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!

Just Thinking

There's a new book coming out in June that will include journal entries and letters from President Obama's ex-girlfriends.  These two women were in relationships with him in college and soon after.

Whether the thoughts are good or bad on the part of the women, it is disturbing to think one's romantic life can be open to the public to this degree.  Although most of my young adult relationships ended amicably, I would hate for those guys' journal entries about us to go public. Some moments should be just yours and the (ex-)beloved's.

Top Ten--2011

Top Ten Awesome Things about 2011:

1. The Crisis has made some progress in the right direction. And it's not nearly as bad as it could be.
2. Huge strides in my quest to get more publications under my belt.
3. My job is going really well, mostly, and I have opportunities that would probably not otherwise be available to me.
4. The Hubby and I have figured out a date-nigh/babysitting exchange with another family that has been really valuable.
5. The Babydoll and The Baby Boy are doing quite well in school and in extra-curricular activities.
6. Friends who had been wanting a baby for nearly five years, and who had a stillborn in the process, welcomed their beautiful, healthy son. A number of other friends also welcomed healthy babies into their families.
7. Finally had my bridal portrait framed, three years after I actually posed for it, and 10 years after I actually got married. (Of course, The Hubby cracked the glass in the process of giving it to me for Christmas, but, oh well.)
8. My hair is doing great. I'm learning to handle it in its unrelaxed state and I've had a very useful shift in my definitions of beauty. I feel sassy and I learned to swim (kind of)!
9. Regarding another crisis with family friends, one unrelated to the major crisis in my life, another year has passed that moves them closer to a resolution of a very bad thing.
10. The little world in my house is pretty good; my children are mostly unaffected by the horrible things that I know are going on and they are, I think, really and truly happy children who express their love for us and each other; my husband still loves me and I still love him. And I like him a lot of the time, too.

*And here's a bonus: I finished the awesome list much more quickly than the suck list.

Top Ten Sucktastic Things about 2011:

1. The Crisis will not freaking go away. It gets better, then randomly and unpredictably gets worse. And there's so little I can do about it.
2. The Crisis insists on sprouting branches, most of which I can barely do anything about.
3. We lost an elder in our family.
4. Still have friends who haven't yet been able to realize their dream of becoming parents.
5. Still not on anybody's tenure track.
6. Still having migraines, despite efforts to change my diet (although that's helped some) and I might need to switch medications again.
7. Something that I wanted to happen for a long time fell into my lap and then was snatched away. It still has not materialized in a successful way.
8. My faith is . . . challenged. And confused. But that might just be this week.
9. I missed a perfectly free Stevie Wonder appearance because I was at a conference.
10. Failed goals.

To the Victor

So, our shelf is filling up with trophies. The Babydoll and The Baby Boy have a year or two of sports and activities under their belts, and they've been rewarded with trinkets at the end of each season. At this point, we've already been involved in dance, gymnastics, karate, baseball, softball, and basketball. I see the line of demarcation, when the activity starts to be recognizable as an actual sport; there are scores, winners, losers, rules, referee calls. I appreciate the entry level when they were around three years old and simply trying to figure what they were supposed to be doing. I also see that most activities have a separate realm for those who are "special" or "gifted" in an area. But now, I kind of wish there was a little more merit involved in general.

