Is it possible?

A few minutes ago, as I left the restroom, I paused to wash my hands and to make sure I didn't have any of my lunch in my teeth. As I adjusted the v-neck sweater I'm wearing, I noticed something: I no longer have the voluptuous breasts of a newly lactating mother. In fact, if it is possible, I think my breasts are smaller now than they were before I got pregnant with Wild Man. I think I want to cry a little.

Don't get me wrong--I'm perfectly happy with my body. I'm petite, and I have a really high metabolism. I rarely have the time to work out, and I can eat mostly what I want and don't have to diet, not even to lose my pregnancy weight. I'm small chested, and I've always been happy with that. But it was really nice to have some cleavage for a while! I enjoyed having something to fill out the v-neck tops that I prefer. I don't want the double-Ds that came home from the hospital with me, but I would have preferred not to lose a half a size as a result of breast feeding either.

And so it begins

C is in the middle of applying for jobs yet again. His field's annual conference takes place next month, so he is obsessed with checking his email, checking our voice mail, and checking the mail. He has applied for 61 jobs, some of which are directly in his field but most of which are in his general time period. He also applied for a number of generalist positions. Thus far he has 4 interviews scheduled for the conference. This number is promising because the conference is over 4 weeks away, and most of the schools he applied to are just now reviewing applications. He is hoping for 8 to 10 interviews; I keep reminding him that he only needs one so long as that one ends with an offer.

Blowing Kisses

Wild Man has recently added something new to his drop-off routine. A typical morning goes something like this:

• Arrive at school and cross the parking lot to the building, with Wild Man in my arms. I occasionally let him walk, which generally makes the walk about 15 times longer because he has to stop and touch every rock and blade of grass we encounter.
• Enter building.
• Say hello to the fish in the school's fish tank--"Hi, hi, hi fissies!"
• Go to classroom and wriggle out of my arms to say "Hi, hi, hi" to Miss Manna (also known as Miss Amanda) and to Miss Key (aka Miss Kelli).
• Refuse to stand still so I can take his jacket off.
• Distribute his things to the appropriate places while he finds his BFF.
• Hug BFF while screaming her name with glee.

He is usually so excited to see his buddies that I am able to leave without him getting upset; in fact, he often tells me "Bye" before I'm even ready to go! This morning we were arrived a little late, so he was just in time for snack. I stayed around while the teachers got the children situated at their little table, and then I headed out as soon as Wild Man had his goldfish crackers in front of him. I said "Mommy's leaving. I love you. Have a good day." He responded "Bye Mimi." And then he blew me a kiss! C's been trying to teach him to do this for weeks, but he has steadfastly refused to do it. This morning Wild Man did it of his own accord at just the right moment. It made my morning.

C and my blog

So I asked the question I did last week out of curiosity. I really wondered whose spouse/partner read their blogs on a regular basis and how other blogging women felt about that. I wonder because a lot of our friends read my blog on a fairly regular basis, and everyone assumes that C reads it too. On more than one occasion he has been asked his opinion on a post I've written. He also received a fair amount of ribbing after I posted about his concerns with Wild Man and makeup. C doesn't read my blog, and to be quite honest, I like it that way. In fact, I've asked him not to read it. I don't, as AcadeMama succinctly said in her comments, blog about anything that I wouldn't discuss with him. And as Anastasia said, I talk to C about almost everything that I blog about. In fact, he knows a lot about the blogs I read as I often talk to him about the posts I find interesting and the virtual relationships I have developed. Quite honestly, he isn't interested in reading my blog; he has said it would be akin to reading my journal, and since he certainly wouldn't want me to read his journal, he isn't going to read mine. He has my blog bookmarked on his computer, and occasionally he'll go to it when I specifically ask him to. Other than that, I actually think he forgets that I blog unless I bring it up.

An invitation

I've been asked to join the blogging men over at The Rhetorical Situation, and as I have been venturing into politics and all things rhetorical more frequently, I've accepted the invitation. I will continue to blog here (I don't think I could stop at this point if I tried!), but I hope you will all check out The Rhetorical Situation. I hope to bring a different perspective to the blog--I won't be blogging about sports, guys, that's for sure! I also anticipate quite a few heated discussions amongst all the contributors, but hey, isn't that what rhetoric is all about? I feel certain Solon and Harrogate would agree!

Weird question for my readers

So I could create one of those handy little poles that e-blogger now helps one create, but I figured why bother. I'm posing a question to my readers, at least my readers who are also bloggers. For those of you who are married, does your spouse know you blog? Does said spouse read your blog? I will elaborate on this once I hear from some of you.

Back in my office

Today is the first day of 2008 that I've spent in my office on campus--almost the whole day. I've been experimenting with working at home, and I have to say, I think I like working at home better. Yes, there are all the distractions of home--TV, housework, laundry, etc. Yesterday, for example, I started my day off by vacuuming the entire house and mopping the kitchen floor rather than just sitting down at work. But there are an equal number of distractions at school--as evidenced by the number of conversations I had today. I think I will be spending more time working from home this semester, as I have proven to myself that I can get as much work done from home as I can from school.

On a different note, I have written over 35 pages for my Wharton chapter, and there is still no end in sight. I realize now that I could devote my entire dissertation to this novel. To put an end to my writing I'm imposing a deadline on myself: I must submit a complete draft of this chapter to my advisor by Jan. 30, 2008. After all, I've got to move on to other chapters. . . right?

Kevin, You were robbed!!!

So I confess--I watch Project Runway. And I have only one thing to say about last night's episode (freely admitting that I only saw the last 20 minutes): Kevin was robbed! I agree that his dress wasn't great, but this was his only misstep thus far in the competition. Ricky, who struggles every single week, should have been sent home! That's all. I will now return to my dissertation.

Sexism, Politics, and the Separation of Spheres

Can I just say how the current primaries and the resulting media coverage very nicely illustrate how there is, in fact, absolutely no separation of spheres? I mean, if there were, we clearly wouldn't care about Hillary Clinton's recent emotional outpouring or whether or not Barack Obama takes his kids to school. We also wouldn't be debating whether or not crying helps politicians in their negotiations with foreign leaders. What am I talking about? I'm referring to the blatantly sexist comment that Maureen Down quoted in her NYTimes op-ed. She wrote

"When I walked into the office Monday, people were clustering around a computer to watch what they thought they would never see: Hillary Clinton with the unmistakable look of
tears in her eyes.

A woman gazing at the screen was grimacing, saying it was bad. Three guys watched it
over and over, drawn to the 'humanized' Hillary. One reporter who covers security issues
cringed. 'We are at war,' he said. 'Is this how she’ll talk to Kim Jong-il?'"

Come on!! Why include this blatantly sexist quotation? I mean, George Bush cries all the time and no one questions his ability to handle foreign leaders because of it. (Keep in mind I do think we should question his ability, but not because he cries.)

As I wrote yesterday, I'm seriously annoyed with the media's coverage of Hillary Clinton (and yes, I'm very pleased she won the NH primary yesterday!). First they criticize her for not being emotional enough, a criticism she has addressed herself, which Dowd quotes

“'If you get too emotional, that undercuts you,' Hillary said. 'A man can cry; we know that.
Lots of our leaders have cried. But a woman, it’s a different kind of dynamic.'”

I want to say a few things about this quotation. First, Clinton is absolutely right--men can cry in politics. When they do, we see them as human, as moved, and as genuinely concerned--again think about all the times George Bush has cried. As far as I know, we haven't ever questioned his motives for shedding tears in an emotional moment. But, as Clinton correctly points out and as has happened to her, if a woman cries, she is immediately seen as emotional, as out of control, as--gasp!--irrational. Yet, in Clinton's case, the media also chastised her for not showing any emotion. She can't win for losing. Second, why does Dowd refer to her as Hillary? She never once refers to Barack Obama or John Edwards by their first names. Why is she so disrespectful to Clinton? She refers to her by her first name because she is a woman, plain and simple. And before someone comments that perhaps Dowd refers to Clinton by her first name so as not to confuse her with her husband, I don't believe that is the reason either. I mean those of us who take the time to read the NY Times opinion page (yes, I am being a bit elitist here) realize which Clinton is running for president. Dowd is being as sexist--and yes, a woman can be sexist towards another woman.

One more thing: I'm sick and tired of the likability issue. I for one don't give a fig if the president is likable. I want a president I can trust to do a good job. I mean, look what likability has gotten us in the past 8 years.

I'm in love with Gloria Steinem

Read her op-ed entitled "Women are Never Front-Runners" to see why.

Thanks to k8 and Anastasia for posting the link.

Hillary gets emotional

Apparently this is my morning to be pissed off because all the stories about Hillary Rodham Clinton getting emotional are pissing me off too. I mean, give me a flippin' break! The media villifies her for being too pragmatic, too focused, too robotic, and (gasp!) not feminine enough. And then when she gets emotional (have you seen the coverage? I actually think she responded to the question from the heart and got choked up.), the media castigates her for showing what they've said she was lacking--emotion! Ok, I get the point that she needs to allow herself to be unscripted more often, and to a certain extent, I agree. But cut the woman some slack! She responded the way the media and political pundits have been wanting her to respond: in the moment, without considering the implication of her response. Why isn't anyone asking why Barack Obama or John Edwards aren't showing more emotion? Hmmm. . . could it be because they're men?

