The second guess chorus

I tend to agonize over decisions. The red shirt or the black shirt? Spearmint or wintergreen? Crest or Colgate? Then after a decision has been made, I second guess myself.

A sampling of the second guess chorus that is on constant loop in my head:

Maybe I should have kept my hair long.

Maybe we should have gone with a station wagon.

Maybe law school would have been better.

Maybe the red shirt would have looked better.

I already torture myself with most decisions, but when it comes to decisions that will impact my children's lives, watch out. The volume of the second guess chorus increases until all I can hear is doubt.

On Thursday, I received a call from the director of the preschool that Little E starts this week. I had already agonized over the decision to change schools* and had just made my peace that I was doing the right thing to move her. So when the director called me to offer a choice of whether to place E in the two-year-old class or in the three-year-old class, I got brain freeze.

The preschool uses the public school calendar to determine class assignments. In our district, September 1 is the cutoff date. Children born on or before that date go into one grade level and children born after that date go into the next. Because Little E's birthday is in September after the deadline, she was slated to start with the two-year-old class despite being nearly three. I was somewhat worried about this because, when I asked, the two-year-olds teacher let me know that Little E would be the oldest by about four and a half months and that most of the children in that class are younger than her by at least six months. Now, I don't think she is a genius or anything, but she is bright and inquisitive and occasionally lets loose a sentence like this one from yesterday, "Mama, the condensation on my sippy cup is very frustrating." (Of course, she was racing around the house tonight waving a pool noodle in the air while shrieking, "Squirt the little tango! Squirt the little tango!" Huh?)

The center director called after a spot came available in the three-year-old class. Normally, she said, the center won't move children up. However, they were willing to do so in our case because the two-year-olds teacher also had concerns about the social and developmental gap between Little E and the younger twos.** Of course, moving her up to the threes wouldn't be without issues. For the threes, she would be the youngest by two months. Also, because of the public school policy, we would likely have to hold her back at some point.

So, I had a decision. Leave her with the twos or move her to the threes.

Ultimately, I decided that I would rather not have her regress by being with a younger cohort. I want her challenged intellectually, and I want her social skills to continue to develop. So tomorrow at 8:30 a.m., she starts the three-year-old class. And at 8:31 a.m., the second guess chorus will start its crescendo in my head.

I hope I've made the right decision.

*Pros: NAEYC accreditation, affiliated with School of Education, on campus near my office, healthy snacks, teachers with masters in early childhood ed
Cons: Tearing her from the teachers and friends she loves, having the girls at different centers, out of the way for J which leave me in charge of all transportation.

**She had assessed all the children slated to start her class, so I'll have to take her word for it.

Juggling

Can my year long break from the classroom be ending? Can my baby be two days from her first birthday? Can little E be starting preschool? Already? Really? That went too fast. I wish I could slow time down just a little and linger. Of course, slowing down and lingering would just make me feel a little sadder/ more nostalgic than I already do so maybe that isn't a good idea.

It occurred to me tonight, as I was baking cupcakes, that the last time I was teaching, I had a nanny.* When we had a nanny, I didn't have to worry about corralling children, dressing children or dropping off children; didn't have to worry about tidying up after breakfast (the nanny did some light housework); and often didn't have to cook because the nanny, a culinary school graduate, loved to cook during E's naps. I was spoiled. Broke, but spoiled.

I am hoping to fall into a routine that works for all of us, but I am guessing that keeping the balls in the air is going to get intense. My working plan is to do as much in advance as is practical and to be as organized as possible. Toward these ends, I've baked and frozen the cupcakes for M's nursery party three days early, I've created a menu and done the weekly grocery shopping, I've laid out outfits for the girls and me, and I've assembled M's school bag a few days in advance. I am sure there is more I could be doing for preparation, but at least it is something.

On the bright side, I've made a good bit of progress on my list. Of course, I'll still be scrambling this week.

• Decide on schedule for practicum
• Determine grading scheme for practicum
• Put practicum readings together in WebCT
• Put practicum project handout together
• Test software in lab
• Write lab exercises that utilize software
• Write first week of lectures for practicum I have these planned, but not written
• Put finishing touches on social issues syllabus
• Determine grading scale for social issues
• Investigate pedagogical implications of requiring student blogs in social issues
• Find a peanut-free food that E will be able to carry for lunch at new school
• Get E’s hair trimmed S
• Get my hair trimmed and brows waxed Have made appointment for hair
• Meet grad student about our neglected project
• Get pedicure Perhaps this will be a treat after surviving the first week of classes
• Call electrician about the short in living room overhead light
• Lose five pounds Working on it! Less chocolate and more exercise!
• Try on my professional clothes to determine what will fit until I lose five pounds
• Keep trying to wean
• Determine guest list for joint birthday party
• Order invitations
• Order cake
• Start running
• Keep running
  
• Update college web page to reflect office hours
• Find out when my faculty committees/ department meetings are scheduled
• Bake something to take to Baby M’s nursery the day of her actual birthday
• Throw away student tests that are more than three years old (we are required to keep work for three years)
• Put together WebCT pages for social issues
• Find shoes for Baby M
  
• Find out if I am already president of state association (the fact that I don’t know if my term has begun is embarrassing)
• Get email list for April 2008 conference I am organizing; talk to last year’s organizer
• Set up state association web site
• Get E's immunization records

*I've been on maternity leave or sabbatical leave since last May. E started daycare last June. The transition to daycare was eased by my flexibility during maternity and sabbatical leaves.

Finally! A good hair day

Way back in the fall, when Baby M was just a few months old, and when I was very tired and very pressed for time*, I decided to cut my shoulder length hair short. Very, very short. Just so you know, I didn't go into this blindly; I've had very cute cropped hair before and I assumed that this would be equally cute and easy and fast. Unfortunately, my stylist botched it, and it has been the source of much grief since.

I was feeling too guilty to leave her (she had a baby in June and I know she was worried about finances) so I kept going to her and I kept getting bad cuts. I was so loyal that I even went to someone in her salon when she was on maternity leave (he was also pretty bad). Two weeks ago, I received a call informing me that she was back from maternity leave. I dutifully called to make an appointment and was told that her first available slot was August 23, a day after I start classes. That, my friends, was the proverbial straw. Not to be able to get a cut, even a bad one, before classes? No way. So I finally let the guilt go and looked for another stylist.

May I sing the praises of Kate, a master stylist at a top salon in this city? I had the choice to go with a "master" stylist or an "apprentice" and decided to spend the bucks on the shear genius. Why haven't I done this before? It is the best money I have spent in a long time. I'm serious. My hair looks fabulous. It is still short, but cute. Super cute. But still professional. And it should be easy to style. I also had my brows waxed and they look awesome.

So there. Call me shallow, but I am ridiculously happy that I am looking better.

*OK, I'm still tired and pressed for time, but I hadn't found my groove yet then.

A Good Day

Clearly there are things on my list that I will not complete by next week. That website for the state association? It will have to wait. Writing all my labs in advance? Not going to happen. However, I feel like I can get everything done that MUST be done by Wednesday. The rest will happen when they happen, and no one but me will notice.

I was feeling so confident and in control that this morning I decided to keep Baby M home from daycare so we could run errands and hang out. I often feel guilty that Baby M doesn't get enough attention from me. This is somewhat ironic because when I was pregnant with her, I spent a fair amount of energy worrying that big sister, E, would get lost in the shuffle. As it turns out, E is quite good at staying at or near the center of attention. Whether she is eating fluoridated toothpaste straight from the tube, or commanding me to sing Itsy Bitsy Spider yet again, or begging me to let her help cook, she is impossible to ignore for both positive and negative reasons. Plus, she is awake more and longer than her baby sister* so we get alone time in the evening.

Baby M, on the other hand, is non-verbal and easily dominated by her big sister. Because Baby M can't yet express her desires, the wishes of her sister-- from which Signing Time video to watch to which tub to bathe in tonight--are generally granted. Baby M doesn't seem too grumpy about it--she usually seems quite content to be a part of her big sister's general orbit-- but I worry. This is probably just an expression of guilt for not being able to give her my undivided attention, but it is there, a steady undercurrent.

All this is to say that I was excited to be able to take a day off with Baby M. We went to my office for a while, but mostly we just hung out at home and cuddled and nursed** and practiced taking steps and worked on signs and took long naps and flipped through books (can't really call it reading) and ate yogurt and laughed at the dogs and waved to the garbage collector and tried to crawl into the washing machine (her, not me) and took apart the diaper bag and cuddled some more.

So, it was a good day. It occurs to me that I had a lot more days like this with E, but I didn't realize how important and good they were. I wish now that I had understood just how quickly this stage goes by and had let myself enjoy it a bit more.

On Monday, I'll have E alone for the day. She will have to accompany me to a department meeting because I can't find childcare, but otherwise the day will be ours. I can't wait.



*Actually Baby M is awake far more often at 4 a.m., but that isn't what I consider quality time.

**Yes, yes. I am supposed to be weaning, but it makes her happy. I'll get more serious about it when classes start next week.

Progress

Thank you, Nico, for the technical help!

