Resurrection

So . . . I've been gone awhile, and I thought that the season of resurrection is as good a time as any to renew, revive, and revisit my blogging self. I've been in a weird headspace, searching for pleasure in my life. My children are so clear about which activities bring them happiness. They swim and play sports and dabble in music, and the raw joy seeps out of their pores. They are so expressive that it's never hard to know what the giggles and happy dances mean. I had a conversation with a colleague, and we concluded that men also make no bones about what brings them pleasure. Whatever else is going on in the world, men make time and space for what they want to do. But for me--maybe it's that mom thing--I feel like a personal assistant, facilitating the lives around me and serving, serving, serving. When I thought about what I wanted to do and considered my options--learn a new skill? try a sport? join a group?--I could hardly even give a name to the kinds of things I like to do. And then I started to feel really pathetic.

As I've discussed to death, my career is on life support. I've been thinking about the 18 year old girl I used to be, and wondering if she'd be disappointed that I'm not all fabulous in the ways that she expected. After all, she imagined that at this point, we'd have a couple of books somewhere, and we'd be vacationing in cool, exciting places, and we'd have an impressive title. The Diva told me not to listen to her--she's young and knows nothing! All I can say is, "Sorry girl! I tried." It's just not turning out like we thought. And so, we probably--no, definitely--need to come up with an alternative plan to the bill of goods somebody sold us in graduate school about how this was going to work. We need to make some new connections and try some new projects so that we can travel a different road. One that might get us closer to that impressive title. And perhaps a vacation in Paris (hey--dreams are free, right?!) But more importantly, we need to feel pleasure. We need to be creative and focused in ways that have nothing to do with being someone's mommy or wife or instructor. A colleague suggested that blogging does that for her, so I'm making that my first step to a less depressed me.

I'm reading a devotional centered around the Lenten season. It's from the perspective of depression (the author is a scholar and minister who lives with bipolar disorder). One of the last entries I read was about how, for her, cycling helps her feel more human and full of life. How she knows that sadness rises up to suck her into an abyss, so she needs to be intentional about participating in her life. I don't have a diagnosed mental illness, but the cycle she mentions has been sapping me, too, in a way. It's been hard lately to keep myself from thinking about how much I suck, to remind myself that I've done some things that other people think are pretty great. I need to be intentional about meditating on the good, even while disappointment and fear and calamity threaten all around me. Otherwise . . . it's just too much.

So, returning to the blog is the first step. Another is to make some moves toward something tangibly good. I think I'm going to take a sewing class. I've been wanting to do that for years. And maybe I can go from there to learning to quilt, something else I always thought would be cool. And I think I'm going to take another swim class this summer, now that I've moved past my suspicion that my body won't float. I'll let you know how it goes!

A New Thing?

You might remember this post from last year, in which I lamented my yearly cycle into sadness about my career. So, I'm feeling kind of sad again. While other people, I presume, are thinking of the interviews they will have, or the ones they had at MLA, of what they will do next year, I am reminded that I am only hoping for a future. I had a substantive conversation with someone today about what it means to be in academia--not just the paltry number of positions available, but also the frustrations of teaching and research. I came to a new realization of how I might be able to think of the skills I've spent umpteen years building. There actually might be other things I can do with myself. There might be jobs that I can't even name or don't even know about. There might be positions that, even now, I could apply for that I automatically assume that I can't do because I'm such a peon. It didn't help that I walked in the door at home and The Hubby bombarded me with two unexpected opportunities he has to move higher on his ladder; I felt a little deflated because I'm pitifully grappling with my imaginary chances to make a career move and here he is with concrete avenues to pursue.

But here's the thing: It's scary. I really like most of the parts of my job. I love running my own little corner of the world called my classroom. I love (about 75% of the time) the relationships with my students. I love, love, love the freedom of the summers and the flexibility to switch things up on a daily, weekly, semesterly basis. I love having the chance to talk about ideas that totally rock my world. I would like to be paid more and I'd like some sense that I don't have to beg for crumbs.

So, if I step into some other world, will I have to actually work 9-5? That seems nightmarish. Will I sit in an office all day? Also nightmarish. Will I have to work with a bunch of adults who get on my nerves? Will I even be able to do it? Will I want to, or will I be bored? Will I miss too much time with my children and run screaming back to the academy (where I will probably be thoroughly ignored)?

I'm a rules following kind of girl, so the whole idea that I can just up and do something else is nuts! But what if I could actually pull it off . . . .