Really, really, really pissed

A few months ago I deleted a post about my mother-in-law because I wanted to make an effort to appreciate the things about her that I really like rather than focus on the things I don't like. Well this post isn't about my MIL directly; it is about my sister-in-law, but it indirectly involves my MIL.

I first want to say that I've been sitting at my computer reading emails and checking out the few news sites I visit every day, trying to talk myself out of writing about a phone call that C received from my SIL last night. I really don't want to be the person who never says anything positive about my in-laws. But then as I almost had myself talked out of writing about said phone call I heard a little voice in my head say "M, she never has anything positive to say about you and she specifically called last night in an attempt to start an argument with your husband, which would have resulted in an argument between you and C." Bottom line, I'm pissed, and I'm blogging about it.

First some background: C grew up in a very small Southern town (the former cabbage capital of the world), which I've said before. But he didn't grow up in some backwater place; it is 40 minutes from a city of 1 million people. Said city isn't a booming metropolis, by any stretch of the imagination, but it is the most liberal city in our Home State (and that is actually saying something). My point is that while Cabbage Town is very small the people in it live very close to a big city, most of whom work in the big city or at least visit the big city at least once a week. These are not people who have lived exclusively in a small town and know nothing of the world. While they are conservative politically and socially, they are, by and large, educated individuals, most of whom defy the stereotypes surrounding small town individuals. That said, most of them, especially the mothers, do fulfill one stereotype: they expect their children to stay in the same small town. It is expected that the children of Cabbage Town will marry other children of Cabbage Town. When they marry outside of Cabbage Town it is expected that they will either live in Big City close to Cabbage Town or move their families to Cabbage Town. C did neither of those things, and he is constantly reminded of this. Usually the reminders come in the form of a phone call from Yetta. The phone calls almost always go something like this:

Yetta: Do you remember X, the girl you once held hands with on the playground with when you were 4?

C: Um, no, I don't remember her.

Yetta: Well I ran into her mother yesterday at the Piggly Wiggly, and she asked about you. I always thought the two of you would have made such a cute couple . . .maybe if you and she had gotten together you would live closer to Cabbage Town.

C: I have no idea who you're talking about; how do you remember this stuff?

Last night the phone call was from C's sister, whom I am henceforth affectionately calling Pita (as in pain in the ass).

Pita: Mom is buying some furniture from the store in ritzy suburb of Big City.

C: That's great. I know she's been wanting to get some new things.

Pita: Did you know X works there now?

C: Um, X? I don't think I know her.

Pita: Yes, you do! You dated her when you were a sophomore in high school!

C: Um, I did? (Pause as he tries to remember.) You know that was about 15 years ? X? Oh, yes, I remember her. We went out two or three times. How is she? (at this point he looked at me with the "please get me off the phone look." Unfortunately I was putting Wild Man to bed and couldn't help.)

Pita: Wasn't she the girl who said she was pregnant while you were dating? What was that about?

C: I have no idea what you're talking about.

Pita: Were you such a slut in high school that you don't remember this girl? How many people did you sleep with? Does M know about this?

So what was she talking about? C has carefully reconstructed his past in an attempt to figure out what the hell his sister was getting at. C did have a brief relationship with this woman when they were teenagers. Was she ever pregnant? C has no idea, but apparently years later (about 5 years well after they stopped seeing each other and no longer spoke) a friend of hers told several people in Cabbage Town that she had been pregnant in high school. This got back to Yetta and Pita, who at the time interrogated C about it, who knew nothing about it. He was urged to contact her to get to the bottom of the rumor--and to satisfy their warped sense of small town curiosity.

Pita apparently continued with the questions for a few more minutes until it became clear that she was not going to provoke a response out of C and then she abruptly ended the conversation. C and I didn't have a chance to talk about the entire conversation until this morning, and as he told me about the conversation (and the past events) I got more and more angry. Here is why I am angry:

• Pita only called to try to get a rise out of C; once she realized she couldn't accomplish that, she got off the phone.
• These phone calls are pointless, annoying, and completely disrespectful of our marriage.
• I feel like she called to start an argument between me and C.
  
• And finally, I pissed because in a weird way she succeeded. C and I didn't have an argument, but here I am so pissed that I'm blogging about it.
  

I do not understand the motivation behind calling a family member with the sole purpose to start an argument, either with that family member to between that family member and someone else. What kind of person does that? My sister-in-law, that's who. And this isn't the first time she's done it, and I know it won't be the last. The other annoying thing is that there is absolutely no point in confronting her about it. If C were to call her and tell her she's out of line and that her behavior is inappropriate and unacceptable, he would only succeed in giving her what she wants. Ignoring her is the best way to shut her down.

In the past year, Pita has done some fairly despicable things (including calling me and my other sister-in-law ugly, ugly names behind our backs), and I no longer trust her, like her, or want to be around her. I realize after rereading what I've written that it may seem like I'm totally blowing this out of proportion (and I have been known to do that), but I can't believe she was trying to do anything other than start something. I want to yell at her "This is the sort of thing you do when you're in middle school!!" I am sorry she is so unhappy with her own life that she feels she has to actively try to make other people unhappy too, but I am so tired of her crap.

Belated New Year's Resolution

I making a belated New Year's Resolution. Here it is: I vow to try to stop reading online entertainment news sites and to stop watching any sort of entertainment television at all. I'm making this resolution largely because of the recent coverage of Britney Spears' life. Somehow I had managed not to hear anything about her life for several days. This morning I turned on the Today show (Wild Man is absolutely in love with Meredith Vierra), and I saw Matt Lauer interviewing Starr Jones about Britney Spears. As I watched (I swear this stuff is like a train wreck; it becomes physically impossible to look away), I became disgusted. Disgusted with the paparazzi--is it really necessary to surround an ambulance to photograph a troubled young woman as her vitals are taken? Disgusted with the news media--is it really necessary to discuss this stuff on the Today Show? I mean, I know the show isn't exactly hard hitting news, but it isn't Entertainment Tonight either. And finally disgusted with myself--why was I watching? Why is it any of my business what is going on in this young woman's life? It isn't, quite frankly. So I've decided that the only way I can make a difference is to stop watching.

Pink Dresses and Boys

I subscribe to a magazine called Cookie, and it is essentially Vogue for mommies. A typical issue includes articles on absurdly priced cashmere sweaters for toddlers and interviews with designers who make outrageously priced baby furniture (are there actually people who pay $250 for a high chair?!?). Aside from these things I actually like the magazine because every month there are a few really well written essays that I like so much that I read them aloud to C, and we end up talking about them for a while. Yesterday morning I was reading an article entitled "The Pink Dress" by Sarah Hoffman. I was so moved and upset by the essay that I made C stop what he was doing and listen as I read it to him. We were both speechless for a few minutes, and I asked him: what we would do if Wild Man announced "I'm going to wear dresses to school"? We talked about it for awhile, and we decided that we'd try our best to be as understanding, supportive, and just plain cool as Hoffman and her husband.

Despite our agreement on the issue of letting Wild Man wear a dress to school if he wants to and if he feels wearing a dress is a true expression of himself, I find myself still thinking about the article and what we would do if Wild Man really wanted to wear dresses. C brought up a very good point: our geographic location will likely affect how willing we are to let Wild Man wear a dress to school. Although Hoffman doesn't say where she and her family live, based on the fact that she writes for a magazine based out of New York, I am assuming she lives in the city or in a suburb of the city (I freely admit that this assumption could be completely wrong; she could live in Small Town, USA for all I know). I am also going to assume that if she does live in such a location that the people in her community are likely somewhat more liberal than the average American--again, I could be wrong. While we don't live in Small Town, USA, we do live in Small City, USA in a very conservative state. The kids at Wild Man's school routinely wear big cowboy belt buckles and cowboy boots, and while I'm not assuming anything about their parents' political or parenting beliefs based on how their kids are dressed, I am assuming (I know, I'm doing a lot of assuming in this post . . .) that most kids and parents in our area wouldn't know what to do if Wild Man showed up at school in a dress. Given the culture of our current city, I'm not altogether certain I would be comfortable letting Wild Man wear a dress to school.

Which takes me to my next point, this article made me face some of my own gender hang ups. After reading the essay, I had to ask myself "Do I think it is ok for a boy to wear a dress to school?" As much as I've read and as much as I really do believe that gender is largely learned, I have to admit that I don't know how I feel about this. Part of my hesitation and my concern comes from the fact that in our society boys don't wear dresses. Hoffman writes about her 4 year old son wanting to wear a dress to school, and as she describes it, 4 year olds seem to be fairly accepting of such differences; none of her son's classmates really see anything wrong with him wearing a dress. The 5 year olds on the playground, however, are the ones who give her son a hard time, telling him he isn't a boy and that he is a sissy. While Hoffman and her husband did a great job preparing their son for such things and he responds positively, their experience, as positive and enlightening as it is, is limited because their son is 4. What happens when he turns 5, 6, 7, and so on. How will he be treated if he wants to wear a dress to high school? How do you prepare your child for the ridicule s/he will likely endure for wanting to go against our cultural norms? I'm worried and anxious about issues like these because I don't want to Wild Man to be ridiculed for wanting to be himself. But I do want him to have the freedom and to develop the confidence to be himself, even if that means wearing dresses to school.

