I am Paula Blood

That's right, friends, my rock star name would be Paula Blood. My pop star name would be Monique Bell, and my rap name would be Ms. Delfin0. And here is the rundown for Wild Man and C.

C
Rock Star: Gene McFaddon
Pop Star: Evan London
Rap Star: Flava Man

Wild Man
Rock Star: Brett McFaddon
Pop Star: Brian London
Rap Star: Black Man

Apparently C and Wild Man are father and son even in the music world. What are your musical names?

An update on C's job search

In the two weeks since the big conference, C has been a busy guy, making us a busy family. He currently has three on-campus interviews, and several of the schools he initially interviewed with indicated that they wouldn't be making decisions about who to bring on-campus until late-March. We're excited about one of the schools he already has an interview with, and we could be excited about another. The third school isn't so exciting because, in a lot of ways, he would still be doing what he is doing know just in a tenure-track position, which is attractive in itself. We're still hoping he gets interviews with 3 other schools that he is really interested in--both because of location and because of their programs. Now we're just waiting, which sucks.

Wild Man goes to the caucus

After going with me to vote in the primary yesterday afternoon, last night Wild Man joined C and I as we caucused in our Home State. This was a risky adventure as the caucus took place right in the middle of his bedtime, but he cooperated, allowing his parents to take part in the democratic process. I wrote about this experience in more depth at The Rhetorical Situation. I do want to say that I did not find the caucus experience particularly family friendly. Although there were lots of families at our precinct (I counted at least 10 kids under the age of 8, and 5 of those were toddlers like Wild Man), the poll workers were not particularly friendly to our situation. Although I was finally able to ascertain that we did not have to stay for the entire 2 plus hours, no one seemed to care that we had a child who clearly would rather have been in bed than in a church courtyard at 7:45 pm. I don't think this particular tradition adds to the democratic process as it severely limits the number of people who are able to participate. This is a seriously flawed system, and someone needs to figure out how to fix it.

C did, however, remind me that this is the second time that Wild Man has been with us when we voted: he joined us in November 2006 when he was just a few weeks old.

Sex and the City

HOORAY!! Finally the theatrical trail for the upcoming Sex and the City movie is out! I am so excited about this movie that I have already made plans to see it on May 30th.

The Mount

The Mount, Edith Wharton's home in Lenox, MA, is facing foreclosure. This makes me sad and angry. Sad because this home represents something that most women of the 19th century (and a lot of the 20th century) didn't have: a home of their own. I don't mean to sound trite, but The Mount was the ideal space for Wharton that Virginia Woolf called for all women (ok, not all women; Woolf is fairly limited) to have in order to develop an independent identity. And Wharton had it some 20 years before Woolf wrote about it. This article in the NY Times discusses the foreclosure in detail. This makes me angry from the perspective of someone who worked for a non-profit for three years. Let me first say that I know nothing about the way The Mount has been managed, its donors, its board, or the details of its debt. From my own experience, I do know that this sort of debt for a non-profit generally comes from mismanagement--at not necessarily only by those who run the day to day operations, but from the board. I think Edith Wharton Restoration made a good decision when it began restructuring its board a few years ago to include people who had experience in the business world, although perhaps that decision was made to late. It seems to me that non-profits are too often run by good meaning people who don't actually have much business sense or experience, which can often cause these good meaning people to make poor and uninformed decisions about the financial future of the organization they support.

Regardless of my feelings on the mismanagement of non-profits, The Mount is a place worth saving.

Angry

Here's another one that can be filed under "What the hell are people thinking?" This article on rape--or rather how feminists cry rape too often--made me so angry that I still haven't been able to read the entire thing. As if feminists want women to get raped because is supports our argument that women don't receive equal treatment in this country--or most other countries. What disturbs me the most is that this article is written by a woman. She is entitled to her opinion and I will fight for her right to voice her opinion, however misguided it may be. But that she actually thinks her fellow women would cry rape like the little boy who cried wolf shows me that she herself has never been the victim of an inappropriate sexual overture and that she has never had a friend knock on her the door of her dorm room at 3 am, sobbing that her "date" didn't take her saying "no" over and over again seriously. I'm equally troubled that she can't imagine such a thing happening to another woman.

