cover art

Oh, my: I just found this page of "covers" online from The Onion Magazine, featuring the following magazine covers.







In other news, this is my 200th post(!) and I've been keeping this blog for over two years now. I really can't believe it's been that long.

food reading

I received a fascinating email today from a co-worker with images from Hungry Planet: What the World Eats by Peter Menzel. If you haven't seen it, some of the images from this email can be found here:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5005952

Apparently, this story ran in November of 2005, so I'm more than a little behind on my reading.

P and I were most interested in--but not surprised by--the amount of processed foods found on the American photo, especially compared to the other countries.

I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle a few months back, which was an inspiring read. So I'll have to add Hungry Planet to my to-read list for this summer, in addition to In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto, which I recently discovered but have not yet read. Any other recommendations for my food reading list?

yoga, please

j has taken to grabbing my hand and demanding “yoga, please!” at least seven times a day. We have a routine: first, I stretch out into child’s pose and he runs around me. Then, he demands that I get into cow pose, then cat pose, and then cow pose again so he can climb on top and bounce up and down. Then I do the pose pictured here, only imagine it without the wall, pillow under the back, and cloth over the eyes. And add a giggling two-and-a-half-year-old balanced on top of my feet.

No, this is not the kind of yoga you’d get at a local class, and I wouldn't exactly call it relaxing. But it’s pretty fun for both of us, and it really seems to calm j down at the end of a long hard day at pre-school.

feminist for obama

This post will not be about why I support Barack Obama for president, but rather, why I (and other feminists) should be "allowed" to do so. Though it's a couple months old now, I found this article interesting:

Anti-Hillary Sentiment On The Rise Among Leading Feminists

I especially like this quote:

Eve Ensler, author of "The Vagina Monologues," and Kimberlé Crenshaw, professor of law at UCLA and Columbia, declared that the pro-Clinton feminists "interrogate, chastise, second-guess and even denounce those who escape their encampment and find themselves on Obama terrain. In their hands feminism, like patriotism, is the all-encompassing prism that eliminates discussion, doubt and difference about whom to vote for and why."

I would be happy if either Clinton or Obama were elected; I think both are good candidates. And I am disgusted by the often deplorably sexist treatment of Senator Clinton. But it angers me when I am told I'm "not a good feminist" because I support Obama, as if feminism is this monolithic thing that requires I vote for the female candidate. (That's why in general I prefer "feminism(s)" rather than "feminism," but mainstream media outlets don't have the time, I suppose, to detail all the different kinds of feminisms that exist: radical, Marxist, poststructural, etc.)

Here's the original Ensler/Crenshaw post:

Feminist Ultimatums: Not In Our Name

The feminism we fought so hard for and benefited from was not to make us blind to the complexity, but to help us see beyond simple formulas and body politics.

Ok: now I really need to get back to doing some work.

family portrait

This was my attempt to depict our family. Though it may be hard to believe, it took me a mere 2 minutes to draw (that's pretty much all I have before baby-j wrests the crayons away from me). You'd think that P would have taken such time constraints into consideration when evaluating my work, but no. He took issue with the pointy-ness of the goatee, the curliness of the hair, and the accuracy of the eyes. "Are you criticizing my art?" I asked. "I just question the realism of your interpretation," he replied.

He did make me and baby-j the most fantastic after-school, pre-dissertation-defense snacks last week. I just got the pictures off my camera.

Here's mine:


And here's baby-j's:

defending

Well, the defense is over, and it went well--much better than I thought it would! I had a wonderful committee; all members had helpful and positive feedback on my dissertation.

I have tried to imagine what it would be feel like to be done with the defense after so many years in school. I thought I would feel ecstatic, running up and down the streets, wanting to jump out of my skin. Instead, I feel somewhat numb. It just hasn’t really sunk in yet that--once I hand in the final copy with the minor revisions I need to do--it is over. I’ll be interested to see how I feel once it does sink in.

cars, kitchens, and cousins

Lots of changes going on in the last few weeks. Even with the changes and being completely stressed out about next Friday, I feel like we’re getting back to some sort of normalcy after the craziness of the last four months. First, we got a car to replace P’s dad’s car, which has served us well over the past three and a half years... however, the cost of work we’d have to do to keep it running was enough to justify getting a new car.