Back to work

Wild Man's school reopened today, and he happily returned to his teachers and playmates. I was prepared for him to be clingy when we got there, and I informed C that we had better be prepared to wait for a while until he got used to everything again. C gave me a knowing look, but he said nothing. Wild Man seemed to know where we were going, and he chatted away on the car ride to school. When we walked into his classroom he gave his teacher a big hug, immediately ran to their toys, and started playing. We stayed for a few minutes to make sure he was ok, but after watching him dance around with his two of his classmates, slide down the indoor sliding board (face first, of course!), and talk to the hamster, we decided to go. I called "Bye" to him, and he waved at me, as happy as he could be to be back with his buddies.

Today has been somewhat harder on me though. I'm trying to work, but I keep thinking about him. Today is the first day that I haven't gone to nurse him in the middle of the day. He nursed almost every day around this time during the break, but in an effort to begin weaning (something I so not ready to do), I've decided to cut out the middle of the day session. I've reasoned that I will have to wean one day, and I'll be able to get more work done if my day is no longer cut in half. I'm not getting much done, however, and I'm seriously contemplating picking him up earlier than usual today just because I miss him!

Annoyed

My mother and mother-in-law are incapable of communicating with one another, despite the fact that they live less than 30 miles from each other. Each will actually call C or me and say, "Could you tell M's mom so and so?" and vice versa.

This Christmas, I bought my dad and my MIL gifts from E-bay Express this year, and in my naivete, I had both gifts sent to my parents' house. In hindsight, I realize I should have paid for the gifts separately and had Dad's shipped to my parents' house and Yetta's to her house. I reasoned, however, that it was easier to do a single checkout and that my mom could drop off Yetta's gift at her office, which is only about 15 minutes away from my parents' house. When I asked my mom to do this favor for me, she immediately agreed, saying she'd call Yetta and ask her when she could drop it off. Now I had these gifts shipped the week after Thanksgiving, so there was no rush for my mom to get it to Yetta. There was plenty of time to get the gift to her before Christmas. When I talked to my mom later in the week, she asked me to talk to Yetta to find out when she could drop off the gift, and I told my mom that Yetta didn't have to be there; she could just drop it off with the receptionist. At this point, I called Yetta and asked her to call my mom to figure out when they could meet to exchange the gift. I did this because Yetta is much more social than my mom, and I figured she'd take the initiative. She didn't. I finally got my mom to agree to take it to work with her (she manages a coffee shop in the local mall) and asked Yetta to drive by and pick it up. Yetta said she'd try, but given her work schedule she wasn't sure she'd make it before traffic got bad (an understandable excuse in my mind as I've tried to get out of this particular parking lot during the holidays and it has taken up to an hour). When she didn't manage to get to the mall to pick it up, I gave up. C told Yetta just to call my mom and they could figure it out. I talked to my mom a little while ago to say "Happy New Year!", and she informed me that Yetta "still hasn't called me. What am I supposed to do with this gift, M?" I took a deep breath and as calmly as I could said "Mom, the phone works both ways; you could just as easily call her and figure something out." To which my mom said, "Oh, I guess I could do that," in a tone of voice that tells me she won't. So it is New Year's Day, and Yetta still doesn't have her complete Christmas gift from us, which upsets me because I spent a lot of time thinking about what to get her and I know she'll love it. But why they can't call each other, I don't know.

Timing continued

C & I discussed the timing issue yesterday, and he re-framed it for me in a way that takes some of the pressure off of me. He said that as far as he is concerned our decision will be based solely on whether or not he gets a tenure-track job this year. I know that won't be the only factor (a lot also depends on how much work I get done in the next 6 to 9 months), but having him frame it that way took a lot of the pressure off of me. I've also decided to try not to think about it so much. Honestly, as I told C yesterday, I'm surprised that I'm thinking about a second baby so soon after Wild Man. Watching him toddle around the living room as I type this, I'm reminded to take life one day at a time, something I'm not always good at. I don't want to become so focused on the timing of a second child that I miss out on things with Wild Man.

Timing

Wild Man is down for a much needed nap, and I should be using the time to work on my syllabus. I haven't worked much in the past week, primarily because Wild Man has been out of school for the holiday, but mainly because I haven't wanted to. I have to admit that while my dissertation is always in the back of my mind, I have enjoyed this week free from work with my family. We've spent the mornings in our pjs, gone shopping, read books, introduced Wild Man to "Finding Nemo," taken a trip to the nearest big city to visit the Natural History Museum, and cooked lots of good things. All of this family time has led to thoughts of another baby, which has prompted thoughts of timing.

C & I are have recently decided that we will have a second child, and to be honest this was a tough decision for me. Before Wild Man was born, I assumed we'd have 2 children. I grew up with 2 siblings, as did C, and neither one of us could imagine having only 1 child. Once Wild Man was born, however, I was no longer so sure I wanted a second child. Our life is very full, with 2 careers (or almost 2) and a child; I wasn't sure how a second child could fit. On top of that, I had no idea how hard mothering an infant would be, and I simply couldn't imagine mothering an infant while mothering an older child. C, on the other hand, has always known he wanted 2 children. He has been the one starting the discussions about a second child, which is ironic considering I was the one who initiated almost all the discussions about having Wild Man. For a few months, it felt like we changed places. As I've watched Wild Man grow and change, I've come around to the idea of a second child. As much as I can't imagine mothering an infant and the rambunctious Wild Man, I also can't imagine never experiencing the joys of having an infant in the house again. But one nagging question remains (well, actually, quite a few remain, but this is the most nagging): when do we have a second child?

This has question has been so much on my mind that I actually tried to map out the major events in our life the other night. It looked something like this:

• Spring 2008: C on job market; C gets job offer (at least I'm keeping my fingers crossed on that one).
  
• Summer 2008: We move.
• Fall 2008: C begins new job; Wild Man starts new school; M frantically tries to finish her dissertation; Wild Man turns 2.
  
• Spring 2009: M defends her dissertation.
• May 2009: M graduates.
• Fall 2009: M goes on job market, hoping to either find a job close to C's current job or to get a partner placement at C's school (assuming, of course, that we like the location of C's job); Wild Man turns 3.
• Spring 2010: M gets job offer and/or partner placement.

What I've outlined above is the ideal situation; if C doesn't get a job and he continues adjuncting at the local SLAC, life becomes somewhat more complicated as I will feel it necessary to go on the market in the Fall 2008 rather than waiting until I'm finished with the dissertation. So, where do we fit a second child into all of this? I'm not sure. If we wait until the end of my outline--the Spring 2010--Wild Man will be 3 1/2, and C and I will be in our mid-30s. I know that isn't so old, but those ages concern me for several reasons. First, I don't relish the thought of having teenagers when I'm in my 50s--I just don't. Second, there is a 4 year age gap between my brother and me and a 6 year gap between my sister and me. I wasn't particularly close to either of them until I was an adult; in fact, my sister and I hated (I am not exaggerating) each other until I was about 18, and then we tolerated each other until I was about 22, at which time we become closer. I would say we're close now because we've bonded over other family problems, but we really don't have anything in common. If we weren't sisters, we probably wouldn't be friends.

Ideally I'd like to get pregnant with a second child when Wild Man is 2, so that they would be about 3 years apart. My niece and nephew are 3 years apart, and they are really close. That means that I would need to be pregnant in the Spring of 2009, or thereabouts. That also means that I could either be pregnant or have a newborn when I go on the market for the first time. So the ideal spacing makes other things complicated. If we wait until I have a job, we might not have a baby until 2010 or 2011, which means there would be 5 years between Wild Man and Baby 2. I don't know which makes more sense, and what really bothers me is that I don't know which feels right. I feel like we're approaching a second child so much differently than we did Wild Man, and that also bothers me. With Wild Man, we knew we were in a good place in terms of our degrees, in a good location, and ok financially, so we let emotion make the decision. We waited until it felt right for both of us. I want to be able to let emotion make this decision, but I feel like there are too many other factors to consider. I hate uncertainty, and I hate feeling like I'm not in control of my life, which is how I feel right now.

A Good Day

Christmas was a good day for our family. It was quiet and low-key, which is exactly what we had hoped for. We took advantage of the fact that Wild Man still doesn't really know what Christmas means yet, and we had a leisurely morning before we opened presents. I think that next year he will be so excited that we will have to drag him away from the presents! So this year, we had a nice breakfast and played with our cats before opening presents. Wild Man wasn't too sure about ripping off paper. He kept looking at me as if to say, "But Mommy, you've been telling me not to open these boxes all week." He did, however, get a kick out of passing gifts to C and me. Actually, rather than handing them out, as I asked him to do, he kept stacking them all up, until he had a rather large pile in front of him. Then he knocked them all over, laughing uproariously the entire time. It was as if he had an enormous set of wrapped blocks to play with!

Later in the day some friends came over for dinner. Wild Man had lots of fun playing with Supadiscobaby, and C and I enjoyed talking to Supadiscomama and Supadiscoadaddy. All in all it was a really great day.