I'm making slow progress on this list. I was feeling less panicked until I realized that I don't have any childcare for Little E Monday through Wednesday next week because there is a gap between her last day at her daycare and her first day at her new preschool. J is going to take off on Wednesday because that is my first class day, but she'll have to come to work with me Monday and Tuesday. Joy!

Here is my updated list.

• Decide on schedule for practicum
• Determine grading scheme for practicum
• Put practicum readings together in WebCT
• Put practicum project handout together
• Test software in lab
• Write lab exercises that utilize software
• Write first week of lectures for practicum I have these planned, but not written
• Put finishing touches on social issues syllabus
• Determine grading scale for social issues
• Investigate pedagogical implications of requiring student blogs in social issues
• Find a peanut-free food that E will be able to carry for lunch at new school
• Get E’s hair trimmed Scheduled
• Get my hair trimmed and brows waxed Have made appointment for hair
• Meet grad student about our neglected project scheduled
• Get pedicure Perhaps this will be a treat after surviving the first week of classes
  Call electrician about the short in living room overhead light
• Lose five pounds Working on it! Less chocolate and more exercise!
• Try on my professional clothes to determine what will fit until I lose five pounds
• Keep trying to wean
• Determine guest list for joint birthday party
• Order invitations
• Order cake
• Start running
• Keep running Three days in a row!
• Update college web page to reflect office hours
• Find out when my faculty committees/ department meetings are scheduled
• Bake something to take to Baby M’s nursery the day of her actual birthday
• Throw away student tests that are more than three years old (we are required to keep work for three years)
• Put together WebCT pages for social issues
• Find shoes for Baby M who, while not walking on her own, likes to hold onto my fingers and walk
• Find out if I am already president of state association (the fact that I don’t know if my term has begun is embarrassing)
• Get email list for April 2008 conference I am organizing; talk to last year’s organizer
• Set up state association web site
• Get E's immunization records Should be able to pick these up tomorrow

A Technical Question

It would be very helpful for me to be able to strikethrough my depressingly long to-do list. However, when I try to cut and paste from Word, Blogger loses my formatting. I do not see a strikethrough button on the Blogger editing menu. Can anyone tell me how to get strikethrough formatting? I know I've seen others bloggers using it.

Nine days and a list from hell

My classes start on August 22, I am not entirely prepared. Actually, I am not at all prepared, and I’m starting to panic. Sure, I’ve had months to do all this. Many months. Yet here I am, Dr. Procrastinator. It happens that Baby M’s birthday is also on the 22nd. I would be more panicked about that except that we plan to hold a joint party with her sister in September giving me a few more weeks to procrastinate.

This semester I'm teaching two sections of a research practicum and one section of a social issues course. I'm not at all worried about the latter as it is fun and relatively easy to teach.* However, this is my first time teaching the subject matter in this particular practicum, and I find myself struggling with it a bit. I am also on two college-wide committees that are fairly work intensive and I am in the middle of two reserach projects. Things are about to get busy.

In the interest of attempting to organize myself, here is my get-ready for-school list in no particular order:

• Decide on schedule for practicum
• Determine grading scheme for practicum
• Put practicum readings together in WebCT
• Put practicum project handout together
• Test software in lab
• Write lab exercises that utilize software
• Write first week of lectures for practicum
• Put finishing touches on social issues syllabus
• Determine grading scale for social issues
• Investigate pedagogical implications of requiring student blogs in social issues
• Find a peanut-free food that E will be able to carry for lunch at new school
• Get E’s hair trimmed
• Get my hair trimmed and brows waxed
• Meet grad student about our neglected project
• Get pedicure
• Call electrician about the short in living room overhead light
• Lose five pounds
• Try on my professional clothes to determine what will fit until I lose five pounds
• Keep trying to wean**
• Determine guest list for joint birthday party
• Order invitations
• Order cake
• Start running
• Update college web page to reflect office hours
• Find out when my faculty committees/ department meetings are scheduled
• Bake something to take to Baby M’s nursery the day of her actual birthday
• Throw away student tests that are more than three years old (we are required to keep work for three years)
• Put together WebCT pages for social issues
• Find shoes for Baby M who, while not walking on her own, likes to hold onto my fingers and walk
• Find out if I am already president of state association (the fact that I don’t know if my term has begun is embarrassing)
• Get email list for April 2008 conference I am organizing; talk to last year’s organizer
• Set up state association web site

Oh my! This is a big list and I know there is more that I am blocking. I guess it is good that I tend to do best working to deadlines (except for in the case of that dreadful text).

*I have taught it often enough that I think I could do it note-free for the entire semester. Still, it needs to be updated lest it feel stale.
**Despite taking bottles at daycare, she throws bottles and sippy cups at me when I try to give her milk (even breastmilk) in them. Then I break down and give her a boob. Help!

Melting

It is 10:30 p.m. and 85 degrees (F) outside. It is 81.9 degrees inside. Today when temperatures climbed into the high 90s and the heat index hit 117, it was 84 degrees inside. Oh yes, our air conditioner sucks (hot) wind. As a result I am cranky, sweaty, and unable to think.

When J left dirty dishes out, I almost exploded. So commenced a short personal journey toward a better understanding of the positive correlation between temperature and homicide rates.

So, anyone know how to sabotage an air conditioner? Ours is covered under our home warranty. However, each time I have called it in, the repairmen have come out and declared it in good working order, just a little low in freon. They charge it and go. It works better for a few days and then we are back to slow baking. The unit is undersized for the house which explains a lot, but still. It must die (and look natural). I can't afford to replace it without help from the warranty company.

Ooh. The CNN man is broadcasting live from downtown. CNN came here to talk about the heat. We are so screwed.

She's having none of it

Do you like milk in cups?

I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.
I do not like milk in cups.

Would you like it here or there?

I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you like it in a house?
Would you like it with a mouse?

I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you try it in a box?
Would you try it with a fox?

Not in a box.
Not with a fox.
Not in a house.
Not with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you try it in a cup of blue?
Would you try it if I try some too?

Not in a cup of blue.
Not if you try some too.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you try some from your daddy?
Would you try some in a paddy?

Not from daddy.
Not in a paddy.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

Would you? Could you?
Try some disguised in milk that I’ve expressed
From that place that you like best?

I would not, could not try some disguised in milk that’s been expressed
From the place that I like best.


You may like it.
You will see.
You may like it, my darling pea!

I would not, could not.
In milk that’s been expressed.
Not from daddy.
Not in a paddy.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

A straw! A straw!
A straw! A straw!
Could you, would you, with a straw?

Not with a straw.
Not in milk that’s been expressed.
You are making me depressed!
Not from daddy.
Not in a paddy.
I do not like it in a house.
I do not like it with a mouse.
I would not like it here or there.
I would not like it anywhere.
I do not like milk in cups.
I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

You do not like milk in cups?

I do not like it, Mom-who-must-be-nuts.

You do not like it.
So you say.
Try it! Try it!
And you may.
Try it and you may, I say.

Mom! If you will let me be, I will try it.
You will see.
Say!
You were wrong and I was right.
This milk in a cup tastes just like tripe.

She loved it

The batteries on the camera died as we were trying to get shots of Little E in front of Thomas. You'll have to use your imagination. Here are a couple of shots from our ride (which came complete with Deliverance-style mountain folk waving from rickety homemade platforms overlooking the Tuckasegee River).

On vacation

We are on vacation. With children!

What were we thinking?

J and I decided it was time for a short get away. We live on the coast, but by this time of year the heat, the tourists, and the incessant hurricane talk (Are YOU prepared for another Hugo? Do YOU have enough insurance? Have YOU stocked your hurricane survival kit yet?*) get to us, and we feel the desire for a short escape. So what do we do? We head to the mountains for our turn playing tourists.

We left last night. I had a brilliant plan. Leave after dinner and baths so that the girls would sleep the five hours. It was a great idea in theory, but it didn't work out quite so well in reality.

First, I never should have told Little E where we were going. Especially not the part about seeing Thomas the Train. Looking back, that was a bad idea. Very bad. You see, children two and three quarters years old do not have a well-developed sense of time. So by saying, "We'll ride on Thomas on Friday," I may as well have told her "All aboard!" This meant that she didn't dare close her eyes on the trip up (until the last 20 minutes). If she had been happy to be strapped to her carseat that would have been one thing, but after the first two hours, she was pissed about the whole thing, once telling J, "J, turn this car around NOW. I want to go home." Yes, she called him by his first name. That went over well.

Second, if one child is up throwing wild tantrums, the other child is hard pressed to sleep well. This means that Baby M was awake and not happy for the last two hours of the trip. We had stereo wailing in the back seat.

Finally, the girls were wired after we finally checked into our hotel. So wired that they were both up until 1:30 a.m. No amount of nursing, walking or singing was going to help Baby M go to sleep. Little E stayed up in solidarity.

This morning we went shopping for a fan to produce white noise (I can't sleep without it-how we left mine, I don't know) and a sit and stand stroller.** Why we have waited until 11 months for a sit and stand, I don't know, but Little M can't walk as far here so a double stroller was definitely in order. Coming from the Lowcountry, she is unaccustomed to hills and we have lots of walking planned. After their nap, we are going up into the mountains to see the house my in-laws are building. I have mixed feelings about their vacation home (a place in the mountains-cool! more time with the in-laws- Ugh!).

