Remembering . . .

I took this picture about a month ago, while we were in the midst of our summer travels.  Here, Bear and Wild Man are trying to hold on to George long enough for me to snap a picture of the three of them.  They are also trying to sing "Happy Birthday" to George, who has no interest in sitting still or being sung to.  This image captures not just a moment, but a feeling that I want to hold on to.  George's exuberance at being able to crawl.  Bear and Wild Man's intense love for their younger brother.  The three of them together, which is how they are most often.  Archer was standing behind me, singing and laughing, so although he's not in the image, I know he was participating.  This is my family, and I love them.

Updates

I'm updating some things around here.  That is all.

Changes

In two weeks, Wild Man and Bear start school, Wild Man as a second grader and Bear as a Junior Kindergartener.  That week George starts childcare full time, and my time as a stay-at-home mom officially ends (although it technically ended in May when my mat leave ended, George has only been in childcare part time, making me feel like I am still a stay-at-home mom in some ways).  I'm feeling really conflicted about these impending changes. 

On one level, I'm thoroughly enjoying watching my children flourish.  Bear, in particular, has grown a lot this summer.  In spite of some initial bumps, he has thrived in day camp.  He has become much more independent, and Archer and I are both confident he will excel at kindergarten.  Wild Man has proven to us that he is becoming a mature, responsible child.  He has taken to the role of older sibling without hesitation, and he is increasingly asking for more responsibility.  He loves looking out for his brothers (as much as he loves tormenting them, as is an older sibling's right, I suppose), and they have come to depend on him a great deal.  George is settling into child care, and while he may be the most serious and observant of our children, he is slowly claiming a place for himself amongst the babies in his group.  I'm proud of how they have adapted and their willingness to try to things.  I think this speaks to mine and Archer's ability to instill confidence in them.

On another level, I'm sad that I won't be working from home most days, that I will be back to "balancing" work and home life.  I'm sad that I can't just hang out at the park all day if I want to.  I realize this will change.  I know myself well enough to know that by next week I will be excited for the start of the school year, that I will be energized about my courses and new projects.  But today, and likely for the next few days, I just want to hunker down with my boys and squeeze the last few moments out of the summer.

Happy Belated Birthday to George!

A few weeks ago this thing happened, George turned 1.  We were traveling, so I wasn't able to document it here.  We did, however, celebrate.  We had a family party in our hometown with some really dear friends whom we don't get to see often.  George was really excited for homemade cake and cookies (made by his godmother), but he didn't really care about his birthday.  You see, babies aren't in to birthdays.  Parents, siblings, and grandparents are into birthdays.  I firmly believe that we celebrate first birthdays for the adults, not for the baby.  Archer and I celebrated surviving our first year as the parents of three energetic boys, and we celebrated the funny, thoughtful, kissable little guy who is George.  We're still figuring out who he is, but we're having a lot of fun watching him come into his own.

Memories

My parents are fairly young, in their early sixties.  My mother, aside from having bi-polar II, is in fairly good health.  My father is in good health as well, but he has some physical problems that require he use a leg brace, a back brace, and a walker.  Getting around is not easy for my dad.  He uses a shower chair, an elevated toilet seat, and other aids that make life easier for him, at least in their house.  His ability to get around is so limited that he rarely leaves the house.  My parents go to dinner once a week, and they run errands--to the grocery store (where he uses a motorized cart), the drug store, and places like that.  He often goes days without leaving the house, and travel is virtually impossible (well, it isn't, actually, but as he prefers not to use his insurance to get items that would make travel infinitely easier, travel is hard).  That said, my dad's mind is fully functioning.  He reads a lot (although stuff I think is terrible!), he watches the news constantly, and he plays several computer games meant to keep his mind active.  His memory is great, and he keeps track of all his appointments as well as my mom's without a problem.  My mom, on the other hand, forgets a lot.  She claims this is due to her meds, and I think she is right, at least partly.  Lately though, it has become very apparent that she is forgetting a lot, things that I think she should remember, like my sons' ages and their grades, the ages of her other grandchildren, that her father died.  I've tried to talk to my father about my mother's memory loss, but he brushes me off, assuring me she's fine.  I don't think she is though.  I will see her later this month, and I will be observing very closely the sorts of things she forgets.  I'm not sure what I will say or do, but I will be paying very close attention

*I started this post weeks ago, and I just finished it. I have since seen my mother, and my concerns were founded.  I've arranged an appointment for her with her doctor and have scheduled a conference call with her doctor.