I hope everyone in the blogging world had an equally happy Christmas!

I need a nap

I think that says it all.

5 pages written, but where do I put them?

Writing a dissertation has given me a sense of freedom as a writer that I haven't ever experienced before. When I have written papers in the past, I have found that it is very difficult for me to write out of sequence. I generally have to start with the introduction and move through the entire paper linearly. This means that when I'm stuck, I'm stuck as I can't just work on a different section. I have consciously worked against this since I've been writing my dissertation, and it has worked. I have had a lot more success revising and have added entire sections while writing. It has, however, created an unexpected problem.

Last week I had a really great idea to apply some of Gillian Brown's ideas regarding home and Uncle Tom's Cabin to The House of Mirth. I had no idea where this would fit with the rest of the chapter, but I decided to go with it. Almost 5 pages later, I still have no idea where it will go, but I know it enhances my own argument regarding home, space, and ownership. I guess this isn't such a bad problem to have!

I love you

I've been trying to teach Wild Man how to sign for a lot of reasons. First and foremost, my older brother is deaf, so I really want Wild Man to know how to communicate with his uncle. Second, toddlers can learn how to sign before they can learn how to talk, so although Wild Man is talking a lot, he knows several signs for words that he hasn't yet spoken. Signing is a great way to help him learn how to communicate with us. As an added bonus, I get to practice my signing since I generally only sign when I'm with my brother, and C is finally learning to sign.

For the past week or so, I've been teaching Wild Man how to sign "I love you." The sign it self is fairly straightforward, so I know he can do it. He hasn't, however, done it yet, although he has shown a lot of interest in watching me do it. Last night, as C was changing his diaper and getting on his pjs, Wild Man suddenly said "Love yoooo" and did the sign. C was speechless, and my unsentimental husband was a bit choked up. I was standing across the room folding clothes, and I got to witness the entire exchange. Wild Man has said this to both of us, but before he's always been repeating what we say to him. Last night, he said it to his father completely unprompted. It was such a beautiful moment between father and son, and I'm so happy I got to share it with them.

A nice surprise

C's aunt and uncle (well, really his aunt) sent Wild Man a $15 gift certificate to Barnes & Noble for Christmas. This is a surprising and unexpected gift. We do see them whenever we visit Home State, but we're not particularly close. Yetta doesn't really like the aunt, and no one really likes the uncle (he is very old-school Southern, and frankly, I'd prefer not to have to hear his constant racial slurs and misogynist statements, let alone have Wild Man exposed to them). That said, they are always included in family gatherings, and I quite like Aunt Dixie (yes, that is her name). We're both something of outsiders in the family (I'm not from the Home Town, and Dixie is the woman that Earl left his first wife for), so we usually end up in the corner chatting. We don't have much in common beyond our outsider-ness, but that actually gives us a lot to talk about. I am very touched by the gift because it shows that Dixie actually thought of something we'd like for Wild Man to have: books. We will definitely enjoy spending the gift certificate sometime soon.

Retirement

My mother-in-law officially retires this Friday, and I'm very excited for her. She will get a much deserved break. That said, she told C when they spoke last night that she plans to come visit us about every 6 weeks or so. I don't know if I can handle that. Seriously. There are lots of advantages to having her visit that often.

• Wild Man would get to see one of his grandparents on a regular basis.
• She and I might be able to develop a closer relationship.
• It would be nice to see family often.
• We would have regular access to a reliable, trustworthy, and free babysitter.
  

I told C that if this happens we would have to have a serious conversation about guidelines and boundaries she would be expected to follow. Off the top of my head these would include

• respecting our life choices
• not questioning our parenting choices/decisions
• not giving Wild Man a lot of junk food/fast food crap to eat
• refraining from bad mouthing me to C (yes, she continues to do this even though he has repeatedly asked/told her not to.)
• not involving us in family drama

That is just what I can think of off the top of my head. Suffice to say, such visits would be welcome, but they would also be really stressful. Maybe she'll just come every 3 months or so. . .

Stupid, stupid name

I have a doctor's appointment today--my annual check-up. Thus, I've been researching various forms of birth control since I know my doctor is going to want to take me off of the mini-pill now that I'm not breastfeeding so much. In my research, I ran across this article on moms ingesting their placentas to stave off the "baby blues." I don't know what I think about the placenta ingesting, but I do know that I think of the term the "baby blues." I think it is a stupid, stupid name. It trivializes and dismisses what most women experience after giving birth. I do not think that all women experience post-partum depression, but I do think that all women suffer from the drastic changes that occur in their bodies as a result of giving birth. I recently read an article (I can't remember where) that more accurately explained what happens in a woman's body. We are not, in fact, hormonal after giving birth. We are the opposite of hormonal as our bodies literally suffer from a complete lack of hormones. All the hormones we've been accustomed for 9 months suddenly stop to be replaced by newer, but drastically fewer, hormones. This is exacerbated by the lack of sleep that we experience after child birth. I could go on and on about this, but I will only make myself angrier. Suffice to say, to call what a woman experiences after giving birth the "baby blues" is inaccurate, dismissive, and just plain stupid. I know the emotions that I experienced (both good and bad) could not be described by that term. I wish people, particularly doctors, would stop using that term because I believe the term only encourages women to deal with their emotions on their own rather than seeking help. We believe "Oh, I only have the baby blues; things will get better," when in fact many women could be suffering from something much more serious.

200 Posts

I have made it to 200 posts, which seems like something of an accomplishment to me. I've been thinking a lot about why I blog and how this blog has evolved over the year and a half that I've been blogging. I started blogging as a way to motivate myself to get more work done. I wrote in my first post that I wanted to use the blog as a way to brainstorm and journal about my research and my writing. While I have done that on occasion, I quickly noticed that the blog became more of a journal for me (albeit a very different form of a journal, as I am surprisingly aware of that this will be read every time I post). I was 6 months pregnant when I began blogging, and I was in the middle of revising my dissertation proposal. C was finishing his dissertation and preparing to go on the job market for the first time. Needless to say, our life has changed drastically since then.

Since Wild Man's birth, I've blogged most often about my life as a mother, first to an infant and now to a toddler. I have blogged less often about my research and my writing, although that topic has become one that is increasingly on my mind. So, for now at least, I will continue to blog about what ever is on my mind, as I do find the blogging that I do is helpful to me for a variety of reasons.

Here's to another 200 posts. . .

Sleeping on the floor

Wild Man continues to experience some separation anxiety in the middle of the night, but we're dealing with it. No one in our family is sleep deprived, but it is rare that any one sleeps straight through the night without waking up at all. We can't figure the latest problem out, as Wild Man is making progress in other areas with sleep. He takes all of his naps in his crib now, which is a huge accomplishment for him and for us. In fact he is sound asleep in his crib at this very moment. He does, however, routinely wake up at 1:00 hysterically crying. C goes in there (we've decided recently that he will take the middle of the night wake ups, and I'll handle the early morning ones since I can't seem to sleep past 7:00 anyway). He leans over the crib and hugs Wild Man, who almost immediately lies himself back down and pulls at his blanket. C rubs his back for a few minutes, and Wild Man is generally asleep in about 5 minutes. C, however, cannot leave the room. Every time he gets close to the door, Wild Man wakes up and cries. As soon as C steps away from the room, Wild Man calms down and goes back to sleep. Generally C has to stay in there until Wild Man is sound asleep, about 30 minutes. So C has taken to lying down on the floor to wait him out. Now, my husband can sleep anywhere at anytime. I really wish Wild Man had taken after him in the sleep department, but unfortunately, he seems to have taken after his light-sleeping mommy. C inevitably falls asleep on the floor of Wild Man's room, so I've gotten into the habit of trying to stay awake so I can go in and get C. I mean, I really don't want my husband to sleep on the floor all night. Plus, I don't want Wild Man to think he has to have his father sleep on his bedroom floor every night. Last night, however, I was exhausted from grading and writing all week, and I'm battling a cold. As soon as C left our room to help Wild Man back to sleep, I feel back asleep myself. And I didn't wake up until I heard C returning to our bed at 7:00 this morning. Yes, that's right, not only did I sleep for 6 hours straight (I can't remember the last time that happened), but C slept 6 hours straight on the floor of Wild Man's room. When that sunk in, I was torn between laughing and apologizing. I feel bad, but I feel so much better after that great night's sleep!

Talking up a storm

Wild Man is talking up a storm, as my mother would say. Most of the time C & I struggle to understand him, and often he just jabbers away, without really saying anything. He says quite a few words on a regular basis, and here are a few of them.

baberry = blackberry, which is his newest favorite food
Meemee = Mommy
tee = tree
bana = banana
mo = more
peese = please, which he also signs usually unprompted
tan yooo = thank you, which he doesn't say unless prompted
Luwu = Lulu, which is one of the many nicknames for our cat Minnie
Pur = Pearl, our other cat, also known as the cat who plays with Wild Man
soo = shoe
atside = outside

On top of talking so much, he is also beginning to understand a lot more. When we tell him it is time for dinner, he goes to his high chair, for example. It is really amazing to watch him process all of these things and start to figure out the world. As C said the other day when Wild Man began saying "baberry," he is just beautiful.