I took a picture of the Probe before it went away to its resting place, which I imagine is filled with grassy fields and flowers and other Ford Probes with which this one can romp.

*lighting a memorial candle*



Also, our kitchen is done. Well, almost. P has been touching it up here and there, leaving the paint cans in the pantry in case the urge for a touch-up strikes. Though we’ve had several contractors in here over the last month (cabinets, floor, counters, etc.), he’s been painting and nailing crap into walls and doing various other odds and ends. As usual, he rocks. His shoes are big ones to fill.



We have a calendar of the cousins on our fridge. baby-j enjoys admiring it. And speaking in duck and frog.

a date

Well, I submitted my dissertation to the four members of my committee this morning.

And I have a date now for the dissertation defense: Friday, April 18. That is less than three weeks from now.

Excuse me while I go hyperventilate.

easter

I am trying to finish my final dissertaton revisions this week, so allow me to let some recent pictures do the updating around here.

weird Easter photo of my dying tulips:


baby-j searching for eggs:


baby-j getting some direction:


a satisfied baby-j after finding eggs:


and finally, baby-j eating his last breakfast with the old kitchen floor:


That's it for now. More writing to come when I'm not writing.

spring longing

I got these tulips at our local store; they're shown here in the newly painted (thanks to P) kitchen.

We got a chance to get outside this past weekend and do a little bit (a VERY little bit) of yardwork. I trimmed the two enormous bushes next to the entrance of the house since they were hanging over the walk and making it difficult to walk past them. Then I cleared a path underneath and between the two bushes so it would be just big enough for a certain two-and-a-half-year-old to run through and use as a hiding spot.

can you dig that?

Just so I don't forget baby-j's latest poem, I want to get it down here. It is--of course!--accompanied by lots of foot stomping and circling around the room.

Pootchie, Pootchie Sandwich:
Can you diiiiiiig that?
Pootchie, Pootchie Sandwich:
Can you diiiiiiig that?
Pootchie, Pootchie Sandwich:
Can you diiiiiiig that?

(repeat for several minutes)

kitchen update

Ok, so I suck at blending photos together. But here's an update of what the kitchen looks like now, several days after it was demolished. We're still in progress, as you can see, but at least we don't have appliances and boxes of cabinets in our living room. We are waiting on a floor, countertops, some paint, and a sink. The sink is really crucial, since we're still operating out of the bathroom sink. In case you didn't know, there are many, many problems with the bathroom and the kitchen being in the same room.

I don't think I ever explained why we are getting a new kitchen (and why we knew we'd get a new kitchen when we decided to buy the house). I mean, really, the kitchen didn't look too bad before. Well, it's all about the oven. It was tiny--really tiny. So tiny that I couldn't fit a cookie sheet in there. We'd had an oven like it before, when P and I first moved in together and lived in an itsy bitsy 300 sq. ft. apartment in Manhattan. It took him something like 18 hours to cook a Thanksgiving turkey in there since you couldn't close the oven door with the pan inside. So we decided that we had to have a regular-sized oven, which mean pulling out at least the surrounding cabinets in order to fit, and if you do that, you kind of want the upper cabinets to match, and then, well... you know how it goes. You start out small, and pretty soon you find yourself in the bathroom kitchen, making coffee above a potty seat and removing the Band-Aids so you have space on the shelf for the peanut butter.

kitchen redux ‘08

The past two weeks have been busy. P took a 5-day conference trip to Kansas City, after which he flew home, spent an hour here at home to pack again, and we all drove to Michigan for his grandmother’s funeral.

So I could blog about how sad we are (we are), how rough the drive was (it was), how sick we are (we are), how high baby-j’s temperature was earlier today (way too high), and how much coughing we’ve all done (too much). However, I’d prefer to write about the other crazy thing going on: kitchen redux ’08. The day after we returned form Michigan, the cabinets were delivered, and this afternoon, the contractors demolished our kitchen.