Too much space

When I read today's strip of "For Better or For Worse," I laughed out loud because the idea that a person can have too much personal space directly contradicts everything I'm trying to say in my dissertation.

Looking for Daddy

Wild Man is seriously missing his daddy. He's not missing him so much that he is sobbing or anything like that, but he is randomly shouting out "Dada" and saying to me "Dada?" as if to say, "Where is my father, and when will he be home?" This morning when he woke up (it was a rough night for my teething tyke, and he ended up sleeping with me just so we could get some sleep), he pulled the covers back on C's side of the bed and said "Dada?" I think he was actually expecting to find C under the covers. Thankfully C will be home tonight, although not until after Wild Man goes to bed. I know one little boy who will be very happy to see his daddy tomorrow morning.

Missing my boy

I always miss Wild Man on Thursdays as I am on campus from 9:00 until 6:00 (I teach, do research, and take a class in the late afternoon). On an average Thursday, however, C picks Wild Man up at the usual time, and they have a daddy-son afternoon. By the time I get home around 6:20 or so, C is scrubbing the remainder of their daddy-son afternoon off of Wild Man as Wild Man splashes around in the bathtub (in our house, daddy-son afternoons always equal dirt and lots of it!). This afternoon C is out of town, and since I didn't want to miss my class, I asked a good friend to pick Wild Man up at school when he picked up his daughter and take Wild Man home with them for the afternoon. This friend generously agreed to do this for us, and I am very thankful. I know that Wild Man is in great hands and that he is having a blast with his buddy. In fact, when I explained to him that he would be going home with this particular friend he immediately began chanting her name and searching for her in our house, as if she would magically appear just because he was calling her name. But this is the first time someone other than C or me has ever picked him up from school, and that makes me a little sad. I'm counting the minutes till my class is over, and I can go get him and give him lots of hugs and kisses.

Thanks Kate!

Kate, at a k8, a cat, a mission, has named my blog an excellent blog! Thanks, Kate!

In honor of Kate honoring me, I want to bestow a few "Es" of my own.

To Lilian at Mama(e) in Translation who offers inspiring stories about her life and thoughtful commentary on life in general.

To Professing Mama who offers great insight into motherhood and academia.

To AcadeMama who is balancing being a mother and a graduate student in a way I admire.

And to my fellow bloggers at The Rhetorical Situation, who always get me thinking.

On his way

C left this morning to attend his field's version of MLA. Between this afternoon and Friday afternoon, he will interview with various schools. I'm feeling a bit strange about this whole process. Last year, we assumed that C, although he did have a few interviews including an on-campus visit, would not get a job because he wasn't finished with the doctorate when he went on the market. Now it seems (emphasis on seems; I don't want to put the cart before the horse, as my mother would say) that he has a really good chance of getting a tenure track position. I feel excited for him--he definitely deserves such a job--and our family--it will improve our lives a lot, at least financially.

But personally, I am feeling a bit ambivalent. If we move in the fall, my life will change dramatically for a lot of reasons, and I am not exaggerating. The move, although for the benefit of our family, will be largely about C, and while I'm ok with that, I am also wary of my own reaction and feelings once we move. I've made a similar move before when we were first married. I moved with C to the mid-sized Northeast University that treated him terribly. For the first year there, I was miserable, so miserable that I started having panic attacks and ended up in therapy (I am oversimplifying for the purposes of the blog, as the move did not cause the panic attacks and therapy was a good thing). I know what it feels like to be in a place where you have no friends and few options for making them, and I am wary of that. Secretly (well, not so secret anymore) I hope he gets a position at one of the schools that would put us close to good friends. I know myself well enough to know that I will do better in a new situation if I have a support system close by. But then, I also know myself well enough to know that I will make the best of any situation. Here's hoping his interviews go well and that Wild Man doesn't miss him too much.