Turtle Night Light

While we were visiting family over Thanksgiving, C's mom, whom I'm going to start calling Yetta (this is the name she has her grandchildren call her, and in case you were wondering, no we're not Jewish.), gave Wild Man a book; she does this frequently, and she always chooses beautifully illustrated books and often goes out of her way to attend author signings and always writes something to Wild Man in the book. I love books, so I treasure any book she gives him. I do put most of them away until I think he can really appreciate them, but we often take them out and read them to him. We do not, however, let him play with these particular books. When C showed me the book, he immediately showed me that it was signed by the author. I said something like "Oh, how cool. We have to be sure to put this in a place where Wild Man can't get to it." Yetta, who was in the room, said "Just be sure not to exchange it like you did that turtle night light I gave you at your wedding shower." I was so taken aback that I quickly responded "We never exchange books unless they are books we already have, and I don't exchange things unless I tell the person who has given me the gift." It didn't occur to me to respond to the implicit accusation in her statement; I was more concerned with reassuring her that I would never return anything so special. I promptly forgot about the statement until it came back to me yesterday while washing dishes. I suddenly recalled the statement and turned to C and asked "Did your mom really say that?" He burst into laughter at the randomness of my question, but he said she did, in fact, ask that question. He said she had mentioned it to him separately during the visit and he had to ask her what the hell she was talking about.

Here is what the hell she was talking about. In the month before C and I got married some 7 (yes, that's right 7) years ago, Yetta's friends (whom I had never met) threw me a wedding shower. Yetta gave me a very nice gift basket, which included a linen handkerchief embroidered with the date of the wedding and my initials (well, my married initials; she ignored the fact that I was going to hyphenate my last name), some perfume, a pretty slip (yes, it was weird to get lingerie from my future mother-in-law), and some body lotion. She also gave me a turtle night light as a separate gift. It looked something like this, but it was much brighter and much uglier. I had seen the light before on shopping trips with her, so I knew it was inexpensive and that she had bought it at a Wal-Mart. She didn't spend more than $10 on it. I assumed at the time (and still assume) that she thought I'd like it because I have a turtle. Well she was wrong, so I asked her if I could exchange it for something C and I needed more than a night light. She said yes and didn't seem at all upset. And then out of the blue she brings it up over 7 years later in connection to a gift she got for Wild Man. As I said, I didn't respond to the statement at the time because I was more focused on the book, but I really want to call her and say "What was that about?" Has it really bothered her for 7 years, or did she suddenly remember it? Am I really expected to keep a gift that I don't like and won't use to make her happy? Isn't it better that I politely asked her if I could return it for something I thought would be more useful (I have no idea what I exchanged it for--it was 7 years ago!)? Or is this simply another example of my ungratefulness? I have no idea what to think.

I am, however, seriously tempted to buy her a turtle night light for Christmas and see what she does with it . . .

Dissertation Frustration Continued

In recent weeks, I've made considerable headway on my Wharton chapter. I have about 30 pages written, and at the sentence level, it is well written, if I can say that without sounding pretentious. I have even managed to clarify my argument and figure out how this particular chapter fits into the rest of my dissertation (which, of course, has yet to be written). I met with my advisor on Monday to ask some professional sorts of questions, and I gave her the first section of the chapter. I didn't want her to read all of what I had for several reasons. I wanted her to read this section to make sure my argument, which I finally felt like I had clearly articulated, made sense. I didn't expect to hear from her for a few weeks, so I made plans to continue working. Yesterday I checked my box at school and discovered that she had found time to read this section and had made extensive comments. I opened the packet with excitement only to want to throw it across the room. She made several good suggestions, which I've spent the better part of today adding, but she also questioned my reading of Homi Bhabha, although she didn't question my use of him. She instructed me not to worry about this, but to continue writing, telling me we'd deal with it when we got back to the chapter as a part of the larger dissertation.

Yesterday was not a good day for lots of reasons, and this particular lengthy comment made it worse. To be honest, I didn't read the comments in much detail because I was upset. I have worked hard to get to a point where I'm writing everyday and where I'm not feeling disillusioned with myself and my project. To make things worse, I spent the better part of yesterday in a series of department meetings. In one meeting, in which this year's search committee gave a presentation on the candidates they plan to interview at MLA, a senior faculty member made a comment that I didn't understand during the question and answer part of the meeting. I raised my hand and asked for clarification, and he responded to me in a very snippy way. I wondered if I perhaps should not have asked that question. A few moments later another faculty member, who had had her hand up at the same time I had my hand up, was called on, and she said "I wanted to ask the question that M already asked." She spoke to me afterward and told me my questions was completely valid and not to worry about the cranky Senior faculty member.

The point of that lengthy digression was to say that I didn't have much time to devote to the comments, and thus, I felt a vague sense of unease and panic regarding my dissertation all day yesterday. C and I had a long talk about it last night, and he encouraged me not to get discouraged and to follow my advisor's advice. He reasoned it couldn't be a huge issue if she told me not to fix it now but to move on. He said, "Don't lose your momentum, M. You're making progress. Keep it up." So this morning I sat down and carefully read my advisor's comments and she didn't call my reading of Bhabha into question as she suggested it needed to be more nuanced. It seems I didn't address one point that would strengthen my own argument. So after spending yesterday in a total panic, I realized that my dissertation doesn't suck but that I needs some fine tuning. I managed to move on and get through another complicated section today about domesticity and money. With any luck, I will still be able to finish this chapter by the beginning of next semester and start on the next one. I anticipate, however, that dissertation frustration will be a recurring topic in the blog.

Sleep, Blissful Sleep

Sleep has continued to be an issue with Wild Man. For some reason he doesn't seem to want to be alone. He will sleep soundly from about 7:30 until 2 or so, and then he wakes up in a complete panic. He goes back to sleep fairly easily, but as soon as either C or I leave his room (I have stopped nursing him in the middle of the night unless he is sick) he wakes up and cries. Sunday night I sat on the floor of his bedroom floor for 45 minutes before he was sound asleep. Needless to say I was tired yesterday.

Last night, however, Wild Man slept from 7:45 until 7:20 this morning. I went to bed around 9:30, full anticipating that I would be woken up at some point. I woke up at 3 and thought, "That's odd; he hasn't woken up yet." I then promptly went back to sleep until almost 7, and then I was in a bit of a panic. I mean, seriously, this is way unusual behavior for my kid. Convinced something had happened to him, I tiptoed into his room and saw his sleeping soundly, on his tummy with his butt up in air tightly clutching a blanket my mom made for him. Since I was awake, I decided to take advantage of the quiet and have some "me time." I made a pot of coffee, fed the cats, and finished reading a book. By the time I was done with my coffee, I heard Wild Man talking to himself on the monitor. I walked into his room, and he was still lying on his tummy. He saw me and said "Hi, Mama!" It doesn't get much better than that does it? Immediately after he insisted on greeting C with a "Hi, hi, hi, hi Dada!"

When is M going to stop breastfeeding?

So I promised some info on the recent Thanksgiving trip, and this is the statement I want to start with. C (and my older sister) heard this statement several times during our trip to Home State, and I, the one who breastfeeds, didn't hear it once. My friend Sarah pointed out that I likely didn't hear it because those asking it realize that the question would irritate me, and she is correct. Following her advice, I'm trying to see the people who put this question to C as aware of my feelings, but admittedly, I'm having a hard time with that. First, why do so many people care? I mean Wild Man is only 13 months old--is it so offensive to our family to see me breastfeed my 13 month old that they have to ask C this question not once, but several times. I'd also like to think that if this question were phrased in the right way that I might not get angry. My dad, for example, asked my sister: "How long do most women breastfeed?" which is very different than the above question. If he had asked me this question, I would have been happy to have a conversation about what Wild Man's pediatrician recommends and what the American Association of Pediatrics suggests. But he didn't ask me this question. My mom, in her ever so tactful way, did ask me a related question: "Do you mean you don't give him a bottle at all any more? I'd think that would be an easier way to get him to sleep than letting him nurse . . ." I ignored her because, really, what else was I supposed to do?

But all the questions have got me thinking about when we will wean, and I can't come to any decisions. I have a lengthy (about 8 days) research trip coming up this summer, so I know I will have to wean by then. But beyond that, I don't want to think about it. Furthermore, I'm not under any illusions either--I want to keep nursing my son. I think he would be fine without it, but I wouldn't.

But the bottom line is why do so many people care about my breasts?

I've been tagged!

Kate, at a k8, a cat, a mission, has tagged me with the 7 random facts meme. It's a good thing too since I've been a bit of a blogging slacker lately. Here goes . . .

1. My first name is mispronounced--thanks to my mother. She insists that one vowel should be pronounced as another vowel. While it makes for a prettier name, I'm constantly correcting people and then explaining why I pronounce my name as I do. In fact, I often misspell my name just so I don't have to tell people how to pronounce it!

2. I am dyslexic when it comes to right and left. I know the difference between the two (I swear!), but I constantly say right when I mean left. Surprisingly I have a great sense of direction, but I'm not always the best person to give directions.