Getting back into the groove

You may have noticed that I've been away, although maybe you didn't.  I'm back now.  Back in CU Land, back in the space.  I'm not sure what that means, but I think I'll be showing up here, at least sometimes.

Be respectful, an open letter

Dear Family members, 
Please take the time to be respectful of me and my views on social media.  I mean, really, we're family members.  We used to play together, and we recently mourned our grandfather's death together.  Yes, we disagree on everything, except that we actually do like each other.  So please, please, please don't call me stupid or ignorant or an f*ing liberal.  I don't call you any of those things.  I may want to, but I refrain from doing so.  I don't even call people I don't know those things, so I most certainly call someone I love those things.  Definitely not in a public forum.  If you don't like what I post, don't respond.  You'll notice that I rarely respond to anything political you post.  I think it makes for more friendly family gatherings if we stick to commenting on pictures of our children or posts about gardening.  So be kind and respectful.

Thanks,
M.

*I've finally gotten smart and started excluding some people from seeing certain posts.  Really, I don't need the stress.

I'm just tired

I'm just tired and discouraged.  I'm tired and discouraged by young women who say they don't want to call themselves feminists because feminists aren't kind.  I'm tired and discouraged by people who applaud the justice system, claiming that there is no such thing as institutionalized racism.  I'm tired and discouraged by people who say things like, "Slavery ended over 100 years ago; why can't we just move on?"  I'm tired and discouraged by people who don't recognize their own privilege.  I'm tired and discouraged by people who use liberal and progressive like four-letter words (for the record I don't use conservative like a four-letter word, although I might use Tea-partier as a four-letter word).  I'm tired and discouraged by people who are wholly unaware of their own hypocrisy (I am a hypocrite, and I struggle every day not to be one).  I'm just tired and discouraged.

Did I mention. . .

that Yetta is dating.  Yes, and they are talking about getting married.  Archer and I are still trying to get a hold of that one.

An Academic and a Mother of Three

A few months ago I wrote the following sentence: " I don't feel as though people question my abilities as an academic because I'm a mother, or at least I don't feel as though most of my colleagues do."  It was part of a post titled Academic Mothering. 

I'm beginning to change the opinion I expressed in the above sentence.  Now that I'm back in my office and attending meetings and doing academic work where people can see me doing it, I'm hearing, "Wow, you're back!  You're working!  How are you doing that with three kids?"  I'm also hearing, "Oh, I didn't know you were back yet. I don't know how you do it.  I can't even keep up with myself and my research.  Three kids!  Wow."

Maybe I'm starting to read too much into these comments, but here's the thing, comments like these bother me.  Perhaps they are meant to be complimentary.  I try to take them that way.  But, Archer never hears comments like these.  Never.  In fact, when he tells people he meets at CU that he has three children, he is routinely asked if his wife stays home.  The moment they learn I too am an academic who works at CU they typically say something like, "Wow!  How does she make that happen?"  Apparently I'm not supposed to be an academic and have three children.

*I would like to say that no one in my department has made any of these comments, but lots of people in my faculty have.

A rough morning

Today Wild Man and Bear started the first in a series of day camps.  Wild Man was excited.  He anticipated seeing old friends (he went to the same program last year), and he was really excited to make new friends.  He happily put his lunch box in his back pack, let me put sunscreen on him, and climbed into the car.  Bear, well, Bear was more hesitant.  You see, to prepare him for JK, Archer and I decided to take him out of daycare (the same daycare he's been attending since he was 6 months old) and send him to day camp with Wild Man.  We've been talking about this with him for months, and some days he is really excited. Other days, not so much. 

Yesterday, Bear helped me label all his things, and he told me what he wanted in his lunch box.  We made a special trip to the store so he could pick out containers that he can open easily.  We discussed how he needed to make all his food last for both lunch and afternoon snack.  Wild Man assured Bear that he would help him.  We talked about how all the kids get to go swimming in the afternoon, and I showed him where I put his towel and suit.  He said he didn't want to go swimming, and Archer assured him that was okay.  I said, we'll tell your camp teacher.  You can sit out and watch the other kids till you're more comfortable.  He seemed okay with that.  In fact, he seemed okay until we got to camp.  Wild Man, who is our social guy, quickly found three kids he knew, and he found a spot where he could sit with Bear.  He encouraged Bear to sit beside him, and he even offered to hold his hand.  Bear, however, was having none of it.  I literally had to peel him off of me.  I took him to a quiet spot and reminded him that his teachers have my phone number and his dad's.  I also reminded him that we're only 5 minutes away (the day camps are held on CU's campus) and that his dad was going to have lunch with them today.  He told me that he didn't want to go and refused to let go of me.  Finally, one of the teachers, a very nice young man, came over and introduced himself to Bear.  He told Bear how much fun they were going to have, and then he took Bear from me, who started crying at that point.  I hugged him one more time, and then Archer and I left.  As we drove away, we saw Bear sitting in his teacher's lap trying not to cry, while Wild Man rubbed his back. 

