, sterile, organized, and new. She has top-of-the-line everything (kitchen appliances I would kill for, including the most amazing microwave I've ever used). She does not do any work on her house herself: she hires out the painting, the decorating, and sometimes the cleaning. When she built her house (a large condo) a few years after FIL died, she became obsessive about it, so much so that T couldn't stand to talk to her about it. For example, she sent her the bathtub in the guest bathroom back FOUR TIMES because she "thought she could see a little scratch in it." Four times? She still complains about her kitchen ceramic tile because there's a slight (read: completely unnoticeable) discoloration on one tile IN THE CLOSET.

You can imagine why we're a bit nervous about her first visit to Pond House. You're on this journey with me, and you know that Pond House is a big work-in-progess. Nothing is perfect or even close to it. Nothing is the way we want it, although we know it will be someday. When we showed MIL pictures of Pond House before we bought it, she not-so-subtly discouraged us from taking on such a big project. Not even the beauty of our yard could distract her from the ugliness that is our brown tub. She has no imagination when it comes to houses like ours; it is impossible for her to see the diamond in the rough. (She is very excited, on the other hand, for Bill and Rita's new house. They are indeed moving after all, and have decided that they are going to build a five-bedroom McMansion in the suburbs. Bill's justification for this is that he has "such expensive tastes" and "couldn't live with anything less than granite countertops and designer lighting." Give me a break.)

My parents, as you also know, are completely the opposite of this. When they first saw pictures of Pond House, they were practically ready to buy it for us. They saw what we saw: a house oozing with potential, a project that would test our creativity, a place we could inject with our personalities. When they were here to help us move in this past August they could not get enough of the place and the fun projects they could do with us. As I've said before, my parents are devout do-it-yourselfers, and the thought of paying someone to decorate, clean, or paint your house is more revolting to them than it is to T. My Dad has already been chatting with T on the phone about what project they're going to tackle over the long weekend they're here. Dad is especially thrilled because my brother Rob will also be here, and that simply means more manpower to do bigger jobs.

It's going to be a busy end-of-October for us, but also good. Despite the bit of stress MIL's visit will cause us, I'm really looking forward to seeing her and so is ST (who adores her because she is always full of surprises for him, usually plastic bugs and baseball cards that she somehow manages to pull out of her purse in an almost endless stream). And of course I'm looking forward to seeing my parents again, and to the projects we're going to tackle when they're here. I'm hoping to get rid of this disgusting 1980s item from the stairwell, which Mom says makes her feel like she's on the Love Boat:

Maybe the cutesy wallpaper in the half-bath downstairs will go, too. How lucky is MIL, though, that she will be able to relive the 1980s in our brown tub? I'm hoping she doesn't decide to check into a hotel!

Teaching Snippets

2006-10-03T22:50:00.000-05:00

A few snippets from me before I head to bed (before midnight! On a school night!):

1.) I'm going out on a limb tomorrow and am using a game show in my great Senior Seminar tomorrow, as suggested in the fantastic comments I received on a previous post. Tomorrow's reading assignment was kind of self-explanatory and not really "meaty," and since they're getting ready for a midterm essay assignment I thought I'd prime them with my own version of Jeopardy! I downloaded a PowerPoint Jeopardy! template and made two full sets of answers/questions for them. There are usually about 27 students there, so I think I'll divide them into two big teams and have prizes for the winners of each question and for the winning team. I hope they like it; I'm a little nervous because I'm so used to lecturing that coming in without pages and pages of notes makes me feel a bit insecure. T seemed to think it was a super idea, though, and said it was just the kind of thing he would have enjoyed as a college student. If it goes well, I'll use it in my Intro to Subfield classes, too. I wanted to test it out on a class I already completely connect with before trying it in the harsher environment of Zombie Class.

2.) After complaining about how my students don't and won't read in my Zombie Class and after using a One Minute Paper with them on Monday, I am more convinced than ever that, indeed, they are Zombies. The One Minute Paper asked them to answer some very obvious questions about the readings I'd assigned -- short readings that were completely factual and current, stuff they should get into. Of my 30 students, 28 of them wrote something along the lines of "I was too busy on the weekend to do the reading." How can we have a discussion if they have NO CLUE what I'm talking about? I ended up lecturing AGAIN. I wanted to have them find the answers to my ridiculously easy questions in groups, but of course the 28 students that hadn't read the materials also hadn't downloaded the articles from e-reserve.

UPDATE: after reading Flavia's comments this morning before class, I decided to "get tough" with Zombie Class. I told them that, until I think they're no longer necessary, there will be reading quizzes that count towards their participation grade. I explained that I knew who the 3-4 active participators were, and that the rest of them were already failing in participation. I told them what I expect from them, that I'm not assigning readings for my own health, etc. You know what? After being a little mean in the beginning, it turned out to be the best class session EVER for this group. Hands were raised, students were talking. I was pleased. Very pleased.

3.) I had a student visit my office hours on Monday and honestly, what she said made me feel so relieved and happy I nearly hugged her. She's in my lively Intro to Subfield course, the larger one of the two. She said it's her favorite class by far, she wants me to be her advisor, and that for the first time she's seriously considering graduate school. "Watching you up there made me realize that it's the kind of job I think I'd really like," she said. "You make it so fun." That comment made my entire day, especially since I was feeling so low about the Zombie Class. As it turns out, this student's best friend is in Zombie Class, and apparently the best friend is frustrated with her Zombie Classmates. Good! I know this student -- she's one of the 2 who actually did the reading for Monday.

4.) A great conversation with my "little" brother Rob (23, recent college graduate and also 6'4") reminded me to do something: tell the good students that they're good. He gave a great example that really stuck with me: he said that in one of his senior seminar courses last year he and a group of fellow students stayed after class to figure out a particularly tough assignment. The professor noticed them and said, "I really like to see this. You students are my core. I always know I can count on you for solid work." Rob said that this comment was inspiring to all of the students in his group, and from that moment they became the "core," even if that's not how they originally thought of themselves. He reminded me to compliment the good students, the good classes. That's what I did to my large section of Intro to Subfield on Monday, and they really seemed to respond. The atmosphere, which was already pretty good, was bumped up a notch.

5.) In other teaching-related news, ST loves his new preschool. The first day went incredibly smoothly, I think he might have a slight crush on his new teacher, and he's already made two friends. His comment after Day 1 (Monday): "Mom, I told Miss Sharon about those planes that crashed into the buildings and she KNEW WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT!" He's fascinated by terrorist attacks lately -- not afraid, but he wants to know everything about 9/11 and "mean guys" and the people who try to stop them -- and was so pleased that Miss Sharon would actually talk to him about it instead of skirting the issue because he's only 3.5 years old. He's absolutely glued to NPR in the mornings and afternoons while we're in the car and that's all he wants to talk about: news. I'm fairly sure Michele Norris, Melissa Block and Robert Siegel narrate his dreams. (Although Friday he was very interested not in the news, but in the meeting I had on campus that made me 35 minutes late to pick him up. He asked what my meeting was about and I told him. His response? "Oh, grant proposals. Tell me more about that, Mom." Right. I could barely stay awake during the meeting, and now I have to relive the meeting to entertain my preschooler?)

Not Ashamed

2006-10-01T23:00:00.000-05:00

I don't love my job, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

I don't hate my job, either. For now, it's just a job that I do to get through to the next weekend.

It's not that I think I took the wrong job; indeed, SMU is even better than I thought it would be. I have tons of freedom to do what I want, after this semester I am in almost full control over what and when I teach, the financial support for research is far greater than one would imagine for a school this size, and the support for academic travel is astounding. Add that to the fact that my colleagues are all fantastic and supportive, my students are (mostly) pretty great, and I get to talk about my favorite subjects all day long. Overall, SMU is a pretty nice place to have landed, and we really are enjoying New Town and Pond House. T even seems more positive about his job, and hopefully ST will have a good transition to his new preschool tomorrow.

But I really don't love what I do. Not at all. I realized this when my sister Julie called on Thursday morning and asked, "So, are you just loving being a professor? This is what you've always wanted!"

I had to think for a second. No, I don't love it. I like it, sure. It's OK. But I really don't like staying up until 1:00am or 2:00am every night before classes, writing lectures and preparing PowerPoint slides, posting lecture notes and figuring out how to incorporate other texts. I really don't like lecturing to my Zombie Morning class (see previous post), stewing in my office for an hour, and then finishing my lecturing tasks for the day with my other (although fantastic) classes. I don't like that the way I organized the first part of my Intro to Subfield course no longer makes sense to me, and I don't like that I can't change it until next semester. I don't like thinking about how much research I'm not doing (and don't really want to do at this point) because I'm spending a crazy amount of time on teaching tasks (which I swore I would not do). I don't like that I have a conference proposal due tomorrow that I haven't started and that I will write completely on the fly, praying for acceptance, despite the fact that I don't even really want to go to the stupid conference (I HATE my discipline's conferences. HATE them). I don't like that I'm never EVER ahead in my course preparations, always jotting myself notes at the last minute. And I sure don't like attending "important" departmental or college meetings when I have little opportunity to influence things at this point, although I know I need to attend the meetings to learn.

Overall, I think I just don't like being new and inexperienced.

I told Julie that no, I don't love being a professor, but that someday I probably will. Someday when I have a reservoir of lectures to draw upon, experience with textbooks, knowledge of procedures, and time to work on things other than my classes. I hope that "someday" comes sooner rather than later. It's only Sunday night and I am already clinging to the promise of Friday.

Help Wanted

2006-09-28T09:13:00.000-05:00

A few questions for you more experienced teachers, from one who has a ton of experience teaching short discussion sections but no experience teaching courses on her own:

1.) What do you do when you have a class that just doesn't seem to engage with the material you're teaching? My example: I have two sections of Intro to Subfield. My first section of 35 students meets at 9:00am for an hour, and I honestly dread facing them MWF mornings. They just sit there, unsmiling, some sleeping in the back, giving one-word answers to my questions, hardly laughing at my silly comments (hard to believe! I'm a stitch!). An hour after I leave them I teach the same class to 60 students, and the energy in the room is amazing. These students are so interested in what I'm presenting that I usually can't get through all the material. They are constantly asking really excellent questions, they do the reading and remember it, and they want to know more. I love that class -- I leave it energized. But what to do about the first class? Do I just accept that, since each class develops its own "personality," I got a dud?

2.) What innovative classroom activities do you use in your classes? My senior seminar (about 35 students) is going well, and I'm trying my best not to lecture at them every MWF afternoon. I don't want them to be passive learners, but I'm honestly not good at thinking of other activities they can do. I've introduced "PDD" to them -- "Primary Document Day!" -- where they look back in groups at actual historical documents that shaped what we're studying. They seem to like this, despite the fact that the documents can be tedious, and they do a great job reporting their findings/impressions back to the full class. Another thing I did this week is I had them read a very complicated article about Big Important Thing. They each had to turn in five discussion questions about the article yesterday, and so I'll compile those questions tonight and we'll use them in class tomorrow. What are some other activities I can do? I know it's difficult since I'm not revealing exactly what I'm teaching here, but I'd love some more general ideas.

Any advice is most appreciated!

Taste and See

2006-09-26T13:13:00.000-05:00

A taste, in pictures, of what the Professor Me Family was up to last night after dinner.

Apples on one of the three apple trees (different varieties) at Pond House.A freshly-plucked bucket of apples, many more still on the trees.Hot apple crisp, so delightful it didn't need ice cream.

Weekend Ends, Another Week Awaits

2006-09-24T14:28:00.000-05:00

When I first started this teaching schedule, Trudie, the other female faculty member in our department, said, "Watch out. With a MWF schedule, you never really have a weekend." At first I didn't really understand what she meant but it's all clear now: I am preparing for class every single day of the week except Saturday. That, my friends, kind of sucks.

Nevertheless, we have had a productive weekend thus far. (Mine officially ends after I type up this post, since I have to write two lectures for tomorrow.) Friday night we went to a fall dinner on campus, a yearly event where the parents and students have a huge supper with faculty, staff, and their families. It was a lot of fun, and ST was on his best behavior (impressing even the Chancellor). We didn't get home until around 9:30pm, after which time T and I made out our weekly meal plan and watched a stupid movie he'd checked out from the library. (The only reason I even watched it was because it had Owen Wilson in it; the way he talks just cracks me up. That and the fact that he has an ugly nose; I feel some attachment to him because I think my nose is ugly, too.)

Saturday was very, very busy -- so much so that it spilled over into today. We started out by taking in another of SMU's parent/student weekend events, and then we went to a local pizzeria for a huge lunch together. Then the shopping began: paint, brushes, cabinet hardware, towel bars, a mirror, a new tension rod for the shower curtain, new light fixtures, etc. Nearly $500 later, we were ready to tackle the master bathroom and dressing area at Pond House. I painted nearly all night, changing the bathroom from what we referred to as "Aquafresh Green" to a calm vanilla cream color (Sherwin-Williams calls it "Navajo White," and it's a shade or two lighter than "Ivoire," which is the color of our bedroom.) T was busy most of the evening disassembling our master closet (which is larger than the largest bathroom in our old house!) and reassembling it to make more sense. We worked and cleaned all night; T hopes to finish the bathroom portion tonight if he can pull himself away from his yard. The dressing room portion should be finished mid-week. I'll post pictures of everything when we're done.

This morning I roasted some fall vegetables (per the instructions in the latest edition of Everyday Food) in preparation for our dinner of Roasted Fall Vegetable Soup tonight. Then ST and I picked the apples from our apple trees so that we can make applesauce later this week. T and ST were busy most of the day mowing the yard and picking up the millions of sticks on the grass, and also setting up our new birdfeeders (complete with baffles, to keep the greedy chipmunks away!). ST had a haircut, lunch, and watched the famous Gene Kelly umbrella dance routine from Singin' in the Rain while he ate (he's been wanting to see that for ages, since I always sing that song to him when it's raining, which it did all day yesterday). Now the boys are outside goofing off and I am settled in to write my lectures.

A busy weekend, but a good one. I'm ready for the week to begin (or at least I will be once these doggone lectures are finished!), but I just can't wait for Friday to be here again.

Double-Take

2006-09-21T22:42:00.000-05:00

In January 2003 my grandfather on my Mom's side, Al, died. He had been battling Alzheimer's for several years, and had repeated bouts of pneumonia that landed him in the hospital every few weeks. My relationship with him in the last few years of his life was sporadic since I lived out-of-state most of the time, so many of our interactions were limited to Christmastime. He was a sweet, ultra-Catholic, devoted family man who always had a toothpick in his mouth and seemed to wear brown pants nearly every day of the week. My mom and her sisters were devastated when he died, even though everyone knew it was "for the best," and my grandmother says that she still receives "signs" from him every now and again to show that he is looking out for her.

This afternoon, I swear I saw my grandfather.

We had several big trees taken down yesterday, and today a separate company was sent out to grind the tree stumps left behind. A red truck towing a huge stump grinder pulled up in our driveway just as ST and I were getting home. An elderly man (about 75) hopped out of the cab and I did a double-take: same long face, same twinkling eyes, same silver hair peeking out from the sides of the seed cap, which seemed a bit too large for his head, same zip up spring/fall jacket, same brown pants, same shaky gait. This man seriously was a ringer for my deceased grandfather. I am certain that if my mother or my aunts had been here, they would have rushed to embrace this stranger who looked so much like their father had looked before he got too sick to recognize them.

The man was nice, although difficult to understand because his voicebox had just been removed after a bout with throat cancer*. We had a lovely chat (and even ST chimed in once he was able to understand that the man's voice wasn't creepy, just different), he ground the stumps in our yard in about 20 minutes, and then packed up his equipment. Before he left, he pressed my hand and held it for a few seconds longer than normal, a twinkle in his blue eyes. Then he left.

As he left, I noticed the sign on the back of his truck: Al's Tree Service.

Funny how those little things can brighten an otherwise dreary day, and how suddenly, I feel very, very loved.

* Later, when recounting this story to T, ST said, "... and Dad, this man was hard to hear because he had a sickness in his throat." I asked ST what the sickness was called, but he couldn't remember. I prompted him with, "Can..." ST nodded and blurted out, "Yes, he was sick with CAN-taloupe."

Smarty-Pants

2006-09-21T08:36:00.000-05:00

If you're not interested in hearing more about preschool, how wonderful my preschooler is, and how proud of a mother I am, skip this post. Fair warning!

Yesterday morning did not begin well. ST didn't want to get out of bed, and when he did (10 minutes late) he was in a foul mood. Getting him dressed took 15 minutes because he was kicking and screaming and generally refusing to cooperate. I had to brush his teeth for him (by force) because he refused to do it, and he also refused to eat anything for breakfast, preferring to sit and sulk at the dining room table. He started to cry (very atypical for him -- ST does not cry often) and sob, "I don't want to go to preschool!" while T wrestled his shoes on. T dropped him off at preschool and then sent me an email at work: "ST was bad today. Worst ever." Apparently, he screamed the preschool down when T left, clinging to T's leg and begging him not to go.

Of course this was a huge concern to me. Previous mornings ST has always been reluctant to go to preschool (and still ended up loving it by the end of the day), but it had never been as bad as this. After I taught my first class I called the preschool to check in on him. I spoke to the Director.

"Is ST still screaming his head off?" I asked, fearing the worst.

The Director laughed. "Oh no. He's practicing with scissors now. I think we figured out why he was having such a rough time."

"Oh really?" I asked. "Is it just that he misses us, or that he's not used to being in full-time care yet?"

"No. I think ST was simply bored in the 3-year-old room. So we moved him to the 5-year old pre-Kindergarten room and he's having a ball."

I asked her what triggered that decision (which I thought was a good one). "Well," she said, giggling a little, "when he started telling us what a terrorist attack was and what happened on September 11 and knew that chlorophyll made the leaves green, we knew he was a bit too advanced for the three-year-old room!"

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was something I'd been thinking about earlier: ST is not only physically larger (he's very tall; he looks like a five-year-old) than any of the other three-year-olds in the "3s Room," but he has a much larger vocabulary than they do. He had been complaining a bit in the past week about how he didn't like the other "babies" in his preschool class, and how he didn't like playing with them. He said before that his favorite part of preschool was "doing work with Miss Deanne and Miss Nicole." Deanne and Nicole are the Director and Administrator, and they'd let him do special things like help distribute milk for lunch, butter bread for the other kids in the kitchen, or sort coins in the main office (his latest obsession). He's always been more adult-oriented, and we've always treated him like a short adult. It wasn't an intentional move on our part -- he just fit in so well to our grown-up activities that it never occurred to us that he might be "abnormal." He helps with dinner, watches the news, listens to NPR, clears the table, puts clothes in the dryer and turns it on, etc. He's a responsible little boy, and he doesn't like to be treated like a "little kid."

This morning was dramatically different. He got up, got dressed, ate huge breakfast and said that he was ready to go to the "big kid school." For the rest of ST's time in this preschool (next Friday is his last day), he'll be in the pre-Kindergarten room. When he moves to the Daniels Center, he'll be in a room with 3.5-4.5 year-olds. I pray that his time there will be rewarding and challenging, because we certainly do not want a repeat of yesterday's morning drama!

Updates

2006-09-19T22:26:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the sporadic posting lately, but preparing these lectures, going to meetings, and trying to track down some data for a research project (in addition to my "normal" Mom, Wife, and housekeeping duties) is really taking every ounce of time I have. In any case, a few updates:

Preschool situation: turned out very well. I turned in a nice letter on Monday morning, and the Director of ST's current preschool was sad but she said that she understood. His last day there will be 9/29, and his first day at the Daniels preschool will be 10/2. I'm really excited for him to start there, and I hope that it's not too jarring of a transition for him, poor kid.

ST at preschool: yes, I'm excited for him to start at Daniels, but I'm more excited for him to get used to the routine of preschool. Preschool is really his first experience with full-time care, and he's not taking it terribly well. Mornings are pretty traumatic around here; he cries from the moment we put him in his carseat in the morning until the moment we drop him off and have to leave him. The Director and ST's teacher say that he calms down and is fine and happy about 10 minutes after we've left, but it still stinks to start each morning that way.

Work stuff: my courses are going well, for the most part. The senior seminar is by far my favorite, followed by my large (60 student) section of Intro to Subfield. My small (30 student) section of Intro to Subfield is another story, however. The section is in the morning, which is probably the reason it's such a dead, boring class. They don't talk. They don't read. They don't participate in any way. I can barely tell they're breathing. Monday I asked them to get into groups and discuss a reading I'd assigned and they didn't say a word. Honestly, not a word. Instead, they all sat there reading the article because NO ONE had read it before class. Grr. Granted, it wasn't the most scintillating stuff, but still -- it was an assignment!

House Stuff: not much new to report here. The weekend project was a dull one: cleaning the windows and screens and oiling the opening mechanisms. The adventure of the weekend, on the other hand, was an exciting one: we decided to take a canoe ride on Saturday afternoon. I got in first, then ST, and then T. T stepped in and the canoe instantaneously tipped over, flipping us all into the muck-filled pond. I am not exaggerating when I say I was up to my KNEES in pond muck. (The part of the pond where we launch our canoe is right under a huge, huge, huge cottonwood tree, and so the tree is constantly dumping nature-trash into the pond and it turns into sticky, black muck.) It was disgusting beyond belief. ST laughed the whole time as he bobbed up and down in the stinky water, suspended there by his lifejacket. Needless to say, we all had baths after that incident, and the washing machine's limits were tested by T and ST's muck-encrusted tennis shoes.

More later, perhaps on Thursday.

Trust the Undergrad

2006-09-16T22:46:00.000-05:00

Preparing for my senior seminar class MWF afternoons has been particularly taxing. It's a course I always wanted to teach, but one that I'd never thought completely through until now: I knew what I wanted the students to get out of the course, but I wasn't sure how to get them there. When I started teaching the course for real just a few weeks ago I caught myself taking delicate steps around certain topics, worried that my seniors would be bored, worried about whether or not they'd understand what I was saying, worried that they'd roll their eyes at me or sigh or yawn during lecture. None of these things happened.

Thursday night I set to the task of preparing my lecture for Friday. I fumbled around for a few hours, trying to pack in a lot of complicated theory and make it sound exciting and new and fun. I shuffled through dozens of books looking for good passages to include in my lecture, but discovered that the only good passages were several pages long, and that I couldn't give my students a good sense of the author's meaning in just a few sentences. Preparing the lecture frustrated me to no end, and I didn't even finish it Thursday night. I left it hang until Friday morning, just hours before the lecture.

Suddenly, I had an idea. Instead of yammering about the theorists and the theories and the history of the ideas, I'd make the students get the information themselves. Frantically (and with the generous assistance of Amy, Administrative Assistant Extraordinaire), I photocopied five sets of different readings from different theorists, each reading 6-8 pages long. I went to class and split the full group into five groups of 6-7 students each, and each group got a different reading. The readings were dense -- in some cases VERY dense -- and I explained that to my students. I told them I wanted them to read the copies I'd given them, pick out key points, discuss the key points in their groups, and then relate the theories/theorists back to the material they'd been assigned to read this week. I held my breath, it seemed, until they were finished reading and the time for discussion arrived. I was afraid the room was going to collapse in silence.