3. I once shoved a button up my nose. I was 3, and my older sister thought it would be funny to give me a tiny button to play with. I promptly shoved it up my nose. In fact, I remember the sensation of putting the button up my nose. I got it so far up there that my mom had to take me to the emergency room to get it out. As I recall, my sister got a spanking as a result. Perhaps that explains something about our relationship.

4. My sister tried to trade me for a bike to the little girl down the street. My mom tells this fabulous story as often as she can. My sister, who was 6 at the time, came home from school and promptly went to get the infant M out of her crib (I was maybe 4 months old). My mom caught her as she was walking out the door with me and, reasonably, demanded an explanation. My sister calmly explained that her friend down the street had offered to trade her brand new two-wheeler for me, as she didn't have a little sibling. My sister said, "I already have a little brother, and I need a new bike." Luckily, my mom saved me. I don't know if she ever got that new bike. . .

5. I have always known sign language. My older brother is deaf, and I learned to sign as I learned to talk. I can't imagine not knowing how to sign.

6. I long to live in a big city. I never have mind you, but I have visited many. I am aware of the disadvantages, but I am a city girl at heart.

7. I collect Paddington Bears. I have about 10 (which isn't so many, now that I think about it!). I love them, and every time I travel to the U.K. or I know someone who does, I either buy another one for myself or ask my friend to get one for me.

Now I will tag: Lilian, Amy Reads at Arrogant Self-Reliance, Harrogate and Solon over at The Rhetorical Situation (I miss you guys!!! Why aren't you blogging?), and Jennie over at My Handful .

Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.

2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.

3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.

4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Back in the Loop

We returned yesterday from our lengthy Thanksgiving trip. Our flights were actually uneventful, and we were even able to get on an earlier flight, which meant that C & I didn't have to entertain Wild Man in the airport for 3 hours. Wild Man was so excited to be home, which surprised both of us a bit. He ran around the house for hours, chasing the cats and playing with his toys. All day long he would stop what he was doing and break into wonderful giggles! It was so sweet. C & I are equally glad to be home. It is much easier to take care of a toddler in our own home. Both of Wild Man's grandmother's have lots of breakables and neither home is baby proof. I'll write more about the visit later, but now I'm off to get caught up on my own work.

Ladies' Night Out

Last night, Supadiscomama and I had an impromptu Ladies' Night Out--well, it was impromptu in the sense that I called her at 11:00 yesterday morning and invited her to join me to attend a dance performance I really wanted to see. The performance was fun, although not quite what either of us expected. Afterward we had drinks--my first cocktail (I'm not counting wine!) since I got pregnant! It was so fun, and I've decided I need to do that more. Wild Man and C were completely fine without me, and rather than making me a little sad, that knowledge actually makes me feel empowered. I am so looking forward to my night out with my best friend and my sister during our Thanksgiving trip!

Thanksgiving

Next week, C, Wild Man, and I are traveling to visit our families for the Thanksgiving holiday. The past few days have been incredibly stressful (including quite a few tears for me) for both of us as we try to negotiate with our families (well, primarily C's mom and sister) a visiting schedule. Every time we visit our families, we go through this process. We try to split the time as evenly as possible, but as I've discussed before, my family is laid-back to the point of passivity while C's family likes to plan things months in advance. C & I generally sit down and decide what nights were staying with whom, and since Wild Man's birth, we no longer move back and forth every night. We stay with one family half the time, and with the other the remainder. In my mind, this means that the days that correspond with those nights are reserved for which ever family we're staying with. Unfortunately, C's family (again, primarily his mom and sister) don't agree. Once he shares this schedule with them, they inevitably say "I want to do x on x day," regardless of whether it is a day earmarked for my family or not.

The planning for this visit has been particularly tense as my mom actually wanted to host Thanksgiving dinner this year. In the past, when we've been in our Home State for holidays, we've tried to get our two families together for the holiday dinner as it is easier than having 2 dinners and it makes it less stressful for everyone. Despite the tension around planning, our families actually get along together fairly well (at least when they're in the same room!). My mom, however, is not a big "party person," so she prefers to let C's mom host. This year, however, my mom wanted to host for a variety of reasons, the most of important to her and me is that I haven't eaten a holiday meal in my natal home in over 8 years. She was more than willing to have C's entire family over, and even 2 family friends who are always included in their holiday dinners. This, for whatever reason, was unacceptable to C's mom. She couldn't wrap her mind around this, so she went ahead and made plans to have Thanksgiving dinner at her house. Although both my mom and I were disappointed, we agreed to have dinner there. Then my sister unexpectedly announced that she and her 2 kids were flying in for the holiday. I was ecstatic, and my mom still has no idea as my sister wants to surprise her (for the record, I think these sorts of surprises are a bad idea!). The catch: my sister wants to have Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' house. Totally cool with me, even though it means that C, Wild Man, & I will have to attend two dinners. The problem: C's mom is totally obsessing about what time my family is eating and making it very clear that she cannot move the time of her dinner either up or back to accommodate anyone--not even her grandson's schedule. So we adjusted. My family is eating very early, and we will only be spending about 2 hours with C's family as we have to account for Wild Man's nap and bedtime. Frustrating yes, but not the end of the world (admittedly, I'm saying this after I ranted and raved for about 30 minutes to my sister). In the end, my m-i-l is only hurting herself by refusing to compromise.

Now that I've gotten all of that out--I found it oddly cathartic to put all of that down in a logical, rational way, avoiding all the torrent of emotions I've been feeling about the visit. I am looking forward to a lot of things with this visit.

Wild Man gets to meet his maternal cousins for the first time.

C & I get to see our niece and nephew for the first time in almost 2 1/2 years.

My entire family will be under the same roof for the first time in almost 2 1/2 years--minus my brother-in-law who couldn't get time off for the trip.

I get to see my niece's latest hair-do in person (she's 13, and her hair has been 5 colors in as many months!).


We're taking Wild Man to a Famous Park that I loved as a child.

I get to eat at my favorite restaurant in the whole world.

I'm going out to dinner and who knows what else with my best friend (the woman I've known since we were 8!).

Oh Will . . .

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever.
One foot in wild man, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Get your own quotes:

I saw this on Professing Mama's blog, so I thought I'd give it a try. Do you know the work the passage comes from?

Umm, What do I do with this?

*I've deleted this post because I've realized I spend a lot of time griping about my mother-in-law, and I really don't want to be the sort of daughter-in-law who does nothing but gripe about her m-i-l. I'm sure I will gripe again, and I'm sure I will do so in the blog. For now thought, I'm going to try to focus on the things about my m-i-l that I like, such as her generosity, her love of travel, and her love of books.

Something to be thankful for. . .

C, Wild Man, and I have been planning a trip to our Home State for Thanksgiving since September. Such trips are always stressful as our parents live about 35 miles apart--too far apart to make traveling back and forth daily convenient but too close together to not see both in a single visit. The week becomes complicated as each family jockeys for time with us. Our families handle it in different ways--mine is so non-confrontational and passive that it is seriously annoying, and C's just makes plans for us. I just got some news that will inevitably add to the stress of the week, yet it makes me very, very happy. My sister, who lives on the West Coast, and her two kids are going to be visiting as well. I'll miss seeing my brother-in-law, as he has to work, but I'm really excited to see my sister and my niece and nephew. I'm really thankful that she decided to make this trip. It has been almost 3 years since my parents, my siblings, and I have all been together. It should be a very exciting visit!

Ironic

Um, so does anyone else find it ironic this story (which I've been following very, very closely) a bit ironic, given our country's stance on torture and the treatment of "suspected" terrorists? I sometimes marvel at the hypocrisy of our government. . .

My Little Chicken

I had to do it. I had to put Wild Man in his Halloween costume long enough to get some pictures. Surprisingly he seemed to like the tights. In fact, he wandered around the house in just the tights for about 15 minutes before I managed to get them off. He looked a bit like the Strong Man from carnivals.

*Warning: per an agreement with C, these pictures will only be up for a few days.

*Sorry if you missed the photos!

Halloween in the hospital

I had intended to break my policy of not posting pictures of Wild Man and post of picture of him in his Halloween costume—a cute yellow chicken outfit that my mom bought for him, complete with orange and yellow striped tights and orange chicken feet slippers. Unfortunately, Wild Man never got to wear his costume. Instead, we spent Halloween in our pajamas, snuggled together in a hospital room, desperately wanting to be home. Wednesday was a very, very long day for our family.

It started out simply enough. C was up and gone by 6:30—he teaches at 8:00, and as he commutes an hour each way, he is typically gone by 6:30 two mornings a week. Wild Man had woken up at 5:00 to nurse and had promptly gone back to sleep in our bed, and when I woke up at 6:45, he was still sound asleep. I got up, surrounded him with pillows, rearranged the baby monitor to an optimal location, and started my morning routine. By 7:30, he was still not awake, so I began the process of waking him up. Like me, Wild Man does not wake up easily or happily. After a few minutes, however, he was up and happily chasing one of our cats, calling out "Purrie" as he ran after Pearlie. We ate breakfast and were out the door a bit earlier than usual. Before taking him to school, we had to go by the doctor's office so he could get his 1 year vaccinations and a flu shot. He'd had his check-up the Friday before, but the clinic was out of flu shots. If he had gotten his vaccinations that day, he would have had to wait a month to get the flu vaccine (something about a potential reaction if the MMR and flu vaccines weren't given on the same day), so his doctor advised waiting until the clinic had more of the preservative-free flu vaccine in. Wild Man happily played in the waiting room until we were called back. When we were called back to an exam room, I began taking off his jacket as the nurse explained the shots to me. I immediately asked if the flu shot was the preservative free one. As the nurse and I discussed this, Wild Man walked over to the corner of the exam room and played quietly with is toy MP3 player (it plays "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" over and over, and he loves it). The nurse explained that she didn't have the preservative free shot, but that she would go double check to see if they had any in.