Tomorrow is Thomas Day. I'll post pics.



*Our answers are no, no and no.
**And a big bottle of wine. For the whining.

Weaning

M will be 11 months next week. My breastfeeding goal was to make it to a year, and I do believe we will do this (no thanks to lazy lefty). I am planning to commence with day weaning after we take a family vacation to the N.C. mountains at the end of this month. Thanks to my frozen stash, M should be able to get breast milk during the day right up until the one year mark when I will switch her to whole milk and start night weaning. The photo at left doesn't do my stash justice: the entire bottom shelf of a stand-up freezer is full and there is more in the house. How did that happen?

Why I look forward to weaning

• I am tired of being hooked to the pump three times a day. My inner heifer is rebelling, I suppose.
• When I go to my office, I look like a bag lady.
• Nursing bras aren't sexy, cute, or even sporty.
• I dress for nursing and pumping access, not for fashion.
• I'm still hanging onto eight extra pounds, and I blame nursing.
• I smell like maple syrup from fenugreek consumption.
• My DD girls need their own zip code.
• Eight razor sharp baby teeth and more where they came from.

Why the thought of weaning makes me sad

• After a disastrous nursing experience with E, I feel a certain sense of accomplishment this time.
• Some days it feels like the only quality one-on-one time I get with M is while we are nursing.
• M doesn't seem ready. She is very much a boob baby, crawling at breakneck speed to find me when she wants to nurse. The cadence of hands and feet on hardwood signals her intent. When I lift her to me, she buries her head in my chest and starts protesting at the clothes that are in her way. How am I going to say no to that?
• I'm not quite sure how to go about weaning. Drop one feeding a week? Every few days? Switch to a cup or stick with the bottle? Nurse for comfort? Find another comfort object?
• Because, despite all my anxiety about not being able to meet her needs, I did it, I enjoyed it, and I found it life affirming.
• I know that she is probably my last child and weaning closes a chapter of my life.

Priorities in order

Is it pathetic that, given a choice of long weekends to take a quick mountain vacation, I said no to the weekend that the last Harry Potter book will delivered to my door?

Recipe Swap

Nico is hosting a recipe swap for quick and easy recipes that are good as leftovers and/or easy to prepare. Here is one of my favorite summer recipes that is easy and doesn't involve heating up the kitchen. This can be served as a side dish, but I think that it is hearty enough to be a main course if served with a whole grain roll.

Marinated Black Bean Salad
3 cans of black beans, drained
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 Tbs grainy dijon mustard
salt/pepper to taste
1 medium red onion, chopped
2 medium tomatoes, diced (use one can of diced if you don't have fresh tomatoes)
1 red onion sliced for garnish (optional)

Mix tomatoes, black beans, onion.
Mix oil, vinegar, salt/pepper, mustard and drizzle over bean mixture. I don't usually use the entire vinaigrette.
Place sliced onions on top.
Chill overnight. Serve cool.

Back to the office

For the better part of a year, I have avoided my campus office like the plague. I cleared out last June and did my level best to stay away through family leave and then a sabbatical. I can't point to any one thing fueling my desire to stay away and to work from home. The baby was a huge part of it, course, but there were other reasons.

Rats, for instance.

My office is located in the attic of a building on the historic register (or so I'm told). It is old and dusty. In the recent past it was infested with rats the size of small house cats. Oh yes, office vermin! Such an authentic link to the past! We should put it on the campus tour. I was so afraid of my rodent invaders that I would knock on my door before entering the office so they could scamper back to their hiding places in the walls. Getting rid of them was a comedy in three acts. First, the maintenance guys brought traps over and baited these with peanut butter. In the mornings before I would enter, I would send someone else into the office to check the traps. There were never any bodies to dispose of. Instead, all the peanut butter had been licked off and there were often little peanut butter rat tracks back to the bank of cabinets lining my office. One maintenance guy was so certain that the traps were malfunctioning that he tested one. With his finger. The traps were in perfect condition. His finger, alas, was not. This incident confirmed my fear that the rats were, in fact, smarter than people. When it became apparent that traps wouldn't work, the college contracted with an outside exterminator who baited the office with rat poison. The rats ate the rat poison, but it did not kill them. I suspect this is because they were super rats for whom rat poison was the equivalent of Popeye's spinach. What finally worked was putting a new roof on the building. Apparently there were holes under the slate of the old roof which provided an on-ramp for the rat super highway that ran through my office.

All this is to say that a healthy and sustained fear of rats is one reason I stayed away. You never know when they'll be back.

A Terrible Method for Putting Things in Perspective, Part II

Most evenings after feeding the family, bathing the children and getting M to bed, I leave J and E to read stories, and I take a walk. Most of the time, I walk to a nearby river to watch the dolphins feeding and to take in the setting sun. On Monday, I departed from this ritual and opted instead to walk an urban trail that runs between my neighborhood and one of the main thoroughfares in my city.

I set out around 6:45 and walked for about half an hour before turning around. The trail was fairly busy with kids on mountain bikes, runners, and couples getting in their evening exercise. When I was about half a mile out, I noticed a sickening chemical smell and wondered if someone had burned some household trash. It was unpleasant, and it burned my eyes, but the smell only lasted a few hundred feet and then was gone. I put it out of my mind.

When I turned around after a half hour to head home, I immediately noticed a thick plume of black, black smoke rising in the air in the distance. The meaning of the chemical smell became apparent; it was obviously a structural fire. With sirens—fire, ambulance, police-- wailing in the distance, I walked back toward the source of the smoke. The closer I got, the clearer it became that this was a massive fire.

I exited the trail and started walking toward the sirens and bright lights. I was not alone. As if led by the Pied Piper, a line of us walked toward the commotion and the heat. Motorists rolled down their windows to ask what was happening. Kids on bikes excitedly raced past.

I was awestruck by the fire. A warehouse was aflame and it was the most intense thing I have ever seen. Flames were shooting into the air. It sounded like that cereal that snaps, crackles and pops. It smelled hot. Waves of heat enveloped the crowd that had gathered. Firefighters on ladder trucks aimed water over the top of the structure. I felt self-conscious taking pictures with my cell phone camera until I noticed that others were doing the same. The impromptu gathering took on a carnival atmosphere; I think those of us in the crowd shared the assumption that all firefighting efforts were taking place from a safe distance outside the building.

Imagine then, my horror upon learning later that evening that maybe two to three fire fighters were missing. Imagine then, the horror upon learning the next morning that nine firefighters had lost their lives in the inferno.

To get out of my neighborhood, I have to pass the store and warehouse that burned. It has become a shrine of sorts. In front of the police tape and ATF trailers, someone has placed nine white crosses. There are flowers. Teddy bears. Notes. People stop and cry. Their grief is captured by the national press which is out in force. It is surreal. It is sad. I didn't know any of the men killed Monday, but I still feel a deep sense of loss.

Update

Thanks for the kind comments on my previous post. We all survived the week.

My mother's cancer had not spread and she will require no treatment beyond the surgery. The growth the surgeon removed form her liver was just a cyst and the enlarged ovary was the result of a benign condition. She'll have an annual colonoscopy to monitor for recurrence, but she is considered cured at this point. She is still hospitalized, but she should be out by Monday or Tuesday.

Here are some highlights from the week:

Thursday morning, the first morning after the surgery, I was the child on duty to visit my mother first. I left M with my sister-in-law and borrowed a car from my sister-in-laws' father which I almost wrecked on the way to the hospital by stalling during a left-hand turn. In my defense, I have never driven a car with a clutch that tight despite a great deal of experience with manual transitions including my current car. After I arrived at the hospital, I could not figure out how to get the key out of the ignition. Then I couldn't find the owner of the car or anyone who knew how to remove it. They had to page my brother out of a meeting so he could tell me the trick (a latch that you slide as you turn the key). All I can say is damn you, Ford. No wonder you are losing market share.

I have seen the future and it isn't pretty. My mother's whining and complaining do not bode well for how she will handle aging. She already complains bitterly about everything, but the surgery just exaggerated these tendencies. I guess it would be different if she complained in a nice way, but that didn't happen. I witnessed her harassing two nurses when they couldn't find her veins: "I'm going to write the hospital a letter telling them that there ARE better ways to do this."*


Speaking of which, I'm not cut out for nursing parents. I fed my mom ice chips, brushed her teeth, brushed her hair and tried to help her out of bed, but I felt anxious the whole time especially when I realized she was going commando-- I thought I might need intensive talk therapy, if not drugs after that. How do people care for their parents for extended periods of time? Does it get easier? Do my parents have the finances in place for long term care?

Baby M and I stayed with my brother. He and his wife are on the fence as to whether to have another child** so they keep a crib in the spare bedroom, but not a bed. I learned that I am too old to sleep on air mattresses. By morning, enough air had leaked that parts of me had sunk to the ground and other parts were buoyed by air pockets. I will bring a sleeping bag next time and just sleep on the floor. It will be better. Despite a somewhat uncomfortable night, it was nice to stay with my brother's family.