I'm struggling to get any work done this morning as I keep thinking about Bear.  He does not handle new situations well, which is precisely why we wanted him to go to camp to prepare for JK. I hope that the day improves for him, and that he grows to like camp.  I'm worrying about next Monday because the boys are in different programs starting next week.  Really, I just want to go find my kid and hug him.  I really hate it when I know I've made the right decision for my child, but that decision makes my child upset.

A difference of opinion

In light of my earlier post, I want to pose a question about the pro-life/pro-choice debate.  I want to begin by saying that I am not anti-live, although I am pro-choice.  I hate this rhetorical distinction.  I mean, I'm against the death penalty, but I am for a woman's right to govern her own body. I digress.

Here is my question: why is it that most members of certain political party are pro-life, yet they often do not support programs (like Head Start, Welfare, Medicaid, etc.) which would improve the quality of life for the babies they so desperately want to be born?  As a good, good friend of mine once said, "Many Republicans care about babies, until they're born." 

I have a new hero today, and her name is. . .

Wendy Davis.  I am in awe of what this woman did last night.  And I'm even more in awe that the American people were actually paying attention.

Bear

Bear turned 4 this past weekend.  I am equally sad and elated that he is growing up.

PPD

I've been having a rough few weeks.  One minute I'm fine, the next I want to cry.  Most moments I manage to keep it together, but there have been a few days in which I've just cried for a while.  I am, as I've blogged before, a crier, but it isn't like me to sob for an entire morning.  Archer asked me how I was doing yesterday, and I said, I feel like I'm having good days and bad days.  He asked if he could make an observation, and I said yes.  He said that my cycles are more regular following George's birth than following Wild Man's and Bear's.  He has noticed that I am more uneven than usual about a week before my period starts and at least three days into my period.  I immediately knew he was right, and now I'm trying to keep track of my cycles.  Prior to having Wild Man, I was on the pill, and I was also on the pill immediately following his birth as well as Bear's.  While I primarily took the pill for birth control, I found that it helped regulate the hormonal shifts I seem to be experiencing lately.  I told Archer I may go back on it for that reason, but then I don't want to do that.  So I started doing some research.  Now I wonder if I don't have a late-onset PPD.  I know that mothers can experience PPD up to a year following the birth of a child, and I'm still within that time frame for George's birth.  But honestly, all the descriptions are so different.  Do I have the Baby Blues (a term I hate, by the way, as it is just so dismissive) or more severe depression?  Or am I just tired and struggling to compensate for a lack of sleep?  Most of the time, I feel like myself.  I feel good.  But several times a week I have an urge to just cry.  But then, so do most mothers I know.  I mean, parenting is a hard, hard job.  It is exhausting and draining, and it can be demoralizing.  It's full of high-highs and low-lows.  Mothering is an emotional roller coaster in and of itself.

George

As I've written, George is now in childcare three days a week.  This has been a hard transition for both he and I.  So hard, in fact, that Archer was surprised.  After all, I have transitioned two other children into childcare, both of whom flourished with their respective caregivers.  He was not prepared for me to cry every day we dropped George off during his first month in care.  As I told him, though, I had to put Wild Man into childcare when he was 3 1/2 months old.  I had to go back to teaching and finish my dissertation.  I was able to work out a part-time schedule for him, but he had to go into childcare.  With Bear, I was back in the classroom when he was 10 weeks old.  Archer was able to take 6 months of family leave, but by the time we put Bear in childcare, I was accustomed to leaving him for most of the day.  George, however, had never spent more than 4 hours away from me, and only then a handful of times.  Those times he was in Archer's care.  I have been with him a significant portion of every day since he was born.  Putting him in someone else's care, even for 6 hours a day, 3 days a week, during the summer, just seemed, well, wrong.  I'm managing, but after almost 6 weeks, I'm still a bit upset every morning.  I'd rather be with him. 