As she got up, Wild Man stood up from a sitting position, lost his balance, and fell to the right, hitting his head on the wall. The nurse walked out, he cried a little bit, and I bent down to pick him up, calling him by his name. This isn't the first time he's taken a tumble in the doctor's office, so I knew what to do to distract him from being upset. I walked him over to the full length mirror on the wall and tried to get him to look in the mirror. He was silent and unresponsive. I looked at his face on my shoulder, and my perfect little boy's eyes had rolled back in his head and he was a pale shade of blue. I called his name several times, and when I got no response, I carried him into the hallway, screaming for a nurse. Three nurses and a doctor were by my side in seconds. One nurse took him from me and lied him down on the floor. By now he was completely rigid and arching his back. Another nurse held his head while the doctor tried to listen to his heart. After what seemed like hours, but I know was only a minute or two, he relaxed and seemed to go straight to sleep. The first nurse, a wonderful woman named Katy, carried him into an observation room, and the doctor began to give him some oxygen. The third nurse hooked his finger up to a pulse ox machine to measure his oxygen levels. His color improved immediately, and the doctor began quizzing me. The nurse who had been in the exam room with us helped me answer the questions, and I told the doctor what I just described here. The doctor explained that Wild Man seemed to have had a mild seizure, the biggest of indicator was how he had gone immediately to sleep (and my little guy, who is a light sleeper, slept soundly for 20 minutes will the doctor and nurses poked and prodded him). She reassured me that he had never stopped breathing, and I could see for myself from the pulse ox machine that his oxygen level never went below 98%. She said, let's keep him here for a while and see what he does and then decide what to do. She left, and Katy stayed with me. I was finally able to think for a minute and said, "I need to call my husband." My cell phone wouldn't work in the building, so they let me use the phone at the nurse's station. Katy stayed right beside Wild Man as she could see I was uncomfortable leaving him alone.

I got a hold of C just as he was leaving his first class. I told him, "Everything seems to be fine right now, but Wild Man had a seizure in the doctor's office. I need you to come home now." He simply said, "I'm leaving now; I'll be there as soon as I can." That was the extent of the conversation.

I returned to Wild Man's side, and watched him while Katy filled out some paperwork. I repeatedly asked her, "He is just sleeping, right?" She continually reassured me, and she didn't leave me until he had finally woken up and was snuggled in my arms. She returned every 5 minutes or so to check on us and to ask more questions. Wild Man soon began sticking his hand down my top, so I asked Katy if I could nurse him. She went to check with the doctor and told me I could. After that, Wild Man seemed like his normal self. He wanted to get down and get into things, but as the exam room was far from baby proof, I tried to occupy him in other ways. The doctor returned to examine him again. She looked at every inch of his head, and asked me again and again where he hit. I had to tell her the truth. I was talking to the nurse about the flu shot; I didn't see precisely where he hit. She asked about a bruise on his cheek, and I said that is old—he likes to slide down the sliding board head first, which is where the small scratch on the top of his head is from. I told her several times that as far as I could tell there was not a mark on him where he hit his head about 40 minutes earlier. She said, "I don’t think we're going to find an explanation for this, but I want to admit him to the hospital for tests to rule everything out." She then went on to explain that sometimes babies' brains "misfire," her word. Apparently at key developmental changes, like 12 months, there is so much activity in a baby's brain that the brain sort of short circuits. As she explained all this, C arrived and began asking so many questions, which I was glad of. By then, I couldn't think anymore. I just wanted to hold my little boy in my arms and never let him go. In the next 15 minutes, we were packed up and headed over to the hospital.

Another wonderful nurse named John explained the tests to us: blood work, a CT scan, and an EEG. He assured us that he'd make sure everything was done as quickly as possible. He wanted to take Wild Man to another room to draw blood and insert a hep lock, in the event that he needed an IV. He said that one or both of us could go with Wild Man, but then he said that generally it is more upsetting to the baby if a parent is present as he would have to be restrained. I said, "Please do what will be least traumatic for him." He took Wild Man from me and said they'd be back in about 30 minutes. C hugged me, and I was finally able to cry. Wild Man, however, has a set of lungs, and as soon as I heard him crying from I have no idea where, I got out of the room and walked down the hall. Coincidentally our very good friends had their baby the night before, so I walked down the hall to visit them. They were wonderful as they distracted me with all the details of their birth. Their little girl was in the NICU due to some complications, so they were as stressed out as I was, if not more so. After 10 minutes I walked back down the hall, and 10 minutes later, a nurse brought Wild Man to me. His right arm was covered in a maroon sock, and he was not happy at all. He wanted to nurse again, and I knew he wanted lunch, which I asked about. He didn't have time to nurse or to eat anything as a radiology tech came to escort us down to radiology for his CT scan. C and I were both able to be in the room with him, and this was the second most horrifying experience of the day—almost as bad as the seizure itself. The tech, who was very nice and had gotten married on Wild Man's first birthday, basically had to tie him to the machine. He screamed the entire time, while we feebly attempted to comfort him. C sang "The Wheels on the Bus" over and over while I rubbed his toes. When the test was over, we had him out of the machine before the tech even left her control room. We took him back to the hospital room and waited for the next test. The lunch they brought him was nothing he was going to eat—and he is not a picky eater. Luckily I had his lunch that I was going to send to school with him with me, so we fed him that. He was happy for a little while, eating peaches, cheerios, and chunks of chicken. Then another tech came in to give him the EEG.

Someone, somewhere has to invent a better way to give a baby an EEG. Wild Man had to have 26 individual wires attached to his head. By this time, he was cranky and exhausted. He simply wanted to take a nap. After 15 minutes of trying to get him to lie on his back and hold still, C looked at the tech and said, "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to get over seeing my wife's breast. She's going to kneel over Wild Man, so he can nurse. This is the only think that will calm him down right now. While he nurses, you can attach the wires and run the test." The tech, a 50-something woman, looked a little shocked, but agreed. C sat on the edge of the bed and helped me keep my balance while I nursed Wild Man. Once she got the first half of the wires in place, the tech told me we could turn Wild Man on his side, putting us both in a more comfortable position. Wild Man eventually fell asleep, making it much easier on the tech to run the test. In fact, he slept for the next 2 hours, waking up just as C returned from a trip home, with clothes for all of us and toys for Wild Man. We spent the night and most of the next morning at the hospital.

All of his tests came back good. There is no explainable reason why our little boy had a seizure, and there is absolutely no indication that he'll ever have another. By Thursday morning he was, however, quite cranky—he simply wanted to get down and play. C and I did the best we could to keep him occupied, but he wanted to be in his own space. He kept calling out "Purrie," which meant he wanted to chase Pearlie around. When we finally got him home, he proceeded to pull out every single one of his toys, eat a huge lunch, and take a 2 hour nap. We spent the afternoon at the park, where he played on the swings and went down the slides—although we made him go down sitting on his bottom.

Neither C nor I have ever been so scared in our entire lives. I never, never want to see my son like that again. We've spent the past two days showering him with kisses and hugging him as much as he will let us. The saddest part of this whole experience is that my fearless Wild Man has developed some stranger and separation anxiety. I had to sit with him for 30 minutes this morning at school before I could leave him. I called about 30 minutes later to check on him, and he was, as I suspected, happily playing with his friends.

I'm sorry for the enormously long post; I think I needed to get all of this out to let it go in some strange way. I love that little boy more than I can put into words.

I am . . .

Mama(e) in Translation posted this Jane Austen's Heroines Quiz, which I had to take! Persuasion is actually my favorite Austen book, so I'm quite happy with this assessment, although I do think I'm somewhat more outspoken than Anne. Which Austen heroine are you?

Unmarriageable

I have 45 minutes before I go pick up Wild Man at school, and I've decided to use the blog to try to work out what I think is my latest good idea concerning my Wharton chapter.

The point of this chapter is that Lily Bart suffers because she has no space (both actual physical space and metaphoric space) to her self; more significantly, she has no sense of home. This isn't a very original argument, admittedly, as Wharton scholars have become increasingly interested in architectural theory recently. It makes sense as Wharton is seen as the founder of modern interior design, but I digress. The argument about Lily and space is convoluted by various interpretations of Lily's level of (self) awareness, her desire to marry, her need for money, and her desire for independence. My argument is on the verge of becoming different because I am not going to argue, as so many people have done, that she doesn't marry because she isn't in love. I don't actually think Lily is very concerned with love, at least not romantic love. I mean, why would she be? She has no positive relationships to draw on as role models.