This is what the kitchen looked like this morning:

And this is what it looks like this evening:

Since we won’t have a kitchen for more than 3 weeks, we needed somewhere to prepare baby-j’s lunches (P) and to make coffee (me). It’s a good thing the bathroom has a bit of counter space: P and I devised the “kitchen annex,” which is located both in the bathroom (yes, that's a toddler potty under the coffee maker)...

...and in the bedroom...


So come along--won’t you?--and let me bore you with tales of demolition, discoveries of 1960s artifacts in the walls, and futile attempts to stop baby-j from entering the construction zone. I think it’s a much better subject for blogging than all the stress, illness, and gloom that has been hovering over this family for the last few months.

a new 'do

Even though baby-j has been follicly challenged for much of his 30 months here, the hair has grown pretty rapidly over the last few months. In the last few weeks, I've surreptitiously hacked off some patches here and there, usually while he was running away from me. However, it's started looking a little like... well, like his mom had hacked off a few patches here and there while he was running away from her. So today we headed to the local salon in town to chop some of it off until it comes in thick enough that he can grow the nice, long hippy hair of which P and I dream.

It went surprisingly well, and it looks decent enough. He was relatively calm as I held his hands down, probably because he was distracted by his reflection in the mirror. The stylist couldn't get the trimmer anywhere near him before he starting squealing and trying to jump down from the chair, so we all decided to keep the experience a good one and try the trimmer again next time.

Oh, and that's our new fridge in the background. We are renovating our 1970s kitchen one piece at a time. Until we get the cabinets and the contractors in here, we'll continue to have this stove, dishwasher, and microwave in our living room with nowhere to go. The stove in the living room is currently holding some plants, a table lamp, and some baby wipes.

ten years

A decade ago, Jared the Subway dude finished losing all that weight. If you’ve passed a Subway shop anytime in the past month, you know this already.

A decade ago, I was in my first year of graduate school. Pleasegodletthisbethelast.

A decade ago (tonight! February 22!), P and I went on our first date. Though we met in the 1980s during our adolescent years, we got back in touch after P spotted me walking down an NYC street with some friends. In a speech my father gave at our wedding, he said that P and I met when I was “walking the street in New York City”--which is true enough, I suppose, but it had just enough of a hooker vibe that it has been (and will be) repeated often. Case in point: when I reminded P that it's been 10 years, his first words were “oh, yeah... the day you were ‘walking the street.’”

Today was a snow day for all three of us, and we were treated to a reprisal of baby-j eating snow and screaming to be let into the car. When he’s a teenager, I’ll have to remind him how much he disliked being snowed in and how he desperately wanted to go to school.

Anyway, I got some pictures of the morning. It felt good to do this again, snapping away as both my husband and son refused to smile and rolled their eyes at me. I haven’t done this in a month--far too long.

Here’s a tree so enormous I can’t believe it fits in our yard.

Here’s baby-j snacking on snow. Overheard: “Tasty!”


Here’s baby-j in the car with nowhere to go. After 20 minutes, P finally pulled him out.

And finally, a creepy-looking picture of another tree in our yard:

niceties

It’s been forever since I last blogged (has it really been almost a month?), but I promise to be better. I’ve written a bit, but have been waiting until I have some less depressing things to post. And so, we turn to baby-j: this is a picture I took a few weeks ago of him in a relaxing reading spot.

baby-j is getting to be an expert at saying “please” and “thank you,” though we’re still working on understanding what they mean. This is probably my fault. I prompt his politeness when he asks for something (like “Waaah-tuhr!”) by saying,

“What do you say?”
“Please!” he yelps.
“Thank you,” I prompt as I hand him what he desires.
“Thank you,” he mimics.

Now, I don’t need to prompt him. He’s taken to saying the following when he wants something:

“What you say? Please. Thank you. What you say? Please. Thank you. What you say? Please. Thank you. What you say? Please. Thank you.”