It Happens Every Year

It seems to come in cycles. First, I realize that job postings will soon be released. So I search them. Then realize that people are interviewing. I hope for one. Then I realize that other people are planning for the next year. I wonder if I should, too. It all feels so uncertain.

It's easy to get caught up in the joy of teaching and planning and pretend that I'm fixed in the office I love, working with the students who challenge me, thinking of the possibilities for the future. But the truth is that it's all very temporary. I'm temporary.

So, now I'm reading So What Are You Going to Do With That? Again. I'd love to just to keep doing what I'm doing, where I'm doing it. But with some stability and, you know, some remote possibility of tenure. Ever.

And I guess I'm going to add "Have an unexpected, exciting career" to my life list. I hear the circus is coming to town. Maybe that will be the ticket . . . .

You Can Get With This, Or You Can Get With That

So, I keep seeing these teasers for Eat, Pray, Love and they are making me a little sad. I've mentioned before how it deflates me that I'm too old to be on "The Real World" and that I don't have a skill set that matches a reality competition show like "Project Runway" or "The Next Food Network Star." I'm feeling like there are so many things that are beyond my reach. And I hate being left out! Aside from these much less probable opportunities, there are grants and institutes and workshops that I know don't fit into my life. It's not feasible to leave my family for a month or an entire summer. Jaunting off to Paris seems unlikely any time soon. And I still don't understand how anyone manages to write an entire monograph when they have children. Furthermore, shouldn't I be the thirty-something host on "The View" (anybody tired of hearing that one yet?)?

So, here's the thing: The whole Eat, Pray, Love scenario just reminds me that taking a year off from my life may never happen. I remember thinking, around age 22, that I wanted to have a cool, silver convertible sports car. Instead of that, I thought, I'm scrounging for crumbs in graduate school--for what seems like forever. And it kind of was forever. I spent my entire twenties buried under books and living on pennies and then getting married. I didn't have enough money to do anything exciting. When I turned 30, I finally graduated and I was pregnant and adding a whole other layer of responsibility. Being carefree and careless, making totally random choices, eating, praying, loving. When can I do that? Can I ever do that?

I have to acknowledge that this view is the perspective from here. I'm in my thirties. My career feels stalled. My children are at very needy ages. We have lots of bills. I'm tired--a lot. I'm not saying that the trade-off isn't worth it. I'm happy with my choices, but every now and then my world seems very, very small.

I'm starting to wonder if there is ever really going to be a time in my life when I can do something crazy.

Bleh

Again, an essay that I thought was really solid and smart was declined for publication (read: rejected). I was really proud of this one and liked the project a lot. I thought it was perfect for me. I'm sad. :(

S'more and Some More To Do

I think the combination of pressure to develop my own syllabi for the fall, trying to finish essays that I'm supposed to be working on, beginning the process of enrolling The Babydoll (who will be in private 5K because she just barely misses the public school cutoff) and The Baby Boy (who will likely have to enroll in 2K because of this potty business, even though he technically could/should be in 3K) for the fall, and the 4th of July holiday has set off a S'mores-making spree that I can't shake. The children love it, but Hubby just talked me into joining his gym, so the timing is a little iffy. Mere weeks to go. I'm not ready. I'm not ready. I'm not ready . . . .

*We've been going back and forth about this school thing for at least a year. Hubby thinks it's probably fine for The Baby Boy to stay on the manufactured "start late because I have a late birthday" track and for The Babydoll to get a little manufactured push ahead. He says that she's much more mature and ready for school and that he would benefit from being the oldest in his class. Maybe she should wait--that's what the state says anyway. Maybe we should let him be the youngest--if he ever potty-trains and the school moves him up to his "rightful" class. Is anyone confused yet? I just don't know what's best.

The Reviews are In: All Confused and Such

I just received my evaluations. It's nice that I could have electronic copies, which means that I have them now, as opposed to finding them at some random point when I'm on campus again. Clearly, though, it would have been useful to have had them earlier. Or perhaps it just would have been confusing.

In general, the review are good. I had an overwhelming number of "Strongly Agree" responses for most areas. They reflect the vibe I got while the classes were going on and afterward, when goo-gobs of students returned for rec letters. It also reflects the number of students in the spring who enrolled in my courses as a result of recommendations from friends. But there are some stupefying moments:

• More than one person indicated that they did not use the library--not even electronically! What?! We had a research paper! How does that work, without using the library????
• Someone was unsatisfied with "revisions." But I have no idea what that means. Did the student not like the fact revisions were allowed? Or was he/she upset that she/he was not allowed to do revisions (in which case he/she did not read the syllabus, which clearly spelled out the revision policy and the "dissatisfaction" is really unfair.) One word answers are not useful!
• More than one student indicated that they really liked a text from the very beginning of the term. I didn't think they liked it or that it was entirely related, so I omitted it from the list for the next term. Guess I need to think about adding it again.
• I was glad that there were fewer personal comments than I sometimes get. Those are often not attacking, but I never really know what to do when students critique my personhood.