To my great surprise, they discussed! And not only did they discuss, they DEBATED in their groups! They wrote things down! They highlighted! They referenced their textbooks and other documents I'd assigned! One group even asked to read MORE of the work of the theorist they'd been assigned. "I thought reading this stuff would be boring," one student said, "but it's actually really cool!"

I had planned for us to get back together as a full group and have each group tell us what they'd discovered, but the conversations in the small groups were going so well that we ran out of time. Of my 32 students, 28 were there after the class time was technically through. Two of the groups stayed even later to chat with me about what they had read. I was awestruck by them, by their amazing capacity to plough through new material in a short time and to be so engaged in it.

I learned something about them: I need to trust them. I don't have to sugarcoat the hard stuff for them, I don't have to tiptoe around difficult passages and worry about their comprehension. For the most part, they GET IT. They can handle it. I need to trust my undergrads more, especially the juniors and seniors: they know what they are doing, and I'm incredibly -- amazingly -- proud of them. I can't wait to tell them that on Monday.

Preschool

2006-09-13T22:09:00.000-05:00

In May of this year I started looking for preschools for ST in New Town. I'd looked all over online, and also talked with a woman T knew who lived in New Town and had all of the "real" information about the various schools in the area. "This one is OK, but their playground is really close to the road and noisy," she say, or "This one is probably the best in town, but the waiting list is over a year long." It was nice to have insider information. As it happened, none of the preschools she highly recommended had slots open for ST. I ended up enrolling him in a preschool I found online, one that is fairly new. I was excited about it because they had a lot of foreign langage activities, and I knew ST would enjoy that. I enrolled him here also because it was one of the few places that had an available spot. At the time, I didn't know where we'd buy a house.

Fast forward to mid-August. ST and I visited this preschool. It is on the complete opposite side of town from where we live. New Town isn't huge by any means, so it only takes us 15 minutes to get there -- but still, it's kind of a hassle because it's also far away from where T and I work (T's office is about five blocks from mine). Basically, we do a huge triangle every day: home to preschool to work to preschool to home. A commute that would normally be 10 minutes without the preschool drop-off and pick-up becomes 25 minutes. In a word, it's a hassle. Aside from that, while the facilities are nice they aren't fantastic, and the preschool itself is very close to the major highway in town. It's sort of in a little industrial park-type area. The rooms in the preschool aren't really "rooms" at all, more like areas divided by temporary walls. The place is very open (which can be nice), but when I walked in I was simply struck by the NOISE.

ST has really enjoyed preschool thus far, and the staff have been very sweet to him. They understood that this was his first time being away from his parents full days. ST adjusts to things quickly, and even though he still gets a little teary when T drops him off in the morning, he's happy as a clam when I pick him up. "Mom, I had ANOTHER great day at preschool!" he tells me every afternoon. He's drawing a lot of pictures, getting to know the other kids, and is especially fond of his teacher. T and I have no real complaints about the preschool (well, T does: he doesn't like that ST's teacher has a tattoo. He's really bothered by tattoos for some reason).

Anyway, today I received a call from the Daniels Children's Center -- this is "the best" preschool in town, the one that supposedly had a long waiting list. ST and I had visited there in August before he started at the other place, just to see what it was like. It was magnificent: a beautiful building with a park outside, hand-painted murals on the walls, a full gym where the kids could play on rainy days, an atrium full of sunlight, beautiful huge playgrounds out back divided by age, and a neat "intergenerational" program that involves residents of the nursing home across the street. I could feel right away that Daniels was where I wanted ST to be. It just felt right to me. Even better: it's only a few blocks from the University (so close I could walk to my office if I wanted to, as could T).

When ST and I visited Daniels, I asked about the waiting list. We were told that the list was long, but that something might open up for three-year olds in January. I placed our names on the list. Today, the director of Daniels called and said that they had a sudden cancellation, and that if we wanted the slot ST could start at Daniels in October. I was flabbergasted. I have until tomorrow to accept or decline the slot.

I will accept it, since that is really where T and I want ST to be. But, being the nice person that I am, I really feel horrible about giving ST's two week notice at his other preschool so soon -- he's only been there two weeks! I have to give them a written notice. What will I say? For some reason this makes me incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, dumping them when they've been nothing but sweet and patient with me and my child. Any suggestions on how to do this nicely, and so that the next two weeks aren't terribly awkward?

This preschool business is far more complicated than I thought it would be.

Structured Time

2006-09-11T22:25:00.000-05:00

I am battling time these days. It's not that I don't have enough of it (couldn't everyone use a few spare hours?), but rather that I'm not sure what I should be doing with it.

Last year I had a dissertation fellowship that required I do nothing but work on my dissertation for twelve full months. It was wonderful to be able to wake up in the morning and not worry about having to be somewhere at a certain time: the boundaries of my day were 8:30am (when I would walk ST a few blocks down the road to daycare) and 4:30pm (when I would pick him up again). The rest of the day was completely unstructured. This was good in that I had a lot of hours of time to really get involved in whatever I was writing. But of course it was bad, as I've chronicled here, because the day was so easy to fritter away doing things that really could have been done later (e.g., laundry, cleaning the kitchen, baking).

Starting this new job has been (and continues to be) quite an adjustment for me, then, since I have somewhere to be at a certain time every day of the week. I am up at 6:00am to shower and get ST ready for preschool, and after T and ST leave for the day I quickly get myself ready and am in my office, ready to work, by 8:00am. I teach MWF from roughly 9:00am-2:00pm, which an hour break around 11:00am. On TTh I come into the office anyway, knowing how susceptible to distraction I will be sitting alone in the vast project time-suck that is Pond House. I am usually home by 4:00pm most days after picking ST up from preschool, and once my family is fed and happy I retreat to my office to work. I usually work in my office from about 8:30pm until midnight, sometimes a little later.

My body clock is completely messed up as as result. It's not that I'm not getting enough sleep -- 5-6 hours a night has always been sufficient for me -- but rather that I'm simply not adjusting to having to BE somewhere at a particular time. I don't like it. And I certainly don't like rushing my family out the door every morning (unfortunately, ST is a nightowl like his mother and hates getting up early in the morning, which makes our morning ritual far from fun). But I suppose that is life and, in time, I'll get used to that, too.

This time-struggle is coupled with a few others: first, I am not at all used to the length of classes here and it's completely throwing off my lectures; and second, I feel a little lost when I'm in my office for more than a few hours. On the first issue: classes at Doctoral University were 50 minutes long. That meant that I usually scheduled 40 minutes of lectures or activities, and then left 10 minutes in the period for questions or administrivia. Classes here at SMU are 60 minutes long. That's not a huge difference, but I simply cannot seem to time my lectures correctly. The first week I was always 20 minutes off, leaving way too much time to fill at the end of the lecture. This was all right in the first week, since students didn't expect to stay for the whole period anyway, but now it's annoying me. Today I was only ten minutes off in my senior seminar class, and five minutes off in my two intro courses. I want to make the best use of my students' time and I'm just not confident that I'm doing that.

As to the second issue, when I'm sitting alone in my office I feel like there's something I "should" be doing. I'm not sure why, but I don't feel like I use my time well there, despite the fact that the place is set up for productive work. How do the rest of you manage your research/prep days? Tomorrow I think I'm going to make myself a schedule (e.g., "work on seminar class lecture" or "search for new dataset for Project XYZ") so that I can at least feel like I'm accomplishing something.

Yet another issue that is driving me crazy: the timing on the syllabus for my intro course. I don't know what I was thinking when I set up the first few weeks as I did, but I know that they will be axed immediately when I teach this course next semester. I reserved two full weeks to talk about theoretical and methodological issues in my subfield, and it is really, really dry stuff. These are undergraduates, most of them non-majors, and I feel like I'm boring them to death with these matters. It probably comes from being in a graduate student mindset but being faced with only undergrads. Another issue I have with my syllabus is the fact that I've already changed an assignment due date once and am thinking of changing it again (all for good reasons), and I'm worried the students will think I'm a flake. I am also seriously considering making some other significant changes to the exam format so that I can grade the exams in a reasonable amount of time. When I designed this syllabus this summer I was told I'd have approximately 50 students total in the two sections of the intro course and so I assigned a lot of writing -- two essays during the semester totaling 15 pages, two essay exams. The reality is, however, that I have 100 students in my intro course-- double what I was expecting. When added to the 35 students in my senior seminar, that makes for a whole lot of reading/grading. I'm seriously considering, for the intro course at least, of substituting multiple choice questions for half of each of the exams (and I hate multiple choice exams). Grr. Hopefully the students won't think I'm a quack.

It's been a long day of working this "real" job. For now, the best place for me is snuggled in my bed.

Whirlwind Weekend

2006-09-10T21:36:00.000-05:00

We just arrived home after a very busy weekend, and we are all looking forward to a peaceful weekend at home this coming Saturday and Sunday. Here's what the weekend looked like for us:

Friday night: frantically pack for trip to Home State to attend the wedding of one of T's best friends. Attempt to pull ST inside the house after a late afternoon spent trying to catch falling leaves and collecting toads and bugs in his "adventure bucket." (A red bucket with a yellow handle that he totes through the woods and along the pond when he's "exploring.") Run to the mall to buy something for myself to wear to the wedding (ended up with this and this). Iron. Figure out which books to take with me in the car. Pack car. Pack snacks for the journey.

Saturday morning: finish folding the last load of laundry. Pry ST out of bed to get ready. Drive five hours to Home State.

Saturday afternoon: drop ST off with my sister Julie and her boyfriend for the day. Head to the hotel where the wedding and reception will be held. Get lost twice and have to backtrack. Listen to T grumble about getting lost because he never gets lost. Arrive at hotel, check in. T dashes to Crate and Barrel to pick up last part of gift. I write something sweet in the card, and then silently fume about how much we've had to spend on this stupid wedding ($350 for T to attend the bachelor party, $150 on the gift, $130 on the hotel for a night, way too much on outfit for me, etc.). T returns. Watch last bit of college football game to see how Doctoral University fared.

Saturday evening: wedding. Bride and groom looked lovely and radiantly happy. Ceremony too short and cliche, music VERY cliche (Pachelbel's Canon in D? Give me a freakin' break). String quartet too loud. Nonetheless, attend dinner and reception with a smile. Meet a lot of T's friends from high school for the first time. All of them seem to like me, and T is beaming when he says, "This is my wife, [Real Name]. She's a professor at Smallish Midwestern University." Eat cliche wedding food and wedding cake. Dance a little to cliche wedding music. Chat, chat, chat until 1:30am. Return to hotel room. Stay up later... ahem.

Sunday morning: barely open our eyes when the phone rings. ST is calling to check on us. He's having a ball and wants to know if he can have Peanut M&Ms for breakfast. Dash his hopes. Hop in the shower. Repack. Tidy hotel room (I am physically incapable of leaving a bed unmade, even when I know the housekeepers will strip it anyway). Drive to my aunt's house, where sister Julie has brought ST for the night.

Sunday afternoon: have great time with my aunt, uncle, my little seven-month old cousin I've never met, Julie, her boyfriend, ST and T. Pack up ST's things. Say goodbye to relatives until Christmas. Drive five hours home, barely keeping eyes open. Manage to write half of my lecture for tomorrow for one of my classes and partially plan out the other class while in the car.

Sunday night: arrive at Pond House. Do laundry. Make supper. Clean out the Honda. Have a mug of hot chocolate. Blog in order to avoid starting work on the second lecture after mostly completing the first. Wonder if I should post lecture notes? Wonder if I'll make sense? Mostly, wonder if I'll be able to drag myself out of bed in the morning. Not looking promising, seeing as how I'll be up until at least midnight tonight. Getting more tired just thinking about it.

Spoiled

2006-09-07T16:55:00.000-05:00

I never thought I'd get excited about an office chair, but I am!

I had money leftover from my office start-up funds (most of which were used for my computer and laser printer) and I couldn't decide how to spend it. I bought a few miscellaneous office accessories from SMU's approved vendors, but I had a healthy chunk of change left and I needed to spend it before next week. I mentioned that I might want a new chair and Amy (Administrative Assistant Sent Straight From Heaven to Make Life Easier for Everyone She Encounters) called someone who called someone who called me to come and try out a few chairs in our facilities management department.

"Watch out," Amy said. "Those chairs are expensive. They'll try to make you spend all of your money on a chair."

I scoffed. "Yeah, but I have like $300 leftover. My chair won't be that much." I was imagining the rows of chairs I'd seen at OfficeMax and Staples, and I couldn't remember one over $300.

Amy smiled knowingly. "Just wait. I bet $300 won't even cover it." We have to use a vendor approved by SMU, she explained, and so we can't just get any chair. We have to get ergonomically-appropriate chairs, and those aren't cheap.

I went to the facilities department and tried out chairs that actually fit my body -- chairs that supported my lower back, that tilted forward just the right amount to match how I worked at my desk, chairs that reclined enough for a comfortable chat with students or a mug of hot chocolate in a quiet moment. I had no idea what a difference a good chair can make!

I also had no idea how expensive a good chair was. I ended up choosing this chair (in "Shadow"), and it should arrive next week. The facilities department will deliver it to my office and show me how to use it (I never needed instructions for a chair before!). I can't wait. But get this: the list price was $749! Holy cow! After all of SMU's discounts, the chair came to right around $300 -- the department picked up the slight overage I had. Amazing.

First Day

2006-09-05T22:23:00.000-05:00

Today was a big day for all of us.

It was the first day since mid-July that we had to wake up with an alarm at some god-awful hour of the morning (I am not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination) and be out of the door by a certain time.

It was the first day since early August that T had to wear a suit all day long.

It was the first day since July 13 that ST was not with his parents for the majority of the day.

It was the first day since my defense in late June that I had a meeting of some importance with other scholars in my discipline. (I actually had to stop and try to remember what my hypotheses were in the dissertation!)

It was the first time both of our cars sat in parking lots for most of the day, instead of lounging around in our garage.

It was the first day any of us spent more than 4 hours away from the Pond House and its many demanding projects (excluding T's wilderness trip, that is).

It was the first day in weeks that T and I were not coated in dirt, sawdust, paint, or pond muck.

It was the first day we all realized that we've truly started over here, and the real opportunities and frustrations that go with that fresh start.

It was the first day since July that T and I exchanged stories about "work" over dinner.

It was the first day that ST was a "big preschool kid" and not a "little daycare kid."

All in all, it was a decent first day. ST loved preschool after a rocky and sob-filled start this morning, and said that it was "lots and lots of great fun!" He drew pictures, made a flag, played outside, ate more corn than any other kid in the room (!), and his teacher said that he was the most articulate and polite child she'd seen in a long time (indeed!). I had fun on campus today, although it was a day mostly filled with meetings and last minute course preparations, and I even managed to sneak in some exercise. T had a so-so first day at his new job, mostly due to the fact that he had such a fantastic previous job that anything will dull by comparison, and also due to the fact that his new employers didn't do much of orienting him to his new office and support staff. I pray that he's eventually happy in his job, that I'm happy in mine, and that ST continues to bounce off the walls with the excitement of preschool.

Now, off to bed so I'm ready for the second day.

The Ugly is (Almost) History

2006-09-01T20:00:00.000-05:00

Tonight I submit for your enjoyment photos of the Ugliest Bathroom in History. It's been done (or as done as it is going to be until we can rip the place apart and start over, as we plan to do) for about two weeks, but I only now had the time to really clean it so we could use it. Here's a before photo, taken during our first visit to this house in May:

Unfortunately, I never took a photo of the ugly light fixture. It was one of those $14.95 deals with a woodgrain-like bar and five round bulbs lined up in a row (looked like this, but woodgrain and not brass). Some of the bulbs were purple (I'm not joking!), and they were something like 25 watts each, which meant that the lighting in the bathroom was woefully inadequate. The mirror was too small for the vanity: the vanity is 5 feet long, and the mirror was 3 feet square. Since there are double sinks in this bathroom, that meant that if two people were using the bathroom, neither of them could see their entire reflection while standing at the sinks. The towel bars, which you can see here, were wooden and completely warped. (Whoever thought that wooden towels bars were a good choice in a wet environment like a bathroom was an idiot.) The walls were light brown, which you cannot see at all in the above photo.

Here's what the bathroom looks like now:

We painted the bathroom a very pale sage green, bought and installed new towel bars and a new toilet paper holder, installed new lighting above the vanity, and bought a new mirror. I used the shower curtain, towels, rugs, and other accessories from our old house. Clearly, the vanity is still dated, as is the flooring (which we might replace to get us by until we can do a "real" remodel in a few years) and the hideous brown tub:

But at any rate, the place is clean and not a complete eyesore anymore. It took five (FIVE) rounds of Tilex to get rid of the soap scum in that bathtub -- I have not let ST bathe in it until tonight. At least I don't feel embarrassed to let people use this bathroom anymore (that shower curtain does a great job of hiding the ugly tub), and now I can move on to other projects. The master bathroom is getting a coat of paint this weekend, as a matter of fact. We can't afford (and don't have time to do) a major renovation on either of our bathrooms (which is what they need), but at least we can update them a bit to get us partway to where we're going.

Teach It, Then Read It

2006-08-29T00:51:00.000-05:00

I am happy to report that I have just put the finishing touches on my second syllabus, a true labor of love. It is for a course I've always wanted to teach but have never had the opportunity to teach until this semester. The syllabus is good, if I may say so: the course is challenging for upper-division students (it is a seminar for juniors and seniors), the assignments are meaningful (and not only for this course), the readings are timely and significant, and the overall topic is simply good, complicated, nerdy fun.

I felt very "professorly" as I was putting this together, realizing that I hadn't read some of the pieces I was assigning for my students. It was fun to search through major journals that I knew published solid work on this topic and select articles I thought might be interesting. Skimming the articles, it was nice to know that I was educated enough to determine if my students could benefit from them just by reading the abstracts. The entire time I thought back to one of the exclamations of my favorite professor in graduate school. When asked if he'd read an important article in our discipline, he responded, "Read it? I haven't even taught it yet!"

Disorganization Station

2006-08-27T19:42:00.000-05:00

Last week I had a long meeting with Trudie, the only other female (and the only other non-tenured member) in my new department. I really enjoy her so far: we are the subfield faculty so we are interested in a lot of the same things academically, we're both married to professionals, and we both have preschool-aged boys (although she has two). Last Wednesday she invited me into her office and we had a meeting about the department.

"Look," she said, "this is a fantastic place to work. The environment is great, the students are great, and the city is a lot of fun. But this department is so disorganized it's not even funny." She then proceeded to tell me a lot about the department that I already knew, and a lot about how the department has been resistant to change. For example, there are courses on the books that are clearly in the wrong place (e.g., imagine a course called "The Works of Leo Tolstoy" that was listed in the "20th Century American Poetry" category) or clearly outdated (e.g., imagine a course entitled "The Soviet Union Today"). One of the courses I'm teaching is completely mis-categorized so that when students look at the course catalogue, they think my "Tolstoy" course counts for their major emphasis in "20th Century American Poetry." Additionally, there are courses that students are technically "required" to take that haven't been offered in years, and if they have been offered recently they were all taught so differently that there's no way the students all received the "required" information. Finally, although it is generally recognized that there are five big subfields in my discipline, the department here only requires that students take a course in one of them, Subfield A. This is inadequate: if students want a major in My Discipline, they need introductory courses to at least two additional subfields. Right now, it's like majoring in Biology and only being required to take courses on Fish.

Trudie has already completed her first year here, and she said pushing any change through the department was frustrating and led nowhere. She said that while some faculty gave lip-service to her recommended changes, when push came to shove no one took any action. In some ways, it seems like each professor in the department has their own little fiefdom, and they jealously guard "their" students and "their" courses and are resistant to reorganization of any kind.

It seems clear to me after speaking with Trudie and learning more about the department that some changes must happen in order for our major to attract students and in order for us to truly give them a major representative of the entire discipline. The subfields of my discipline are not at all equally represented in the department: well over 60% of the courses now fall into Subfield A, while Subfield B (mine) is small and Subfield C is nearly non-existent. Subfield D consists of one course, and Subfield E is completely unrepresented.

This is all due to the fact, I think that my department is one that is at the tail end of a major transition. Just a few years ago, the entire department consisted of old white men who'd been there at least 30 years. I know that this disorganization started then, as I've heard that the faculty until very recently were not on good terms with one another. But now, with a collegial faculty and one with most subfields represented, there's really no reason the department's courses should be so decentralized, and no reason why we can't have a little more standardization in terms of what is required and what is elective.

I have a feeling that these sorts of things are going to be the end of me. I am a person who craves change, and someone who (as you know already) strives for organization. I learned in my last "real job" in HR that I'm also a person who hates meetings and committees, and that I'd rather just get things done instead of talking about getting things done. I can be annoying when I have to be. The question is, as a new faculty member, what can and should I do? Obviously I'll side with Trudie on a lot (most) issues in departmental meetings, but I'm not sure how much good that will do, either, given that we're both untenured and new to the department. I just wish there was an uncomplicated solution to these organizational problems, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the solution is going to be almost as complicated as the problem, universities being as they are.

Giants on my Shoulders

2006-08-26T14:13:00.000-05:00

Prof. G. and I are getting ready to send out yet another version of what we now affectionately refer to as "The Unpublishable Paper." We wrote the very first, rough draft of this paper in 2002 and on a whim decided to send it out to the largest journal in the discipline, knowing full well that it would be rejected. It was, and we weren't surprised, but we were eager to read the comments from top-notch reviewers. We incorporated the comments and sent it out again, this time to another top-tier journal with wide readership. We weren't sure if it would fare any better at this journal; it didn't. We sent it out two more times, each time to top journals in our subfield. The third time three of four reviewers recommended it be published as-is, but the fourth reviewer hated it. Apparently that reviewer's comments held more sway than the others, because the paper was rejected by the editor. The last time we sent it out, in November 2005, it was dealt with very unprofessionally: the editor said that he had sent it to four reviewers, and none had returned a review after four months. We withdrew the submission so we could send it somewhere else.

I'm polishing the paper today, changing the citations to fit the rules of yet another journal. (Oh, how I wish I had known about EndNote earlier!) Prof. G. and I are fairly confident that the article will get good reception at this journal. The article has a rather narrow focus, and that was the major problem of reviewers at other journals: they didn't think the article had wide enough appeal. The journal we're sending it to this coming week has a smaller readership, but a readership we think would be very interested in our work and who could see its wider applications in our subfield.

Today, as I was modifying some citations, I Googled the paper's title just for kicks. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that the paper is cited in four other papers, all of them published and on topics distantly-related to that of the Unpublishable Paper, and two of them by Big Names in my discipline! I looked at these papers to see if they hated the article or thought it was stupid. No: one of them said, "For an excellent discussion of [boring discipline-related stuff], see Prof. G. and Prof. Me [unpublished manuscript]." The other said, "Prof. G and Prof. Me have found that, contrary to XYZ...." Clearly, someone is reading this manuscript. I'm not even sure where they're getting it, as I don't have it linked on my website and neither does Prof. G. It was presented at a conference in 2002, but the authors of these other papers are citing a 2005 version of The Unpublishable Paper.