...all before I can even grab what he wants.

absence

At work, I keep getting asked how I’m doing. Well, I’m still here, though what “here” means is always different, of course. Last weekend we moved into our new place with the much-appreciated help of my mom, brother, and sister-in-law. At this point we’ve unpacked enough to function--probably more than many people would expect us to have done considering we’ve been here a week, but then, we’ve had practice.

I have a chiropractor appointment on Monday with the chiropractor I went to somewhat regularly before we moved to Pennsylvania. I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve seen her: four years. That may seem long, but then I thought about what I’ve done since then: 3 different apartments, 2 different houses, 1 baby. It feels like a lifetime ago. And even though I know I’m supposed to be happy about our new house (which *is* wonderful, by the way), I cannot seem to stop feeling sad.

Of course I’m sad: I’m mourning my father. But the new house is making me feel kind of lost, more so than any of our other moves. I’ve been trying to figure out why, and I think it has something to do with feeling incredibly disconnected from my dad. When P and I went back to clean the apartment and hand back the keys this week, I felt a pang... not because of the apartment itself, for which I had no strong feelings, but because it was a place where my father was. I’m pretty sure the last time he was there was when he put together the tricycle my folks got for baby-j. He wasn’t there much. But he was there, not here in this new space. He will never be in this house.

In the last couple years, my father worked a lot. He had irregular hours and irregular days, and he often had to work on weekends, so when we got together with my folks, it was often just with my mom. He wasn’t there for many of the trips there or the trips here, and so when I try to comfort myself by thinking of the last few years with him, I’m frustrated. In this way, his death has created sort of an absence of absence, and that thought is so horrible, I try to push it down each time it surfaces.

my dad

My father died last week. Even though he'd been in the hospital for a few weeks, his death was unexpected. He went in voluntarily on December 30 because he had difficulty breathing. He had a range of health issues that the doctors couldn't quite get a handle on, even after he was helicoptered to a better-equipped university hospital last Wednesday. They think he'd had chronic lung disease and had also gotten a recent infection. Add that to diabetes and heart disease, and ultimately, his heart and lung complications were just too much. We all (my dad included) did not realize how serious it was until the last few days. I am grateful, though, that his immediate family made it to the hospital in time and he passed peacefully with all of us there. 15 minutes of his heart slowing to a stop, and we were all in the room. I will never be able to forget that moment.

I’m assuming that the day he died--Friday, January 11, or 1/11--will be a date that I will always remember. Is it a common thing, to remember the date of a loved one’s death? I’ve also been doing calculations since he died... weird, inane calculations, like I spoke to my dad for the last time 4 days before he died, or, upon seeing the impressive ages of centenarians on the Today show, that man got to live 43 years longer than my dad. Not fair. And the numbers keep coming. My dad lived for 60 years and 27 days. My dad died 4 minutes before 9:00pm.

His death and funeral have been a heart-wrenching experiences, ones that I cannot quite put into words, though I hope to do so in the next few months, whether here or privately. On some level, it will probably be good for me to do so, but I just can’t do it all right now. I was so thankful that I got to see and hear from so many good friends and family over the last week. For those who read here, thank you all so much. I am so grateful to have you all in my life.

man for me (ode to barack)

I've had this song on my MP3 player for a few weeks now; it's the leading song on my "mama/baby-j dance playlist." And now, it's a YouTube video. The singer is a friend of a friend, and I'm interested to see if it gets any press coverage. Enjoy!

more moving

Here's an example of the kind of moving boxes we have stacked around the apartment. You know you’ve moved too much in the last few years when you can’t even figure out what's in the box you just packed.

We moved half of our things--the “easy” half--last week. It was about 20 degrees the day we moved, which was great for P. He didn’t sweat too much, and the temperature seemed to enable him to move quickly. I think the cold was numbing. Definitely something to keep in mind the next time we move--oh, wait. We are never moving again. Ever.