It hasn't helped that George finds childcare a bit daunting.  He loves his brothers.  He loves their noise and their mayhem.  He actually crawls around the house to find them on the days he's home with us.  But he doesn't really like babies, it seems.  He finds them noisy and irritating.  He gets easily overwhelmed in childcare, and he refuses to take a bottle (he will, however, drink water from a sippy cup throughout the day).  He is hesitant to nap in his crib there, and he is struggling to bond to the caregivers.  He does love the room and the time outside on the playground.  He especially loves lunch, and he really loves it when he is the only baby awake in his room.  He is having a rough time adjusting to everything else.  I know he'll be settled in by September, when he starts going full-time, but his rough transition has made my transition a bit rougher. 

Our little family is going through lots of changes right now (Wild Man is finishing up first grade; Bear is leaving the childcare center to start some day camps in preparation for JK; George is starting childcare; and I'm back in the office), and all of them have me feeling more than a bit emotional. 

Venting

Yetta arrives tomorrow.  Those three words have the power to completely disrupt my life.  I'm not mentally prepared to deal with Archer's mother.  Most days, right now, I'm barely keeping it together.  I'm still adjusting to putting George in childcare, to being back in my office, to having to prep courses for the fall.  I have not had the mental space to prepare myself for 6 days with Archer's mother.  Oh, and her friend.  Because she refused to fly. And she won't travel alone.  She is bringing a friend.  And while I really love this particular friend, I do not need to add 2 people to the chaos of my daily existence for an extended period of time.  I just don't.  I'm sorry that I can't be more gracious and welcoming right now, but really.  I. don't. have. the energy. to entertain.  I care a great deal for my mother-in-law, and I do appreciate that she wants to be here for Bear's birthday (the ostensible purpose for her visit).  I do wish, however, she could be more thoughtful about when she plans her visits.  You know, bringing a friend to my two-bedroom, 1800 square foot home, while the basement is under construction (as in Archer is hanging sheet rock and rewiring the basement as I type this), isn't the easiest time for you to come.  Vent over.

A sleepless night

George is teething.  My easy-going baby isn't so easy-going right now.  He has cut four teeth in as many weeks.  Some days and nights he handles it well, others not so well.  Last night was a not-so-well night.  He was restless, which means I was restless. 

In addition to being unable to sleep because of George's restlessness, I was unable to sleep because I read Eli Saslow's article "After Newtown shooting, mourning parents enter into the lonely quiet" yesterday evening.  By the end of the article I was sobbing.  I felt compelled to check on my children, even though I knew each of them were soundly asleep in their beds (until George woke up 30 minutes later, that is). 

I've written about Newtown before, and I think about the families who are still struggling to get through the most horrific of experiences every day.  Last night I dreamed about them, about meeting them, and hearing their stories.  That dream was oddly comforting.  Then I dreamed that Wild Man was one of the 20 children.  I woke up crying, sweating, and almost hyper-ventilating.  Luckily George was stirring so I could focus on getting him back to sleep; without that task I think I would have had a full-blown panic attack, something that hasn't happened to me in years. 

The thing is, I had one sleepless night as a result of a young man who felt compelled to commit an unfathomable act of violence in a place that is meant to be safe, to house the innocent, and to help them grow.  I cannot imagine how the parents and siblings of those 20 sweet children and the families of those 6 amazing teachers sleep at all. . .

The Market

Archer and I are currently in the midst of deciding whether or not we will go on the market this year.  In many, many ways, I want to go on the market.  I want to see what will happen.  I want to try to get a job in a department where I can teach literature, not just theory.  I love teaching, but I can't see myself being completely fulfilled professionally if I can't teach the things I got into this profession to teach.  It is, of course, much more complicated than that.  As I told a friend this morning, the pros and cons are infinite.

Pros

• teaching what I love
• being in a location we like better than CU Land
• potentially being closer to family and friends
• having my teaching and research intersect in more clearly defined ways
• having easy access to materials in my field (the ILL librarian and I have become really tight in the 5 years we've been here)
• being closer to locations I need to go to do archival work
• being able to teach our children about their home country without going out of way to do so (this seems like a little thing, but we've already had to start giving Wild Man mini lectures on American history)
•  being able to attend conferences with more ease
• I could go on and on.