Let's just pray that it gets accepted this time around. People are already reading it and using it (much to my delight and surprise!), so it's time to make it official!

This is a Real Job

2006-08-24T21:31:00.000-05:00

Before I was a graduate student at Doctoral University, I was a human resources director at the graduate school T attended. I accepted the job not because I had a burning desire to work in HR or was a well of knowledge about employment matter and benefits, but because working there gave me a nice salary and gave T partial tuition remission. I come from a retail/customer service-oriented family, and so helping people in the HR office was actually a fun job for me. I would come in every morning at around 7:45am, flip on my computer, answer dozens of emails, fill out loads and loads of paperwork to hire, promote, or terminate people, interview secretaries and meet with professors, ensure everyone was getting paid properly, do some filing, and then go home. It was the last time I had a real job. I left that job in August 2000.

Between August 2000 and June 2006 I was a graduate student at Doctoral University. The first and last years there I was on fellowship, and so I didn't have any obligations aside from my coursework or my dissertation. In Years 2-5 I worked as a teaching assistant and in the University's writing center. I put a lot of effort into my teaching, and tried to make each class my own even though it was not actually mine: it was the professor's. Each day I'd go to class, teach a few sections, answer student emails, and grade. It was a lot of work, and work I enjoyed. But all the while I was doing it I always knew that the buck didn't really stop at me. The class wasn't mine, and in the end the really "difficult" stuff like the lectures and exam and syllabus creation were done by someone else.

I've been at Smallish Midwestern University off and on this week, meeting with the Department Chair and Amy the Administrative Assistant Everyone Wishes They Had (and that's really true: she works very part-time in another department because their chair loved the work she was doing for my department). I also had a chance to meet with Trudie, the only other female on the faculty and the only other non-tenured member. It has been an eye-opening week: this is a real job. Real as in loads of paperwork, tons of little administrative tasks to do, dozens of mildy-irrelevant emails to answer, and politics galore. I've had little time to work on my syllabi or do anything research-related all week long. It's all fun (new! exciting!) to me now, but I can imagine that in a few months' time it's going to be tedious, tedious, tedious.

I've craved a "real" job ever since I left my HR position years ago. I suppose I got it. And honestly, despite the pestering student emails and the increasing demands on my once completely unstructured time, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Addendum: And speaking of real jobs, guess who got one today? T had a meeting with potential employers this week and they went over salary figures. T countered their offer and today they accepted his counter. The funny thing: T doesn't know any of this since he's on a wilderness trip with some friends until Sunday. Blogosphere, you heard it here first: if you run into T, tell him he's employed, would you?

Answers

2006-08-20T16:39:00.000-05:00

Inspired by the brilliant Jo(e), a meme of answers to the burning questions you haven't yet asked. (And of course I'd also be happy to answer the questions you do have, if you have any.)

1.) Probably the garage. This garage is not yet insulated or drywalled, and this is driving T nuts. He is an organization nut like I am, and so to have all of his tools and other garage supplies in boxes is not ideal. (His boxes are, however, neatly stacked on shelving units and clearly labeled!)

2.) Cream cheese (in large quantities). I once ate four slices of strawberry cheesecake at Easter and was sick for several days, vomiting constantly. I think I was about eight. I have not touched cheesecake since, and my stomach turns whenever I ingest more than a few teaspoons of anything containing cream cheese.

3.) At the beginning of September, although I'll be in orientations and meetings the last week in August.

4.) I think it'll be Black Beans and Rice with polska kielbasa on the side, and probably fruit salad. And in answer to your follow-up question, yes, I do intend to post those again someday. I just got lazy, and life got hectic. But there's always been a plan!

5.) A baseball player. It used to be a firefighter, but he's since changed his mind.

6.) Of course we do. Like Jo(e), I don't like to post too many details about my relationship on this blog. I feel that if I have a problem with T, I shouldn't broadcast it to the internet before it's thoroughly settled with him.

7.) Actually, she handled it really well. She is loving it here at Pond House, as most of our windows on the main level are floor-to-ceiling and so she stares outside all day, looking at birds and other wildlife. She only had one "incident," but that was our fault: while we were painting the kitchen, we put her in ST's bedroom so she wouldn't rub herself on the freshly-painted walls. We worked and then went out to eat. When we came home, we realized that we'd left her in ST's room too long, and discovered that she'd pooped on his bed and peed through his pillow, straight through to the mattress pad. Fortunately, he has a waterproof mattress pad so the mattress itself emerged unscathed.

8.) They're at a baseball game and I don't expect them for another hour or so.

9.) Homemade in a Hurry (which isn't as good as I'd hoped), At Home with Magnolia (which won't arrive until October, not yet published), Housekeeping (which I just finished last night), and Last Child in the Woods (which I've started).

10.) It used to be the daffodil, but now I'm more fond of hydrangeas (especially blue ones).

11.) My wedding ring from T and my heart locket from my Dad. Occasionally, a bracelet that was handmade for me by one of T's ex-co-workers.

12.) We'll know more tomorrow about that. He has a meeting at 11:00am to hammer out some details, and at least one more offer that should be on the table this week. He's not stressed about it at all. I, on the other hand, am going crazy with all the uncertainty.

13.) Yes, I have. She called me last week and it was lovely to hear her voice. I think she and her family are going to come for Thanksgiving this year, which would be completely lovely (and out of character for her -- she's a real homebody and doesn't like to travel much).

14.) Hmm, that's a toughie. Right now, I think I'd probably ask for a knee replacement for my Mom. When she was 20, she was playing volleyball and someone fell on her, crushing her kneecap. The doctors did what they could back then and she was fine until about six years ago. Now her knee bothers her constantly and she's very frustrated about the reduction in mobility. She's only 55 and the doctors say they are reluctant to replace her knee until she's 60. She'll go nuts if she has to wait that long! Cortisone shots have done nothing for her, nor have other drugs. We're hoping the doctors will do something soon, though.

15.) Not yet. I've been reading Ragey's church discussions with interest, though. I went to a new one today and left feeling pretty unsatsified -- I want a place that's small, with good music, and that is kid-friendly. The church I attended this morning was huge and impersonal. It is, however, the church that "everyone" goes to around here.

16.) Believe it or not, I went shopping! I absolutely had to get a few new shirts for work, and I also wanted to buy a new bag for work that didn't look like a student bag. I ended up with three shirts and a bag -- I'll post pictures later if you'd like. All of my shopping done in under 2 hours, too. Relatively painless, even for someone who detests shopping as I do. I also cleaned the kitchen and living room and mopped and vacuumed the floors.

17.) Favorite: a ripe nectarine. Intolerable: smoke (e.g., from a campfire or firepit) -- gives me an instantaneous headache. (Reason #478 why I hate camping.)

18.) Yes! I really, really do hate it. I have a house with a nice comfortable bed and everything else I need in it: why would I drag a bunch of stuff to the middle of nowhere to sleep uncomfortably and inconveniently? My attitude on this subject was severely impacted by the Great Campout of 2002: I was 6 weeks pregnant, our campsite was a mile from the nearest bathroom, it rained for two days straight, there was so much water in our stupid tent that our air mattress was literally floating, and we had to cook over a stinky campfire. Ugh. Fortunately, ST is an enthusiastic and willing camper, and so T won't camp alone.

19.) The flute and piccolo, both reasonably well. I haven't played for about a year, though, so I'm a bit rusty. I hope to take lessons again here at SMU at some point.

20.) Ah! If I told you THAT I'd have to kill you. Some things are better left unsaid, my friend.

Settling In

2006-08-19T14:33:00.000-05:00

Today I woke up and for the first time since we moved I wasn't surprised when I saw my bedroom. For the past few weeks, I've woken up and had that sudden, "Where am I?" feeling, and it would take me a few seconds to realize that I was sleeping in my room at Pond House. Day after day -- and especially since the master bedroom has been painted -- Pond House feels more like home and my house in Doctoral University City is passing into memory as a place I used to live.

We are settling in here, and it feels good. We have a new morning ritual, which involves all of us standing in front of our kitchen window, staring intently at our bird feeders. This morning was exceptional for bird-watching: in the span of 15 minutes, we saw a few pairs of Baltimore orioles, a pair of cardinals, nuthatches, a hummingbird, two Downy woodpeckers, a pair of goldfinches, and a blue jay. We also watched chipmunks effortlessly climb onto our feeders and scoop millet out of the bottom and into their little mouths by the pawful, a situation we (hopefully)remedied by buying a new feeder pole the squirrels and chipmunks cannot climb. T and I both come from families of birdwatchers, and so it's no surprise that we can stand in front of our window for a long time, just staring out at the magnificent and colorful birds in our yard. We actually just returned from our local bird store, where we bought additional feeders and another pole to mount them on. I hope the birds are excited by all of the new dining establishments we are opening for their enjoyment (and ours)!

The house is also feeling right. We are nearly fully unpacked; there are just a few stray boxes of miscellaneous and non-essential items that I'm reluctant to dig out of their resting places. I can find nearly everything I need now, and T is beginning to be satisfied with the state of the garage. The coup de grace, however, came yesterday morning with the arrival of our new washer and dryer. I have been (not-so) patiently waiting for a good deal so I could buy the laundry pair I wanted without breaking the bank, and Best Buy had a deal this past week we couldnt' refuse: two-year no interest financing (which we didn't need, but it's nice to have as a back-up), sale price on the washer and dryer we wanted, plus 15% off the dryer and free delivery and installation. We ended up buying a GE front-loading pair, and they work like a charm (so quiet -- you can barely tell the washer is on!). For a laundry-addict like me, this is bliss.

I'm also feeling quite at home in my new department. I was there three days this week, and my colleagues are truly wonderful. They have given me every sort of assistance and guidance, and we've had some lovely discussions about the future of the department, funding for projects, joining different research consortiums, etc. Amy, the administrative assistant, has been helpful as always, too, and never makes me feel like the questions I'm constantly badgering her with are stupid or a waste of her time. When the department chair asked me if I needed anything, I said something like, "No, really everything has gone very smoothly!" and he smiled, nodded, and said, "Good. That's what we wanted for you." So, life is good.

The only thing I really need to do to feel completely settled is to finish my syllabi (I still have two weeks, and I'm nearly done anyway) and make my office feel less institutional. I was given $2,000 by the Dean when I came to spend on a computer and any other "office start-up" items. After my computer and laser printer, I have about $350.00 left to spend, and I'm not sure what to buy or what qualifies. I'll have to ask Amy next week. Any suggestions?

The Library Situation

2006-08-16T18:45:00.000-05:00

I am working one of my syllabi today, and have been frantically searching for copies of a few articles or book chapters I read in graduate school to exerpt for use in my undergraduate Introduction to Subfield course. My home office is pretty well-organized at this point, but there are some articles I think I recycled before I moved and so the hunt is on for clean copies to put on e-reserve. This has necessitated a trip to Smallish Midwestern University's library, as well as familiarization with the library's website and electronic resources.

One of my greatest fears about going to a smaller university was that the library would be inadequate. I was truly spoiled at Doctoral University's library, which subscribed to nearly any journal I ever imagined using and which never failed to produce any book I requested, even if it was in a different language or from an obscure European press. During my last year of graduate school, while I was writing my dissertation (it's crazy to me that I only finished in late June -- it feels like it was years ago), I rarely went to the library because Doctoral University's online resources and library staff were so excellent at getting me whatever I needed right over the internet. I was concerned that when I came here, I'd be stuck waiting for weeks to get anything out of the library, and I was already plotting how I'd get friends employed at R1 schools to send me PDFs of journal articles if my little library didn't have a subscription.

No need, though. My library experience thus far has been quite wonderful. SMU's library doesn't have a great selection of books in my field, but they have a huge network of other university libraries in this state they draw from. I requested a book this morning, and just got an email that it will be ready to check out in SMU's library tomorrow. Tomorrow! Plus, I discovered that SMU's library is directly connected to Midwestern State's R1's library, and so any journal that the R1 subscribes to electronically, I can get, too. And that includes the law library, which is a resource I use a lot in my research. I am overjoyed at this discovery. I don't feel so far away from R1 life, so separated from the excellent resources to which I've grown accustomed.

Mistaken Identity

2006-08-15T13:23:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Smallish Midwestern University's Student Center, ID Card Office:

Me: Hi! I need to get an ID card. Can you help me with that?

Student Worker: Sure. (Fumbles through some papers and then looks up at me.) Have you registered for all of your fall semester classes yet?

Me: (smiling) Well, no... but I'll be teaching a few of them.

Student Worker: (embarrassed) Oh, I'm so sorry, Professor!

Even though the student was embarrassed (even after I assured her I was not offended), her mistake (as well as the notation of "Faculty" in big letters on my plastic ID card) made me smile for the rest of the day.

Random Thoughts, Ver. 3.0

2006-08-13T23:02:00.000-05:00

Another installment of random thoughts in lieu of a proper, themed post:

T is back from Doctoral University City. He had a great last week at his old job, his coworkers threw him a wonderful surprise goodbye lunch and gave him great gifts, and he was able to sneak in a few holes of golf with some friends most days. He was shocked when his coworkers, who know all about Pond House and the work it will need, gave him a $300 gift certificate to a home improvement center in our neighborhood and a year's subscription to The Family Handyman, among other gifts. I could tell that they overwhelmed him; he was at once thrilled that they cared about him so much and sad that he had to leave the people he's worked with for all these years.

While T was gone, I painted the Ugliest Bathroom in History. I chose the color "Sagey" (a barely-there green) from Sherwin-Williams, and I was thrilled when the salesman recognized me and gave me a discount on my paint. Thrilled... and also a little embarassed to note that I have no less than 12 gallons, at varying levels of fullness, of Sherwin-Williams Superpaint at my house right now.

Since the Ugliest Bathroom in History is now painted and somewhat-less-ugly, T and I bought new towel bars and light fixtures for the space and they look fantastic. We still have to buy a mirror for over the vanity, since the old one was chipped in many places. I'll post pictures when we finally have the room finished (or as finished as it can be with ugly countertops and a brown tub).

T also installed a new ceiling fan in our bedroom this weekend. It replaces the Liberace-esque fan (white and gold!) that graced the ceiling when we moved in. Now the bedroom is nearly complete except for curtains and accessories, and it's clear to us that we'll eventually need more furniture in there -- the room is massive. I'll post a picture of it at some point.

I'm making good progress on my syllabi for the fall; I have two to write. I still have another few weeks to work on them (we don't start until after Labor Day). I have the basic outlines of the courses and the assignments all figured out, but I'm still trying to decide what readings aside from the textbook I should use. I have a stack of things I'd like to incorporate, but if I include them all my students will kill me in my sleep. Also, a lot of things I think are really neat will be way over my students' heads or bore them to tears.

I'm going to head to my office for the first time tomorrow to do a little work, fill out human resources forms, and turn in my receipts to claim my moving allowance. I hope they have my name on the door -- that would be exciting!

I finished Anna Karenina last week, late one night while ST snored beside me. After I read the last page, I just flipped through the book and reread some of my favorite passages -- like when Vronsky follows Anna at the station, the game of Secretaire between Levin and Kitty, the secret meetings between Anna and Vronsky -- and I lingered over them, like a long, drawn-out goodbye to a good friend. I simply adore this book. My Mom said that she wanted to read it, but I cannot send her my copy. I will have to buy her her own, I think. Honestly, I think it would be physically painful for me to be separated from this book, as silly as that sounds.

ST and I made an oatmeal spice cake today. I was thinking about school and the weather was breezy and cool, and so I had to bake something that made the house smell like fall.

Now, time for bed.

Compliment?

2006-08-12T14:40:00.000-05:00

We have really gotten to know our neighbors to the left of us quickly, since they have children who eagerly wait to play with ST every day. They are wonderful people: she (Darcy) is a stay-at-home mom, and he (Luke) is a physician. They are about ten years older than we are. I've chatted with them every day this week for several hours each time, and they've been a tremendous help to us as we get to know our new city.

Darcy and Luke are very interested in what I do and have asked all sorts of questions about my work. Luke knows a few of my colleagues, since the medical group he works for is in the provider network for our university health insurance. Darcy and I were talking yesterday and she said, "Luke was so excited to meet you because he said it was nice to meet an academic who was normal." I laughed at this because I know that academics are a pretty eccentric group, but I keep thinking about that comment.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too "normal" to be an academic at all. I really like what I do, I like to teach and like to research, and I think I'm pretty decent at both. But I'm definitely not one of those academic-work-is-everything types, and I never will be. My family and my life outside of the university will always come first. Luke said that a lot of his female patients are academics, and none of them have children. He said they're married to their research. That's just not who I am and not who I want to be. My research is interesting, sure, but it's nothing compared to the adventure of raising a child or two, and it certainly won't have the same impact that sending a well-adjusted child out into the world will.

"Normal." I suppose that's a compliment. I just hope that "normal" (and add to that "happy" and "content at last") will serve me well as I begin chugging along the tenure track.

We're Safe Here. Right?

2006-08-10T20:51:00.000-05:00

When I was pregnant with ST, I remember telling my Mom on the phone that I hoped I would have a chatty, outgoing child, a child with opinions who was willing to voice them intelligently. At 8 months, ST uttered his first word (our cat's name, which he then shouted all day long) and he hasn't stopped talking since. He'll babble on about anything and everything to anyone and everyone; people think he's much older than he is because he has a massive vocabulary and pronounces things correctly (e.g., he says his "l" sounds correctly, where as many children his age pronounce them as "w"s: "valley" vs. "vawwey"). Suffice it to say, whenever I complain that the noise from ST's mouth is too much for me, my Mom just laughs at me and tells me that I got exactly what I asked for. She's right.

I've never been one for baby talk or for dumbing things down, and T is the same way. We've never used babyish words or phrases with him (e.g., no "blankie" or "nigh-nigh" in this house, but "blanket" and "Good night"), and we've always tried to explain everything to him in a way that he could understand but not in a way that shielded him too much. ST is really a fantastic listener, and he has questions about complicated things all the time. For the most part, I am very comfortable explaining how and why things happen in his world to the best of my ability: I am, after all, a teacher. I should be good at this. I love it when ST asks me questions about what he heard at Mass, about photographs he sees in the newspaper, or about adult conversations he's overheard. I like to get a sense of the information that he pulls from these sources, and what they mean to him.

When the Israel-Lebanon conflict erupted weeks ago, ST and I were driving around this city waiting for T's interviews to be over. We were listening to NPR (as always); I thought ST was sleeping in the backseat. All of a sudden I heard, "Mom! The Israelis are DYING!" He then proceeded to ask me what Israelis were, why they were dying, who was killing them, etc. "I bet the Israelis are very sad," he said in a small voice. I liked that he was listening, and I liked that his response to the news was compassionate. I liked that I was able to give him some idea of what war was, awful as it is. It is part of the world he lives in.

Today, however, I wasn't sure how much to say. ST loves to watch the news with me or listen to it on the radio. We sat down in front of the CBS news this afternoon before supper and heard the reports about the thwarted terrorist attacks on flights between the U.K. and the U.S. ST watched intently the images of people dumping the contents of their suitcases into garbage cans, images of police surrounding a brick house in London. His first question: "Why are those people throwing away their shampoo?" I explained that if you mix some things together, it can be dangerous and explode, and that the pilots of the airplanes and the police didn't want anyone to get hurt if things were mixed together.

"But WHO would mix the shampoo?" he asked. I explained that there were some people who who were mean and who didn't like other people, and that they wanted to hurt other people flying in airplanes.

As if on cue, the television flashed to an image of an airplane smashing into the World Trade Center on September 11. "You mean airplanes like THAT?" ST said, wide-eyed. "Why are those planes crashing into that building, Mom?" I tried to explain what happened on September 11, and ST looked very concerned. "But what happened to the people on the airplanes?" he asked. "And what happened to the people in that building?"

"They died," I said. "It was very sad."

He thought a moment and looked up at me with his big blue eyes. "But mean people won't crash into our Pond House. Will they?" I hugged him and assured him that, no, mean people would never crash into our house and that we were very safe here, and that his Dad was very safe in Doctoral University City, too. He seemed to be OK with that answer and seemed relieved.

I'm glad he's a bright kid. I'm glad that he knows what's going on around him, even if it's horrible. But even though I feel very safe here in our Pond House, I fear for the terrible things that are part of ST's reality at three years old. As I said, I've always been happy to explain things to my preschooler as honestly as I can, but there are some things a three-year old just shouldn't have to know.

Honesty

2006-08-08T21:24:00.000-05:00

Today, our kitchen, 2:30pm, baking chocolate chip cookies for the neighbors.

Me: (demonstrating how to measure flour correctly) ... and so then you just use this butter knife to get the excess flour off the top of the measuring cup. See? Then it's flat and you know you have just enough flour for the cookies.

ST: I get it, Mom. Can I try it?

Me: (jokingly) Sure, but first you have to say, "Mom, you are a super-genius."

ST: (very seriously) No, Mom. I just think you're crazy.

Housekeeping

2006-08-06T15:55:00.000-05:00

The house is quiet, and I am alone for the first time since we moved in. T has had to return to Doctoral University City to finish out his final week of work, ST is napping. My parents left on Friday morning. The flurry of activity that was last week and this weekend is now largely over and the house is still.

There is still much to be done here. My office is almost fully unpacked, but I've just stacked things on bookshelves in the closet; that will have to be organized in the next few days or I will go crazy (ever since my days of working in a bookstore, disorganized and unalphabetized books grate on my nerves). I painted our master bedroom yesterday afternoon and hope to paint the master bathroom this week, along with the Ugliest Bathroom in History (I'll post before and after pictures, especially of the UBinH, after T returns with some new towel bars he can only buy in Doctoral University City). In the evenings, I need to continue working on my syllabi. No real progress on those will be made until I organize the office, however.

I am, as I noted in a comment to Prof. Mama's post, an organization- and neat-freak. I have been this way ever since I can remember. My sister Julie and I used to share a bedroom, and we'd literally have a tape line down the center of the room to separate my order from her chaos. Some people can function in disorder; I cannot. That's why we've had to make quick progress on this house, since I am so much a product of my environment. Messy house, messy brain: that's me.

I inherited this from my parents. I grew up in a tidy and organized house, a small house that looks like it came straight from the pages of Pottery Barn's catalogue, a house that Mom and Dad completely transformed with their own two hands. All my life they were fixing, renovating, changing -- it is a part of who I am. T, on the other hand, did not grow up this way. His parents were very tidy, but rather uninspired: white walls, nothing on them, plain, utilitarian furniture, etc. Once he met my parents, however, his creative wheels started turning and now T is a DIY-junkie (be still my heart!) and gets excited when we walk into Sherwin-Williams. This house is our diamond in the rough, a chance to make our environment reflect who we are as a family and as individuals. We are digging in because this is precisely what we've always wanted.