In general, I'm pleased with the feedback, and I'm so happy that students are saying that they learn in my classes! Mostly, I'm glad that many students are enjoying this almost as much as I am. Yay!

I've got Mommy Guilt, and it ain't like the flu

I had my first case of Mommy Guilt recently. Normally, I roll my eyes at the idea that I should feel guilty about most things Mommy-related. I do the best I can; beyond that, just get off my back, people! But last week my daughter's class had a field trip and she wanted me to go. Badly. Deeply. Seriously. She gets so excited about riding the bus and she wanted me to sit beside her. It's not lost on me that the moment is quickly approaching when she wouldn't want me within 100 miles of her friends, much less sitting beside her on a school bus. But she demanded that we buy her sack lunch immediately and she dutifully packed it about 900 days in advance. (Luckily she was willing to put it in the fridge until trip day--otherwise we'd have a Rudy Huxtable situation--anybody remember that episode?). Her teacher told her that mommies and daddies could go with them, so she came home and told me that I had to go. I told her that I had to go to work, that I had students who needed their teacher just like she needs her teacher (I'm sure my students would disagree, but that's not the point). The Babydoll wasn't buying it. She wanted me to go and no other answer would do. I felt awful. She felt awful. Her desire was so sincere. I apologized about a million times. I started to think that maybe I should just cancel two of my classes and get on the stupid bus. My husband thought that was a ridiculous idea; I guess he should be an expert on the matter since he was taking his happy behind to work that day without a thought about this field trip--not an ounce of guilt there.

Trip day came and she didn't mention my impending absence. I put a note in her lunch wishing her a fun trip. She was thrilled at receiving "mail" along with her lunch. When I picked her up she showed me her pumpkin. She told me how another child's mother helped her with her lunch (I'd asked the mom to coddle her a little). She reenacted the dancing chicken they saw (don't know why a dancing chicken was at the pumpkin patch, but okay). She had a wonderful report of a fabulous field trip. But then she asked again why I didn't go. She expressed--again--that she really wanted me to go "because I love you Mommy!"

Now how was I supposed to respond to that? I turned away to fiddle with papers and hide the tears that were threatening to spill down my face.

I have to work. Well, I don't HAVE to, if I adhere to the "stay-home-at-all-costs-because-it's-the-only-way-to-be-a-loving-mother" philosophy. Of course, I would expect the student loan police to show up at every turn. And we'd never get ourselves into a decent school district on one paycheck. And I'd be annoyed and lonely and unfulfilled because I really do feel like I was meant to do the work I'm doing. Have to or not, the fact is that I have a job and I'm going to keep on having a job. Ninety-five percent of the time, I feel no guilt for working. In fact, I feel so blessed that the work I love often comes with the possibility of two days a week at home, summers off if I choose, and a flexible schedule. But when it collides with mommyhood, I do feel like I'm abandoning my children.

What will I do to remedy this feeling? I don't know, but I'll have another chance next week: I have class during my son's harvest party. Any chance the flu shot will vaccinate against this, too?

Worth

There was an article in Inside Higher Ed about how women, especially in academics, settle far too frequently for less money and perks than they really have coming to them. They don't negotiate and jump at whatever crumbs are offered. I was wondering if I did that today. Of course, the position doesn't have any wiggle room, so perhaps I didn't settle. But if I were offered the next level in rank (is this ever going to actually happen????) I'm not sure I even know what I would ask for. More money? Breaks for research? And if they said no, I'm sure I would just slink away.

All this leads me think about what I'm worth. Since I finished my doctorate, I keep complaining that I don't get paid what I'm worth. I remind my husband as frequently as possible that I have more education than he does. But the reality is that my job searches are severely limited because even if I'm offered my dream job, I could never command a salary that would make it worth moving. His salary is easily double--okay, triple--what I made at my last job. (Just typing that sentence makes me want to cry). Obviously, piling more and more education on your resume doesn't exactly translate into dollars.