E came home (she and J stayed with my in-laws) and promptly developed another mystery fever that has lasted two days thus far. This makes three in the past 8 weeks. I'm starting to get concerned. Except for the high fever, she has no other symptoms. Strange.

M is about to cut a new tooth and has been cranky. I can see the tooth, her third, under the gum so I think that the misery will end soon. Of course, there are many more to come. Sigh.

I've decided to move back to my campus office (I've been on maternity leave and sabbatical since August and have been mostly home-based.). I'm looking forward to more of a separation between home and work. More on that later next week as I move my base of operations.


*I have the same skinny, temperamental veins, so while I understand that being stuck four times for one blood draw or IV is not optimal, I have never harassed a nurse about it. Especially not one who is responsible for providing my pain meds and emptying my bladder.

**I'm guessing they will have another and that I'll experience a certain amount of baby envy before giving over to total delight to being an aunt again.

Just shoot me

Quick! Someone find me a therapist (and not that bitch from the Sopranos). I have mother issues.

My mother has been diagnosed with cancer and is about to have surgery and I am feeling. . .

[Drumroll]

Resentment. When I reach deep and try to identify the dominant emotion that is gripping me these days, it isn’t fear or sadness or anxiety that rises to the top of the stew. No, it is resentment. My hospital-phobic brother called me this afternoon to complain about my mother's complaining and stream of orders. It seems that he is feeling resentful too.

Nearly a week after her diagnosis, my fears have come true. My mother is in full-blown crisis mode. She is panicked, mournful, bossy, controlling, and eager for attention. Her energy to complain and whine and complain some more seems limitless. She is a force of nature.

So far she has:

• called everyone she can think of to share her “very sad news.” I guess she doesn’t trust her social network to get the word out. I asked if I could tell a mutual acquaintance here (we live in a city a few hours from her). She informed that she had already called and had a "very nice chat" with the acquaintance.
• asked a church acquaintance who is battling Stage 4 colon cancer to accompany her to her appointments. As if she needs to spend what's left of her time in more hospitals and doctors' offices. The woman had the good sense to demur.
• asked a friend to spend the night in the hospital with her despite my brother and my offers of hiring a night nurse.
• called to tell me that the CT technician hurt her hand with the IV used in her scan. So she cried (literally) and demanded a supervisor take over.
• arranged for her prayer group to be at the hospital during her surgery.
• demanded that my brothers and I are at the hospital during her procedure. I was planning to do this, but my especially hospital-phobic brother is none-too-pleased.
• told me she expects me to hold hands and sing Kumbaya or whatever with her preacher and prayer group. She knows I am an avowed agnostic and perhaps an atheist, but she doesn’t care. When I told her that I would be respectful of the group, but would not be holding hands and praying aloud, she started crying. Oh yeah. Maybe guilt will help me find God.
• demanded that I bring the children and stay with her when she is released from the hospital. I'm not doing this for reasons I'll have to write about later.
• told me over and over that she is feeling sorry for herself, but that it is natural to feel sorry for herself because this is just so tragic.

As you are reading this, perhaps you are thinking that we are jerks. Ungrateful children. Selfish. And maybe we are.

However, our response to our mother’s emotional outbursts, machinations, and directives is conditioned upon a lifetime of trying to manage her emotional outbursts, machinations, and directives. I guess a cancer diagnosis isn’t enough to overcome this.

Rain!

Tropical Depression Barry, I love you.

Perfect Storm

A few observations about my mother: First, she is a drama queen who is happiest in times of crisis. Second, she oversteps boundaries, especially those of her children. Finally, she is a score-keeper. I offer a few illustrations of each of these.


The Drama Queen
Example One: In the months preceding my wedding, my parents separated. Every day, my mother would call me with the latest round of complaints about my father. She found a way to make sure that everyone from the caterers to the wedding guests knew about the separation and how she was doing her best "to put on a happy face in this difficult time." For instance, when I sent my photo to the paper and asked that my photograph be labeled "Ms. B" instead of "Mrs. JM" (I did not change names), she called the editor and told her that I was absolutely changing my name and was just reacting to my parents' very sad separation. *
Example Two: When anything happens to one of her children---from fender benders to surgery--she immediately calls her prayer groups and prayer lists and whips everyone into a frenzy. When I was about to have nerve damage caused by E's vacuum birth surgically corrected**, she put that on the prayer list. Some things--and I include my hoo-hoo as one of them--just don't need to be the subject of strangers' prayers.

Boundaries, Schmoundaries
Example One: When J and I were fairly newly married, my mother brought her handyman to our house. He was supposed to fix the bathroom floor which was sagging. She decided she may as well have him paint the bathroom while he was there without so much as a "Hey, how would you feel about having your bathroom painted Smurf blue?" We were not amused.
Example Two: When I was in the hospital after having E, my mother resdistributed the furniture in my house, rearranged my kitchen and reorganized J and my drawers. I had a hormone induced meltdown upon discovering this.

Keeping Score
Example One: At Christmas, she spends precisely the same amount of money on each child and grandchild. Sometimes, we'll get an odd check for the $7.63 , but more often she makes a stocking and fills it with hideous items from the dollar store to make up the difference in what she has spent.
Example Two: She keeps a list of what each child has done for her lately: My brother M mowed her lawn when we were in town. However, Brother S cleaned her pool for her the week before. Therefore, it was my responsibility to do all the dishes during our visit on Sunday.


So there you have it, my mother is an attention-seeking-knows-no-boundaries-scorekeeping-drama queen.*** Who has just been diagnosed with colon cancer. It is the perfect storm. Stay tuned.

*They reunited shortly after my wedding. I did not change my name.
**I had a vestibulectomy-very painful, but effective.
***I know this sounds harsh. I do love her, but she makes me a little nuts.

Time to start a conversation

It doesn't seem right to complain about your marriage the same week a friend has lost her husband. It feels a little like when I complained about pregnancy after experiencing infertility--shouldn't I just be grateful already?

J and I have been together 17 years this summer, and we celebrated our 14th anniversary in February (by celebrate, I mean that we traded greeting cards). We've had rough patches here and there and there have been times that I've wanted to run away, but things have always gotten better. Things aren't bad now. They just aren't great.

So what's wrong?

When we were first together, we had to be in physical contact with one another. Sitting next to one another. Holding hands. Touching in some way. It was probably sickening. Last summer I bought a king size bed so there would be less physical contact. It isn't as if I expect to sustain the passion that we had earlier in our relationship, but I'm not sure the embers are even warm anymore.

Speaking of which. What about sex? What about that? We had a decent, if predictable, sex life right up until we were in the midst of trying to conceive. That pretty much killed it. Now, two children later, I am actually annoyed when J tries to start things. Once I saw a show on the animal channel in which the female large ferocious mammal almost took off the head of the male large ferocious mammal when he attempted to mount her. She looked pissed and annoyed. Like me! He looked bewildered. Like J. I cackled in delight. Take that, Mr. Horny! I totally get that the whole lack of sex thing is all my fault (though I do think that breastfeeding and being dog tired contribute to my decided lack of enthusiasm), but I don't care enough to do something about it. How sad is that?

Then there is the communication. Or lack thereof. We don't talk anymore. At least we don't talk to each other. We tend to talk at each other and then get pissed when we are ignored. For instance, J asked last night if a friend of mine is pregnant. Weeks ago, I had gone into great detail about how she was pregnant. I didn't realize it at the time, but he was giving me the "great, honey" treatment:

Me: Friend A is pregnant! I was right! I suspected this for at least a month. Isn't it great. Our kids will be close enough in age to play.

J: That's great, honey. [while watching The Simpsons]

I'm sure I give him the "great, honey" treatment, too.

J: Wow. The Braves, blah, blah, blah. Home run. Blah, blah. Pitchers. Blah, blah. Yankees. Blah.

Me: That's great, honey. [while reading blogs]

There is more. Bad attitudes. Annoying habits. Some disagreements over the best way to discipline a certain headstrong two-year-old. But nothing is toxic about our marriage.

I'm at a loss as to where to start to make things better. I think it would help to have a date night once in a while, but that is very expensive and we are already spending what we earn plus some. I think that as the children get older and less demanding that we may have more time and energy, too. In the meantime, maybe it is time to start a conversation about this. I love J too much to let things stay like this.

A terrible method for puting things in perspective

Last week's underwhelming Mother's Day, E's terrible twodom, M's refusal to eat anything that hasn't been pureed just so, the roof that is a structural disaster--all of these are just ant hills. I wish it didn't take tragic news to remind me of this.

Last week, I made plans to take the kids to the aquarium with B, a French adjunct with whom I am friendly. It is impossible not to be friendly with B; she is seriously peppy. It would probably be annoying, but the French accent makes it rather endearing. "Bonjour! Bonjour!" she greets me each morning as I huff and puff up the steep stairs to my office. B and I were pregnant at the same time, and we both had girls. We aren't close, but we do get together for coffee and our girls attend one another's parties and are slated to be classmates in the fall.

When I last spoke to her last Thursday, B was as happy as ever. She was looking forward to her husband's return from an extended business trip and was hoping to fill the time with beach trips and play dates. Her husband, E, is Filipino. I can't remember the story of how they wound up in the U.S., but I'm sure they told me. Their daughter looks exactly like him. In fact, when I visited after the birth, she proudly held up her little bundle of joy and told me, "I made an Asian baby!" Did I mention she is peppy?