**Because I've been questioned about this issue before, I want to add this post-script. While I do acknowledge that I am giving up some things (i.e. opportunities for funding and teaching) if C gets a position, I do not feel like I am making any major sacrifices for him. I am not putting his career before mine. Rather the way circumstances have worked out, he is in a position to start his career first, and as we're a family, we have to make the decision that is the best for our family. I am fully aware that I will experience a slowdown if we do move, but C experienced the same thing when we left the Northeast for the Southwest when I began my ph.d. I'm not worried about my career, my dissertation, or my work. I'm worried about being lonely.

Vulnerable

I've been thinking a lot about the shootings at Northern Illinois University. C and I had a long talk over the weekend about how vulnerable we are as teachers. He is particularly frustrated by his university's refusal to install a phone in the large lecture hall where he routinely teaches. His desire for such a phone isn't only because of the recent shootings. Because of the way the building is constructed, cell phones often don't work in the lecture hall. He has had to break up at least one fight (between an dating couple) and has had one student pass out in class. Without a phone he has no way to contact his department's office, campus security, or emergency services. He was particularly frustrated by this the day his student passed out, as he knew she was battling cancer and likely needed to get to the hospital quickly. The point is that he has repeatedly asked for a phone to be installed in this particular room, and he has repeatedly been told that the department doesn't have the resources to do so. If someone (heaven forbid) decided to attack this classroom, he would have no way to contact anyone if his and his students' cell phones weren't working, which is quite likely. Given the size of this room and the fact that there is no rear entrance or exit, he is feeling a bit vulnerable.

I hadn't felt a similar vulnerability until I realized that the classroom I'm teaching in this semester leaves me and my students vulnerable to a similar attack. I'm teaching in a small room, made to seat about 30 students. There are no other classrooms near mine. The door, which I typically leave open, is at the back of the room, and I can see anyone enter or exit. My students' desks are bolted to the floor, so if anyone did come in blazing a gun, my students have nowhere to hide. This all occurred to me today as we discussed Frances Harper's poetry. I seriously contemplated shutting and locking the door from the inside, but I didn't. After class, as I left the building, I also realized that I don't know where the fire exits are (I've never taught in this building before). Thursday morning, I think I will do a little exploring and make myself more familiar with my surroundings so that I feel a little less vulnerable.

Ultimately though, while I do think it is a good idea that I do this, I'm sad that on the first day of every semester, I will now determine how to quickly exit a classroom and how my students can protect themselves should I ever be in similar situation.

Labiaplasty: What will they think of next?

Pardon the flip title of my post, but I'm so saddened by this that I had to be flip or else I might cry. I found this sight on labiaplasty via the NOW website, which offered a quiz called "Love Your Body" in honor of Valentine's Day. The question on labiaplasty reads "A new trend of plastic surgery called ________ is when external folds of skin surrounding the vulva are snipped to better resemble images of "ideal" women." Is there actually an image of an ideal vulva that women believe they should conform to? I don't even know what to do with that. I'm not really surprised as much as I am aghast. Are women actually scouring images of nude women to determine if their labia are small enough? Are men actually saying to their female partners, "Honey, I'd like if your labia were a little smaller. Would you consider having surgery to correct that?" I have heard of women having labiaplasty after giving birth because they felt their labia didn't look and/or feel the same after labor (which troubles me as well). But I was totally unaware that there was an ideal image of a vulva and that small labia are preferred. Isn't there a single part of the body that women (and even men) can be universally happy with? Or at least one that we don't feel we need to surgically alter?

I choose my choice part 2

I'm still thinking about this idea, so this won't be the longer post I eventually hope to write. I do want to clarify a few things though.