Some more pictures to share with you:

Our dining room (before):

Our dining room (after):

I was very happy when the people who bought our house allowed us to take the dining room chandelier with us; it was my favorite fixture in the entire house, and now whenever I look at it I think of the good life we had in our old house, and all of the friends we've left behind. You can't really tell in this picture, but the walls are painted with "Sand Dollar," the same color used in the living room. This color also continues into the kitchen and the hallways on the main floor. (We've kept a lot of the same colors we used in our old house, which has made painting go much quicker: finding the right color often takes longer than actually painting the room!)

The Kitchen Pantry Area (before):

The Kitchen/Pantry Area (after):

The cabinets used to have little white porcelain knobs and pulls on them, but we replaced them with brushed nickel to modernize the kitchen. We ended up with stainless steel appliances (Kenmore Elite, thankfully purchased when Sears was running a 20% off deal!). I always swore that I would never have stainless in my kitchen, but they really looked the best with my dark cabinetry (white and bisque appliances made the kitchen look too country, and black was simply too dark, especially since the kitchen window is shaded all day with big trees). So far, they've remained finger-print free. We'll see how long that lasts!

You can see in the "before" picture one of the best features of this kitchen: pull out shelves. For someone who loves organization, these are heaven-sent. The interior shelves swing out to reveal more shelves behind them, just perfect for rows of diced tomatoes, boxes of pasta, jars of sauce and olives, etc.

While ST is still napping, time to start organizing this office before I go insane. If anyone wants to drop by this week, feel free as I'll need the company... but bring your paintbrush!

Everything Old is New Again

2006-08-03T22:39:00.000-05:00

Just last week at this time, I was scrubbing the floor in my master bedroom at my old house, preparing it for the official handover to the neighbors the following day. Now, I'm officially the co-owner of Pond House, after a hassle-free closing yesterday morning. So much happens in just a week!

It's difficult to believe that tomorrow is already Friday, and that my parents have been here at Pond House with us for almost an entire week. They are leaving tomorrow after lunch after a lot of hard work and, hopefully, a lot of good memories of helping us settle in to our new (old) house in Midwestern State. My parents truly love this house and the land it's on; my Mom said that she fully expects to be back here in just a few months, because she will long to see this property in every season. My Dad wholeheartedly agreed.

It's been a tiring week, but very good. Here's a list of what we've accomplished, in addition to basic unpacking, setting up of beds, etc.:

Painted kitchen, dining room, hallways, and sunroom
Replaced chandelier in dining room
Replaced all wooden wallplates on the main floor
Washed all kitchen cabinets, inside and out
Unpacked and organized kitchen
Installed new cabinet hardware in kitchen
Installed new range and refrigerator
Repainted canoe owners left for us
Reinforced the old desk I couldn't bear to part with
Re-poured concrete steps in front so they're level
Trimmed all trees on the property (a huge task)
Pulled tons of weeds from the pond (ongoing)
Cleaned gutters and installed gutter guards
Raked entire yard after a storm littered it with debris
Remove small dock from the pond, reinforce larger dock

The house is really shaping up nicely, and I'm eager to continue working on it in the years to come. The main level of the house looks decent right now, aside from the fact that my office is still stacked (quite literally) to the ceiling with boxes of books and the fact that the half bathroom off the kitchen has ugly 1980s wallpaper. Change is slow around here, but each little detail makes such a big difference. Just changing out the wallplates around the light switches, for example, updated the house to an amazing degree. I'll take more pictures once everything is in place in the dining room, but here's an example of the progress we've made so far:

The living room/sunroom area, before (note ugly wooden wallplates!):

The living room/sunroom area after:

We painted the walls in the entire 27' x 15' room in Sherwin-Williams paints "Sand Dollar" and "Sands of Time." The windows in the sunroom area face toward the pond, and so eventually we'll buy a nice couch or pair of chairs to put in that area (now we just have an old green recliner and an antique table there). I'm excited to find more red accents for the main living space, and I'm especially excited to get the television out of that room. We plan to finish off the basement in the next few years and then the TV will move there; I really dislike having a television in the main living space of the house. There's still a lot of work to do in this room, but I feel like we've made a good dent in it.

After Mom and Dad leave tomorrow, we'll set to the task of unpacking the bedrooms, which we've largely ignored, and painting the master bedroom. It is currently a very pale aqua, which does not coordinate at all with my brick red bedding and dark cherry-stained furniture! ST's room is probably the least organized, and that's been OK because he's been outside practically since we moved in last week. The Ugliest Bathroom in History remains quite ugly and probably will for some time, but hanging a shower curtain and adding some personal touches has made it liveable. I think I'll paint that next week, too.

ST seems to be handling things well, and is especially happy now that he's met the neighbor kids. There's a five-year old boy, Erik, and his three-year old sister, Annie, who live next door, and they all played together fabulously this afternoon. I think Erik and ST will be good friends. It was great to see ST with kids again -- our former neighborhood was always filled with the sound of kids on bikes, kids screaming at each other, kids laughing, and so it was good to hear the shrieks of children at play again. It made the place feel like home.

The only other thing that would make it feel like home is a washer and dryer, which we still haven't purchased. I've been to the laundromat twice now; not a fun experience, although the laundromat I visited with Mom was very clean and the machines were fast and efficient. I long for my own equipment, however, so that Pond House will finally smell of laundry detergent: our smell. We hope to buy a washer and dryer next week.

Now, off to bed. More adventures at Pond House await us tomorrow.

Observations

2006-07-30T06:46:00.000-05:00

A few thoughts on moving to a new house and new city, written quickly because my computer is currently smack-dab in the middle of the kitchen where there is no privacy (office is still chock-full of unpacked boxes of books; I can barely walk in there):

This house is huge. I was considering posting on Active Academic about how much grueling exercise you get packing up a house and then unpacking it (my muscles are still aching from pulling a king-sized mattress around yesterday), but honestly I think I'm getting my best workout just walking around this house putting stuff away. My former house was about 1800 square feet (excluding the basement); this one is about 2300 (excluding the basement). That extra room makes for longer commutes between kitchen and living room, bedrooms and bathrooms. Add that to the fact that there are a lot more stairs here, and you have one tired professor on your hands.

The yard is amazing. I just ate breakfast in front of the windows looking over the pond, and I saw two fish leap out and then a small water bird (couldn't tell what it was from where I was sitting) swoop down to snatch a fish. The yard is noisy with the sound of songbirds, chipmunks, woodpeckers, and squirrels. I also discovered that we have two apple trees, a sour cherry tree, a pear tree, and a crabtree. Our addition has been ST's famous tomato plant, which made the trip in the front seat of the U-Haul with T on Friday afternoon and is only slightly worse for the wear.

Our cat, Belle, is in heaven here. All of the windows are huge and extend to the floor, and so she's been hanging out on the windowsills admiring the vegetation and stalking the small animals and birds outside. She's found several new hiding places, too, and seems very pleased with her new litter box location (always a plus).

The nearest grocery store to us is really great, something I wasn't expecting. It's fairly large and has a great selection of organic products, and you can even buy bulk products like flax seed, trail mix, and granola. I used to have to go to our cooperative grocery for stuff like that, but no more. In addition, this grocery store has an in-store play area for kids, and so you can leave children there while you shop. There are little TVs all around the store that allow parents to see their kids in the play area. That's pretty cool, although I'm not sure I'd be comfortable leaving ST there on his own. (I'm not sure if the area is supervised, or if the kids are "tagged" so that they can only go home with their parents and not some freaks off the street.)

My furniture, which I completely love and which T and I picked out over the past five years, can make any room look good. Even when the rooms of Pond House were nothing but bare walls, gross carpet, and hideous light fixtures, my furniture makes the rooms look liveable.

I will post pictures of our progress soon (I promise, Lilian!). The dining room is almost complete, as soon as I figure out how to arrange my cookbooks on the wall, and the kitchen will look awesome as soon as our appliances arrive on Tuesday. I may not post until then -- but rest assured, we're BUSY!

We've Landed

2006-07-28T19:46:00.000-05:00

We arrived safely and happily at Pond House this afternoon after closing on our old house this morning. The first things I did at Pond House:

1.) Set up DSL service.
2.) Clean the kitchen sink.

Now, off to unpack some boxes and clean some cabinetry. I'll return with an update later, but all is well in New Town.

Be Cool: Stay in School

2006-07-25T15:16:00.000-05:00

Since ST no longer goes to daycare, we're spending a lot of quality time together. (He might say that it's too much quality time, though. No matter what we're doing or how much fun we're having, he always seems to be looking around for another kid to play with, trying to "trade up" from his old mom!) Yesterday we did something he has always wanted to do but we've never had a great reason to do it: ride the city buses. Ever since he could talk he's been wanting to ride the "big blue bus" that goes all around the city, ending at Doctoral University. So that's what we did. We got on the bus in the morning, visited some people at Doctoral University, rode a different bus for about twenty minutes, had lunch at our favorite restaurant, and then hopped on the bus home. ST was in heaven.

ST took the ordinary act of riding the bus and made it the most exciting thing he'd ever done, and in turn made it exciting for me. Each time the bus stopped, he'd step into the aisle to see why we were stopping. "It's OK," he'd announce to me and anyone else who was listening. "It's just a stop sign. No one has to get off." Whenever he'd hear the ding! sound of the stop request, he'd look around and ask, loudly, "Now who is getting off? Is it you? Is it you?" He chatted to the bus driver and to everyone who got on the bus.

Before we got off the bus for the last time, ST said to the driver, "Thanks, Bus Driver, for the nice ride." The bus driver smiled and said, "Stay in school, buddy!" I thought that was an interesting comment (ST is only three, but people often think he's five because he's very tall), but I just smiled and we went on our way.

Today, we had another real life adventure when we went to the post office. To ST's great excitement there were construction trucks and construction workers in the post office parking lot. "Can we go talk to them? Pleeeease?" ST asked me. After we mailed our package, we walked over to the workers.

"Hi, guys!" ST said cheerfully. "What are you making?" The construction workers responded that they were building an addition to the parking lot. ST thought that this was the most wonderful thing anyone could possibly do. The workers showed him their equipment and let him sit in a skid loader, which was blissful for ST. We stayed for about ten minutes, watching them work, before we had to go. As we left, one of the workers shouted, "Stay in school, little man! Stay in school!"

Ah, if only they knew how much school was going to be a part of ST's life!

eBay: Here I Come

2006-07-23T08:24:00.000-05:00

After a birthday party for one of ST's friends (a party where ST slipped on the carpet, fell face-down and got a bloody nose and swollen lip, cried for 10 seconds, and was back in the action), T and I decided to take a trip to Home Depot to look at cabinet knobs and pulls, ceiling fans, and light fixtures. We know we will be buying these types of items very soon: we move to Pond House for good this coming Friday, and my parents will meet us there to help us with the work for an entire week.

As I've said before, Pond House is stuck in a 1980s time warp. I sometimes affectionately refer to it as the Who's the Boss house, because to me, that show was quintessentially 80s. The light fixtures are made of brass and tinted brown glass, these hanging monstrosities that should never have existed in the first place. The cabinet hardware is white porcelain with little rosettes painted on it -- definitely not my style. But the most in-your-face noticeable 80s holdout in the place are the wooden switchplates that adorn every outlet (even those behind the stove and refrigerator). I'm sure that, at one point, they were the height of chic decor. To my eyes, however, they are... well, let's just say that they have to go.

Imagine my shock when, as we looked at new switchplates at Home Depot last night, we overheard someone talking about outfitting their house with wooden plate covers, covers of the very type found on every wall in Pond House. Home Depot carries these covers, as does Lowe's (they look exactly like this, but with a slightly lighter stain): they're almost $8.00 EACH! I think I'm sitting on a little gold mine. I'm going to remove all 50+ of these switchplate covers and list them on eBay. I might even list the ugly chandeliers, too! You know the saying that one man's trash is another man's treasure; perhaps one man's 1985 is another man's 2006?

Romantic Reality

2006-07-21T08:20:00.000-05:00

I've had a few melancholy days, and I know why: my last post. Whenever I have a chance to think about those kinds of beautiful times in my life, I look at my current life and think, "What happened?" Mostly, though, I look at T and silently wonder why he isn't more like the men that are featured in some of my favorite memories. In my mind, I am comparing him to them and it's unfair: he doesn't know them, doesn't know how they made me feel, and doesn't know how to act in any other way than what is normal for him.

The last time this type of memory-induced melancholy set in was almost exactly five years ago, when we moved into this house. I was at home sorting through boxes in the garage all by myself, deciding where to put everything in our brand-new house. My parents, who had helped us move in, brought with them some boxes I had stored in their attic, full of childhood drawings, yearbooks, and letters. I made the mistake of reading through the letters, including those from Peter and those from Jim, my best friend from high school. Reading those sweet letters was exhilarating: both Jim and Peter thought I was beautiful and wonderful in every way, and their letters were dripping with compliments, plans, and romance. As I sat, sweaty and dirty on the floor of my garage, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

I am, of course, not the beautiful, smart and all-around fantastic girl portrayed by Peter and Jim in those letters. And I know that Peter and Jim, for all of their excellent qualities, could never have sustained the romance they began in letters over the long-term. I know that, had I ended up with Peter or Jim, I would eventually complain about how there were always dirty clothes on the floor, how someone always smudged the bathroom mirror, or how someone neglected to put away the items he used to make his lunch. I know that they would eventually have seen me in a bad mood, with bad hair, or making a stupid mistake. In short, I understand that the reason these two men are so much a part of what is beautiful about my past is that they were only part of my life for a relatively short time. There was no time for flaws.

I have been married to T for seven years. He has seen me at my best and at my worst. He is really a fantastic husband in nearly every sense: he helps out a lot around the house, is a very hands-on and active father, ensures that we have what we need and most of what we want, treats me with respect and requires that others do the same, etc. The only thing T is lacking, however, is a sense of romance, and that's what I mourn when I get into these memory-induced funks. T is too practical for romance, and I can be, too. He doesn't believe in buying what he calls "useless" gifts, for example, because he doesn't value them himself. I will never receive jewelry or flowers from T because he hates those things. And for the most part, I don't want those things, either: I don't wear jewelry (and my ears aren't even pierced) and I don't like cut flowers (give me a potted plant any day!). We don't do spontaneous things because we're both planners. No jetting off to Paris for dinner for this couple, that's for sure. Now that we have a young child there's even less of a chance of doing anything spontaneous, less time for romance.

I'm not even sure what I'm craving when I lament this romantic deficit in my life. Maybe just a sweet word from him, an unexpected compliment? (He is good at giving compliments, but they're mostly about my cooking.) A quick kiss out in public? I don't know, but I do know that I'm longing to feel like the girl who received those letters years ago, the girl the letter-writers wanted. And I wonder: is the girl T got still that girl, and is she as easy to love?

Secretaire

2006-07-19T21:35:00.000-05:00

At last, a post that is not about 1.) packing; 2.) moving; 3.) saying goodbye to people or places; 4.) anything on my Big To-Do List; or 5.) anything related to academia. This is a post inspired by one of my favorite memories.

As I mentioned before, I'm rereading one of my favorite novels, Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. While we were driving home from New Town on Monday evening, I reached one of the passages that always strikes me as beautifully romantic: in this passage, Levin (aristocratic farmer) and Kitty (a princess, and the love of Levin's life) see each other at a dinner party. Months earlier, Levin had asked Kitty to marry him but she refused him because she thought she was going to be asked by the dashing Count Vronsky; that offer of marriage never materialized. Levin still loved Kitty, though, and Kitty realized that she actually did love him back, but Levin was too ashamed to ask her to marry him again after being refused the first time. Anyway, Kitty and Levin sit down together in a moment that is nearly exploding with romantic possibilities and play a game of Secretaire. In this "game," one person writes the first letter of a sentence or phrase, and the other tries to guess what the phrase is. So, "I love you" would be written down as "I l y." It is an intimate game.

Tolstoy recounts the game so beautifully. The passage is one of those that makes your heart flutter when you read it, transporting you back to a time when, perhaps, you felt as caught up in romance as Kitty and Levin did. As I was reading this passage, I remembered one of the most romantic periods of my short life.

When I was 20, I studied abroad in Central Europe for seven months. I lived with a family while I was there, a delightful family who truly made me feel like I belonged there and had always been there. I was invited to family events (e.g., birthday parties, anniversary dinners) and knew the extended family very well. Even though it was a decade ago, I still keep in touch with many members of this family.

In my second month abroad, I met the 19-year old nephew of my host family. His name was Peter, and he was positively dashing. He knew all about poetry, could speak English almost fluently, could waltz and polka effortlessly, knew all of the Alpine trails like the back of his hand, and was enrolled in medical school to be a surgeon. He had dark brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, dressed sharply, and was kind to everyone he met. Everyone in the family always raved about Peter, and they were very excited for me to meet him.

When we met, the attraction was instantaneous and so obvious that my host mother pulled me aside to tell me to be careful with her favorite nephew. Peter and I met at a family dinner, and after dinner we took a long walk through narrow European city streets to get to know each other better. We didn't return until after 3:00am, both chilled to the bone after a frosty February night.

Peter, who was from a small town about two hours away from where my host family lived, decided that night to stay with my host family for a few weeks. He did that because of me, and I loved it. We spent all of our time together: innumerable long walks, operas, plays, movies, lazy dinners. I remember that it was a treat just to be next to him in a chair reading; we would read poems in English and in German, then talk about different novels, then talk about politics... it was fantastic. After a few weeks he built up the courage to kiss me. My goodness.

To say that I was in love with him is a vast understatement. I was in awe of him. I adored him. And I can safely say that he adored me. He thought I was pretty, loved that we could talk about anything and in two different languages, and loved that I broke all of the stereotypes about American women he'd been taught. When he eventually had to return home, we both cried. We were miserable. He sent me a letter or postcard every day, letters and postcards I've kept all these years because they are too beautiful to throw away. Letters and postcards I've never shared with T because they are only mine.

During my sixth month in Europe, we were again at a family function, but this time in his hometown. By this time we'd had thousands of adventures together and could finish each other's sentences, no matter the language. One night, the family (host family plus grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins) settled in to watch a special program on television, something they rarely did. Peter and I sat together to watch the program, too, at the very back of the room. Peter had a pencil and a piece of paper on his lap.

"Do you know this game?" he asked me. "Secretaire?"

I didn't know it, and didn't remember it from Anna Karenina. He explained it to me and I was intrigued. I remember how the game progressed just as if I had the sheet of paper in front of me now (I still have the paper somewhere, perhaps tucked in with his letters).

D n g b t A, he wrote in his clear block letters. I knew what that was. I didn't have to say it out loud. "Do not go back to America." I responded with Y k I m. "You know I must."

B I l y, he wrote again. I k, I responded. I w t m y, he scribbled quickly. A I y, I wrote. W y m m? he asked, writing faster than I could think. ("But I love you." "I know." "I want to marry you." "And I you." "Would you marry me?") I remember that I could feel my heart beating in my throat, and that I didn't know how to respond. I t I w, I wrote. ("I think I would.")

Thinking about this moment brings tears to my eyes because it was so lovely, so romantic. Here we were, two people madly in love in the shadow of the Alps, surrounded by family members who loved us both but who had no idea what we were "talking" about in the corner. I wasn't sure if I should take this written proposal as an actual one; in the days that followed, however, Peter assured me of his intentions, saying that I had to find a way to stay in Europe for a few more years while he finished school. We didn't tell anyone about anything. I didn't know what to do. I was only 2o years old -- was I ready for marriage? And a marriage that would require that I live abroad for the rest of my life?

I pondered the entire situation for several weeks, right up until the week my visa expired. After a tearful goodbye to the family who had virtually adopted me, I boarded a plane and returned to the United States. Sitting on that plane, I honestly thought my heart was shattering into a million pieces. I didn't know where I belonged.

As I think back on that time of my life, I cannot remember how Peter and I lost contact. He is the only member of that family I have no connections with today, and no one speaks to me about him. A few months after I returned to the U.S. and started my final year of college, I met T. T is nothing like Peter at all, aside from the fact that T is also very handsome and intelligent. I often feel like I was meant for T all of my life, but that God granted me the extraordinary romance of Peter just for me to keep in my memory, sweet and perfect for the rest of my life. And that is why as I read the Secretaire passage in Anna Karenina and blushed and smiled as the memories of Peter flooded my brain, I could in the next moment reach over and squeeze my husband's hand as he drove our little family safely home.

New Identity

2006-07-18T12:54:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, while T was interviewing in Quaint Town a few miles north of New Town, ST and I stopped by Smallish Midwestern University and my future department. None of the other faculty members were there; the place was inhabited only by administrative assistants.

Amy, the cheerful assistant for my new department, was happy to see me. "Oh, I was hoping you'd stop in today!" she said, recalling that we were moving in to our new house that weekend. We had a nice chat and I introduced her to ST.

She showed me my office and asked me if I wanted different bookcases, where the new computer and laser printer should be set up, if I wanted blinds back on the windows. Suddenly, a few faces popped in the door. "These are the admins from the departments down the hall," Amy said to me with a smile. To them, she said, "This is our new faculty member, Professor Me."

Professor. I have wanted to be called "Professor" since I was in 11th grade. Sometimes, as a teaching assistant, some of my students would call me Professor but it didn't have the same effect because I knew I wasn't actually a professor. Some of my non-academic friends have called me "Professor" for years because they knew that was my goal, but even then it didn't feel as good as it felt yesterday, when I'd actually earned it.

Later in my visit, I told Amy that I was behind in getting copies made for e-reserves at the library. "Oh, just give the stuff to me," she said with a smile. "I'll do it." I apologized and said that I didn't mean to give her more work. She laughed and said, "You have a Ph.D. so you don't have to make copies. Just let me know what you need done, and I'll do it." How refreshing, and how strange for me! This is the beginning of something entirely new.

Note: I hear your requests from the previous post for pictures of the Ugliest Bathroom in History, and I will post them at some point. I think I'm going to start with pictures of the kitchen/dining/living areas, though, to show you transformation. We're not going to tackle the Ugliest Bathroom in History for a few months because it will be the most expensive to do. Don't worry -- the transformations will be well-documented here, so much so that you'll be sick of them!

Phase One: Done

2006-07-16T18:43:00.000-05:00

The first part of our move to New Town is complete.

We loaded our 24ft. U-Haul Friday night, and then awoke at 5:00am on Saturday to make the five hour trip to New Town. The drive was uneventful and even fun, since there was no traffic and the scenery between where we live and New Town is really quite lovely: lots of rolling hills, some dramatic cliffs, and lots of little rivers and lakes. We arrived in New Town at around 11:00am, and soon after my Former Boss and my brother Rob arrived to help us unload. The unloading was surprisingly easy: Pond House has so many sets of doors leading outside that we didn't have to contort ourselves to get items in the house. If the rest of the move (the end of the month) goes as smoothly as this move did, we'll be very happy.