Last Friday, I tried to call B to get her cell phone number because I was concerned that the baby's nap would make us late to our Saturday aquarium date. Her cousin answered the phone. I remembered B telling me that her cousin's English was "very bad, very bad" and considering that my French is worse, all I could get out of her cousin was that B was out and would not be home until Saturday. Given our difficulties speaking, I assumed that she misspoke. I called back Saturday morning an hour before we were to meet at the aquarium. Once again, the cousin told me to call later. It was odd, but I thought that perhaps B had made a quick trip to see her husband and had car trouble.

Later that afternoon I received an email from another friend, "I just received word that B's husband, E, was killed in an automobile accident yesterday."

I had a physical reaction to the news: my stomach clenched and my heart pounded wildly. Pure shock. It was just unreal. It is still unreal. And so very unfair. She is in the U.S. alone, save for a cousin who happened to be visiting. She will raise a daughter alone. She didn't get to say goodbye.

I've not seen her or spoken to her. No one I know has seen her yet. We are all giving her space until she is ready for visitors. However, she has been sending emails. Late at night. They are full of rage and pain. She sounds furious with the driver of the car* (he "is intact and E is dead.") She speaks of being full of regret for not having joined him on this business trip as if she could have stopped this from happening. She speaks of their recent decision to have another child. She sounds so grim. So raw. I have to have a box of tissue handy when opening them.

Sometimes when I hear of someone who is losing or has lost a spouse to a lengthy illness, I think that it might be easier to lose your loved one suddenly. But I'm not sure. Maybe a long, slow goodbye is better. There is closure. Time to plan. I don't know.

This weekend, B will bury her husband in the Northeast where they lived before coming here. When she returns, I hope she will feel up to receiving visitors. However, I think it is going to be a long while before I hear a joyful "Bonjour! Bonjour!" again.


*I googled a newspaper account of the accident. The driver lost control of the car and the car went down an embankment, hit a tree on the passenger side, spun around and hit another tree on the driver side. In an email, B said they had been attending a "function" so I would not be surprised to learn that alcohol was involved.

Blocked

I have so much to write about and yet I have nothing to write about. The material is there, but the words aren't coming. Maybe this is writer's block?

I could write:

about the untimely and tragic death of a friend's husband.

about M turning nine months.

about my frustrations with E.

about not wanting to visit my parents this weekend.

about feeling vaguely dissatisfied with my marriage.

about the ongoing struggle to lose weight.

about being happy that my television programs are all ending this week.

about the structural repairs our home requires.

about trying to embrace my research.

about being nearly ready to day wean.

about the Ann Taylor spree I intend to have when I lose five more pounds.


Clearly I have plenty of material. Perhaps the thing to do is to choose one thing from my list and write about it each day. Yes, that is what I'll do.

Tomorrow I will write about the death of my friend's husband. It isn't an uplifting story, of course, but it has me thinking about what I would do if the unthinkable were to happen.

Mother's Day Number Three

It is probably a good thing that in my cynical heart I am convinced that Mother's Day, Father's Day, Grandparents Day and other such holidays* are simply marketing vehicles for greeting card companies, florists and other commercial interests. Otherwise today might have gone down as a disappointment. Actually, it does go down as a disappointment, but it might have been worse had my expectations been high.

Here is a summary of the day for your reading pleasure.

6 Wake despite having declared --just the evening before-- that I would be sleeping in and only wanted to be interrupted long enough to nurse M. Remind self that I DESERVE to sleep in. Roll over.

6:15 Wake again wondering which child is going to wake first. Remind self that I am sleeping in. Roll Over.

6:20 E is moaning at her door. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy." J rolls out of bed and I remind him that it is Mother's Day and I am sleeping in. He goes to deal with E.

6:25 I hear J pleading with E to move away from the door so he can open it. She refuses and blocks the door with her body continuing to moan, "Mommy. I want my mommy."

6:27 Can't take it anymore. Decide to deal with E who is now sobbing, "My mommy. My Mommy." I ask her to move away form the door and the sobs stop. She steps away from the door. Decide to return to bed and continue sleeping in.

6:28 J asks if I'll "Just take E to use the potty" before I resume my sleep-in. E refuses to go unless I pick her up. She has wet her pull-ups overnight and they have leaked onto her pajamas and now onto me.

6:29 Change E, change me, decide to continue my lazy morning in bed.

7:00 Wake. Why isn't M up yet? She is sleeping great. Maybe something is wrong with her?
Don't be silly. She is sleeping more soundly now that these tubes are in . Most babies sleep 12 hours. Roll over.

7:25 Wake. Maybe E put another toy in M's crib last night and she has choked to death on a little part. Stop. Being. Neurotic. Sleep.

7:45 Wake. She has been sleeping almost 13 hours. Is that OK? Should try to continue sleeping in.

8:00 Phew. I hear her. Go get her. Nurse.

8:15 Well I'm up now. May as well stay up.

8:15-
9 Clean kitchen. Play with kids. Note that E is running a fever of 101.1.

9:00 Open Mother's Day card and unwrapped CD of a band I've never heard of.

10-12 J goes for a 12 mile run. On Mother's Day. Watch Maisy Mouse and Disney Playhouse over and over. Feel brain turning to jello. Put M down for morning nap. She sleeps for two hours. Is that OK?

12 E requests a quesadilla for lunch. I make it and she eats one tiny bite. Fever up to 102.6.

12:30 Attempt to feed M cottage cheese. She gags on the curds. What is wrong with her? Who gags on cottage cheese? She grabs the spoon and is soon wearing cottage cheese and sweet potatoes.**

12:30 Put E down for a nap. Decide to take my very own Mother's Day nap. Slide into bed and close eyes. Bliss!

12:31 Attempt to ignore the screams of "Mommy. My mommy" coming from the next room.

12:45 Kind of hard to take a nap with the wailing and gnashing of teeth next door.

1:15 Give up. Abort nap.

1:45 Allow E out of her room.

2:00 Put M down for a nap.

2-3 Put "Potty Time Elmo" in the DVD player. Worst Elmo video ever, yet E wants to watch it and a little reinforcement can't hurt. Or maybe it can. As E sits in my lap, I feel something wet and warm spreading down the front of my pants. "I accident on you," E says earnestly.

3:15 Play Memory with E. Repeatedly rescue M who has crawled under the coffee table and is enraged that she is bumping her head when she tries to sit up.

5:00 Take E, who is now running a fever of over 102, to Food Lion just to get her out of the house. She insists on wearing her sunglasses into the store. She rides in the back of the cart slightly dazed and wearing shades. It occurs to me that other adults may think I have a stoned kid on my hands.

5:30-7 Feed and bathe M. Bathe E. Put girls to bed. Collapse.

7-10 Eat dinner (refried beans), sort through bills, surf net.

10 Start blog entry and pump.


See. It wasn't an awful day, but it wasn't my "ideal" Mother's Day either. I'm sure next year will be better. Maybe I'll get to sleep in.

*Please somebody tell me there is no In-Laws Day.


**I don't really think these compliment one another, but she'll eat almost anything.

Why is it. . .

that my very short bad haircut can't grow out fast enough, but the hairs on my chin are working on some kind of growth record? Why?

Major developments

That E figures out the potty training thing.
Hoorah! How quickly things change. She has finally put it together and learned to pee in the potty. I can't wait until she is diaper free. I'm fearful of public restrooms, but how bad can it be compared to changing big girl poopy diapers?

Let's Review, Shall We?

In December, I wrote my list of wishes for the next year. I hesitate to call them resolutions because I find resolutions too depressing. So how am I doing? Let's review:


That I find the will to finish the text.
Ummm, no. I did, however, find the will to admit that the situation was untenable.


That the publisher is nicer.
Right.


That my daughters are healthy.
Let's see. If we exclude ear infections, the girls are doing well. If we include ear infections, then this isn't going particularly well. E, who had tubes placed last summer, had a very bad ear infection in February. Other than that, she has just had a few colds. Poor little M, on the other hand, has hopped on the ear infection band wagon. She has been on four rounds of antibiotics since February 21 and her hearing tests came back abnormal because of the fluid. She will get tubes on May 2. I haven't talked about this yet (probably because I am in denial), but she has not hit some verbal milestones (our pediatrician calls it a mild delay at this point) so I am hoping that once the fluid is clear, she will be able to hear and to catch up.

That daycare is more traumatic for me than for Baby M.
This one has turned out pretty well. I'm a control freak and it has been hard to come to terms that my instructions may or may not be followed (I must say this part was easier when we had a nanny). I am all for schedules, so I'm also not pleased that some days she naps and some days she does not. On the bright side, she seems happy when I pick her up and I am glad that she doesn't seem bored.

That E figures out the potty training thing.
Oh. God. No. Not yet.

That J and I have time to reconnect.
Ha ha. Part of the problem here may be that by "reconnect" we mean different things. When I think of reconnecting, I think of having meaningful conversations about non-child subjects and maybe a little cuddling (preferably in the form of a massage). When J thinks of reconnecting, he thinks of sex. I don't know if it is the breast feeding, the fatigue that comes with raising a toddler and a baby, or if I am just deflicted, but the last thing I want--and I mean the last thing-- is sex. I don't want to be touched. In fact, I get annoyed and even angry when he attempts to initiate.