First, I didn't mean to suggest that feminists are supposed to feel unfulfilled by motherhood (sorry, Jennie, if I did misread you). Rather what I meant was that there is a stereotype of women, who may or may not be feminists, who have given up their high-powered, high-paying careers to have children. These women are either obsessed with their children or unfulfilled by motherhood. I'm thinking of another SATC episode: "The Baby Shower" which is from the first season. In this episode the ladies attend a shower of a former friend who has left behind her high-paying job as a talent agent for a record company to marry and have a family. Aside for the main characters, all the women at the baby shower have children, and several of them have also left behind similar careers to have families. One woman in particular talks about how she used to manage something like 50 people in a Fortune-500 company (it's been a while since I've seen this episode, so forgive me if I'm getting the details wrong. The gist is correct.). She says "Now I just yell at the gardener," implying that she no longer has an outlet for her passion for work. She is represented as unfulfilled. At the other end of the spectrum there are the women who are completely obsessed by their children. There is one woman who says "I think my son is a god, and I tell him so every day." I think we, and by we I mean women and society at large, buy into these stereotypes a lot. Women are supposed to be either somewhat unfulfilled by motherhood or obsessed with their children. There is no in-between when clearly there is as most mothers I know are incredibly happy to be moms but also struggle to find time to do the things they like and want to do that have little to do with mothering.

Second, Amy Reads writes:

I think feminism gave us the right to choose to have a career outside of "The Home," or to "stay at home" with our children, or both, or neither. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't choose to be a stay-at-home mom, but that doesn't mean I have any less respect for the women who do choose to stay at home, Ph.D. or no. Feminism is All About Choice, and who am I to judge another woman's choices? She certainly should not be able to judge mine.

I agree with everything Ms. Reads has expressed, but unfortunately, we, as women and mothers, are judged for our choices. It is all well and good to say that feminism has provided us with choices and that we shouldn't judge one another for our choices. In an ideal world, that would be the way it is, but we do judge each other for our choices. The "Mommy Wars" wouldn't be a term we're all familiar with if we didn't judge one another. I'm really interested in the guilt (and I'm not sure this is the word I want to use, but it is the best one I can come up with right now) women (and, obviously, I don't mean all women) feel for choosing motherhood rather than a career, or a career rather than motherhood, or "trying to have it all." Why do we wonder whether we are sell-out feminists? Why do stay-at-home moms attack working moms and vice versa? Why can't Charlotte (or Jennie, or Supadiscomama, or Megs, or Ms. Reads, or I for that matter) just make a choice for herself, which is really what I want to believe feminism is about, without having to justify it?

I choose my choice

I'm putting this title up so that I actually blog about this line, which is from an episode of "Sex and the City." I've been thinking about this line ever since Jennie and I had our conversation about motherhood and feminism. I think many women, particularly academic women, struggle with being feminists and being mothers. There is the perception, as Jennie points out, that as ambitious, learned women, we're supposed to feel somewhat unfulfilled by motherhood, particularly if we end up staying home with our children for any length of time. I have to admit that I hadn't given that a lot of thought until Jennie brought it up. Why does that perception exist? Why do we end up feeling guilty, on the basis of our feminist beliefs, if we aren't unfulfilled? Why isn't it ok to have a degree (or even three) and decide to stay home with the kids? Why do we pretend to not be interested in our children when we're in certain circles? I have an anecdote about this. I have a professor who is a staunch feminist and who has a young son. I don't see this professor as often as I would like, and when I do, I invariably ask her how she's doing. To be quite honest, I don't expect her to tell me about her son; we don't really have that sort of relationship, and given that she is who she is, I'm more interested in her work. But she does tell me about her son, and she often shows me a picture. I then comment on how cute he is (not out of sense of obligation either. This kid is genuinely beautiful.). She then makes some sort of self-deprecating comment about her mothering skills. This is a woman who is extremely accomplished and fairly confident. It always bothers me that she makes such self-deprecating comments about her mothering skills.

My gut reaction is this issue is that women are too hard on themselves--we have been taught to expect too much out of ourselves (yes, this is the generic sort of statement that my peeps over at The Rhetorical Situation would hate, but I do think it is a largely true statement). I do believe that we're all insecure about our abilities to mother and to be successful in life in general (as evidenced by my professor's comments), but I'm not quite sure why we continue to feel guilt and confusion over being mothers, wives, and feminists. I am going to think about this some more and revisit this quotation. In the meantimes, does anyone have any thoughts?

Random question

I'm taking this post down because this information is mysteriously making its way around my department. In fact, someone I never talk to just stopped me in the hall to congratulate me on the number of interviews C has. That makes me really uncomfortable for a few reasons. First and foremost, yes, C has a lot of interviews, but regardless of how many interviews he has, he is not guaranteed a job. I don't want him to be uncomfortable with the people in my department, especially faculty members, should he not get a job. Second, I don't want to make other people, especially graduate students, feel uncomfortable in comparison.