Pond House is lovely, although now that we're able to take a really good look at it we can see that there's lots of maintenance and cleaning to be done. There are cobwebs everywhere, the house is in bad need of a powerwashing, the screens and windows all need to be scrubbed. We had forgotten just how ugly the bathrooms in the house are, and how badly we need to replace light fixtures throughout the house. In short, we have A LOT of work to do when we are in the house for good (July 28), and I'm thankful that my parents have agreed to spend a week there with us when we move in.

Despite the work that must be done, however, we're still so glad that we are buying this house. My favorite room of the house, the dining room, is still as lovely as ever, and my dining room table looks fantastic in it. And the living room, massive as it is (it's 27' x 20') accomodates my sparse furnishings rather well. Almost all of our furniture is Mission style, which means it's big, heavy, dark cherry colored, and has clean lines. Pond House's contemporary styling seems to complement our furnishings in a way I did not anticipate. Now I cannot wait to get in there and paint, change the light fixtures, pull out some of the extraneous cabinetry in the kitchen, and get my new appliances delivered. The main floor of the house will come together quickly, I think, once we really move in.

The upper floor will take some more time. It is truly... well... ugly. The rooms are all wonderfully-sized, but there's the mauve carpet and the hideous ceiling fans to contend with. But slowly, slowly the bedrooms will be transformed, the Ugliest Bathroom in History will be polished to a gem, and we'll be proud of the work we've done. I think it will be difficult for me to be patient as we get this work done; I'm used to living in a house that has nearly everything just the way I want it, and I'm moving into a house where only about 20% of the place is the way I want it. But, T and I can both see the potential, and we just need to work diligently to help the house reach that potential.

Now, T is at the first of his interviews, with three more very intense interviews all day tomorrow. ST is watching the Mets-Cubs game on TV (baseball is one of the few programs he will sit down and watch without a peep). We will return to Doctoral University City tomorrow night, and then pack up the remainder of our house there in preparation for Phase Two of the move in late July. With any luck, things will continue to fall into place.

Pack It Up

2006-07-14T09:15:00.000-05:00

Our house is a complete and total disaster area. For a neat freak like me, this is a tough pill to swallow: boxes everywhere, disassembled bedframes lining the walls, furniture swaddled in blankets to protect surfaces, half-packed boxes of things I don't use but cannot bear to part with (e.g., what do you do with mostly-unused but ancient notebooks? I save them, and then forget about them and buy new ones), trash bags full of things to donate or things to take to the dump... it's really all too much. I don't function well in disorder.

By the end of the day, however, this house should be mostly empty. The U-Haul truck is arriving at around 3:30pm, and then we'll start the long process of loading our life into the back of a dusty truck. We will leave early tomorrow morning for Midwestern State, and hope to be in New Town by 3:00pm Saturday. My brother will meet us at Pond House, along with my former boss*, and we'll unload late Saturday afternoon. Then we have a few days to spend in New Town while T interviews: he has four interviews scheduled! Keep your fingers crossed for him.

I might blog again tonight, and there is a slight chance I'll blog from New Town this weekend. If not, you'll hear from me again on Tuesday. Wish us luck!

* I worked at a Barnes and Noble all through undergrad in Home State. I knew my boss there was from Midwestern State; he was one of my very good friends. As it turns out, he now lives just 30 minutes from New Town, so we'll see him often. That's excellent for us, and especially for T, since my former boss is also a runner and knows all the trails in the area.

60% Female

2006-07-13T11:12:00.000-05:00

My favorite radio program these days is Tom Ashbrook's On Point. Today, part of the program was dedicated to the widening gender gap in higher education: on the average, more women (60%) than men (40%) are in college, and women are doing better than men in college. It was a fascinating show, and I encourage anyone interested to listen to it here. (I only caught portions of it, as I was in and out of the car all morning; I will listen to the entire program as I pack this afternoon.)

Most interesting to me was combining this show with what we already know about women in academia: by and large, it's difficult for a woman to secure tenure while also respecting her biological clock and raising a family. If universities are turning out more and better educated women, this presumably means that more women will land tenure-track jobs in the future. And when that happens, how will the process of tenure change? Will it change at all?

This program was also interesting to me as the mother of a son. The program's experts noted that males still outnumber females at some Big Ten universities, mostly because of their emphasis on athletics and the wide array of "practical" majors they offer (e.g., engineering, business). The program also noted, however, that males just might not be mature enough for college when they enter at age 18 or 19; males reach maturation at around age 25. As I ponder whether or not to hold ST back a year from kindergarten because of the differences in maturity between girls and boys, I wonder how long this maturity "delay" will really affect him.

Listen to the program. I'd enjoy hearing what other academics think.

Bedtime Story

2006-07-10T21:34:00.000-05:00

Tonight, ST's bedroom, 15 minutes ago.

ST: Mom, can you tell me a story?

Me: Sure. [Proceed to tell delightful story of little boy and his mom going to eat ice cream, but not enough to spoil their dinner.]

ST: OK, Mom. Now I will tell you a story.

Me: I'm listening.

ST: Once upon a time, there were two tiny tigers. And then a T. Rex came and scared them away. The T. Rex wanted to fight King Kong until he saw a special surprise.

Me: What was the special surprise?

ST: The special surprise was... two tiny, tiny apples! And the T. Rex couldn't see them. But the little boy did!

Me: And what was the little boy's name?

ST: His name was... BlueBoy. [Laughs hysterically, thinking he is very clever.] And then BlueBoy ate the apples. But then a crocodile came and ate Blueboy, and then the T. Rex ate the crocodile. [Dramatic pause.]

Me: And that's how the story ends?

ST: No. That's not the end. Then the monster trucks came, and they jumped over the T. Rex.

Me: And that's the end?

ST: No. That's not the end. The monster trucks ran out of gas. And so they stopped, and the T. Rex stepped on them.

Me: And that's the end?

ST: No. That's not the end. You have to wait until tomorrow for the end.

The suspense is killing me! (And if it doesn't, that T. Rex just might.)

Slathered

2006-07-09T23:00:00.000-05:00

My Dad once described his life as being "slathered" with blessings. When he said that, I laughed out loud because it's just such a funny use of the word "slathered." You slather butter on bread or mortar on bricks, but slathering blessings on someone struck me as terribly funny. But then again, the word conveys a ridiculous quantity, an overwhelming quantity of whatever is being slathered. And so I suppose if one is being slathered with blessings, that's a very good thing.

This weekend, I was slathered with friendship.

It began on Friday, when we decided to have an impromptu party on our cul-de-sac. I was a little worried that no one would be able to come, since everyone literally had about half an hour's notice. But I should have known better: I live in the greatest neighborhood EVER. Nearly everyone came out, hauled their grills out onto their driveways and brought coolers full of beer, sodas, and juice boxes for the kids. I made a cake, there were bags and bags of chips, and everyone had something to grill: bratwursts, hamburgers, bacon-wrapped turkey breasts. Between my house and my neighbor's house there is a large, shady area of lawn, and we set up a dozen lawn chairs there plus a few blankets for the babies. It was incredibly fun, for the adults and the children. We counted fifteen children, ranging in ages from 5 months to 11 years. Most of the kids, ST included, were running like maniacs around the cul-de-sac, playing tag and riding bikes, screaming back and forth to each other. (We had blocked the cul-de-sac off with one of our cars so the kids could play safely in the street.) All of my good friends were there, including Ben and Corinne, who used to live on our cul-de-sac before they moved a block away. We were all up and laughing until around 11:30pm, when the kids literally started collapsing from fatigue around us.

T and I spent most of Saturday packing up the house, disassembling furniture like bed frames and emptying drawers. That night, the seven members of our monthly supper club came over for our final meeting, and the theme was "Grill It!" Everyone, including the couple in charge of the salad and the couple in charge of dessert, had to use only the grill to prepare their food. We made potato and Polska Kielbasa kabobs as the main course, and everyone again sat outside on the lawn to chat and reminisce about the three years we've been meeting as a supper club. It was a lovely ending to our participation in a group that has provided us with so much good food and good conversation.

Tonight, Sunday night, T and I were invited to Prof. G.'s house for supper, along with Prof. C. and his wife. It was such a lovely time, and I'm very proud of myself for not tearing up even once at the thought of not seeing Profs. G. and C. on a regular basis anymore. We had a delightful meal and even more delightful conversation. The best part about it, though, was that there were three distinct generations present at the table, and we were all having so much fun learning each other's perspectives on various things. The evening ended with a lovely photograph of me with my dissertation advisors, and me giving them each a card. I had to do something for them, and so I put into words just how much they have meant to me and how much I appreciate how they've expertly guided me through graduate school. "In these cards I've written all the things I want to tell you but will cry if I tell you in person," I said. And it's true.

Now I'm in my messy house again, feeling very blessed indeed. Slathered, even.

Not My House

2006-07-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

Every family has a certain smell, and that smell permeates everything the family owns. My grandma's apartment always smells like boiling potatoes. Corinne and Ben's house smells like a lovely mixture of dill and vanilla. My parents' house smells like summer wind, even in the winter. Our house usually smells like clean laundry, even when the place is a mess.

Today, our house doesn't smell like us.

Today marked the beginning of a large transformation: the neighbors who are buying our house started moving things into our now-empty basement, filling the storage area and the playroom with neatly packed and labelled boxes, plastic crates of toys and shoes, and clear bins of Christmas decorations. All of our things that used to be in the basement are now piled into our family room. None of our things are gone from this house yet -- that doesn't happen until this coming Saturday, which is Phase I of our move to Pond House -- but our scent seems to have vanished altogether. I ran a few errands this afternoon and when I returned I noticed that the place did not smell like laundry detergent, but cinnamon. That is not our smell. That is their smell.

At first, it took me by surprise. I started to feel sad about it, but as I looked around I realized that as soon as I packed up the linen closet, boxed up some of my cake pans, and filled the holes in the walls where my crown moulding ledges once hung, the house became a little less mine. The special things about this place that made it uniquely ours are packed in a box or shoved unattractively against a wall, awaiting placement in a moving truck. But in the basement, wrapped securely in bubble wrap and tucked in stacked boxes, a new identity for this house waits, and the smell of cinnamon is announcing its arrival.

I hope that, by this time next week, Pond House is starting to smell like clean laundry.

Education's Places

2006-07-06T15:21:00.000-05:00

In her incarnation as La Lecturess, Flavia blogged about the effect a classroom and other campus spaces have on learning and our perceptions of what "higher education" is and should be. I was thinking about her post as I wandered through my building at Doctoral University this weekend with ST. (We were at a festival near the campus this weekend, and ST wanted to use the "big boy potty" in my building instead of the disgusting porta-potties at the festival. Can't say I blamed him.) Like Lecturess, I snapped some photos to share.

I don't have photos from the institution where I received my (nearly completely useless to me) first Master's degree and so I can't compare that place with Doctoral University. University of Capital City, where I earned an M.A., is a private school that is just completing a series of major campus improvements, improvements that were already well underway as T and I were leaving Western State. New buildings seemed to be going up every week, and nearly every old building has had some sort of facelift. Indeed, I used to work in two buildings on that campus and they no longer exist -- they have been replaced with fancy, state-of-the-art classroom buildings and dormitories that should grace the pages of Architectural Digest. Like Lecturess' description of her INRU, University of Capital City has redesigned its campus to look as though the new buildings are in fact decades old, with lovely hardwood mouldings, stained glass, reclaimed brick facades, and carved, heavy wooden doors. When I attended that university (only 7 years ago), however, my program was housed in a very 1970s concrete structure with ugly gray metal doors, small windows, and a white stucco facade. All of that has been replaced.

One of the (innumerable) things I love about Doctoral University is that the place has always felt solid to me. The old buildings of campus are still old and, although they've been renovated to incorporate new technologies, they still look much like they did when they were built. They are huge stone structures with columns and elaborate carvings, and there are marble columns and iron stair-railings inside. The new buildings -- and they are many -- look new. They are covered in glass and metal, and the sunlight glints off of them so that you can't help but notice their newness. They smell sterile and feel unnaturally cool, and you can hear the high-pitched buzz of computers and televisions everywhere you walk. I like that, as you stroll through campus, the buildings tell a story about the time they were built. This is a huge contrast to University of Capital City, where even the new buildings are designed to look like they've existed for hundreds of years.

I never taught at University of Capital City, but I worked there during the time I was a student, first part-time and then full-time to support T through school. I could never feel attached to that place because it always felt like it was temporary. The school always seemed like it was striving to be something better than it was, something with more history than it had. I felt like the campus was always trying to reinvent itself and to make up an illustrious past that it could use to market itself to prospective students. Even now, when I receive my glossy alumni magazine, I catch myself smirking as I read about the "old days" at University of Capital City and look at the photographs of the old-looking new buildings.

By contrast, Doctoral University has always been real for me. I've loved the place since my first year here, even before I grew to love the community it is in and the people in my program. Doctoral University has never been about flashiness (although it certain does have its flashy points) and pomp; rather, it has always been about research, teaching, education. The photos in its brochures are of people, not buildings: people working in a chemistry lab, people sitting in a classroom, people at a community event. Doctoral University has always been about real life for me. And as I prepare to leave it, that's exactly what it has prepared me for.

* If you happen to know where Doctoral University is by these photos, please don't reveal it. I will take these photos down tomorrow, I think. [Photos Removed]

Breathing Normally

2006-07-05T17:16:00.001-05:00

A few months ago I posted about the tension I was feeling, that knot in my stomach that wouldn't go away, the throbbing in my mind that grew stronger and louder as I contemplated all that I needed to accomplish before we moved to Midwestern State. When I'm really, really stressed, I stop breathing normally -- it's like my lungs won't fully inflate, and my breathing is shallow and uneven.

For the past week, I've never felt better. I'm breathing like a real, live person again, and it feels heavenly. I'm sleeping! I'm eating well! I'm taking walks without feeling like I should be doing something "productive!" I'm playing with ST and really concentrating on him, listening to his stories and funny phrases (newest phrase: instead of "chill out," ST says "chill yourself down!"). I went to Mass on Sunday and didn't pray about anything academic. I attended a music festival this weekend with my family and didn't once think about my dissertation. When I sit down at my desk these days, I don't have the sense of dread that I will have to stay planted here until another page is churned out. I am thinking about things I want to think about, instead of dwelling on things I have to think about.

Everyone told me that life changes after the dissertation defense is successfully concluded, and they were right. It is a different world.

Today I am especially wishing for the dawning of a new day for Ragey and ABDmom. Give 'em all you've got, ladies, and then? Breathe.

Active Academic

2006-06-30T14:57:00.000-05:00

The new academic community blog, an idea hatched just days ago, is up and running. You can find it here.

I'm still not thrilled with the template, and have been trying to find one that is more interesting and allows me to organize the posts in some other way than chronologically. Nonetheless, there are three posts there now for your reading pleasure: a welcome post, a post about grocery list making and meal-planning, and a wonderful piece by Ragey on her weight-loss journey. Look for posts with healthy recipes coming later this week.

If anyone is a website expert and would like to handle the design of the site, I am more than willing to allow your creative side to run wild. I was looking for a food- or exercise-themed site, but didn't find anything inspiring. If you think you'd like to take on this design project, let me know by sending me an email to my address in the left sidebar.

If you left me a comment or email indicating that you'd like to contribute to the new blog, you will receive an official "invite" in the next few days. I'd also love to know what you'd like to write about so that I could organize the blog, at least in the beginning: do you have an inspirational story? advice about balancing work/home life? tips to for de-stressing? great healthy recipes? a link to an interesting article or review of a book that could be useful to all of us? healthy habits or organizational tips that help you? If so, I'd love to hear from you.

But now, time to preapre for the four-day MIL visit. Fortunately, she's the Queen of Healthy Eating, so I may come out of this visit with some very useful information!

Contagious, Etc.

2006-06-29T12:57:00.000-05:00

Remember last Friday, when I had ST's little friend Jack over for the afternoon after his daycare provider refused to watch him? Remember the fever Jack had? Well, now ST has it, the last in a string of neighborhood kids to fall victim to it.

Jack was sick on Thursday, Friday, and part of Saturday. Then the baby next door became sick (this baby and his sister go to Jack's daycare). Then the boy at the end of the cul-de-sac. Then the baby's sister got sick on Tuesday. ST is the last "little" kid to get the fever. All of the other children had Hand Foot and Mouth Disease, a virus that causes fever, a sore throat, and blisters in the mouth, on the hands, and on the feet. So far, ST has only had a fever, and so I'm praying that it was just an anomaly and that he won't get any of the other symptoms.

We had a lovely afternoon yesterday with Corinne and her daughters -- so lovely and action-packed, for that matter, that ST took himself upstairs for a nap just before they left. I thought this was strange, but they had spent the afternoon outside riding their bikes, playing soccer, blowing bubbles, and dancing. He woke up after about an hour, his little ears bright red and seeming not quite himself. Sure enough, the thermometer read 101.5 degrees. ST loves to take medicine of any kind, and so when I asked him if he needed Tylenol he eagerly agreed to take it. (When he was 9 months old he had severe reflux problems and had to be on an expensive baby version of Prevacid. Even though the stuff tasted like baking soda dissolved in vinegar, he eagerly slurped it up. Gross.)

Anyway, after the Tylenol he seemed completely fine. I kept him inside. I also decided to keep him home from daycare today, despite the fact that he seems to be perfectly healthy (no fever, no loss in appetite, and definitely no blistering) -- I didn't want to risk the health of the other children if he really does have something. I'll probably keep him home tomorrow, too, even though he'll be bored out of his mind.

*****

In other news, we have had good news on Pond House. We are moving a bunch of our furniture to New Town on July 15, and we just received news from the seller that we can move things directly into the house then instead of to a storage facility. Also, we've also been told that we can move into the house on July 29 without charge, even though we don't close until August 2. Cooperative sellers: that's a good thing.

Just Do It

2006-06-28T20:45:00.000-05:00

Update: Wow! The response to this is already greater than I anticipated, and that's awesome. I think this should be a low-key, fun promotion of healthy living, tailored to the relatively sedentary academic lifestyle. I'm eager to get started; if no one minds, I will write up the first "Fitness Friday" post tomorrow with some ideas to get the ball rolling, and we can then decide what to do from there. Still looking for a catchy, fun group name, however -- anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Update II: Actually, I really like the idea of starting a new blog for this plan. That way, we can keep this separate from academic postings and everyone could contribute on an on-going basis. Do you all want me to do this, or are there volunteers? I'm happy to do it if no one else wants to.

Update III: I've set up a new blog for this on Blogger. I was going to do it on Wordpress, AD, but it looked like you had to be a Wordpress blogger to contribute, so I decided to go with Blogger since that's what most of us already use. (But Wordpress templates are lovely!) I'll have it ready for posting by tomorrow. If you think you'd like to be a content contributor (in addition to being a commenter), send me an email using the address in my left sidebar.

My gorgeous friend PhdMe recently posted about her frustrations with feeling unfit and unattractive (even though we all know that, in reality, she's probably just as lovely as her writing is or more so). I could relate. As I wrote in my comment to her, I have never felt as unhealthy as I do now: it's a lethal and lethargic combination of dissertation-related eating habits (goldfish crackers were my weakness, along with chocolate milk), lack of exercise (unless you count pacing around the office trying to think of how to conclude a paragraph, or running books back to the library), and lack of the ability or desire to get dressed up to go out (who can relax and have fun when there's Chapter Six to write?). My half-serious suggestion was to start a Post-Dissertation Fitness Group. I think I'm wholly serious about it now.

Let's figure it out together. Here are some ideas that have been floating around in my head:

1.) Someone could be in charge of setting the week's goals for exercise (e.g., 10 minutes a day, 25 minutes a day, or suggest an activity to do). Each of us could then post when we accomplished the goal, and also when we did not. For me, accountability helped to get the dissertation written -- accountability to Mon, ABDmom, phdme, B*, Articulate Dad, Peri, etc. -- and perhaps accountability would help all of us here, too.

2.) We could post healthy recipes to share. We could even decide on a week's healthy ingredient (e.g., blueberries) and try to incorporate that ingredient throughout the week's meals.

3.) We could each dedicate one day of the week on which to post our progress, how we're feeling, successe and failures.

4.) Everyone could pay me a low, one-time $60 initiation fee. You could pay in installments, or I could bill your credit.... wait. You don't like that idea? Remember, I have Pond House to renovate! Stop being so stingy!

5.) We could post links to health-related articles, perhaps based on activities we've chosen (e.g., health benefits of running, safety tips from B*'s course on Rollerblading (!)) or nutrition research. Or if we read something in a magazine, we could post a citation. (Goodness knows we're all pros at citation.)

What do you think? What ideas do you have? Suggestions for a catchy group name? It may sound a little hokey, but it's at least a start. Even if you're feeling completely fit and healthy, you could join, too and be inspiring! It's summer: it's time to break the bonds of the computer and spend a little time taking care of the body that houses our most precious asset -- our nerdy brains.

Who's with me? (Note: it will be considerably less fun if I have to do this by myself.)

Like a Book

2006-06-27T09:13:00.000-05:00

After turning in my neatly-formatted dissertation to the graduate school for review (three days before the deadline -- a first for a Last-Minute Lucy like myself), I had lunch with one of my advisors, Prof. C.

One of the things I really like about Prof. C. is that he doesn't sugarcoat anything. If he is dissatisfied with my research, for example, he'll tell me in the nicest possible way and then give me useful feedback so that I can make the research better. Similarly, if he likes something, he'll tell me to my face, which I think is rare in academia. (We'd all be less insecure in academia if the praise was as forthcoming as the critiques!) Over lunch we chatted about my dissertation, some aspects of which he really likes, and some aspects he really doesn't like. There are some aspects of it he doesn't like simply because they are not directly associated with My Field, but rather with the field of the Outside Committee Member -- a field Prof. C. doesn't completely understand (and neither do I, but I'm getting there).

"The one thing I like best about your dissertation is that it reads like a book," Prof. C. said between bites of his salad. "It reads like a book already."

I wasn't sure if this was a compliment. Should social science research read like a book? "Thanks," I said weakly.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and started to explain himself. "I've read dozens of dissertations in my time here," he said, "and yours is one of three that I can envision as a book. Not at a major press since the subject matter is so specific, but the subject is interesting enough and your writing is elegant enough that I think you should seriously consider a book."

This took me completely by surprise. I have never envisioned my dissertation as a book; honestly, until now I've only thought of it as a burden or a hurdle, something required to accomplish a larger goal. I thought I'd get an article or two out of it, nothing more. I've never even wanted to write a book. But now he has me thinking about it. On the one hand, the thought of doing more work on this project is completely abhorrent to me, as the dissertation would require a major overhaul and I am sick to death of it. But on the other hand, the subject is interesting and work like mine in topic and methodology has been published by academic presses in the not-so-distant past. So it's not out of the realm of possibility.

This week I will pack up the piles and piles of materials I used to write the dissertation. Maybe within the next few months, however, I will have to pull them all out again for another look.

Relaxed (All Caps) (Heading 1) (Center)

2006-06-26T00:00:00.000-05:00

Until about 9:00pm tonight, I was having quite a lovely weekend.