This week, P and I will move the rest, including all the furniture. Fun times, especially if I’m as good as I was last time at helping him move the gigantic couch up and down stairs. I’m strong enough to do it, but I don’t really have a mover’s instinct.

My dad is still in the hospital, still trying to recover enough from the pneumonia so they can do surgery. I’m worried that he cannot seem to get enough oxygen despite assistance. He cannot speak for more than a few minutes before getting winded, which is a pretty scary thing. However, P and I went to visit him yesterday and he looked much better than he did a few days ago. It seems that this will be a very slow recovery.

obama's victory speech

Though I missed it on TV, I found it online just now.

It's a very good night:



“...we are not a collection of red states and blue states. We are the United States of America and in this moment, in this election, we are ready to believe again.”

not exactly what i intended, but ok.

This is the hair that was attached to my head this morning.

So I intended to get about three inches taken off my hair this afternoon when I went to the fancy-pants salon. I don’t frequent these kind of places often, though I realize that’s not a very good explanation for how I entered the place with waist-length hair and left with shoulder-length hair.

Fancy-Pants Stylist* (holding my hair): You know, you could donate this.
Me: Yeah, I’d thought about that at some point...
Fancy-Pants Stylist: You could donate this to Locks of Love.
(LoL is one of several organizations that provide hairpieces to children suffering from medical hair loss.)
Me: Yeah. But I don’t think I’d have enough hair for that and still be able to pull my hair back in a ponytail.
(They had a sheet I had to fill out when entering the salon about how much time I spent on my hair each day. I wrote down “five minutes,” knowing full well this was a generous lie. My hair regimen--pulling my wet hair into a ponytail--usually takes less than a minute. It was crucial that I exit the place able to continue this regimen, lest I have to shave the rest of it off rather than learn to use a blow-dryer properly.)
Fancy-Pants Stylist: No... I think you only need 10 inches to donate.
Me: Do I have that up to my shoulders?

FPS left to go get a ruler. When she came back, we realized that I had at least that up to my shoulders. When she informed me that what would have been a $50 haircut would be free if I donated my hair, it wasn’t a difficult decision.

I got my free haircut and styling, which looks pretty decent. It is *just* long enough for me to pull back, but it will grow quickly. So they handed me my hair in a plastic bag in two ponytails because it was too thick for one, and I promised the salon I would donate the hair to Locks of Love. After researching my options, however, I donated it instead to Wigs for Kids. I won’t get into all the reasons here, but as an example, Wigs for Kids doesn’t make their families pay for the wigs. You need 12 inches to donate to Wigs for Kids, which I realized that I did indeed have after I got home.

I’ve been growing out my hair (with a few cuts here and there) for almost four years. I’m toying with the idea of growing it out again and again to donate (and get a free haircut), which some people apparently do, according to Fancy-Pants Stylist.

* Please note that Fancy-Pants Stylist is referred to as such here because she works at a fancy-pants salon. She was not actually wearing fancy pants. Or pants, for that matter: I believe she was wearing a dress. She was also quite lovely, and did a nice job on my hair. Thanks, FPS!

happy new year

...and we're back from the holidays.

Our trip in numbers:
1,850.1 miles in the car
4 different bedrooms
1 wedding
3 trips to the urgent care place in Michigan (1 for baby-j, 2 for P)
2 bouts of conjunctivitis (1 for baby-j, 1 for P)
2 trips to the hospital (for my dad in PA)
1 visit to the ER (for my grandmother, who was conveniently taken to the same hospital as my father after slicing her head open this morning. She is now home and doing pretty well.)
1 recurring cold (for me, unfortunately--it was gone for our trip and has now returned)

All this made for a very happy return home late this evening. It was really wonderful to see all the family, but overall, it was an exhausting trip. My father is still in the hospital trying to recover from pneumonia so the doctors can address some heart issues he has--they will most likely put in a pacemaker. We'll probably head back there at the end of this week or the beginning of next week, if not before.