I think Wild Man needs one

Wild Man is way into coloring lately--ok, he is into scribbling in coloring books, but whatever. To encourage his creativity, I think he needs this coloring book.

Holy crap!

I'm sitting in my office, deep into a book on Wharton as a spatial theorist (this is, by the way, my last week on Wharton for a while; I submitted my unfinished chapter to my advisor yesterday and am planning to begin a new one. I'm just trying to get through a stack of ILL books I ordered.), when my cell phone rings. It is C from his office. The conversation went something like this:

M: Hey, what's up? Are you on your way home?

C: I have an on-campus interview.

M: What in the hell are you talking about? (Thinking to myself: how is this possible? Your field's version of MLA isn't for 2 more weeks.)

C: I have an on-campus interview.

M: That's great! Could you give me some more details?

C: I have an on-campus interview.

Ok, so I am exaggerating a bit, but C was in a bit of shock. It seems that he checked his voice mail when he finished teaching, as he does obsessively these days, and he had a call from Medium West Coast State University requesting an on-campus. It seems that MWC State is following C's fields recent trend of foregoing preliminary interviews at their version of MLA in favor of bringing candidates on campus. They actually want him to come the week of the conference, which he obviously can't do as he now has 8 preliminary interviews there (did I forget to mention that?). My normally unshakable husband is more than a little shaken.

As for me, I am so proud of him! I want to run fly up to the Big Norteast State School where he got his Ph.D. and tell all those hoity-toity, up-tight people who made his academic life hell for almost 7 years: "Look, this is the guy you said couldn't do it! Not only did he do it, but he did it 2 years faster than most of your students, while teaching a 4-4 course load, and having a wife and a child. Oh, and by the way, he's got 8 interviews (1 at an R1 university) at your big conference and 1 on-campus already! What do you think of him now?"

Pretty Mama

Wild Man has recently stopped calling me "Mimi" and started calling me "Mama." He has also learned the word "pretty." This morning as he was running around our bedroom while I got dressed he took a break from chasing the cat and shouting "Pellie" at her (her name is Pearl) to watch me put on a necklace. He then held up his arms and said "Up, pwease." So I picked him up, and he proceeded to touch my necklace. He looked at me, patted my hair, and said "Pretty Mama." Then he wriggled out of my arms and resumed chasing the cat.

In case something happens to the first one. . .

In a recent conversation with my mom, we got on the topic of me having a second child. As a rule, I do not discuss having children with my parents. They had no idea that C and I were trying when I announced I was pregnant with Wild Man, and if we do have a second child, I plan to use the same strategy. The conversation started with me saying how exhausted I was from the rough week we'd had. It went something like this.

Mom: It sounds like Wild Man is having fun.

Me: Oh, he is. After three days on antibiotics, he is back to his old self, playing, running, getting into everything. I'm the one who is struggling! I have a cold and am still trying to catch up on all the sleep I lost this week.

Mom: Just think how tired you'll be when you have two.

Me: Well, Mom, Wild Man may be it. We may not have a second one.

Mom: (in a very stern voice) You have to have a second child, M!

Me: Well, no, Mom, actually I don't.

Mom: Yes, you do. Parents should always have two children in case something happens to the first one.

Now, I've heard my mom say this my entire life, and she firmly believes it. I don't question her belief in this because I've heard her speak about how close my brother came to dying as an infant (he had spinal meningitis when he was 5 months old, and he was very sick for several weeks). She took comfort in knowing that if anything had happened to my brother she had another my sister to help her through her grief (I wasn't born yet). Every time I hear this story, I always think "Can one child really replace another child? In my mother's case, would my sister have been enough to get her through losing my brother?" Fortunately, we'll never know because (and I think this is something that influences my mother's opinion on this issue) my mother has never lost a child. When she said this during our recent conversation, I just changed the subject, but I had much stronger reaction that I didn't share with her. I really think this is a stupid statement, and I hope my mother never says it to me again. If anything ever happened to Wild Man, I would be completely and utterly devastated. No other child could replace him, just as he couldn't be the replacement for any other child. While I understand that the job of parenting and the love for one child may force a person through the grieving process faster, I don't think one person can ever replace another. And I also think saying this sort of thing in front of a child who has just lost her sibling puts a lot of undue pressure on that child. Not only has the child lost her sibling, but now she must also become a replacement for that lost sibling. I love my mom, but sometimes I really question her thinking.