My children are likely not on their way to compete in anybody's Olympic games (for many reasons, including my belief in normalcy and refusal to spend all of my money or turn my life upside down) so leaning towards merit might also mean they would be left trophy-less. What I'm really thinking is that I want them to know when are really good at something and when they are just doing it for fun. When they need to work harder to master a skill. When they can look to their peers as an aspirational example. I'm sure that's coming, and I'm not so much looking forward to the pain of losing or failing--their pain or my pain because I am a horrible loser. But The Babydoll asked when she was playing softball, "What will happen if we don't win?" I didn't know how to answer that. The coaches explained that if they worked hard in practice, they would win more games than they lost, and they did. And when they did lose, they told the girls that they could learn from those games. But my answer to the question was basically, "Nothing." I meant that nothing bad would happen if they lost a game, like being poked with a red hot poker or forced to hit balls until they hands bled or banished from the game forever; but The Babydoll is also very Type A, so I wanted her to know that I would also not be angry with her if they lost. It made me a little uncomfortable, though, because nothing really did happen when they lost. They got the same trophies at the end of the season no matter how they played. That's true even for my son, who decided in the middle of the short season that he was waaayyy over the pushing and tackling for the balls that were pushed two feet and rolled off the tee. He thought it better to stand perfectly still the entire game and fake a tummy ache. Gymnastics seemed to sort of split the difference by giving scores during the meets (it's recreational, not elite) and ranking them, but they were ranked all the way to eighth or ninth place so that every girl in every category had a place on the podium. They still all received the exact same trophy, though. The Babydoll had a relatively high number, but I couldn't help but think that if I were number one in my category, I'd want my trophy to actually read #1. Then, there's that whole Tiger Mom thing, that suggests that there's great reward in pushing yourself to the limits and accomplishing something through sacrifice and extremely hard work. Then again, I value normalcy, and playing piano 80 hours a day just ain't normal . . . .

I'm sure this will take care of itself soon enough, as my children as still very young. The agony of defeat will show itself readily whether we want it to or not. And when I think of it again, this "trophy just for showing up" method serves my purpose quite well, as my thought was to allow them to try lots of activities while they are young so that they can see what they like and what they are good at for when they are older. (I think that teenagers need something to take up their time and something valuable to keep them on the straight and narrow--I have a lot of theories, huh?). So maybe it doesn't matter that they get a trophy for doing the minimum. Of course, I know that I'm paying for those trophies as much as if I just went to the store and bought them. In the end, our shelf is filling up with rewards, not awards. But maybe that's okay. For now.

I watch too much TV . . .

Is anyone watching "Dance Moms" on Lifetime???? OMG! What the heck?! I can hardly even describe the atrocious attitude of this dance "teacher". I've heard coaches, including dance teachers, yell at students. I've heard them push. I've heard Lydia Grant: "You want fame? Well fame costs . . . ." But the owner of this studio has more than once (I'm only on episode two) implied/stated that she feels like she is raising these children. And yet, she seems to have zero respect for the actual parents. She was annoyed because one of the moms tried to take her daughter, who'd been up since 6am and hadn't completed her homework yet, home before 9pm. After watching a teary scene in the parking lot, she said, "I don't know what all that was out there," but you need to get to tap class. Any input from the mothers ("the costume is too skimpy!" "the dance is too sexy!) is met with a "like it or screw yourself" response. Her goal, clearly, is to get them to Broadway. Whether or not they are whole or healthy or normal when (IF) they get there seem off the table. It's disturbing. The mothers seem to struggle with the weirdness of this strange world, but they also often speak in the plural when they talk about performances. I don't understand what the goal is for them. To have their daughters simply become great dancers? to have lucrative careers? to win competitions? I don't get why parents would do this much and spend this much money and time for a child who is nine years old. And, I think that there's something wrong with people who need to be famous. It's hard to watch. Maybe I won't anymore. Okay, I probably will. But it will be uncomfortable.

New Things

So, I'm at a turning point in my hair transition. I finally took out the kinky twists, so that now the only thing on my head is the hair that grows out of it, unchanged. I washed and conditioned it, then looked in the mirror.

It was jarring, this knotted/knotting puff with no definition.

I went to the stylist who has been helping me transition and she put in two strand twists. But . . . they are small and tight and close to my head. I'm having a hard time with it. I think I'm going to take them down and try a couple of the styles that I keep seeing on the (many) hair blogs that I've been lurking around for months. So, wish me good hair days. Please.

On a semi-related note, I'm two classes into swim lessons. Having my hair exist without the chemicals makes getting in the pool easier and I'm excited, if nervous. It's kind of hard to make my body do these unfamiliar tasks, just like it's proving difficult to fully make this paradigm shift about my hair. Two important observations: perhaps "dead man's float" isn't the best choice for teaching beginning swimmers--hello!; the teacher told me in the first class that I, like she, have a dense body type that makes it harder to float. Where was this information when I was a child, thinking that something was deficient and weird about my body that kept me from being able to swim?! And one more thing: I know I'm not supposed to swallow the pool water, but it happens. What I want to know is why I can taste it in the back of my throat all flippin' day?