I'm not writing this to complain . . . much, but I'm finding it really difficult to wrap my mind around how I should be defining "worth." If I had stopped at the BA and worked throughout my twenties, I would have paid off a big chunk of my undergraduate loans and still be making more money than I do now. But I really do love the wiggle room in my schedule, and working with students (whose parents I'm not even allowed to talk to), the ability to do research on topics I'm truly excited about, and summers that I can use in whatever ways I see fit.

In my upcoming position, I'm thrilled at the salary, which is higher than my very low expectations. But what does it mean that my expectations are so low? When I told my husband the salary offer, he asked if they got confused and thought that I was starting in one of the science departments. Ha, ha. It's an interesting phenomenon.

I'm Feeling Good

So, here are the details of the my new job.

I'll be at a nearby college to which I have close ties. I am so fortunate because I've been allowed to choose courses and class times. Essentially, I'll be able to do almost exactly what I was doing before, with a similar schedule and classes that I think I have a good grip on. And I know and hear only good things (well, almost only good things) about these students. I'm so excited. I think this will be good for me and that I'll enjoy it. The summer has a whole new vibe now. I'm going to crochet and read and plan for these classes and run around with my children.

I feel really blessed. What a turnaround, huh? I wanted to be like Paul--content in whatever state I'm in, whether in plenty or in want. Clearly, I didn't do so well with that, but God is patient with me. And merciful (Somehow my husband and I miscommunicated last weekend at a busy state park food court and left my son sleeping in the stroller while I took my daughter to the bathroom and he went to the bathroom himself. We both thought the other was staying with the stroller and turned our backs. We left him. Alone. It's so scary and dangerous I can't even think about it. Too awful. I'm about to cry. Back to feeling good).

Another dismissed colleague secured a wonderfully perfect-for-him position doing exactly what he wanted and being paid much more than before. And friends of ours just bought a house in a great part of the city.

And spring has finally sprung around here. This time of year, the South is exactly where I want to be. It's so beautiful outside and the air is warm without the oppressive heat that I know is coming.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Lost

This weekend I took a class that has lead me to think about a new career path. People keep asking me what work I would do for free; professorship was it. So, I've been feeling quite pessamistic and just plain sad about the very real possibility that I have so little control over my work life. Training myself and practicing another skill will, perhaps, give me some sense of that.

I heard Laura Schlessinger again this morning talking about her new book about stay-at-home moms, which I find to be so off the mark. First, most of the sahm I know have at least one degree, so railing against the stereotype that they are stupid seems weird to me. Second, I like(d) my work. It was meaningful and was a significant part of my individual identity. I'm sure many women don't need that, but I do. Now that I'm at home with my son, the sudden change is not easy or entirely welcome. We're having a good time, but it's not what I planned.

One of the reasons that I so enjoyed my job (even though it wasn't tenure-track or ideal in other ways) was that the schedule was so flexible. I could go on a field trip or a doctor's appointment whenever I needed to. Most semesters, I had two days a week that I could keep my children at home or pick them up early for an afternoon of hanging out. I had time to read. And in the summers, I was practically a sahm anyway, if I chose to be. I had the best of both worlds. I'm mourning the possible/probably loss of that. That brings me to this article from Inside Higher Ed that is calling my name. It succinctly expresses just what I feel about being pushed out of academia. Even if one of the opportunities I'm waiting to hear from works out, I still feel shocked into the reality that this whole thing isn't exactly what I had in mind. I think that now I'll always feel that academia is a bad marriage, with the divorce papers drawn up and hidden in the drawer, especially since even tenured professors were kicked to the curb in this case; "Never forget" I'll hear the administration saying, "You are expendable!" And yet, can I do anything else? Do I want to?

What Schlessinger doesn't seem to care about is the fact that working wasn't just about money--although for lots of women it's about exactly that--or about societal expectations--although somewhere in this conversation someone should point out the need for workspaces that support working parents instead of making their lives so much more difficult. For me, working was about making my own individual contributions and identity. Where do I put those needs if stay-at-home motherhood is 100% of my life?

Nobody Likes Me, Everybody Hates Me, Guess I'll Go Eat Worms

I was going to write a post today about the push-pull of motherhood and work and staying at home with children and the external intrusions that try to define women. Instead, here's what I'm writing:

So, I'm watching "The Real Housewives of New York" and here's another person who is going on and on about a career that is fabulous and enriching (both for soul and for purse) for which she was not particularly trained that was a hobby and just blossomed like a big ol' freaking flower and now has her all on TV with a book and I'm sitting here with squat.

Where's my stuff? Man, I suck.





*P.S. And here's what else I'm wondering: If you could (or had to) enter a totally different field, what would it be?