Another phone call from school

In the middle of teaching this morning, my cell phone went off, and I looked at the number. It was Wild Man's school. I told my students that I had to take the call, and I walked out of the room, dreading the news I was about to receive. It was Wild Man's teacher telling me that one of Wild Man's classmates had bitten him on the cheek. Wild Man is fine, aside from a mouth shaped bruise on his cheek, but she wanted to let me know so I didn't get upset when I picked him up. My students got a good laugh out of that one.

A rough week

Shortly after I posted on Monday, as I was revising a section of my dissertation, I got a phone call from Wild Man's teacher. He had a fever of 103.6. I dropped everything to go get him, while C tried to get us into to see the pediatrician. He quickly learned that there was no chance of us getting an appointment on Monday, so he made an appointment for first thing Tuesday morning. We were scheduled to see a pediatrician in the practice we go to, but not our pediatrician. This is not normally a big deal, except that the pediatrician C made the appointment with is our least favorite of all the pediatricians. When I got home with Wild Man, we quickly assessed the situation, and given how lethargic Wild Man was, we decided to brave the urgent care clinic that afternoon. Once we got there, we figured that there wasn't much chance of us getting an appointment, but C stood in line to check us in while I sat with Wild Man. My normally active little boy didn't want to do anything more than sit on my lap and rub my hair. After 25 minutes in line, C was told that there was a 2.5 hour wait to see a doctor. He made the executive decision that we needed to get Wild Man home and wait to see a doctor until the morning.

Given how terrible Wild Man felt, Monday night wasn't as horrible as it could have been. Tuesday morning was pretty bad though, as C was still getting over a stomach bug he had developed Monday morning. Somehow I managed to get ready to teach, give Wild Man breakfast, give C ginger ale, and get us all to the doctor by 8:15 am. The doctor's assessment wasn't a surprise: a virus. He told us to continue to give Wild Man medicine if the fever was bothering him and to bring him back by the end of the week if he still had a fever. My mommy instinct told me the doctor was wrong; I knew something was wrong, and that Wild Man's symptoms were going to get worse before they got better. The rest of the week has been about keeping Wild Man feel comfortable and trying to find time to do a little work.

Wednesday C was at school all day, so I was home with Wild Man. Considering he had a fever that hovered around 102 all day, we had a relatively good day. At 10:00, as I tried to check email, Wild Man sat down by my desk and just started crying. I picked him up and 5 minutes later he was asleep in my lap. I held him while I answered students' emails for about 30 minutes, and I decided to try to put him down. Putting Wild Man down when he's fallen asleep on you is always dicey. I opted for our bed (yes, I am part of the bad-mommy brigade) rather than his crib b/c he tends to nap better on our bed. Luckily, he stayed asleep. And he slept for 2.5 hours, giving me enough time to get my lessons for Thursday. He woke up in a good mood, so after lunch, he and I headed to school so I could get some copies made and pick up some books from the library. We got home just as C got home, and Wild Man was happy to see his dad. They played for an hour or so, and then Wild Man crawled into my lap and fell asleep for an hour.

Wednesday night was rough. C took the night shift so I was rested to teach. He ended up sleeping on the floor of Wild Man's room so he could comfort him back to sleep every time he woke himself up coughing. I spent Thursday in my office on campus working, and C and Wild Man had the day to themselves. It was, apparently, 180 degrees different from Wednesday. Wild Man was whiny, tired, fussy, and just not himself. We had an appointment with our pediatrician for Wild Man to get his 15 month shots Thursday afternoon, but it was pretty clear that he wouldn't be getting any shots. As soon as C and Wild Man walked into the doctor's office, I knew my mommy instinct had been right. Wild Man was glassy-eyed, listless, and wanted to do nothing more than have me hold him. He made no attempt to get down or to play with the toys in the waiting room. He didn't say hello to the receptionist, the nurses, or any of the other children there. He didn't even notice the doctor as she poked and prodded him--and he loves his doctor.