Arguably every married couple in the novel is unhappy. Her mother was disgusted by her father's inability to provide enough money to maintain the lifestyle she desired. Judy Trenor uses other women to keep her husband occupied, perhaps justifiably so, as Gus Dorset is the biggest boor in all of Wharton's fiction (and she has a lot of them). The Dorsets hate one another; George is too consumed by his dyspepsia, and Bertha is too consumed by young bachelors. Lily's aunt has mourned her husband for decades, but only because she believes that is the proper thing to do, not out of any real sense of loss. The Brys and the Gormers do seem to have genuine affection for one another, but then, they are united in their desire to improve their societal status. The relationships all hinge on money, and none of the women are any more independent for having married well.

The common interpretation is that Lily doesn't marry because she is in love with Lawrence Selden--every time I teach this novel, my students all agree that this is the case, and they are not alone. Lots of critics argue that Lily is at least infatuated with Selden, and that Selden is the only man in the novel with the power to save her. I see lots of problems with this interpretation. First, Selden is no catch. Like Lily, he is poor. As a man, he can deal with poverty in different ways. He can work (he is a lawyer) and still be considered respectable; further, men are expected work, even men of Lily's social set. Selden also has a past; he had a lengthy affair with Bertha Dorset, which everyone in their set knows about. Second, Selden is a hypocrite. He judges Lily for going to the opera with Rosedale and Trenor, as he believes she is basically prostituting herself, but he conveniently forgets that he had a sexual relationship with a married woman, who gave him expensive gifts. Further, when he sees Lily outside of Trenor's house late at night, he assumes they are having a sexual relationship and feels slighted by Lily. He holds Lily to a different standard than the one he holds himself to. Third, Selden takes advantage of/has access to spaces that Lily can only dream of. He has his own flat, he can travel alone, and he can actually find his own "republic of the spirit." Selden can have all sorts of dalliances, and when he chooses to marry, society will overlook those dalliances. Lily, however, must live her life like it is an open book in order to ensure she remains marriageable. I think Lily successfully does this for a number of years, but by the time the book opens, she has been "on the market" for a decade. She is chafing under the restrictions of her social set, and she is feeling rebellious. I have yet to decide if Lily can actually name these feelings because I'm not certain how self-aware she really is. I think she is aware enough to realize that she wants something more out of life, but I don't think she can name her what it is that she wants or that she knows how to lead a different sort of life. I want to argue that Lily's desire for independence trumps everything else. She does not want to marry; in fact, I think that she unconsciously does things to render herself unmarriageable. Unfortunately, Lily has no other options in life as she has not been trained for anything else. She must marry if she is to survive in her society. But she realizes that marriage will not ensure the personal freedom she desires; granted marriage will ensure a certain amount of money, which will buy Lily a certain amount of freedom. It will not, however, ensure that she can make her own decisions about her life as she will always be beholden to her husband. Thus, Lily cannot bring herself to marry because doing so will force her to give up what little independence she has. Somehow I have to figure out how the notion of public and private affect all of this, and then I have to build the argument around space. If Lily were of a different class, space wouldn't be such an issue. My entire argument, then, hinges on money, class, and gender. So no problem, I should be able to figure this out in a week or so. . .

Looking for some creativity

I've spent the day taking care of what I call busy work, and thus, I haven't gotten any real work done on my dissertation. I graded papers, went to the library, printed out articles, finished reading several articles, organized my notes, and tried to choose an anthology for the class I'm teaching next semester. I am in the need of a creative burst. I had one a few weeks ago after a very useful meeting with my advisor. I immediately got a horrific cold, and then I had a house full of family in celebration of Wild Man's birthday. I need to get this chapter written. But that is proving easier said than done. I have figured out what I want to say--or at least the crux of my argument; now I have to figure out how to organize it and say it. Tomorrow's mission is to simply start writing again. I wrote about 20 pages within 2 1/2 weeks, so I just need to get back to that point again. I am, however, convinced that I haven't done enough research, so I keep hearing this little voice in the back of my head saying, "You should really read X before you start writing." I have to learn how to ignore that voice.

No, No

Wild Man has a new favorite phrase: "no, no." Last week amidst all the chaos of a family visit and his birthday, he started saying "no, no." I'd like to think he was saying "no, no" to being out of his routine and having every part of life disrupted, but then I think I'm projecting what I wanted to say on to him.

For the most part, "no, no" is pretty cute. It certainly was on Sunday when we visited AcadeMama and Baby E to exchange birthday gifts. After Wild Man and Baby E ate some of E's bumblebee cake, they ran around the living room in their diapers saying "no, no" to each other. It is also cute when he sees our cats doing something they aren't supposed to and he tells them "no, no!" It isn't as cute when he tells me "no, no" at bath time or bedtime, when I'm trying to put on his shoes, change his diaper, or get him dressed, or when I'm trying to discipline him (as much as you can discipline a 12 month old!). Yesterday he decided it would be fun to try to climb into our turtle's aquarium (yep, we have a turtle; in fact I've had her since I was 16). As I repeatedly pulled him away from the aquarium, he shouted "NO, NO!", which I could only interpret to mean "No, Mother, I actually would really like to sit underneath T's aquarium despite the fact that you clearly don't think it is safe." Some days I really wish he could say things like that.

Sliding face first

My son, my Wild Man, who is 1 year and 5 days old, is a daredevil. He has fallen in love with the sliding board. Furthermore, he has fallen in love with sliding down the slide face first. On the playground at school, he gleefully climbs up the slide (it is toddler-size), but he doesn't sit on his bottom once he gets to the top of the slide. Nope, not my Wild Man. Instead he simply lies down, stretching his body from the top of the stairs to the top of the slide. He then slides down face first, landing happily in a pile of sand. He then picks himself up, laughs uproariously, and does it all over again. This, of course, means that one of his teachers must be at the slide the entire time his class is on the playground. It also means he is covered in sand by the end of the day. I swear he is going to compete in the X Games one day!

It is good to have friends

I am dealing with some family stuff right now that I don't feel comfortable blogging about. I do, however, want to say thanks to Supadiscomama and Harrogate for taking time out of their day to listen to me and to make me feel better about life in general.

Separate Spheres

My mom, my brother, my mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law are all visiting for Wild Man's birthday. I'm really ready for some separate spheres. Thankfully they all go home tomorrow. I have enjoyed their visit, but I'm ready to have my house back.

Wild Man's Birthday

I'm planning a longer post, but I did want to say that Wild Man's first birthday was a resounding success. He had so much fun at his party that he took a 2 1/2 nap when we got home! I can't believe that he has been in a life for a year. That seems both so short and so long at the same time.

Following Suit

I've been motivated by Anastasia and Kate's pyramid schemes.

By the end of the calendar year, I will send a tangible, physical gift to each of the first five people to comment here. The catch? Each person must make the same offer on her/his blog.

Ann Coulter

It makes me happy when Ann Coulter says something that makes people realize what an intolerant idiot she really is.

Stupidity abounds around the world

When I saw the headline, "Mom sues after IVF brings 2 babies instead of 1," I thought to myself, "This can't be right." I read on and learned that yes, a woman is indeed suing the fertility specialist for implanting 2 embryos in her uterus instead of 1, resulting in her giving birth to twins rather than a single child. I really, really want to scream at this woman. She surely realized the odds of having multiple children when she underwent IVF. I don't know much about Australia, but surely her doctor told her about selective reduction if she only wanted one child. I would imagine a woman who had to conceive through IVF would be thrilled with 2 children rather than 1, but then, I am imposing my feelings on a woman I've never met. This story pisses me off for a number of reasons.

• Is the doctor really responsible for what most people who know anything about infertitily and pregnancy realize is a possible outcome?
• How are these girls going to feel when they learn about this case when they're older?
  
• Can't we take responsibility for our decisions rather than trying to blame and to seek compensation for said decisions from others?
  

What is going on in this country?

This story, "Noose Targets Columbia Professor," falls under the category of "What the hell is wrong with people?" Thanks to Harrogate at The Rhetorical Situation and Anastasia for bringing this to my attention. I really want to craft a well articulated response to this, but in all honesty, I'm really getting sick of this sort of yellow-belly crap. Why exactly do Americans believe we have the right to go into other countries and tell people how to run their governments when we clearly are unable to teach our own children about basic human respect? Perhaps I should word that question another way. Has our government's belief that "America" has the right to dictate how other nations govern led our citizens not to value one another's basic human rights?

Mama(e) in Translation Returns

Lilian at Mama(e) in Translation is back in the blogging world after a fairly long (or at least long to me!) absence due to a recent move. Welcome back, Lilian!

Trying to get work done

After a great meeting with my dissertation director on Monday, I've been struggling to get work done for the past few days. I have a horrific cold that I've caught courtesy of Wild Man. I literally feel like my head is underwater. I've managed to read some articles, but that is about it. In fact, yesterday I stayed home, and rather than work since I couldn't focus, I did housework. Yep rather than work on my dissertation, I ironed, vacuumed, and mopped my kitchen floor.

I'm hoping to feel better tomorrow as I need to get some work done in the next few days. Lots of family are descending upon us next week, so I know I won't get anything done while they're here.