After a hellish Friday, I had some time to myself on Saturday while T and ST went to a local parade, a church carnival (they crashed it -- it was a Methodist church and they had lots of inflatable slides and jumping castles ST couldn't resist), and a movie. It was fun to be in the house alone without anything pressing to do, so I took my time tidying the house, making the week's meal plan, grocery shopping, and finding a belated birthday present to send to little Hans in Germany. Before T and ST returned, I even had time to curl up with one of my favorite books of all time, Anna Karenina. I read this book for the first time in ninth grade and adored it, and it was my absolute favorite book until I read War and Peace, which is now at the top of the list. A new translation of Anna Karenina came out a few years ago and my MIL bought it for my birthday the year it came out. Thus far, it is a wonderful read; I'm enjoying it even more than I did the last time I read it so many years ago.

T and I were able to get out later Saturday afternoon to do some appliance shopping, which actually was no fun at all. We were completely overwhelmed by the options available, and thus far have only decided on a range and refrigerator. (Why is a bottom-freezer refrigerator with a drawer -- versus a swing-out door -- so difficult to find?) I think I've also convinced T that a front-loader washer is the way to go, although the price jump between top-loaders and front-loaders is considerable ($300 or less to $800 or more, just for the washer). After an exhausting two hours, we headed to Corinne and Ben's house, where we'd dropped ST. That was at 7:00pm, and as is usually the case when we see Corinne and Ben, we didn't leave until around 10:30pm! It is impossible to capture just how much I love -- love -- these people.

Today was mostly nice, too. After Mass we all decided to pack a picnic lunch and head to a state park for a hike. This was a fantastic idea, since the weather was heavenly today and a far cry from the stifling heat and humidity of the past few weeks. ST was thrilled to see a fawn in the woods, to be the first to spot a blue jay, and to witness a knock-down-drag-out squirrel fight. We ended our hike just in time; as soon as we got in the car, a line of severe thunderstorms began their journey through our town.

The end of the day has been considerably less relaxing as I spent it putting the finishing formatting touches on the dissertation, which I will submit to the graduate school tomorrow. (I should have submitted it weeks ago when it was ready, but I was hoping to do a first and final deposit after the defense since my defense was scheduled before the first deposit deadline.) It is possible that formatting the dissertation is more frustrating that writing the thing. Two abstracts! Four copies of the title page! Three single-spaces between figures and the text! Special margins! It was driving me insane, and I actually didn't have much to do since the dissertation was written in the template the graduate school provides. I think it looks pretty nice now: the table of contents is working, the table of figures is correct, and the bibliography is tidy and complete. God willing, I'll have an uneventful submission tomorrow.

After the submission, I'm looking forward to this week. Lunch with Corinne and her daughters on Wednesday, work on syllabi for the fall Tuesday and Thursday, and preparing for MIL's arrival on Saturday. I'm excited to see MIL, who I haven't seen since Christmas -- she's an amazing cook, is always full of surprises for ST (surprises that usually involve bugs, which he loves), and always appreciative of the effort we put in to please her while she's here. She'll be here until Tuesday morning. And after that? Well, after that the packing and the goodbyes begin in earnest.

First Fruits

2006-06-23T19:27:00.000-05:00

Although ST was more than a handful today, after Jack left and he had my full attention again he was back to his normal, sweet self.

The afternoon turned out to be momentous: the first tomato from ST's beloved tomato plant was ripe and ready for picking, and ST did the honors just before dinner. We sliced into it and ST had the first taste, declaring it the best tomato he'd ever eaten. (He adores tomatoes -- eats them like apples. No lycopene deficiency here.) I had a taste and indeed, it was a fine specimen. After being forced to buy rather tasteless and mealy supermarket tomatoes, I was almost shocked by how positively tomatoey this was: fresh, sweet, and earthy.

We had ST's tomato on top of Southwestern Grilled Turkey Burgers (from the current issue of Everyday Food) this evening, along with fresh grapes and lemonade. Quite lovely, if I do say so myself. ST mostly ignored his turkey to savor every last bite of his first homegrown tomato.

Get Me Out Of Here!

2006-06-23T12:47:00.000-05:00

Today was supposed to be a relaxing day. ST and I were supposed to spend the bulk of the day with Corinne and her daughters. I was going to make us all huge taco salads and real chocolate pudding with sweetened whipping cream, and the kids were going to ride their bikes outside while Corinne and I chatted and played with Baby Eva.

Instead, I woke up today at 5:30 am with a splitting headache, the kind that made it difficult for me to walk safely down the stairs to get some Tylenol.

At 7:30am, the phone rang. It was my neighbor. Her son, Jack, had been sick the previous afternoon and now her daycare provider refused to care for him this morning. She wanted to know if it was possible if I could look after Jack, who was no longer running a fever and seemed to be perfectly happy and healthy. I knew she couldn't afford to miss a day of work because she is going on vacation tomorrow, and so I agreed to watch him. He's a sweet boy and he and ST are great playmates.

By 9:00am, it was clear to me that Jack was not OK. He was lethargic and his eyes were sunken in. After I managed a two-minute shower, I sat down on the couch while ST and Jack watched Sesame Street. Jack cuddled up to me and I could feel his little forehead blazing.

During this, ST was being an annoying terror. Shouting, bouncing off walls, bored out of his mind because although one of his favorite playmates was in the house, there was no one to play with. And each time Jack snuggled closer to me, ST grew more jealous and even more annoying. "She is MY mom, Jack," ST lectured, "and you should NOT be here with her!"

At 9:30am I took Jack's temperature (and, at his insistence, ST's as well) -- 101 degrees. Jack looked miserable. I tried to call his mom at work to tell her that he really was sick and ask permission to give him Tylenol, but she didn't answer. I left a message. It's almost 1:00pm now and I still haven't heard back from her. I gave Jack the Tylenol anyway and put him to bed. After much pestering from ST, Jack fell asleep in my bedroom at around 11:00am.

So, while Jack slept I attempted to play with ST. As soon as we started to play, however, my headache from earlier in the morning returned. I had to call Corinne and break off our lunch meeting because 1.) I felt like crap; and 2.) I didn't want her to expose her children to whatever Jack has. This made both of us very sad -- as I've written before, I treasure these lunch dates!

I made ST lunch and tried to get him to take a nap; although he's rubbing his eyes, he will not stay in bed for more than six seconds. He is literally driving me insane. INSANE. He's cranky because he didn't get to sleep until late last night, and he's mad because I can't take him outside while Jack is sleeping in the house. Not only is he insisting on a snack (just half an hour after a lunch of Penne and Tomato-Cream Basil sauce, sliced peaches, a full glass of milk, and a snickerdoodle cookie), but he keeps asking -- over and over and over again -- "Where's Jack? Where is he? Is he sleeping? Should I check on him? Is he awake NOW? What about NOW? Mom, where's Jack? Is Jack still here? Mom? Mom? MOM?!"

I am only posting now to vent my frustrations. ST is right here with me, making a mess out of old copies of my dissertation. I don't even care.

The day is only half over. If this house had a padded room, I would lock myself in it.

Betty!

2006-06-23T09:08:00.000-05:00

Confidential to Betty: email me (address in sidebar). I miss you already and it's only been five seconds. Whatever happened in your world has made mine less bright, too!

Old Home Week

2006-06-22T22:51:00.000-05:00

The first week of graduate school, back in August 2000, my new classmates and I went for lunch at a small, smoky restaurant that was famous as a graduate student hangout. The food wasn't very good and I was choking on the cigarette smoke, but it was fun to get to know my new colleagues and to try to find my place within the large group of 13 new first-year graduate students. I remember chatting about our courses and the impossible statistics courses we had to endure, and remember Bart telling us all that he already knew what he was going to write his dissertation about and that he was going to finish graduate school in three years. We all scoffed at Bart, but secretly I felt inadequate because I had no idea what I would write a dissertation about, or if I'd ever really write one.

After that first year, several of the students in my cohort either left the program to go elsewhere or dropped out of graduate school entirely. We were left with a group of eight students, and I became good friends with three or four of them. My other close friends were in the cohort above me.

Last year, most of my best friends left for their first jobs as Assistant Professors. Ms. Superstar, the Golden Boy, SuperTA, and Loudmouth were my dearest friends in graduate school: Ms. Superstar (cohort above mine) was silly but motivated, and ended up publishing three articles in our top disciplinary journal before she graduated. Golden Boy turned out to be one of my best friends ever, and could literally do no wrong -- he graduated in five years, took a great job, published like a maniac, and has a book coming out already. SuperTA was one of the finest instructors I've ever seen, but never finished his Ph.D., and Loudmouth took a fantastic job at an R1 school and his book manuscript is now being courted by two major academic presses.

Aside from these four, I have other friends who were at Doctoral University this year. There was Bart, who I was never too close to but whose career I cared about, and then All Heart, who is one of the sweetest people I know but who had a rough time in graduate school. There's also The Don, whose work I don't understand (too many equations!) but whose friendship I really have come to value. These people are my friends.

Today I was on campus collecting signatures for various things, and I ran into All Heart. We ended up having a fabulous lunch together at the very same restaurant we'd visited as first-year graduate students. All Heart defended his dissertation in April, and so it was fun to talk to him now that we were BOTH "doctors."

We came back to campus after lunch and All Heart helped me with a few dissertation formatting concerns I had. As we sat in the office, The Don walked in. I hadn't seen him in about six months! I thought about how lucky I was to run into old friends. The Don told me that, as we spoke, Bart was finally defending his prospectus after six years in graduate school (which was nothing like what he thought he'd write about when he started graduate school).

But then my day got even better when there was a knock on All Heart's office door and when I answered it, Golden Boy was standing outside! I was so happy I nearly cried -- Golden Boy is an Assistant Professor at West Coast University, and I hadn't seen him since September. I swear I squeezed him so hard he almost passed out. Seeing him in the week I defended made the experience complete for me. (I was the first one to see him when he defended his dissertation -- now a book -- last April.)

I stayed on campus all day, reminiscing with my old friends, clutching Golden Boy's arm as we all walked through the downtown area to visit old graduate school haunts. How wonderful it was to be there with people I knew back when none of us had any idea what the future would hold, walking into futures that looked incredibly, gleefully bright.

Joy

2006-06-21T15:37:00.000-05:00

I promised ST that today he would get a special surprise. I've been building him up for this special surprise for three days, and he had no clue what it was. (His first guess? "The dentist?! Are we really going to the dentist?" He loves the dentist.) This morning, as we finished getting ready, I asked him if he wanted me to tell him what the special surprise was. He nodded enthusiastically and then put his ear near my mouth as I whispered, "We're going to a special movie."

He gave me a very serious look. "Is it... is it that car movie?"

I nodded.

ST put his hands over his mouth and started jumping up and down like I had just told him we could have ice cream for supper. He was spinning around on the carpet, throwing his arms up in the air, and shouting, "The car movie! The car movie!" He has wanted to see this movie for months -- I think it was one of the previews when we saw Curious George in February. The rest of the morning and early afternoon was a countdown to the car movie showtime.

I've said before that the thing I love the most about ST is his capacity for joy. Honestly, he is the happiest person I know, and gets excited about absolutely everything. Life is always good for ST. ST's happiness has always been infectious, and each time I hear his silly laugh I can't stop myself from laughing right along with him. As we sat in the movie theater this afternoon, I waited for that laugh from ST and was not disappointed. He was always the first one to laugh at the animated cars on-screen, sometimes shaking his head back and forth and saying, "Oh, man that's funny!" (The "oh man" is new to his vocabulary. He's wearing it out.)

After the movie (which was adorable and features Owen Wilson's voice, which was a bonus for me) I asked ST if he's like to go have ice cream for a treat. "Can I have black raspberry?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. When I told him he could, the jumping and laughing ensued again. After the ice cream was gone and it was time to return to our car, he was nearly giddy with excitement when he realized that it was pouring rain and we'd have to run outside in the puddles. "We are going to get REALLY wet!" he said, laughing as he dashed down the soaked sidewalk, taking care to stomp in every puddle he saw.

I followed him eagerly, and soon we were both completely drenched. When we reached our car I buckled ST into his car seat and he said, breathless, "Mom, this is such a fun day!" Indeed, it is.

Done

2006-06-20T22:45:00.000-05:00

I apologize for being so secretive about today's defense, and I am touched by all of your sweet notes of congratulations on my previous post. In actuality, only a few people knew the defense was today: T, my sister, and ABDmom. I found out that the defense was scheduled for today in the middle of May, and at that point I felt like the dissertation was so far from being done that I didn't actually believe that a June 20 defense date was feasible. I submitted my full draft to my advisors on May 31, they returned comments to me on June 6, I revised until June 11, and the defense was today. It all happened very, very quickly.

I think my department is unusual in that the full committee only sees the final draft that was approved by the candidate's advisor(s). This means that 3/5 of my committee did not see the dissertation until June 11 -- the last time they saw any of my work was at my prospectus defense. What this means is that the final portion of the defenses in our department are typically reserved for revision suggestions from the non-advising committee members, and a two-week revision period post-defense. I have a friend who defended in early May, for example, who was asked to write another 5-7 pages post-defense.

As I prepared for the defense over the past few days, I was very nervous about the fact that three of the professors on my committee were seeing this dissertation for the first time, and I was certain that they would have millions of nit-picky comments for revision. My stomach churned at the thought of writing more, of researching more, of looking at this dissertation for another few weeks. I went into the defense feeling very jittery indeed.

After the defense started, however, I could feel myself relax. I was on my own turf here -- I could answer my committee members' questions with relative ease, and I was not at all uncomfortable admitting that there were questions I couldn't answer immediately. For the first time in a long time, I felt confident in my research and proud of what I had written. The discussion of my dissertation lasted about an hour and fifteen minutes, and then I was sent out of the room while the committee deliberated. Only ten minutes later, they called me back into the room and said, "Congratulations, Dr. [My Last Name]! You're done!"

After the other committee members left, Prof. C and Prof. G remained in the room with me. Prof. C. hugged me tightly and brushed a tear off of my cheek and said, "I'm so proud of you." And Prof. G. -- well, just one look from him reduced me to tears again. I pulled myself together and asked them what I had to do for the final draft. "Which sections do I have to work on?" I asked, paging through the document.

Prof. G. smiled. "Well, the committee didn't recommend any changes to the text. Just fix some of the typos and make sure everything is in the bibliography. No revisions otherwise."

I was flabbergasted. No revisions? This was a dream come true!

A few hours later I returned home to call T, my parents, and my sister. Then T, ST and I went out for a quick dinner at a new cafe in town and later enjoyed hot fudge sundaes while we watched a thunderstorm roll in. After ST went to bed T and I signed our mortgage paperwork for the bank, and then I retired to the family room to watch Alton Brown make granola bars. It was a perfectly leisurely evening.

I really can't believe that it's over. And I can't believe how relaxed I feel tonight, how I'm finally breathing properly again. Bit by bit, the pieces of a new life are falling into place.

I will sleep well tonight.

Professor Me, Ph.D.

2006-06-20T13:35:00.000-05:00

Have a look at that big old "to do" list on my left sidebar.

I'll be back later with more details, but right now I can tell you that this is one of the happiest days of my entire life (and I've had some pretty good days).

Notes on Stuff

2006-06-16T13:53:00.000-05:00

A completely non-academic post about stuff, because that's what I'm thinking about this hot and humid afternoon.

Bitter With Baggage Seeks Same: my sister sent me this book yesterday because she said I sounded stressed on the phone and needed something light to read. She was right! I laughed out loud at the photographs of these stupid plastic chickens, and then laughed some more at the thought of the grown, educated woman who spends her life posing these chickens and photographing them. If you see this in a bookstore, pick it up and flip through it. It'll be sure to bring a smile to your face. Alternatively, you can pop over to my house and page through it in my now-devoid-of-charm living room (all the cool stuff is packed).

Kenmore Oasis Washer and Dryer: I have been doing a little laundry-room shopping for Pond House, trying to figure out what features I want and need in new appliances. I stopped at Sears last week and am now completely in love with this set, although they are expensive. I really wanted a front-loader for the water and energy savings, but I like the convenience of a top loader -- this pair satisfies both of those desires. But are they really worth $2000? Maybe I'll just end up going with a cheaper front-loader, like this.

My possessed refrigerator: whenever prospective buyers asked us what we didn't like about our current house, the only thing I could come up with was the refrigerator. I HATE this refrigerator and will never buy a side-by-side again. Total waste of money for a truckload of reasons, and a new reason was added at 4:30am today: T and I woke up to the sound of running water, and went into the kitchen to discover that our water dispenser was spurting water at the kitchen island of its own accord, and we had gallons on the floor. We finally got the water to the refrigerator turned off and also turned off the icemaker/water dispenser feature. But guess what? Despite the fact that I've removed the entire icemaking unit and it's turned off, the refrigerator is still pretending it is making ice! So, I'm dealing with a loud whirrrrrrring sound emanating from my kitchen. I called for an appointment with our appliance dealer, and they can't squeeze me in until Monday afternoon. Grr.

Aussie Three-Minute Miracle: I love this stuff. I am in desparate need of a haircut, but whenever I use this conditioner my hair feels soft and healthy again. (I have very thick, somewhat coarse hair cut in long layers.) I was showering this morning and T walked in, sniffed the air, and said, "Something miraculous occurring in there?"

Rainbow Pasta Salad: I love pasta salads on hot days, and so I whipped this one up yesterday afternoon. It's a delightful, easy salad that most everyone likes. My modifications: I buy one packet of Good Seasons Zesty Italian dressing and just use that instead of an entire bottle of Italian dressing, I use shredded cheddar instead of mozzarella, I use turkey pepperoni instead of regular pepperoni, and I halve the amount of black olives. Very tasty and light for an oppressively hot day!

Banana Ice Cream: in really hot weather when I forget to turn the air conditioning on, bananas I buy green one day are brown the next. I freeze the brown bananas to make this ice cream, which I did Wednesday night in my favorite superfluous kitchen gadget, the Cuisinart Ice Cream, Frozen Yogurt, and Sorbet machine. It is perfectly sweet, and wonderful when topped with shaved chocolate. Better yet, it's Alton Brown's recipe, and you know how I feel about him. (Sorry, Mon!)

U-Hauls: mmm, yes, it IS as exciting as it sounds! T and I have decided to make two trips to New Town, mostly to accomodate the buyers of our house and to make full use of my moving allowance from SMU. We're going to take one 24-ft. U-Haul to New Town on July 15, loaded with non-upholstered big furniture and boxes, which we'll probably put in a storage unit there. This will make room in our current house for our neighbor's things -- they want to move some stuff in then, since they close the following week with their buyers (July 21) and don't officially close with us until July 28. We're praying that the realtor/seller of Pond House will let us store things in Pond House garage until our official closing date of August 2, but I'm not holding my breath.

That's all for today. Off to clean the kitchen (again) before ST gets home from his last Friday at daycare. Starting next week, he's only there three days a week -- hurray! I'd actually like to cut him down to two days, but don't want to make too severe a cut in Lauren's (his daycare provider) weekly income. Enough. Anyway, stick around for a thrilling post about ST's big baseball debut!

Best Friends

2006-06-15T14:19:00.000-05:00

In the fall of 2002, I was working outside in my yard when the woman who lived next door to me, Corinne, stopped by to chat. It was fun to talk with her, since she wasn't usually outside often and I didn't know much about her or her husband. In fact, although we'd lived next door to each other for a full year, we'd never been inside each other's houses or even knew each other's last names. Corinne and I started a long conversation about teaching (she's an elementary school teacher and I was about to embark on my first TA assignment), and before long T and Corinne's husband Ben joined in and the conversation wandered to other topics.

Before long, three hours had passed. It was dark. We were all still outside, talking and laughing, and Ben and T had wandered inside for a beer while Corinne and I admired each other's flower gardens and traded tips. I invited her inside my house, and soon the four of us were gathered around our dining room table, just like we'd known each other all of our lives.

Ben and Corinne are so much like T and me it's uncanny. For starters, we were married on the exact same day in the same year and at the same time (June 19, 19999 at 2:00pm) in a Catholic church. Corinne and I are Catholic; T and Ben are Lutheran. Corinne has a sister who is the same age as my brother Rob. Before ST was born, T and I used to go to the movies at least once a month, and invariably we'd find Corinne and Ben at the same movie on the same day, sitting just across from us. We'd run into them at the same stores. Corinne and I have showed up to occasions more than once wearing the same outfit, or very similar clothes. Ben and T work a block from each other. We bought our new cars on the same day, completely unexpectedly (even now, we have identical Hondas -- same year, same color). When they moved, it was only across the cul-de-sac, and Corinne will still sometimes wave to me from her kitchen window as she's preparing dinner. To top it off, Corinne and I found out we were pregnant on the same day, and ST was born just three days after Corinne's daughter M (ST's best friend). In fact, ST was born on M's due date.

It's safe to say that Corinne, Ben, and M are our best friends here. Getting together with them is completely stress-free and always fun.

Ever since the month after ST and M were born, Corinne and I have been getting together every Wednesday during the summer for long, leisurely lunches and playtime for the kids. This is our fourth summer together. We trade off hosting, and the host provides a no-fuss lunch and dessert and a tolerance for a messy living room as the kids drag out every toy they own. We usually meet late in the morning and are rarely home before 4:00pm. It is a lovely way to spend the day.

Yesterday was our first summer lunch meeting of this year. ST and M don't get to see each other much during the school year, since they go to daycares in different towns, and so yesterday they were bouncing off walls with excitement to be in each other's company again. And for me to be "reunited" with Corinne after a long winter was heavenly. We never run out of things to say, never run out of "I can't believe my husband did XYZ," or "My mother-in-law is driving me nuts" stories. She is one person I can honestly say I never grow tired of, someone I could talk to for hours every day.

Corinne and Ben had another baby this January, lovely baby Eva who looks just like her dad. When Corinne told me she was pregnant last summer, I was thrilled for her and also a little sad, since I knew that this time, we wouldn't be sharing our pregnancies. I told her about my sadness, and how I felt like our paths were starting to diverge ever so slightly. She agreed, and we cried a little about it, not knowing what the future would hold. This past December, as we all rung in the New Year together, we told Corinne and Ben that we were moving to Midwestern State. That same sadness came over us all -- the paths were diverging even further. "Even when I don't see you for weeks," Corinne said, "it's always just so nice to look over at your house and know that you're there." I know. I know.

I am 100% certain that Corinne and I will be friends for the rest of our lives. A lot of my friendships have been "disposable," in that they were fun while they lasted but they weren't worth the effort to keep up when one half of the friendship moved away (usually me). But with Corinne, the connection we share is so complete that I cannot bear the thought of never speaking to her again. I'm sad at the thought that I won't be here to see M -- who I've known since the hour after she was born -- and ST go to school together. I'm sad that I won't see Baby Eva grow up month by month. Time is passing too quickly.

For now, I am etching the sweet memories of Corinne and her family onto my brain, savoring every moment of our relaxing summers together. We will certainly get together after we move -- our home here is only five hours away from our home in New Town -- but it will never be the same. Like everything else about my life in just a few short weeks, nothing will be the same again.