That I can breastfeed M until she is one or until I feel good about stopping.
Except for the recent biting, this is working. Pumping for daycare is hard work for me, but each week I somehow have enough. I plan to start introducing whole milk (cut in with breast milk) in a sippy around 11 months so that she can be day weaned by her first birthday.

That I lose the baby weight.
Um. No. I lost several pounds when I had pneumonia, but I think I have gained them back. I am getting back on the exercise wagon because swimsuit season is upon us.

Peace on Earth.
Sigh.

That I become better organized.
Yes! I have been slowly, but surely improving. I'm still pretty pathetic, but my paperwork is under better control, the finances are under control, and I'm starting to declutter the nooks and crannies of the house. Being more organized has given me a huge boost. I have a long way to go, but it feels nice to feel more in control.

That I keep writing in this space for therapy.
Yes!

That fewer hairs show up on my chin.
Sadly, no. While it probably isn't noticeable to anyone but me, I seem to be sprouting more chin hairs. I don't want to be one of those older women (my grandmother was one and my mother-in-law is on her way) who are oblivious to the inch long gray hairs making little curly cues off their chins. I may be a sucker, but I just ordered this.

That I give more to worthwhile causes and charities.
Except to make a few trips to Goodwill and to donate a dollar now and again to March of Dimes I've not done much. Wait! I did give to Walk for Autism because my neighbor is walking in it (her son is autistic) and I did make a donation to the local rape crisis agency. Still, I should do more.


So that's my first quarter report. How is your year going?

Maimed

She bit me. My teething girl bit me on the boob. She has taken a few minor chomps before, but this was different. There was blood. And shrieking. I'm maimed.

God help me, but I do not want to resort to my father-in-law's unsolicited suggestion, but something must be done. I startled her and made her cry, which was only fair considering she MADE ME BLEED, so maybe that will be enough of a message. I'm going to be very wary the next few times she nurses.

I need to go look into first aid options. Owieeeeeeeeee!

Picking up the pieces

It has been nearly three weeks since the termination of my text contract. Overall, I feel relieved. But I would be lying if I didn't admit to feeling let down, too. Finishing major projects is analogous in some ways to giving birth.* Take my dissertation: the process was full of anxiety, and hurt like hell, but in the end I had the cutest little doctorate in the whole world. With the text fiasco there was no epidural, the baby got stuck, and there was a bitch of a nurse telling me what a shitty job I was doing-- for two and a half years.** It would have been wonderful to have walked away with a little bundle of (text and royalty) joy, but that wasn't to be. And it is a bitter pill. The aftertaste will be with me a long time.

It is probably just as well that my girls have taken turns getting sick over the last few weeks--ear infections and mystery fevers-- because I needed a little space and time to think.

It has taken me a few weeks to decompress, but I've turned my attention to two projects. In one, I am examining social network data I collected two years ago as part of a team studying sexual victimization. I am comparing the social networks of college women who report having been sexually assaulted to the social networks of college women who do not report having been sexually assaulted. I want to know if there are significant differences in network structure, such as the intensity of their ties to others and memberships in primary and secondary groups, that may heighten or mitigate risk of assault. In the other project, I am examining patterns of cosponsorship and co-voting in a legislative body to test the effects of race, gender, and other attributes on legislative effectiveness.

For the most part, I am excited to be working on both of these. Thus far, I have been reviewing the literature to bring myself up to speed on recent developments. This has been good for my ego because I'm finding that my previous work has been cited, particularly with the legislative work. I've also found that there have been some methodological advances and I look forward to being able to run my models with some newly validated measures.***

I'm going to work as fast as I can on both projects with the goal of having at least one paper out for review by the fall and others in the pipeline. I'm looking forward to new beginnings and easy deliveries.

*I apologize for using birth analogies, but it's all I've got right now.

**In fits and starts, of course. I had two babies in this time, went up for tenure, renovated a house, had surgery, and held a full time teaching job.

***Measures are always an issue with reviewers. Having published, validated measures to use and cite will make the review process a bit smoother for me.

I love this photo

I'm Free!

They opted to terminate the relationship. I am so happy. So relieved.

There will be professional ramifications to be sure, but I'm not thinking about those today. Right now, I just want to enjoy the moment.

Waiting

No word yet from the publisher. I guess it is taking her a while to formulate a response. The anticipation is not fun, but it isn't horrible either. I have plenty to do.

I feel recovered enough from the pneumonia to try and give this house a decent cleaning. Also, our dryer broke so I need to decide whether to repair it or replace it. If I replace it, I will upgrade both the 25 year old washer and seven year old dryer to high efficiency units. Repairing would absolutely be less expensive, but this is the fourth repair for the dryer. At this point, I feel like I might be throwing good money after bad. For a relatively young appliance it has been terrible. Then again, repairing it is more environmentally friendly so I don't know what I'll do. I also need to file our taxes. I did these before getting sick, but I want to review before filing. We are getting a nice refund this year (thanks to M) so I shouldn't sit on it much longer.

I also want to do something productive on the professional front so I am going to start planning my fall courses. Oddly enough, I'm looking forward to this. I will be teaching one entirely new prep, a research course, and two old staples. I've never put my courses together this far in advance (sometimes I will even wait until the week before the semester if it is a course I've taught a million times), and I am looking forward to having the time to work new readings and assignments into my existing preps and having time to thoughtfully plan the research course. Coming off sabbatical with stronger courses will be fabulous.

Thanks for the nice feedback on my decision to confront the text issue. I don't feel brave at all, but I do feel like a weight has been lifted.

I Sent the Letter

My hands are shaking and I'm feeling sick (well, more sick), but it is done. All morning I worried over this, but then I realized that as with most things, anticipation is usually the worst part. So I hit send.

I gave her three alternatives: find a coauthor to take over, cut our losses, or continue, but expect this drag on forever and ever. I tried to make the third option look horrible.

How long before she calls and demands a pound of flesh?

Escape

Have you ever had the impulse to run away from those things about your life that you find distasteful? In high school I would sometimes get in my car and drive the 45 minutes through the swamp that separated my smallish hometown from the city. I always turned around, but just knowing I could leave helped.

I have occasionally followed the impulse to get away. I moved from my parents' home the morning after I graduated from high school. It was a good decision. I made a painful break with my first dissertation advisor when he became too close and personal. Another right decision.

More often than not, though, I have not followed the impulse to leave. When I was unhappy after my first semester in college, I went back. When the dissertation was miserable, I kept at it. When I was most unhappy with my marriage, I stayed. These were the correct decisions.

Now I am experiencing that urge to bolt again. This time, it is the text that has me down.

I've had some time this week to contemplate the text, my excruciatingly slow progress on it, and my mental health. And I want out. This isn't worth my sanity. Only my children are worth my sanity, and they are already chipping away at it. I don't need an evil publisher to help them.

The whole project is troubled. First, the timelines were never realistic. There is subtle, but real pressure for me to plagiarize in order to speed things up. I won't do it. Second, the publisher won't allow me to communicate with my editor unless she is copied on every message or conferenced in on phone calls. This is bad on so many levels I don't know where to start. Third, the publisher is unpleasant (my former coauthor calls her “psychotic”) and is extremely aggressive. Utterances like, "We own you" don't help.

I read my contract this week. Yes, I signed it two years ago, but I only read it today. Brilliant, I know. The thing is riddled with the word "exploit" which makes me uneasy. Is this regular legalese or was it a warning that this would be a hellish endeavor? If I understand my contract, then the only penalty for withdrawing is that they can take my work. I can live with this. I faxed the contract to my brother, the hot shot attorney. After he tells me how stupid I was to sign it without running it by him first, he'll interpret it for me.

I've already written a letter to the publisher. In it, I explain that it isn’t feasible to have this complete this summer because I know she wants it to be well-researched and original. In it, I say that I’m increasingly anxious about the project and don’t wish to continue in this manner. I give her three scenarios. In the first, they identify a new coauthor. In the second, we reevaluate deadlines and come up with something a year out so that the content can be strong and original. In the third, we cut our losses and part ways.

I don’t know if I’ll send the letter. My former coauthor (who left the project with a letter to her that ended with a “You aren’t the kind of person I can work with”) said that I should expect her to react with fury and to expect a storm. Am I up for that?

Seven months today

I'm too sick and too tired for a long post, but today is M's seven month birthday so I want to take a moment.

I like this age. She will still fall asleep in my arms and will allow me to cuddle up as much as I like. I'm drinking it all in because I know it won't last. Soon her smooth baby skin will be roughened up from crawling and she will be too busy exploring to cuddle for long.

She has her first tooth, she is able to move around by scooting on her tummy in a bit of an army crawl, she rocks on her knees and goes backwards, she shrieks in delight when I enter a room, she shrieks in displeasure when I exit the room, she is finally sleeping through the night, she loves her big sister, she loves the dogs, and she doesn't mind the car (too much).

We were three and now we are four. I can't imagine it any other way.