After the doctor did her initial assessment, she decided that Wild Man needed a chest x-ray; although his lungs sounded clear, his prolonged fever had her worried. She said she'd seen several kids his age with pneumonia, so she wanted to make sure he didn't have that. We headed over to radiology for an x-ray, and 45 minutes later she showed C and I our son's x-rays. She explained that the wedge shaped shadow in his right lung was pneumonia. I immediately assumed we'd be spending the night (and maybe the next) in the hospital. Our doctor is so great though. She wanted to do what was best for Wild Man and given what we'd told her about his hospital stay after his seizure, she said she didn't want to put him in the hospital unless it was absolutely necessary. She had a nurse check his pulse-ox, and when she learned it was 97%, she decided he could go home with us. She gave him two shots of antibiotics, and we made an appointment to see her again today.

Last night was not great, but it was better than Wednesday night. And Wild Man woke up for the first time all week without a fever. He still wasn't himself, but he was more himself than he has been. He actually ate and tried to play. At his follow-up appointment, his doctor decided to give him a course of oral antibiotics rather than another shot, and we discussed what to do if he should get worse over the weekend. Right now he is sleeping soundly, and C and I are both keeping our fingers crossed that he sleeps through the night. Because he and I definitely need a good night's sleep after this rough, rough week.

A little sick to my stomach

I'm presenting at a conference in April, and it is a conference I'm excited about for several reasons. First, I presented at it last year and found the audience to be really receptive to my ideas. My panel offered really great feedback, which will help me revise my paper if I ever get time to go back to it. Second, I proposed the panel that I am presenting with. I hand picked the people who are presenting with me, and they are all interested in topics that I am. I'm really excited to get to talk to these people. Third, one of my best friends is presenting at the conference, so she and I get the chance to catch up.

Despite all of this the act of purchasing my ticket, which I did today, has made me a little sick to my stomach. I will be away from Wild Man for at least two nights and possibly three. This is the first time I will have been away from him overnight since he was born. I know that C is perfectly capable, and I know they will be fine together on their own. In fact, I'm quite sure they will have fun without me. After all, Wild Man and I generally manage to have a good time when C has had to travel. I also know that I will get more out of the conference than I did last year when I had C and Wild Man in tow. But I know that some part of me will be a wreck without my boy, even for only two nights.

Oh, No!

Oh, No! is Wild Man's newest favorite phrase, and he says it all the time. This morning, as I was loading him into the car to take him to school, I dropped my bag and he said "Oh, No!" Then, he dropped his sippy cup and it began rolling down the driveway. This also elicited an "Oh, No!" When we got to school, he dropped his hat, lost his balance and fell, and saw one of his friends drop her pacifier. Each of these events prompted him to say "Oh, No!"

Why I call him Wild Man

I'm breaking with my habit of not posting pictures of Wild Man. Frankly, I just have to post these. They demonstrate beautifully why I call him Wild Man.

Wild Man received this injury when he decided to walk down the small sliding board that is in his classroom. He, of course, fell and hit his nose. Not only did he give himself a nosebleed, but he also has a nice bit of carpet burn right down the middle of this nose.

On Monday, Wild Man's school was closed, and in an attempt to keep him amused, C & I decided to finger paint with him. Wild Man quickly decided it was more fun to paint his face. Check out the crazy look in his eyes. I think he looks a bit like a Mad Scientist myself. Regardless of the mess (and there was a big mess!) he had a ball.

*In keeping with my agreement with C about posting pictures, I will only leave these up for a few days.

The Bad-Mommy Brigade

Ayelet Waldman's essay in NYmag, "The Bad-Mommy Brigade," is laugh-out loud funny, but it also raises some compelling questions about mothering in 2008. Check it out.

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.