So Over It

Things about which I do not give a crap: 1) Charlie Sheen--I'm not fascinated. I'm really just thinking, "Sit down somewhere and hush up." He might as well be dancing around naked with bird poop on his head for all the dignity he's showing. 2) The royal wedding. I love a wedding. Seriously. But I don't know these people. They are not friends of mine, and their displays of excess are not interesting to me. Also, I don't know these people! Are Will and Kate going to be all captivated and hopping a plane over here when I have my totally fabulous 25th anniversary vow renewal ceremony in 15 years? Doubtful. 3) Justin Beiber. Or, as The Babydoll says, Justin Beaver. I just never got into star worship, so I don't get it. Michael Jackson was the closest I ever came to it, and come on--JB might be the bee's knees, but is he MJ? I know I'm not the right demographic, but what is it that makes him such a phenomenon? I don't get it. Post Script: I'm adding a number 4: Christians who claim that the 1950s were some utopian moment of virtue in America. I was fishing around, looking into parenting books suggested by a woman I used to know in high school. I was directed to a number of similar books. At first they seemed intersting and useful, but then I saw that they see the entire world as enemy territory, full of evil feminists and sex-crazed liberals who have ruined the clean living morality of yesterday. But all I can wonder is whether they are talking about the "Christians" who were holding signs and screaming at Ruby Bridges or the ones who thought that God hates women who have jobs. It's making me think of some very un-Christlike words.

A Perfect Skip Day

Today was the first day when it was really warm outside. It was a perfectly beautiful spring-is-coming kind of day. It was a little chilly in the morning, then warmed up to bordering-on-hot heat with the kind of breeze that the South is begging for in July. It was the kind of day, I told my students, that I would give myself permission to skip my afternoon classes when I was in college because it was just too pretty out to even think about sitting inside a classroom. I tried to get us out early today, but we still ended up using almost the entire class session. I was inside all day, with classes piled on each other, but I could tell that it was warm out because I kept seeing students with skimpier and skimpier outfits. Their toes were peeking out of sandals and the skirt hems seemed to get progressively shorter as the day wore on. They guys were wearing their coolest sunglasses and showing, ahem, appreciation, for the skin that finally escaped sweaters and boots. I knew my children would be eager to get outside, and I couldn't wait to pick them up. It was a good day.

But I will need a pedicure before I break out the sandals . . . .

An Epiphany

I had a revelation this morning: I don't think I'm going to use intravenous drugs.

Once again, the nurse at the doctor's office had a heck of a time trying to draw blood from me. They try one arm, then the other, then back to the other arm. Then they try my hands (which hurts like heck!) and then they sigh. Today, the nurse had to put the blood pressure cuff on in order to access the vein.

I'm pretty sure drug use would be too much trouble.

Getting some things off my chest

So, old people at the gym: Congratulations on still being able to get around and everything. But could you not annoy me with your annoying, narrow political rhetoric while I'm on the treadmill? It's already pretty unpleasant that I'm still gaining half a pound on the regular despite my time on said treadmill. Your self-involved and greedy ideology isn't helping. Move to the machine on the other side of the room, please. Or just shut up.

The Diva: If you need a wife, I guess I need a nanny. The Babydoll just wrote a note to me that read, "To Mommy. I don't like you. From The Babydoll." I told her that it hurt my feelings, so she sighed, then returned with a note that read, "I like you." I'm thinking this is going to show up in her Freshman Composition literacy narrative assignment.

Abusive parents and other jackholes: What the yuck is wrong with you???!! I watched Tyler Perry on Oprah and seriously wanted to cut off some folks' hands . . . and other parts. Human beings were not created for this kind of evil. Someone should have protected the little boy that Perry was. His stories are so raw (which makes me wonder why his writing isn't better). I keep wondering if there's some child who I see regularly who's wishing that I would be the one to protect him.

Students who either didn't read or just didn't come to class today: I realize that there is a big game tomorrow. Yes--Tomorrow. Today is class. And we covered Douglass today. Douglass! You should be ashamed.