Lesson Learned

I've had a cough for a few weeks. Between trying to write, taking care of two little girls, and sleep training (which went beautifully, by the way), I pretty much ignored the cough even when it got worse. I even looked up bronchitis on-line and read that most cases resolve on their own without antibiotics, and that prescribing antibiotics just contributes to the evolution of monster germs. This added to my resolve to wait it out.

Sometime over the weekend, I started feeling exhausted--not sleep deprivation exhausted, but an aching muscle and joint exhausted that I only experience when I am truly ill. Today, I finally gave in and called for a doctor's visit. One chest X-ray later and we had a diagnosis: pneumonia.

Lesson learned. Next time, I'll head to the doctor sooner and do my part to speed the evolution of superbugs.

Sleep Training

I am a zombie mom. Seven months* without a full night's sleep will do that. The results aren't pretty.

I'm forgetful. Did I feed the dogs? Did I give the baby her medicine? Did I make the mortgage payment?

I'm emotional. You left the toilet seat up again? Bastard!

I'm unfocused. Have I really been sitting at the computer for three hours and I only have four paragraphs to show for it?

Something has got to give.

Today, I took M to the doctor to confirm the second round of antibiotics cleared the dreadful ear infection. Her ears looked good, and the doctor gave me permission and encouragement to commence with sleep training while we have a window in which she is free of colds and ear infections.

So baby boot camp has begun, and I'm the reluctant drill sergeant.

My poor baby girl has been crying on and off for an hour. It is 1 a.m. and I am trying not to cave in to her pathetic squawking. I have no philosophical objection to sleep training: I do not believe I am scarring her emotionally nor do I believe she is in terrible distress.

I'm doing this because she needs to learn to self soothe. Because the booby bar closes at 8 from here on out. Because I believe a rested family is a happy family.

Still, it is hard. Has it really been an hour?

********Going to check on her now********


Crap. Now she is more upset. And she just woke her sister.

This is going to be a looooong night.


*Longer, if we count bathroom calls during the third trimester.

A thump on the head

I barely breastfed our first daughter, E. My milk came in late, I had to supplement, supply never caught up with demand, and eventually she refused the breast. I pumped until she was six months old, but it was a relief to stop.

Fast forward to baby M. We had a rough start, but we managed and are going strong at 6.5 months. I'm taking it month by month, but I'm hoping to make it to about a year.

My father-in-law is interested in the breastfeeding. Too interested, if you ask me. I think it goes back to 2.5 years ago when I was nursing M under the cover of a blanket, and he walked over and ripped the blanket off of me before I realized what he was doing. Since M's birth, he asks frequent questions about breastfeeding and makes comments that sometimes make me uncomfortable. It is hard to put my finger on what makes me uncomfortable, but it does.

Last week while they were visiting, I mentioned that M is in the throes of teething and that I expect teeth to break through anytime now. He said, "So you'll stop breastfeeding." I said, "No, I hope to keep going."

So he reached over to where I was playing with M on the floor, and he thumped my head. Hard.
"That's how the Lakota teach their babies not to bite," he told me.

So what about that made me uncomfortable? Maybe it was his assumption that teeth=weaning. Maybe it was his thinking about my breast comfort. Or maybe it was getting thumped hard on the head.

So that is the problem

M has never been a great sleeper, but with a double ear infection that did not respond to first-line antibiotics, M's sleep habits have regressed to that of her five to six week self. I won't try sleep training again until I know that she is not in discomfort. At the same time, E is waking at least once a night for various reasons. One night she wet the bed. Then there was a nightmare. Last night she was lonely and wanted to sleep with us.*

Last night I made a note of each time I woke to attend to one or both of the children. My longest stretch of sleep was just over 90 minutes. That isn't good is it?

I'm pathetically tired. So tired that I stare at the computer screen and my thoughts flit by too rapidly for me to get them down. So tired that I walk into a room with a sense of purpose, but cannot remember what that purpose may be. So tired that I put hair gel on my toothbrush this morning.

I've made little headway on the text in the past two weeks. This makes me feel stupid. Lazy. Slow. And irritable.

So today when a friend send me this Reuter's article, I felt a wee bit better realizing that I really am slower and dumber than I used to be back when I had normal sleep habits.

Child's sleep disorder affects parents too
By Amy Norton

When children have sleep problems, their parents -- especially mothers -- often have sleep-deprived nights too, research shows.

In a study of families with children seen at a sleep clinic, researchers found that when children had multiple sleep problems, their parents were more likely to have daytime drowsiness.

Mothers were generally more affected than fathers, possibly because they were the ones who typically responded to their children's problems in the middle of the night, the researchers speculate.

"A child's sleep problem affects the whole family," said lead study author Dr. Julie Boergers, of Bradley Hasbro Children's Research Center and Brown Medical School in Providence, Rhode Island.

This is important, she told Reuters Health, because research shows that sleep disruptions and daytime sleepiness have negative effects on people's mood, behavior and health. For parents, sleep deprivation may cause them to have less patience with their child or spouse, and be less productive at work and at home, Boergers explained.

The study, published in the Journal of Family Psychology, is based on 107 families of children ages 2 to 12 who were evaluated at a sleep disorders clinic. The children's sleep problems ranged from the breathing disorder sleep apnea to night terrors and sleepwalking to behavioral issues like refusing to go to bed.

When parents were surveyed about their own sleep habits and daytime alertness, it turned out that those whose children had more than one sleep problem tended to suffer more daytime sleepiness than other parents.

This was particularly true of mothers, even though they reported sleeping roughly the same number of hours that fathers did.

It's possible that mothers did have more sleep interruptions than fathers, even though they logged roughly the same number of hours in bed, according to Boergers and her colleagues. While fathers in general may be taking on more child-rearing responsibilities, they note, moms are probably still the ones who more often get out of bed to check on their child.

According to Boergers, some signs of a childhood sleep disorder include excessive daytime sleepiness, difficulty falling asleep, frequent nighttime waking or snoring."It's also important to recognize that some children who demonstrate daytime behavior problems or mood disturbances may suffer from an underlying sleep disorder," she said.

Parents who suspect their child may have a sleep disorder "shouldn't hesitate" to seek help for it, Boergers said, as there are effective behavioral therapies and medications available.

SOURCE: Journal of Family Psychology, March 2007.


*I normally discourage this, but I am so very tired that I relented.

High School Reunion

My 20 year high school reunion is coming up this year. I am somewhat ambivalent about attending. I never even considered going to my 10 year reunion, probably because I could still remember why I hated most of those people. But now, I am oddly tempted to attend. Why? I think I'm just feeling curious about how my classmates have turned out. Is Trevor really obese now? Is Christie still an alcoholic? Were these people as horrible as I remember?

The event isn't until October, so I have time. I know this: If I do decide to go, I must look better than I look right now. Sure it is vain, but I don't want to be the one who is really showing her age.

I also must lose this weight by then. Why, why is it so stubborn? Why, why am I always so hungry? I honestly think breastfeeding is the culprit. Not only is it not sparing poor M from a series of ear infections and colds, but it is making me fat.

Also, I'll have to grow my hair a bit. I cut it off a few months ago and I'm wearing a short crop. On one hand, it is easy. On the other hand, it only looks good for a week after a cut and then it looks dreadful. I think my stylist isn't good with short hair, but I hate to leave her because we are from the same hometown and because she is very pregnant and freaking about money. Maybe I'll leave her while she is on maternity leave. That would be very awful wouldn't it? Anyway, I am thinking that if I start growing it now, maybe I can get it to a just below the earlobe bob by October.

My face needs some TLC, too. I'm not normally one for cosmetic treatments, but I think I would consider teeth whitening and some restylane.

Clearly, I am seriously considering attending. Have you ever attended a reunion? Was it fun or just sad?

Six months already

Dear M:

All those months as you grew inside me, I thought you would never get here. I was impatient. I wanted to fast forward through the pregnancy and hold you in my arms. And then you were here. Now six months have passed and my impulse is the opposite: I want to slow things down a bit. I want to savor this because it is going quickly, and one day I am going to look up at a rosy cheeked toddler, and I'll have a hard time remembering what that toddler was like as a baby. I'll love that toddler to bits, of course. But I'll miss the baby.

Last week you celebrated your six month birthday with a double ear infection. I'm experiencing some mom guilt over this one because, looking back at your sleep patterns, I'm fairly certain that you had at least a mild infection for several days before I carted you to the pediatrician. I was trying not to be a neurotic mom, but all the signs were there. By the time we saw the doctor, one of your ears looked awful and the other was well on its way to awful. This is your second major infection in less than two months. I see tubes in your future.

Yesterday we took you to your six month appointment. You are a long thin baby barely breaking the 10th percentile for weight, but nearing the 90th percentile for height. For a teeny thing, you are strong and you struggled with the doctor who wanted to check your (still infected) ears. You turned beet red and let out a mighty wail with each of your four immunizations, but you quickly settled down and were smiling again by the time we made it to the car.

You are so happy. A smile machine. You flirt with everyone, even the nurse who has just jabbed you with four needles. On my desk I have a favorite picture of you grinning pure sunshine. When I am feeling down, or when I miss you, I study that photo and it helps.