Cons

• moving
• starting over
• leaving our house
• leaving our network of friends and colleagues
• learning another university/college system
• being closer to family (yep, this is both a pro and a con)
• going on the market (it is such a time drain that it is a con in and of itself)
• interviewing (it's not my favorite thing)
• the negativity that comes out of the experience
• the guilt that I will feel (we have jobs; going on the market means we may be taking jobs from people who don't have them.  Yes, I worry about things like that.)
• leaving a unionized system (it comes with lots of hassles, but we have recourse when things go badly, as they often do in academia)
• Again, I could go on and on.

We haven't yet decided what to do.  I want to give it a go, but Archer is more hesitant.  Neither of us is 100% happy here (nor are we naive enough to think that we would be 100% happy anywhere), but it's familiar.  He is close to tenure, and he'll get it.  He is also being "groomed" for an administrative role, which means more money and lots more headaches.  Currently we're in a liminal space and trying to figure out what the best step is for us professionally and for our family.

Church

In the past 3 months, Archer and I have started taking our boys to church.  I haven't attended church regularly since, well, ever.  My father is a lapsed Catholic, and my mother was Presbyterian.  We didn't go to church unless we were visiting my mother's parents.  Even attending church then was a big deal, at least for my mom.  My dad never went, not even out of respect to my grandparents, which was upsetting to everyone.  My mom went occasionally, but her visits were usually prompted by lengthy guilt trips on the part of my grandmother.  As an adult, I would go with my grandparents when I visited them.  It meant a lot to them, and as it was really no hardship to me, I went.  I rarely discussed religion with my grandparents though as it was hard for me to explain that I see religion much differently than they did.  It was easier just to go than to debate the finer points of theology.

Recently, Wild Man has started asking questions about religion, questions that Archer and I are really unprepared to answer.  We can't answer, in part, because we're not sure what we  believe, and we can't answer some questions because we simply don't know enough about Christianity to answer.  So we've started attending church to give our children some sort of religious grounding, to combat our own ignorance, to feel more connected to our community, and to figure out what we believe in.  I know there are lots of people out there who will likely be offended for our reasons, but I can't honestly say I feel called to go to church.  I haven't been divinely inspired or anything like that.  I really just want to learn more, and I also want to be able to help my children find their way.

You see, I feel like my parents did my siblings and I a huge disservice by not educating us about religion.  We never discussed religion in my house when I was a child.  If religion came up, it was only when my father openly derided anyone who was religious for his or her hypocrisy (he never explained how religious people were hypocritical, just insisted they were).  What I know about Christianity, Islam, and Judaism is what I've gleaned on my own. I've read some religious texts, and I am familiar with the Bible (I have to be given the period that I study).  I took a few religious studies courses in college out of interest, and I read a lot.  By virtue of all that I am not completely ignorant about religion.  But I don't feel like I can adequately answer my children's questions about religion.  I want my children to have a religious background because I want them to have something to reject.  I want them to be able to say, with confidence, I believe in X, but I don't believe in Y.  I want that, in part, because I can't do that.  I know so little about theology and doctrine that I don't really know what I believe.  So we're going to church and I've been reading some spiritual narratives.  I'm still not sure what I think, but I find comfort in knowing what other people believe, in knowing that I'm not the only one with questions.

I am also really enjoying the church we're going to.  It was recommended by some friends, and the congregation and ministers (they are a husband and wife) have been really welcoming.  They have also given us a lot of space to get used to things.  No one has called us at home or tried to visit us.  Both ministers have offered to talk to us "when we're ready," but no one has pressured us.  That has been nice, comforting even.  I appreciate that they recognize that we're trying to figure this out for our family and not trying to strong arm us into anything (which has been my experience with very religious friends in the past).  It also helps that we've specifically chosen a denomination that is very liberal and open-minded.  This specific church is also very welcoming of children. No one cares when George starts jabbering during the middle of the sermon--and I mean he jabbered so loudly that he made the minister laugh mid-sermon.  No one cares if Bear comes to church in his slippers--seriously, I have bigger battles to fight than getting the kid into "real" shoes.  And no one cares when Wild Man stops the ministers during "Children's Corner" to ask a doctrinal issue--why can't I take communion yet?  I don't know if this church will become my spiritual home, but I do know this church has welcomed me and my family while allowing us to get acclimated and to determine how involved we want to be.  For that, I'm grateful.