DVR: I hear you calling me. I'm coming soon. I miss you, too. Smooches!

A Few Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

What's wrong with people?

Why is this man in Florida so driven by hate that he insists on burning the Qu'ran even as it presents a threat to American lives? It is a symbolic gesture for which you're willing to risk people's actual lives. Really?!? Not only is it unpatriotic, it is not the love of Jesus.

Why are people going into their former workplaces and shooting up folks? I know you're angry, but everybody didn't fire you. Why must any and everyone die? I get that you are frustrated and mad, but some little kid (who don't even know you and certainly wouldn't hurt you) would like for their mom to come home and read them a bedtime story. When you shoot up your workplace, you take that away from them.

Why do people run and hide from facts like they're the boogieman? I heard on an NPR program this week that once people hear something that may be misinformation, even when you give them facts to correct the errors, they refuse to believe them and even reinforce their belief in the misinformation. For example, the belief that President Obama is a Muslim is a firm erroneous belief in many people's minds. Once, DH reminded a co-worker that he was a member of a Christian church for 20 years. This co-worker asked him if it was one of those Islamic Christian churches. What? Is that even a thing? As an academic, this refusal to accept credible evidence is especially odious to me.

This crazy is really working my nerves.

A Few Things

• In the spirit of lament, I just realized that I'm losing another dream. When I turned 30, I made a list of things I wanted to do in my life. One of them was appear on Oprah. Now that her last season is starting to air (and I assume that they have all been taped already) I seem to have missed the boat. This, despite the fact that I lived in Chicago for a year. I really suck for letting this pass me by.
• I changed my narrative assignment for my classes, partly because I've found it difficult to receive heart-wrenching story after sad, difficult story. I made the assignment much more broad and a little less personal. Still, students want to write about their pain. Maybe the next batch will be a bunch of happy tales about how Pollyanna their lives have been. I won't count on that, though.
• Had a productive day alone, researching and revising. I'm really trying to make publication a priority this year. Let's hope something pans out. Pretty please.
• Autumn is finally rearing its head in the south. The oppressive heat of the summer is being overtaken by the crisp, cool air of the fall. Now we can actually go outside in our new yard. And I can stop sweating out my newly unrelaxed hair. :)

Thanks for the warning, but . . .

Honestly, I'm exhausted by the barrage of information on chemicals that will kill and maim us. Has anyone read the article in Parents magazine? Now I see one on CNN.com that is just as scary. In short, the only escape seems to be not to sit on anything, or cook anything, or drink anything, breath anything, or touch anything. Anywhere. At any time. But I guess that's just as well, since we also should not drink milk or juice or eat meat or vegetables or fish. Or else we'll be deathly ill. In which case you cannot take medicine. That will destroy the liver. Or something.

All the might be related to and may be a contributing factor. It's all so overwhelming. Can someone do a study that isn't frivolous or totally alarming? And can you actually come to actual conclusions before you scare everyone? The world is, it seems, unavoidably toxic. Cheese and crackers . . . .

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.

Deep Thoughts by Small People

The heavier issues of life are coming up more and more around our house. There's the "but how does the baby get in the mommy's tummy?" question, for instance.

The other day we were cutting up tomatoes and cucumbers for a salad. Both children were very excited. They had named the cucumber Larry and the tomato Bob, for the characters on VeggieTales. It was cute until I started to get nervous that they would be traumatized by the idea of slicing and dicing their friends. Instead, they were happy to chew them all up, still calling them by name all the while. Glad I didn't have to fully address the issue of murdering vegetables.

Tonight The Babydoll came in to tell us that she was scared. That happens frequently. We usually tell her 1) that her brother is with her and that God is with her, so she should think of that when she feels afraid; and 2) that she can sing the VeggieTales song "God is Bigger Than the Boogie Man." This time, though, she responds, "But I don't know what God looks like. I've never seen God before. Does God have a mustache?" I let The Hubby handle it since he lead her down this road. He told her that God looks like whatever we want Him to (I decided to just let that gender thing go). That answer seemed to work.

There have also been a number of questions about Jesus' infancy. What did His nose look like? Could He walk?