I haven't had eight hours of sleep since I was seven months pregnant and you, my dear, are the reason. You don't sleep as well as your big sister did at this age. I've initiated sleep training several times, but you've been a bit stubborn, and you've also been sick with seemingly constant colds and ear infections. I have a hard time letting you cry when I'm not certain that you are free of discomfort.

You are still a breastfed baby, but you are eating solids now. So far, you have not refused anything I've offered. The nice thing about your eating solids is that it slightly reduces the amount of milk you need at daycare. This is marvelous because I am able to keep up with you and we've not needed to supplement with formula yet. There may come a time that I decide to stop pumping, but we aren't there yet.

You've been sitting well for a while and you are now getting up on your hands and knees. You haven't worked out how to go forward, but it won't be long. When you do work this out, we are in trouble. In anticipation of your impending mobility, I am trying to get big sister to keep toys with small pieces off the floor and I'm looking at what needs to be baby proofed for a second time.

You have no teeth, but given your new game of "bite mommy while nursing" I suspect teeth won't be long. I've been reading up on this biting and I'm either supposed to yelp and say "no bite" sternly, or I'm supposed to observe you and remove you when you seem to slow down while nursing. Most gurus suggest the former technique, but there is some debate over this. At least one web site suggests that yelping may scare you off the breast starting a string of negative feeding associations that will lead to later food issues and eventual obesity or anorexia. Nothing is ever straightforward, is it?

Your big sister adores you. She wants to feed you. She wants to hold you. She wants to bathe you. She wants to dress you. You return the affection. You watch her and try to catch her eye when she is not focused on you. You squeal when she talks to you. You laugh from the joy of her company. When I first learned I was pregnant with you, I had a vivid image flit through my brain. It was of two little girls holding hands as they ran along the beach. It fills my heart to see that my girls are well on their way to being friends, and I know I am going to cry when I see my girls hand in hand on the shore.

Love and devotion,

Mama

That's a Man for You. . .

I recently decided it is time to get fit, lose some weight and become reacquainted with my prepregnancy wardrobe. About the same time, J decided he needed to lose some weight as well. He has been diligently weighing in each morning and has upped the exercise and cut back on what E calls "goodies."I've been walking more, visiting the gym, and trying to make healthier choices.

So how has the weight loss gone?

I've lost half a pound. J has lost ten pounds. How is this fair?

Two Really Is Terrible

I have a confession to make: I find my 28.5-month-old daughter, E, trying. VERY trying. As in, I better understand why my stay-at-home grandmother became an alcoholic during her children's toddler years.

Today was a particularly bad day. E and M were both home from daycare with colds and fevers.* M was a little cranky, but she was fairly content to be attached to me either in the sling or the Bjorn. E, however, made it her mission to share her misery.

Today, she simultaneously wanted my company and did not want my company. For instance, if I were holding M, nursing M, talking to M, or otherwise paying attention to M, E would say, "my turn," and attempt to push her baby sister out of the way and sit on my lap. She also pulled M's hair and pinched her. I realize that jealousy is normal when there is a new baby present, but why did she wait five and a half months to start this? Just to mix things up, when I would approach M, to wipe the snot off her face or check her temperature, she would scream, "No, Mommy, no," and burst into frantic tears. Diaper changes were much the same. Even attempts to hug her were met this way.

When she wasn't yelling at me to stay away or begging to sit in my lap, she was busy removing every article of clothing. Seriously, I think we may have a stripper on our hands. Today, when she was clothed, she wore a hideous ensemble of her choosing: hot pink leggings, a pastel pink shirt with a whale on the front, and purple crocs. As much as the outfit disturbed me, I was more disturbed that in the time it took to rinse and replace a dropped pacifier, E was able to completely disrobe. If she were potty trained, it would be one thing, but so far she hasn't demonstrated any bladder control. To me, the sight of my naked toddler declaring, "I not wear pants and diapers," while standing on my good rug is anxiety provoking.

Then there was the whining. If there is an evolutionary advantage to whining, then our genes are safe. "I don't want Dora. I want Dora. I want WonderPets. The dolphin. I need the dolphin. I'm stuck. I don't want books. I want books. You do it, Mommy. You do it. I want crackers. I want to go bye-bye. My turn. My turn. I don't want a nap. I want water. I don't want water."

There must be an equation that quantifies the difficulty of raising a toddler. Something like four infants= one toddler. Or maybe it is three infants + inlaw=one toddler. Something. I do find the baby much, much easier than E.

Still, she has her moments. For instance, we are sort of potty training and what she lacks in bladder control, she makes up for in enthusiasm. This may explain why, when I use the toilet ** she says, "Good job, Mommy!"

If only I could have that positive immediate feedback for all my endeavors.


*I was shamed on Friday because E's cold was so bad that they copied the "sick child policy" page from the parent handbook and made me sign it. In my defense, she barely had the sniffles when I dropped her off that morning. How was I to know she would spike a fever of 101 and that her nose would start running like a snot river.
**I've given up on ever again going to bathroom in private.

Deadlines

I "chatted" with the publisher. It was enlightening.

It was a pleasant enough conversation at first, but when she said, "and now for something unpleasant," I knew it was time to find my backbone.

My heart was racing, but I managed to blurt out, "I won't be done by April! I won't be done by May, and I doubt I'll be done by June. July seems more realistic."

There was a silence at the other end.

And then she let me know why she had been "rough" on me during the last few communications.

Back while she was visiting* in the Fall, I told her about my research (not the hellish text, but my real academic work). I mentioned that I would be doing some data collection during this sabbatical semester. Apparently that was enough to set her off. How dare I work on anything else while she "owns" me and I owe her a text! I had mentioned April as a possible month to send a survey. That is why she decided that my new deadline was April 1 and commenced to make my life hell with snide emails and veiled threats.

As it turns out, I am not personally collecting data this semester. I have a graduate student who is starting the data collection** while I do the literature review.*** He and I meet every two weeks to check in, but until the data collection is complete in June, this isn't a big time sink for me. As soon as I told her that I will not be collecting data, she relaxed and was pleasant again. She is a control freak, isn't she? It isn't just me is it?

My real deadline appears to be this summer which is what I originally thought and is what I can live with. It is going to be tough, but I can make it if I continue at my current pace. I didn't ask for a new contract (to be honest, I blanked on it), but in looking at my contract again, I think I am safe. Plus, as J has pointed out many times, they have invested too much time into developing this text to drop me now.

I feel like I can breathe again. I don't mind working to deadlines when they are realistic. However, when they are unrealistic, I'm anxious and less productive.

I don't really feel like I found my backbone, but I'm glad I looked for it. I feel like I got closer to it than I've been in a while.


*Torturing
**Tedious work that he enjoys. Something is wrong with that boy.
***Tedious work that I enjoy. Something is wrong with me, too.

Assertiveness Training

Tomorrow morning, I have a phone "chat" scheduled with the publisher. I dread it. I would rather visit the dentist (and I hate the dentist). You see, there is no way, I am going to make the deadline. I think I can finish by the end of the summer going at my current rate, but there is no way I can finish by April. It is not possible. For someone else, maybe, but not for me.

Last week, I sent two sections. She emailed upon receipt of the second section. It was a rare rah-rah note. "At this pace, you'll be done in no time!" she said. And I felt good. I wanted to write more! Go faster! Get done in no time!

My happiness at having finally pleased her lasted all of a half hour. Then she sent a second message. A grim message. A tersely worded message. She had done the math. In order to meet my deadline, I would need to do seven sections a week. They are depending on me to get it done. The end. No more cheering.

I turned off the computer. What was the point?

I stewed for a few days. Then I finally realized just how angry I feel about the project. This was a huge step for me, because I have trouble recognizing when I'm angry and even more difficulty expressing my anger. I'm not a hothead. I don't raise my voice, I don't confront people, and I don't throw things. I wish I did. It would probably be healthier than my approach which is to internalize and to stew.

How did I get this way? My father bragged that he "broke me" of my temper when I was a child. He told me that I was mercurial and had a hellish temper.* He didn't tell me what he did to rid me of my temper, but he was clearly quite proud of changing me from a hellion to a sweet southern girl.

I wish he hadn't done such a good job of it. I am far too passive for my own good. I try to get along by giving in or by finessing situations. Neither feels good. Unfortunately, the publisher is dominant and aggressive. I don't know how our conversation will go tomorrow, but I need to communicate some things.

First, there is the small matter of deadlines. Each time I have told her that April is a huge stretch, she has just come back with a "that's the deadline." I need to tell her in no uncertain terms that April is not happening and to find out whether she is dropping me.

Second, I am not allowed to talk to my editor unless the publisher is copied on all emails or is on a third line on the phone. It would be OK (not really) if she were unobtrusive, but she frequently gets involved with what I consider to be editorial issues. It seems very controlling to me.

Third, there is the issue of her acting as if she owns me. OK, she has actually said as much: "We own you." I need some boundaries, babe.

Finally, my contract has already expired. I just looked at it tonight and it isn't clear to me that I am going to get paid since I have already missed the original deadline. I want a new contract with an August 2007 deadline.

I'll let you know how it goes.


*Sounds a lot like E. Shoot me if I ever attempt to "break her" of her temper.