Clap... And They Will Come

2006-06-13T22:22:00.000-05:00

Looking out the window in ST's bedroom, 9:20pm tonight.

ST: Mom! I see a star. I think it's Venus.

Me: Yes, you're right. That is Venus. Good memory.

ST: Aliens live on Venus.

Me: How do you know that?

ST: Emily [girl at daycare] told me. And a rocketship can come and take us there.

Me: Really? How will the rocketship know to come and get us?

ST: You just clap really loud [he claps] and then the rocket will come. And then you can visit the aliens on Venus.

Me: Well, you just clapped, and there's no rocketship coming. I wonder why?

ST: I'll clap again. [He claps incessantly.]

After a whole bunch of clapping and no rocketship, I put ST to bed and go to my office across the hall. I hear him slip out of bed and tiptoe back to his open window. Suddenly, I hear him screaming out the window and into the quiet neighborhood:

ST: Aliens! COME AND GET ME! I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO BED!

I've Got a Crush on You

2006-06-12T10:49:00.000-05:00

Is it OK to have a high-schoolish crush on a committee member? (Wait -- don't answer that!)

I just returned from a meeting with the outside member of my dissertation committee. I try to meet with him every three months or so, just to keep him in the loop about departmental procedures, deadlines, progress, etc. Every time I meet with him, I get this fluttery feeling in my chest, my face gets hot, and I smile bigger and laugh more often (which is hard to do, since I already laugh a lot). I don't get nervous around him, but I definitely get that "oh-he's-so-great-I-hope-I'm-not-a-dork" feeling.

His attributes (to substantiate the crush):

1.) He's a brilliant and world-renowned legal scholar;

2.) He's a native German speaker, so has a slight accent that is heavenly;

3.) He has a silly sense of humor that totally meshes with mine;

4.) He talks about how great his life is, but not in an arrogant way -- more in a "I can't believe I'm so lucky" type of way;

5.) He's handsome in a very European way;

6.) Unlike a lot of European scholars I know, he's engaging and very human, not hesitating to get carried away talking about his beautiful, smart wife or his dogs;

7.) My advisor (Prof. G.) "interviewed" him for me before I asked him to be on my committee, and Prof. G. thinks he's fantastic, too. With a sly grin, Prof. G. described Outside Member as "dashing." How appropriate!

8.) He thinks the work I'm doing is interesting, and admires me for taking on a huge subject most people in my discipline don't touch;

9.) When I enter his office, he jumps up from his chair, holds his arms up, and says, "Ah, [My First Name]! How wonderful to see you again!" Then he does the air-kiss on the cheeks thing;

10.) At my prospectus defense he was the one who did most of the talking (because he's the one who knows the most about one of the processes I write about), and a lot of his sentences began with, "You know, [My First Name] is right about this..."

See, what's not to love?

So, now I'm going to be on Cloud Nine for the rest of the day, or at least until about 6:00pm, when my real Prince Charming comes home. (And T is, mostly, a prince. If only he had an accent...)

It Doesn't Grow on Trees

2006-06-10T23:00:00.000-05:00

The cash is flying out of this place lately, and it's making me nervous. Nervous because my June 1 paycheck was my last from Doctoral University (the end of my 12-month fellowship) and it was less than usual because they had to take out three months' worth of health and dental insurance contributions, and nervous because my first paycheck from Smallish Midwestern University won't arrive until October 1 (we start in September). Nervous because we just paid the exorbitant (ridiculous) fee for T's Very Important Task ($850). Nervous because we just plunked down earnest money for Pond House ($2,000). Nervous because I had to pay my tuition for this summer semester ($650). Nervous because I had to double-pay for daycare this week ($105 for Lauren, who has a "bereavement pay" clause in her contract, and $75 for my back-up carer across the street). That's almost $4,000 that flew out of our account this week.

T, of course, is not worried about any of this. Honestly, I am so glad that I married a man who is so level-headed about money, and who has his finger constantly on the pulse of every account we have. But this is exactly the kind of financial scenario that makes me a little crazy, as I described in a previous post. It scares me to see the numbers on our money market and savings accounts go down by thousands in a single week, and as I think ahead to July, I can feel my chest tighten. (July will be our most difficult month, since we have to pay our full mortgage plus moving expenses on just T's salary -- which is completely adequate, but we're accustomed to having my stipend money, too. August and September won't be too bad since we won't have a mortgage payment at all, and if T finds a job by then it'll be smooth sailing.) T's view on this is that we have no reason to panic: our savings will be more than enough to carry us through a few lean months, and we won't need to draw on that for long, anyway, since he'll have a job. Once T's job situation is clear, I'll feel a million times better about all of this.

Small consolation for this worry wart: we had a garage sale today with our neighbors and sold a couch, an area rug, and a runner for $90. We hoped to sell more (there are so many things we just don't want to move!), but it was pouring rain here all day and so the furniture shoppers were not out in force and furniture is all we really had to sell.

I have to be positive, though. What is happening to me now is what I've always wanted to happen -- I am slowly, slowly, slowly beginning my new life as an academic, as a professor. I've wanted this since I was in high school. I suppose skipping a few months of organic produce (my favorite luxury) will all be worth it in the end.

Why Proofread?

2006-06-09T13:57:00.000-05:00

I was reading through Chapter Three of the dissertation this morning before breakfast, and came upon this sentence:

"I have put forward five hypotheses that direct the case studies that follow in Chapters Five, Six, and Seven. These case studies cover court casennnnnnnn jskldfjslk99999s that originated LDKJFWIOERU@#$& and were referred to the WOEUIRWOEIRUjjjjjjjjjjJSLKDFJ uling. In this chapter I have also outlined how I examine the cases and what sources I used to construct them."

Indeed, all of the documents that were open on my computer last night were plagued by this strange gibberish. There could be only one explanation.

"ST!" I called downstairs to him. "Were you on my computer again?"

He ran upstairs to my office to explain. "I couldn't sleep in my bed last night and so I did some work for you."

Note to self: completely shut-down computer before retiring to bed.

Alton Brown Will Get This Dissertation Done

2006-06-08T22:40:00.000-05:00

I just put the finishing touches on a section of revisions I've been battling with for most of the day, and I really needed a break from staring at my computer. So, I headed downstairs to find something non-dissertation related to watch for half an hour before getting back to the dissertation -- trading one screen for another.

I flipped on the TV and went straight for the Food Network and there, amidst the trash that is on television these days, was my single beacon of good taste and science, the only person worth watching on television: Alton Brown.

What's more: Alton Brown making galettes, my absolute favorite dessert to make. He chills the butter with the flour for flakiness! He incorporates a little room temperature butter for tenderness! He has a tiny tailor's ruler to measure dough thickness! Anjou pears! Blueberries! Honestly, the man can do no wrong. I can practically taste the galette in my mouth right now, and if I had blueberries in the house I would be very tempted to roll out some dough and throw a galette in the oven. (I have nectarines, but I've tried a nectarine galette before and it wasn't very thrilling.)

For some people, a shopping trip is motivation to finish working. For others, it's a vacation. For me, getting back into my kitchen and baking is motivation enough for me to get this dissertation off of my desk. Out with the dissertation, in with the dough. I just can't wait. Alton, I'm coming.

(And Alton, if you're reading this -- one of your perfect little salt cellars would make an awesome graduation present. I'm totally worth it.)

Awkward Me

2006-06-07T22:21:00.000-05:00

I was not a regular viewer of Friends when it was on, but every now and again I'll see a rerun when I'm ironing. A few weeks ago, I caught the episode where Chandler is trying to propose to Monica in a restaurant, but then Monica's ex-boyfriend Tom Selleck strides in and ruins his plans. Chandler introduces himself to Tom Selleck's date by saying, "Hi, I'm Chandler. I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable." That is so me, and I hate it.

If I have the chance to write a sentiment in a card, I can express something heartfelt quite well. For example, I am a stickler for thank-you notes, and try to send one for every gift I receive within three days of receiving the gift. When ST was born, one of T's clients sent us a very thoughtful and unexpected gift, and I sent her a thank-you note immediately. A few days later, she called me at home to personally thank me for the lovely thank-you note. She said she'd never received a note that so thoroughly expressed heartfelt gratitude. So, you see, I do have social graces in me -- at least on paper I do. I am not a total oaf.

When I am speaking to someone face-to-face or on the phone, however, I have no idea what to say in certain social situations, and so I try to keep the conversation really light-hearted and then end up saying things that, as I mull them over in my head later, sound really stupid. Today, for example, I brought a huge platter of fresh fruit (apples, two kinds of grapes, blueberries, nectarines, and strawberries) to our daycarer's house, knowing that her family would probably be overwhelmed with flowers after her stepson's funeral yesterday. At first, I was OK. I hugged Lauren and she cried, and when she looked up at me I just said, "I cannot imagine, Lauren. I just can't imagine what you're going through." This, of course, made her cry more, but I suppose that's to be expected. But it's like I couldn't hold that serious tone too long -- I just had to find a way out of it.

We started chatting and I actually made her laugh, which I think was nice for her. But then I could feel myself pulling away, trying to pull the conversation back to "normal" things, teasing Lauren about the fact that she wants to reopen the daycare tomorrow (which she is doing because she says she needs the kids to make her laugh). And when I saw her husband for a brief moment as he raided the kitchen cupboard for antacid, I couldn't even think of something decent to say to him. I totally froze and said something like, "Oh, gosh, Lyle -- you don't look like you feel well." How stupid is that? Of course he doesn't feel well! His son just died! I am such a dork.

I remember saying ridiculous things to lighten the mood after T's father died. Everyone around me was sobbing constantly, and I just can't do that. It's not like I wasn't sad -- I was very sad. But I can't be sad for a long time, and I can't keep a somber mood going forever. And I think that's horrible. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really experience grief fully. And then I wonder if that's a problem, or if I should be glad that I can mentally/emotionally "move on" so quickly. And then I wonder if I'm offending people by seeming flip when that's not what I intend at all. My Mom says that it doesn't matter what you say in situations like Lauren and Lyle's -- they're just glad you're saying something, glad you're not avoiding them out of fear of awkwardness. I hope that's true.

What I Love and Hate About Academia

2006-06-06T22:17:00.000-05:00

What I Love:

My advisors, who are truly two of the most amazing men on earth and who have always -- always -- had my best interests at heart. My meeting with them today was very productive and made me feel more at ease with the state of the dissertation and the revisions they suggested. Basically, they're both happy with it as it stands, but still want me to polish it a bit more (especially the hypotheses, which I always have trouble with when I'm not doing quantitative work) before I give it to the committee. I am comfortable with what they are asking me to do.

Prof. C. has always been my toughest critic, always skeptical of the approach I'd chosen. I asked him today what he honestly thought of the dissertation. "You know, I like it. It's not what I expected it to be. It's better than I expected, even though it doesn't go as far as I wanted it to go. I wanted something a little different -- I wanted to push you in a slightly different direction -- but to tell you the truth I would sign off on it right now." Whew. Prof. G. is always proud of my work. I sometimes feel like his daughter, and am waiting for him to post my work on his refrigerator. "You're doing important work, you've undertaken a large project, and you've done it well. Some parts are really quite good. Some parts need work, but you have an entire career ahead of you to work on those things." Can you see why I love my advisors? Honestly love them?

What I Hate:

Stupid rules! I really, really, really depise the zillions of rules that "have" to be followed in academia, and I also hate the fact that everyone has their own version of those rules. At the beginning of the day, I was told by a usually reliable source that I needed to have a perfectly formatted dissertation to the Graduate School by the end of the day today -- far in advance of the posted first deposit date. So, I frantically tried (in vain) to get the document ready in the template and to format it perfectly, but it was impossible. I dashed down to the Graduate School offices and begged for mercy, and the administrator there looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Why are you worried about this? The first deposit isn't due for several more weeks!" So, the "reliable source" had been all wrong, and caused me to pull my hair out over stupid details I didn't need to be concerned with until the end of the month. Fortunately, my advisors came to my rescue again, so all is well in my world tonight.

I'm exhausted, though, and I didn't really get anything of substance done today. I literally spent the day riding around between home and campus (20 minutes each way, and I did it three times today), trying frantically to prepare something special for T's birthday while hearing tornado sirens going off in my town. Since we have a nice basement, I've told the woman running the daycare across the street that she is welcome to bring the kids to our basement (her house is on a slab) in the event of a tornado, and so today she took me up on it (ST* was there, too, as she is his back-up carer). With my dissertation on my jump drive in my pocket, I helped referee six petrified preschoolers in my basement while simultaneously writing something sweet in T's birthday card.

At the end of the day, though, there was no tornado (although a funnel cloud was spotted a few blocks from my house), the kids who weren't mine went back to daycare, and we all enjoyed a slice of T's ice cream cake after supper. While I don't expect tomorrow to be any less stressful, I am thankful to have survived the day and to have had a moment to chat with my now-31-year-old husband about OUR Pond House (offer accepted this afternoon).

* I was, however, kind of a crummy Mom today. I yelled at ST for practically everything, since I was feeling pulled in seventeen directions at once. I apologized to him this afternoon, however, and he said, "Oh, that's OK, Mom. I just love you." Sometimes I just want to tuck that kid into my pocket.

The Axe Has Fallen (But I'm Still Standing)

2006-06-05T16:18:00.000-05:00

A quick post before I dash across the street to pick up ST from his temporary daycare arrangement (hard to complain when your back-up daycare is right across the street, such that you can hear your child laughing from your office):

First, I finally received comments on my dissertation draft from Profs. C and G. I have been waiting for them all day long, just feeling the dread creep up inside of me, waiting for that axe to fall and crush any hope of defending this summer. Thankfully, the comments weren't as crushing as I'd feared. Are there revisions to be made? Yes. Are they substantial? Some of them are, yes. Did they point out weaknesses that I didn't already know were there? No. Can I accomplish these revisions within a reasonable timeframe? Yes. I am meeting with my advisors tomorrow morning to discuss the revision process and to get more context for their comments. I am dreading this meeting, too, but I know it will be helpful.

Second, T is in New Town right now because the inspection of Pond House was this morning. He called me this afternoon to tell me that 1.) the home inspection went fantastically well, and Pond House is in great shape for its age; and 2.) the seller/realtor had another offer on the property today. The last bit of news made me feel like vomiting, until T told me that the seller/realtor was willing to accept an offer from us if we made it today, despite the fact that the other offer was higher by $5,000. The seller/realtor said that he knew we were really trying to make this work, and that he wanted to honor the result of our negotiations last week. He also said that he'd give us his paddle boat in the deal, so that made it even better! So, T made an offer this afternoon, and I assume (although I have not heard back from him) that it was accepted. Assuming all goes well, we close August 2.

It's been an eventful day, the start of an eventful week. Left to do: put finishing touches on the bibliography (boring), iron a few shirts to get T through the week, and make T an ice cream cake for his 31st birthday tomorrow (that's all he asked for). I'll be so glad when this week is over.

Sunday School

2006-06-04T13:26:00.000-05:00

Every fourth Sunday, the priest at our church announces to the congregation that there will be a Children's Liturgy just before the readings. On those Sundays, the children of the parish file out of the church and into the connected parish hall, where their teachers read to them and explain the Gospel in a child-friendly way. Every time this has happened in the past, ST has begged me to let him go. I always hesitated, however, since most of the children who paraded out of Mass were at least four or five. ST is only three. Today, however, when ST heard Father W. announce the Children's Liturgy his face brightened and he asked, "Please, please, please, please, please can I go?" I consented, and he literally ran down the aisle to be with the other kids.

It was strange being in Mass without him. He's been my partner at Mass for three years now, and I'm not used to being able to concentrate fully on what's happening at the altar or what is being read for me. Today I couldn't concentrate, either, though, because my mind kept wandering to what ST was doing.

Just before Communion, the children returned. ST bounded toward me, a picture of the disciples in his little hands. He rushed to me and kissed my face, saying, "Oh, Mom! That was so fun!" He could barely keep himself quiet as Father W. prepared the bread and wine.

After Mass, as we were walking to our car, I asked ST what he did during the Children's Liturgy. "Oh, well, some lady read to us," he said. I asked him if he remembered what she read. "There was fire. Lots of fire. Firey tongues. And all of these men had firey tongues on their heads," he explained.

It was Pentecost Sunday, and the Gospel had been about the Holy Spirit descending upon the disciples, leaving them with tongues of flames on their heads and allowing them to speak in any language.

"Why do you think they had firey tongues on their heads?" I asked ST.

"Because Jesus died," he responded.

"But what do you think the firey tongues meant?" I persisted.

ST paused for a moment, and then looked up at me with his clear blue eyes, squinting in the sunlight. "Well, I think it means that Jesus doesn't want us to play with fire."

A valid interpretation, I suppose.

Incomprehensible Loss

2006-06-02T22:35:00.000-05:00

I went to pick ST up from daycare today at 4:00pm, and he rushed to squeeze me right as I walked in the door. As he started chatting away to me, I could see one of his carers, Jolene, in the background. She was white as a ghost. Lauren, Jolene's daughter who runs the daycare with Jolene, was not there.

"Jolene, is everything all right?" I asked, touching her arm. Her eyes were watery under her glasses.

Looking around to make sure no children were listening, she whispered, "Lauren's stepson was in a car accident this afternoon. We're not sure if he's going to make it."

I had noticed the gray Honda in the driveway as I walked to Lauren's house. The car belonged to Lyle, Lauren's husband. Apparently, Lauren and Lyle had driven right to the scene of the accident, over half an hour away in the middle of nowhere.

I asked Jolene to keep me informed when she heard more information about the accident. Later that afternoon, as I visited with another parent whose child attends Lauren's daycare, we heard the news: Lyle's son was dead. He was 16. "Lyle's son did not make it," Jolene said in her message, voice trembling, "and so the daycare will be closed next week as Lyle and Lauren make the arrangements for their son."

I did not know Lyle's son, a child from Lyle's previous marriage. I know that his son stayed with Lyle and Lauren at least once a month -- he had a room in their house. I know that he was a bit of a handful, that he and Lauren often did not see eye to eye, and that he did not always get along with Lauren's daughter. Nevertheless, I saw his picture every day I brought ST to daycare -- a handsome boy who stared out at me from his place on the wall between glass-framed photographs of Lauren and Lyle's two daughters.

Jolene's words are stuck in my head. "Make arrangements for their son." You make arrangements for your son to play baseball on Saturday afternoon. You make arrangements for your son to attend a good school. You make arrangements for your son to be picked up after band practice. You should not have to make arrangements for your 16-year-old son's funeral.

Before I was married, I assumed that the loss of my parents would be the worst loss I could possibly suffer. Then I got married, and I assumed that the death of my spouse would be a tragedy I could not bear. Indeed, when T's father died and we spent time with T's mother afterward, I saw first-hand how devastating the loss of a spouse actually was. But now that I have a child, I honestly do not know how or if I could recover if he was suddenly wiped out of my life. I could certainly go through the motions of living, but it wouldn't be worth it.

I looked at ST in his bed tonight, then knelt by his bedside to smell him. This boy has only been in my life for three years (and nine months), and I cannot bear the thought of ever having to "make arrangements" for him. How much more painful to have sixteen full years together, and to then have them swept away in an instant on an obscure rural highway. It is a loss I cannot comprehend.

All Clear

2006-06-02T15:41:00.000-05:00

We just received the result of the inspection on our house, which was Wednesday afternoon. No problems! The inspector said that the house was in exceptional condition, especially compared to other homes in the neighborhood. This means that we don't have to do anything before we move except pack and clean.

We also received the appraisal information on our house from the buyer's mortgage company. Perfect! What we sold the house for and the appraisal are only different by $1,000, and so our buyers are pleased. (We were intitally concerned that we underpriced it a little because we didn't use a realtor, but that wasn't the case at all. Other homes in our neighborhood -- where the sellers used a realtor -- have actually sold for, on average, $4,000 less than ours did without a realtor.)

T is traveling to New Town this weekend by himself to be there for the inspection on Pond House Monday morning. The inspector we called said that T was more than welcome to accompany him during the three-hour inspection, and that he would show T how the major systems of the house worked (e.g., the hydronic heating system, the radon emitigator system, the water filtration system, etc.). T is on top of the world -- this is just the geeky stuff he loves to do. God willing, the inspection of Pond House will come back clear as well. (It should, since it was recently inspected for another buyer who pulled out of the deal due to personal issues, and since the seller has maintained it so well -- aside from the 1980s decor.)

Finally, we also received mortgage information from our bank. The loan is approved and ready to go, and the interest rate is decent (assuming we lock-in soon). Assuming T makes the official offer on Pond House after he sees the results of the inspection, we'll close there August 2.

I'm hoping that the smooth sailing will also carry over to my work. I submitted the draft of the dissertation Monday, and my advisors said they'd have it back to me this coming Monday with comments and revision suggestions. I'm praying that the revisions aren't major, and that the "dissertation inspection" won't reveal any major problems with the theory, data, or analysis. I'm so ready to move out of this project and move in to others. I cannot wait to pack up my office and return the (overdue) books to the library. That will certainly feel like progress.

Morning Wisdom

2006-06-01T08:59:00.000-05:00

ST's bedroom, 6:25am.

ME: ST, what are you doing?

ST: Looking out my window.

ME: Do you see anything interesting?

ST: (pauses) Yes. I see that today is a good day to wear pants.

Wednesday Recipes

2006-05-31T21:42:00.000-05:00

My ideal blog would be 1/3 academia (boring dissertation news, other professional information), 1/3 family (how great T and ST are), and 1/3 food (recipes, recommendations, nutrition information). I have considered starting a new blog after I finish the dissertation, a blog where I could be true to this ideal form, which covers a lot of what makes me who I am. I think I've decided against it (although the new blog's name would have been super-cute), and so for now you'll just have to indulge my occasional recipe sharing.

I love to cook, as you know, but truth be told I'm not into fancy food. I don't read Gourmet or Saveur, for example, because I know I won't make anything containing the word "seviche" or any ingredients I cannot find at my local supermarket. I want food I can make any day of the week, food that my entire family will eat (usually not a problem, given ST's love of anything edible), and food that I'd recommend to non-cooks. Most of my recipes come from the cookbooks I collect, my family/friends, the internet, or a few cooking magazines I subscribe to: Cooking Light (subscription lapsed, but I have tons of old issues to read), and my all-time absolute favorite magazine ever, Everyday Food. I also head to Barnes and Noble now and again to read Cuisine At Home, Cook's Country or Cook's Illustrated. I've also been influenced a lot lately by the book Superfoods Rx, which I read on the way to New Town during our last visit. I'm trying to incorporate the Superfoods into our diet in every meal I make (although I despise salmon, no matter how hard I try to like it and no matter how it's prepared).

Here are a few recipes ST and I particularly enjoyed today. I list the original recipe first, and then give my alterations in the "Notes" section.