I often wonder just what's going on in her head that makes these questions materialize. What's she thinking as lies in bed, waiting on sleep? It's fascinating to me. And I wish I had better answers.

This is What Happens When Your Mother's an Academic

We were reading the iconic and time-tested story, The Giving Tree which both children really love. The simple drawings are inviting. The story itself is beautifully written.

But I had an epiphany a while ago that this tree must be a mother. She freely gives every part of herself away. She puts the boy ahead of herself at every turn. They go through their lives together, playing and learning. The boy comes to her when he's young and moves away from her as he gets older. In fact, he moves away from her and to another woman!!!! (Remember how he carves "T & Me" on the tree and then he starts carving some chic's initials?) The tree is happy when the boy is happy.

Then, I was reading the book at naptime the other day and I had another epiphany: I hope my daughter (and my son, for that matter) don't see this story as an example of how women should behave in relationships. This tree is very giving, but maybe she's just pathetic. Don't give all of yourself away! If all a guy ever does is take from you, run! This boy just wants to use you up, fulfilling his dreams. Then, you are left with nothing but a stump. But when he's needy and old, he shows up again--like you had nothing better to do than wait around on him!

I'll keep reading the book to them because they love it and so do I. But we might have to have a talk in a few years.

What I Realized at 1:00am

I stayed up late last night to watch Royal Pains on USA. While watching, I saw USA's promos for their new CIA show, Covert Affairs as well as their FBI program, White Collar. It occurred to me while watching that there are just so many medical shows (HawthoRNe, Boston Med, Grey's Anatomy, House), law enforcement shows (Law & Order: SVU, CSI, Memphis Beat, Southland, Burn Notice, Chuck), and courtroom shows (Drop Dead Diva, The Good Wife). (Okay, it seems that there aren't as many courtroom shows as there used to be, but the law enforcement programs runneth over!) But this what I want to know: where are the shows about the professors?!?

Life in the academy can be on the edge and suspenseful. Hello! Publish or perish, people! It doesn't get anymore life-or-death than perishing! Plus, just imagine the hours of script that can be written on the tenure process alone! And it can be sexy. We don't all wear corduroy jackets with velvet elbow patches. If you want sexual tension, the mandatory sexual harassment workshop I attend every year insists that there are inappropriate sexual behaviors happening all the time. And then you have the precarious balance between being a parent and a worker who has a job with homework. How do we deal with that? And comedy! The work students attempt to hand in is itself hilarious! And finally, political issues and the greater questions of life could be tackled. This show could have everything. Well, maybe not vampires.

Someone needs to write this series. I'd watch it.

I'm also available for consultation.

This Is All I Have Time For. . .

I now interrupt my feverish grading and overworked body and mind to bring you this message:

Who's idea was it to put bacon in between two pieces of chicken and call it a sandwich? I was already upset that KFC was sticking a hunk of meat in a cup and acting like it was a snack. Now they have two hunks of meat acting as bread? What the . . . !

I now return to my regular semester-end program, already in progress.

This Is What I Think About That

1. I am really sad to hear about Andrew Koening who played Boner in Growing Pains. It's sad that he was in such pain in life that he felt he needed to take his own.

2. I am saddened and horrified that Dawn Brancheau was killed by a killer whale and the animal will live to tell the tale. I don't fault Brancheau because she was doing her job and it is important that humans observe and study the animal world. I do fault Sea World for keeping this animal around even though this is his third killing. Humans--who have a conscience and can therefore theoretically be rehabilitated--have been killed for less victims. Wild animals kill; it's in their nature. Have we forgotten that they are animals?

3. I know you love the Olympics, SM, but I am glad they are over. Now, NBC can get back to showing other things. Like The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Wait, his guests this week will be Olympic athletes. Will it never end?

4. Can a woman sleeping with a married man (with two kids) reasonably expect fidelity and honesty in the affair? Apparently, one of Tiger Woods's mistresses, Joslyn James, held a press conference after his public apology (Why was that news? Why was it covered by major networks and not just the E! network?) and with her lawyer, Gloria Allred, requested an apology from Tiger for herself as well. C'mon, Slim, you knew what this was!

5. Spring Break is coming! Woohoo!