Pumpkin Dip (for Apples)

3/4 cup (6 oz.) reduced-fat cream cheese (Neufchatel)
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
2 tsp. maple syrup
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
Approx. 24 apple slices (about 4 apples)

Allow the cream cheese to come to room temperature. Combine it, the brown sugar, and pumpkin in a medium bowl and beat with a mixer at medium-high speed until well-blended. Add the syrup and cinnamon and beat until combined. Serve with apples.

NOTES: make sure the cream cheese is really at room temperature, otherwise it takes forever to smoothly incorporate into the pumpkin. We've been keeping this dip in our refrigerator for the past week, and it is heavenly on a crisp, cold slice of Granny Smith apple. It's a perfect anytime snack. If you like pumpkin pie and apple pie, this is a relatively healthy merging of both.

Cheesy Tomato Risotto

4 tbs. unsalted butter
1 small onion, chopped fine
1 carrot, diced
1 zucchini, diced
3/4 cup arborio rice (can use regular white rice)
1 (14 oz.) can chicken stock
1 (14 oz.) can chopped tomatoes (undrained)
1/3 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1/3 cup shredded Parmesan cheese

Melt butter in a saucepan over low heat. Add onion, carrot, and zucchini and cook, stirring, for 8 minutes or until vegetables are softened. Add rice and stir to coat grains; add stock and tomatoes. Bring to a boil and return heat to low. Cover and cook for 15 minutes or until almost all of the liquid is absorbed. Stir in cheeses and let stand. Serve topped with extra cheese, if desired.

NOTES: I find the onion in this recipe too overpowering, and so I only use about 1/4 cup of finely minced onion. I also omit the zucchini, since I don't like the texture, and I increase the carrot. I use Petite Diced* tomatoes, usually the kind pre-seasoned with oregano and garlic. I do not serve this with extra cheese, since I don't think it needs it. This is great served with chicken and a side of steamed broccoli, although ST and I regularly have it alone for lunch.

* ABDmom, I think you could handle this recipe if you used the "petite diced" tomatoes, since they eliminate the "squishiness" of regular cut tomatoes.

Anti-Climactic

2006-05-30T23:15:00.000-05:00

I don't really want to post, but I feel like I should to get back into the habit of writing for myself again. Lately, I've felt like the only writing I've been doing is for my advisors or for interested friends and relatives (e.g., house-hunting information, updates on ST) -- those things are fine, but they're not therapeutic for me. I have so many thoughts swirling around in my head these days that sometimes I forget how I'm feeling, and I forget that this blog is really just for me. I'm so busy sorting my life out for other people (advisors, T, ST, buyers of our house) that I've neglected myself.

The big news of my mini-(and interrupted)-hiatus is that I have a complete draft of the dissertation, and it was submitted to my advisors last night. Oddly, I don't feel good about this at all -- rather, I feel like I'm just waiting for an axe to fall, waiting for them to tell me that the work is no good. I'm at the point where even I cannot accurately assess the quality of the work. I'm tired of reading it, certainly tired of writing it, and tired of thinking about it. My neighbor, who is always sweet and thoughtful, came up to me today and hugged me and said, "Congratulations on finishing the draft!" She couldn't really understand why I wasn't thrilled -- not thrilled at all. Sure, I'm grateful that this "thing" is technically done, but it still feels very, very, very far from complete. I will feel better once my advisors have given me feedback, but to be honest I'm scared to death that the feedback will be bad.

I guess I just have to accept that if they hate it, they hate it, and they will tell me what to do to make it better. Honestly, I have no idea why I'm feeling so low about it all right now, but there it is. I mean, they've already seen over half of it and liked it, so I'm not sure where all of this anxiety is coming from. Maybe it's a bad dissertation. Maybe it's good. I don't know. But it's a finished dissertation, and that's all that matters right now.

No other news for you on Pond House. We've worked up the offer, but since T is anal-retentive he does not trust the home inspection contingency clause on the Offer to Purchase in Midwestern State (he doesn't think it protects the buyer enough, and gives too much leeway to the seller). He insists on being present when the home inspector goes through Pond House, which means rearranging his already complicated schedule to drive (by himself) five hours to New Town. He will not make an offer until the home inspection is done to his satisfaction. While I think this is good in the long run (T's anal-retentiveness is generally an admirable trait, but it does mean that it takes us ages to sign any contract for anything), it means that we won't make an offer for a few weeks, at least. Personally, I just want it all over and done with so I don't have to think about it anymore. I am tired of thinking about it.

Actually, I'm just tired of thinking, full stop.

My faith keeps me sane these days. I honestly believe that God would not have allowed me to come this far only to fall flat on my face now. I believe that I've been given millions of blessings and it is my responsibility in life to use them wisely. I am trying to do that. I am trying to accept that everything will work out in the end. However, it is harder to accept that everything will work out as God wants it to in the end, which may or may not be how I want it to work out in the end.

Tomorow is Wednesday, which means that I will get to spend the entire day with ST. I am thrilled about this, because it's time that I can fully concentrate on my wonderful little boy and not think about the craziness and uncertainty that surrounds me these days. We will spend lots of time outside in the sunshine, tend to our plants (ST's tomato plant has three tomatoes now!), make manicotti for supper (little fingers are surprisingly good at stuffing manicotti shells), and maybe even take a dip in our local pool. We'll practice writing the upper-case letters. We'll sing some new songs in German and learn a new nursery rhyme or two (although hearing ST recite "Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub" is funny -- he says the final line with such relish that he sounds like a bad actor at a Renaissance festival: "Turn them out! Knaves all three!"). Most of the time, however, we will just be.

Decision

2006-05-25T18:59:00.000-05:00

Midwestern State House Hunters continues with the big decision (somehow, blogging about this and involving you in the process makes this seem so much more exciting than it probably really is).

Funky Waterfront House: we really liked this house, mostly because it had the Traditional elements to which we are always attracted. The neighborhood was fairly diverse (well, as diverse as a smallish Midwestern town can be), with a mixture of huge McMansions and older ramblers, all with well-maintained yards. The lake access was certainly a big draw.

We had an architect friend look at the house for us to see how expensive it would be to make the changes we'd want to make. Basically, this house is now out of the running because it would cost big dollars ($50,000+) to renovate it: the Jack and Jill bathroom would have to be completely torn apart in order to make it more functional, the laundry room is not configured properly for an oversized washer and dryer, and renovating the kitchen would be a massive project -- virtually nothing would be salvaged. All of that and the fact that the furnace (which is approximately the size of two refrigerators!) would likely have to be replaced in the near future made the decision to eliminate this house from consideration relatively easy. (Photo at left is of the crazy linoleum in the laundry room, and my cute new Keen Mary Janes.)

Boat Ramp House: I'm suprised none of you picked this house! It is a gorgeous place, a lovely blank slate on which we could put our own mark. But we ultimately decided against this house because 1.) the yard would cost a lot of money to get started, since it was basically all weeds; 2.) we were concerned about the possibility of a boat access expansion, which would probably eliminate the trees in the backyard; 3.) the house was really too similiar to what we have now, although the rooms were considerably larger; 4.) the builder was not going to budge at all on the price; 5.) the size of the dining room was a real disappointment to me, since we spend so much time in our kitchen/dining room; and 6.) it was new construction, which we had sort of decided against, and we knew that we would have construction going on around us for at least two years as the rest of the neighborhood developed. We've lived through that once, and it's a noisy, dusty time and not fun at all. (Photo at left is of amazingly huge bonus room -- it's larger than it appears in the picture. It was nice, but honestly -- what do you do with a room that size?! T is really not a fan of wasted space, and that's what this would be for us.)

That leaves us with only one choice:

Pond House. After our second visit to Pond House last Saturday, we both just felt "right" about it. A second and more in-depth examination of the kitchen convinced me that it didn't need a major overhaul -- just appliances, new flooring, and new cabinet hardware. Eventually I'd like to replace the countertops, but for now they are serviceable. The big expense at Pond House will be the bathrooms, which really are ugly. Everything works, however, and so we can wait to do a major renovation until at least next year. Until then, we can get creative with paint and shower curtains! The dining room is fantastic and huge (shown in photo at left, with hideous chandelier), and leaves me a massive wall on which to feature my cookbook collection, and the office has more space than I would know what to do with. Assuming we get this house, we would have the carpet replaced before we moved in -- that would do wonders to freshen it up. Overall, the biggest thing lacking in Pond House is a family: it is crying out for a family to come and live in it and make it a home again. Hopefully, we will be that family.

We have not put in an official offer yet, as T wanted to have the home inspected first (and he wants to be there for the inspection, so it might a few weeks given T's hectic schedule). But we did have a great conversation with the realtor (who is also the current owner of the property) and have already knocked the asking price down $10,000 because we did not use a buyer's agent. We're hoping to get an additional $5,000 off to put towards appliances and carpet. We didn't think the realtor/seller would budge on the price at all, but since he just bought a lakefront property for himself I imagine that he's thrilled at the prospect of getting Pond House off his hands, and to people he likes. The only reason this property is for sale now is because the realtor/seller found a lakefront home he could afford (they are ridiculously expensive). The realtor/seller and his family lived in Pond House for nine years -- his kids grew up there.

I am very excited about Pond House -- excited to make an offer, excited to get in and paint, excited to see how my furniture looks in a new space, excited for ST to run rampant with the neighbor kids (there are paths running through the woods between the houses -- kid paradise -- and the kids around Pond House are within a year of ST's age). I'm excited because T really, really loves this property, and since he doesn't yet have a job I'm glad he'll have something to look forward to as we move to Midwestern State. And I'm excited to share the transformation of Pond House with you all, if you'll indulge me! I hope we can make this deal work -- I don't want to lose this house (although it's in a price range that is not moving quickly). Stay tuned as House Hunters (God willing) becomes Design on a Dime!

House Hunters

2006-05-24T21:18:00.000-05:00

I'm re-emerging from a fog tonight to share some news that has, in part, made the fog seem less dense and forboding. T, ST and I have decided on a house to make an offer on, and we're quite excited about it. We've done some pre-negotiating with the seller's realtor, and we're fairly confident that we can get the house if we want it.

House Hunters on HGTV is one of the few television shows I watch with any regularity. I love watching people go through the home-buying process, love making fun of their bad taste, love seeing their housing options, and really love seeing how they made the house they eventually bought a home. Here is my version of Midwestern State House Hunters:

Option 1. Funky Waterfront House
This Traditional-style house was built in the 1970s and is one of the most interesting properties I've ever seen. The rooms are huge, but some are oddly-configured and the major working spaces (e.g., kitchen, bathrooms) need a lot of updating. The house had one owner, and her 1970s decorating tastes are all over the house: rainbow-striped wallpaper in one bedroom, psychedelic red and blue linoleum in the laundry room, cork board on one wall of another bedroom. The house is unique, though, and a true diamond in the rough. The basement is large, dry, and unfinished -- perfect for T's vision of a media room. The best feature of the house, however, is outside: it is on a sort of canal that leads right to a large lake. We could dock a boat right in our backyard and be on the lake within a minute. The lake access makes the price tag hefty and the property taxes high.

Option 2. Pond House
I've talked about Pond House before, and we visited it again when we returned to New Town last weekend. As I mentioned earlier, Pond House is stuck in the 1980s and needs a lot of serious updates. The bathrooms are both hideous -- a brown tub in one and a gray tub in the other -- and the vinyl flooring in the kitchen is very dated. The outside of the house is also not a style we envisioned for ourselves. We typically prefer Colonial, Traditional, or Cape Cod style homes, and this one is definitely Contemporary. Nevertheless, this house has good bones and could be a real showstopper with some updating. The house sits on a wooded acre about 10 minutes outside of New Town. There is a clear five acre pond in the backyard, and songbirds galore. Because of the waterfront bonus and a recent assessment for city sewer, the taxes on this property are sky high. The price tag is also at the top of our budget.

Option 3. Boat Ramp House
This house is in a new subdivision just blocks away from Pond House. It is new construction, and the style is Colonial. The house is lovely and has a lot of nice features, not the least of which is the cavernous bonus room over the 3-car garage. We liked all of the fixtures (e.g., dining room chandelier, faucets) and the colors for the carpet and tile. Another bonus is that the house has a huge (but not sodded) yard that backs onto the public boat access for yet another large area lake. Some of the downsides: it is a lot like our current house, so aside from the huge bonus room and an additional bedroom, we'd be moving into nearly the same configuration of rooms. Another downside is that the dining room is small, and I'm not sure our large dining room table (similar to this) would fit in it (and that table is my favorite piece of furniture, and so is non-negotiable). When we visited the house, we were excited to see the bright basement with egress windows, but dismayed to realize that the sump pump had failed and the basement floor was covered with two inches of water. The price is the same as Pond House, but the taxes are about 25% lower.

So -- which one did we choose?

Mini-Hiatus

2006-05-21T22:38:00.000-05:00

I'm taking a break from blogging for at least this next week -- there's just too much going on right now for me to adequately process. See you all in June, I think.

Random Thoughts, Ver. 2.0

2006-05-17T12:05:00.000-05:00

I have to pick up ST in a few minutes -- it's Wednesday, which is usually our day at home together but I had a bunch of stuff to accomplish this morniing and he won't be at daycare on Friday -- so this will be brief. Nothing too exciting to report, anyway.

Revisions are going well, but slowly. There aren't as many revisions as I thought (remember my advisors have already given me reactions to Chapters 1-5), but some of them are taking me a lot of time. I recall now why I hate revising: I get wedded to previous text and then sit and stare at my computer screen, praying that the right words magically appear without destroying the lovely words I'd already written. One good thing that has come of working with the text again, however, is that I'm rereading old case study chapters and thinking, "Man, did I actually write this? This makes sense!"

Just returned from a local public library, where I was typing an application form for T's Very Important Task. I hate to admit it, but it was kind of fun to work on a typewriter again. It also made me a little sad as I typed up the details of T's career: every time I typed to answer to "Reason for Leaving Job," it had to do with me. "Relocated so wife could attend Doctoral University." "Relocation to Midwestern State, where wife has accepted position on the faculty at Smallish Midwestern University." When I entered the library, I was feeling a bit bitter that I was doing his work, but I left the library remembering that I am the reason he has to do it.

We are gearing up for another trip to New Town this weekend, leaving on Friday morning. So far, I've set up appointments at seven different houses, including a revisit to Pond House. Pond House is annoying me at the moment because T and I go back and forth about buying it: it's lovely, it's expensive, the location is fantastic, it's too far away from other kids for ST, it would be fun to renovate and decorate, it needs too much work and will be too costly... I just wish I knew where we were going to live. Hopefully we'll see some good options. One is already intriguing to me: let's call it Nature Preserve House. Extensively updated on the inside, and a nature preserve is in the backyard. Granite countertops in the kitchen and Kohler fixtures are another bonus for me. We'll see.

Off to the post office and then to retrieve my sweet little boy.

On Relevance

2006-05-16T09:30:00.000-05:00

As I was making dinner yesterday, the doorbell rang and an acquaintance of ours, "Susan," stood outside. She had come to drop off some papers for T, who is assisting Susan and her husband with some Important Business. I don't know Susan very well, but I do know that she's incredibly smart, witty, and is about to move to a new city five hours away where she will begin her dream job. Her husband is already there, having found a job in the new city several months ago.

I talked to Susan for a few minutes about her work, and about her impending move to the new job. Susan is an oncologist at Doctoral University Medical School. She does breast cancer research and is apparently very, very good at it; she's won several fellowships, has done research everywhere, and she was heavily recruited for her dream job. After chatting with her, I listened in a bit as she and T discussed the details of her Important Business. It's always interesting for me to listen to T when he's in "professional mode," using language reserved for the office and sounding so confident and knowledgable, answering complicated questions with ease.

Later that night, I retreated to my office to finish up revisions to a chapter I'd been working on and collecting important bits for my conclusion. I labored over a few paragraphs and re-did some of the figures to make them easier to read, and then I just stopped and thought, "What's the point of all of this?" I couldn't work anymore after that. I went to bed, feeling hollow.

I've always wanted to be the type of person who makes a difference. I've always wanted to help people, to make a contribution. And sometimes, as I sit in front of my computer and type up the results of my research, I feel like I'm not making a contribution at all. Sure, I'm making a contribution to my field, but it's not like I'm helping alleviate the horror of breast cancer or resolving complicated financial, legal, or business problems. No one's life (except mine) is going to be measurably better because of what I do. At least, I won't be able to point to a group of people and say, "These are the ones I worked for all those years."

I'm a social scientist. I study a small sub-group of people and the effects those people have on the lives of others and on the institutions of social life. (Those of you who actually know what my research is about realize that this is and incredibly vague statement!) I have friends who are social scientists about whose research I feel the same sense of emptiness: their research will have little impact on real life. And then there are social scientists like my friend Jared, who does amazing, policy-relevant research that has the potential to get to the heart of a major world problem (HIV/AIDS). After this dissertation is completed, I feel like I have to shift my research focus to something with a few more policy implications instead of pure academic implications.

Don't get me wrong: I like my research. I think it's important, and my advisors do, too. I'm sure there are implications for it that I cannot see; indeed, Prof. G. continually has to remind me that what I'm doing is relevant, that what I'm doing is a continuation of what he has spent his successful career doing. But right now, the research feels a little self-indulgent. I'm hoping that next year, when I have dozens of students waiting to hear from me, I'll feel like I'm actually contributing something real.

The Typewriter

2006-05-15T11:13:00.000-05:00

When I was six years old, I asked for a typewriter for Christmas. You know that feeling you get when you want something so terribly badly that all you can do is think about that thing, think about how your life would be so much better if you had it, and think about how you just might not be able to go on if you don't get it? That's how I felt about the typewriter. I can't even remember why I felt I needed a typewriter when I was six, but I do remember my collection of little notebooks, filled with my scribbles and six-year-old poems, and thinking how much better all of my "work" would look if it was neatly typed.

My parents did not disappoint me. My sister got a Barbie convertible that year, and I got a baby blue Brother children's typewriter and a stack of thin typewriter paper. When I think about pulling that heavy typewriter out of the box, I can still smell the typewriter ink as if it were yesterday. I can still hear my Grandma's voice in the background of the memory, saying, "Now, what is a little kid going to do with a typewriter?" And I remember Mom and Dad deflecting the comment for me so I wouldn't feel silly as my sister played with her Barbies.

I was disenchanted with the typewriter at first because I didn't know how to use it. I didn't know how to type, and even then the blank sheet of typewriter paper staring back at me made me panic, much as a blank computer screen makes me queasy now. But soon I became quite skilled at hunting and pecking (despite the fact that Mom tried to teach me the correct way to type) and I have a small collection of childish, typewritten stories and poems hidden in a box in my basement to show for it. (My very first poem began like this: "Could it be/ That I could see / An elephant / With a chimpanzee?" Heady stuff!)

When I was in seventh grade, I bought my grandfather's IBM Selectric II typewriter for $15.00. It was a beautiful, heavy machine that typed smoothly and corrected easily. Later, in ninth grade, I asked for a word processor for Christmas. Again, Mom and Dad did not disappoint, since by this time I spent nearly every moment writing short stories in spiral-bound notebooks. The word processor was amazing: there was a little screen that flipped up from above the keyboard, and I could see the words flash across it before the machine hammered them out onto paper. I used this word processor through my junior year in high school. At that time, I was the only student who typed her papers for class, and classmates nicknamed me "The Typewriter" because not only did I type a lot, but my handwriting also looked like a typewriter font.

I received my first computer (a Macintosh Classic II, with a Stylewriter printer) when I started my senior year of high school, an early graduation gift from my parents. The computer was exciting (the fonts, especially!) -- I spent a lot of time on it, although I can't remember what I was doing without the Internet -- but it wasn't the same as the old typewriters were. I didn't feel as committed to what I was writing, somehow, when I wrote on the computer. It was too easy to delete, too easy to rearrange sentences. I felt like I was more willing to settle for sub-par writing when I used my computer, because it was just so easy to change later. When I wrote on the typewriter, I thought everything through well in advance, mapped it out on notebook paper, and only started typing after I had a detailed plan.

I am thinking about this today because T's Very Important Task is almost complete. The last part of the VIT is to turn in a lengthy application, and the application will be rejected if it is not typed. On a typewriter. We do not own a typewriter anymore, and so I spent a few minutes this morning calling around to local libraries to see if anyone had one we could use. "Yes, we have one," a librarian told me this morning. "You'll be the first to use it in YEARS!" I will spend part of my Wednesday at a small library, painstakingly typing the application on an old IBM Selectric typewriter. In a strange way, I'm looking forward to it. After years of thinking about words as fleeting symbols on a bright computer screen that makes my eyes hurt, I'm eager to touch some real paper and tap out words, real words I have to think about before my fingers move.

Just Mom and Me

2006-05-14T15:15:00.000-05:00

In honor of Mother's Day, a comparison.

How I am like my Mother:

We both have a positive attitude about nearly everything. My Mom is quite honestly the happiest person I know. She makes every day seem like it was tailor-made just for her (or me).

We both have a talent for making people feel good about themselves. We like to give compliments, and we mean them. We both make friends easily.

We both have happy marriages.

We are both committed to our faith, although she demonstrates hers much more actively than I do mine. I hope that, someday, I can be as active in church groups as she is.

We both hate to drive, and prefer the back seat when someone else is driving. We are also both petrified of interstate driving, since neither of us like to go fast (60mph makes me feel out of control).

Neither of us think stainless steel appliances look appropriate in a home kitchen.

We both enjoy doing laundry.

How I am not like my Mother:

She is extraordinarily thoughtful, and never misses a birthday or a special occasion. If I DO happen to remember a birthday, it's usually because my Mom reminded me of it two weeks prior. She also buys the perfect gift for every occasion every time. I struggle with gift-giving.

She is one of the most creative people I know. From quilting to painting to gardening, she has ideas I could never imagine. The only way I am more creative than she is is in cooking; she doesn't like to cook.

She cannot use the computer. I am attached to mine.

She never graduated from college.

She has never lived more than 100 miles from where she was born.

She always knows the right thing to say or the right way to react when she hears good news or bad news. I tend to fumble around for some cliche phrase, or not respond at all.

Things my Mother does that drive me nuts:

In a phone conversation, she sometimes has a tendency to give me pointless details about things I don't care about. For example, she recently talked for 20 minutes about the four houses my aunt and uncle did not buy.

She is neurotic about money, as I've written about before.

Things I do that drive my Mother nuts:

I tend to distance myself from certain family members, mostly my aunts (her sisters) because I honestly don't feel too close to them. I try, but we don't always click.

I hate having my routine disrupted, and so attending family events (e.g., my brother's graduation) is something she feels she has to force me to do.

One word that I'd use to describe my Mother:

Calm.

One word that I'd use to describe myself:

Frantic.

What my Mother received for Mother's Day from her eldest daughter (me):

A card and a handmade (not by me) bracelet. (I'm sure she received something totally extravagant from my sister Julie.)

What I received for Mother's Day from my only son:

Two new laundry baskets (a running joke between T and me, and something I honestly wanted) and new lipstick (which I needed but hate to buy because that would require shopping, which I don't like doing).