Yikes: pretty depressing first blog entry of the year, I guess. My hope for the new year is that it's all an improvement upon this day, which has been a rough one.

somewhat uninteresting general update

What a crazy week. On Monday we closed on our house, which was great, memorable fun. The sellers are four adult children who had inherited the house, and you could just tell they loved it. I’m a sucker for the back story of a place. And knowing how much I love and miss our PA house, in which we lived for only a year and a half, I totally understood their emotion in letting it go.

On Tuesday I handed in my dissertation, accomplishing what I had set out to do this semester. I know I’ll have more revisions, but I’m hoping to set a date to defend it sometime in March.

Last week P finally got over his cold, and this week I caught it. I’ve been desperately trying to get well and also avoid baby-j so he doesn’t get sick. A 2-day car ride to Michigan with a sick toddler would not be fun. I’ve washed my hands so much this week, they’re starting to crack and bleed. (I know: I should use lotion. But then I use lotion and feel like I need to wash my hands again.)

Daycare continues to go pretty well. baby-j has become a master at the pouty, don’t-leave-me look when we leave, but apparently he’s fine a minute after we leave.

I took some video of the house to share with (or, if you prefer, to bore) the relatives over the holidays. Here's a picture I took this week of the view out the kitchen window.

hearing voices

Last night I finally got out the Kitchen Aid mixer that I received as a birthday gift last month and baked some oatmeal-chocolate-chip-cherry cookies (from N’s delicious recipe). The mixer was surprisingly easy to use and clean, and it was great to have it for this recipe, which typically involves a lot of sweat-while-stirring because of the oatmeal, chocolate chips, and cherries.

So this afternoon, after lunch, I mentioned that the cookies were calling my name. “Eat me! Eat me!” I intoned, imitating the cookies... at which point P complained that I always use the same Adam-Sandler-inspired voice to personify inanimate objects.

P then helpfully recommended that I try a different voice for each inanimate object. Did I comply? Of course not: who am I, Jim Dale? Instead, I took the opportunity to get on his nerves by using the same Adam Sandler voice on all the food on the counter. Tomatoes, avocados, coffee—they were soon all shouting greetings at P. Hi, P: I’m a tomato! Whassup, P? I’m some coffee! You get the idea.

piece of me redux

So Britney Spears has a new video out called “Piece of Me.” (P, you can click here to see the first 30 seconds of it; I know you’re dying to do so.)

As you may recall, baby-j has his own poem entitled “Piece of Me.” Since we still don’t know from where this recitation came, we can only assume that baby-j actually wrote the song for Britney and was rehearsing it back in October. For some reason, though, she didn't incorporate his lyrics. Or his choreography. Click here to revisit baby-j's version of "Piece of Me"; I’ve also posted his video again below:

anti-latte

Ah, the latte. It looks innocent enough, doesn't it? Unfortunately, I consumed what will likely be my last this past Tuesday, December 4th due to what I assume was food poisoning.

There's a Starbucks in the library of our grad school where I went to write for a bit before meeting with my advisor Tuesday night. After drinking my latte, I immediately felt ill. I've been in bed with extreme nausea and a massive headache since. This afternoon I began to feel better, though. Even resumed eating solid foods this morning. Whoo-hoo!

I had actually been working on eliminating most of the milk from my diet (not the cheese, though--I can never give up the cheese). I had pretty much stopped getting lattes. I really don't know what I was thinking, getting one earlier this week.

Anyway, P, as usual, was totally awesome in assuming all household duties, including taking baby-j back and forth to school... how fortunate that we had school, because I was not in any condition to take care of him.

In other news: in case you needed it, here's one more reason to hate "The View." This should go without saying, especially if you've read this post and that post, but should he desire it, baby-j can wear all the dresses he'd like, in school, out of school, whatever. I really can't believe we're having these conversations in 2007, but then, I guess I can.

third (first) snow

This is a pic from yesterday’s frolic in the snow, which went well until baby-j decided that he wanted to get into the car. He loves the car lately—this bodes well for our upcoming Michigan holiday trip.

This was his reaction when he realized we wouldn’t be going into the car:




Today was a productive day, at least. baby-j was in daycare/preschool from 9:30-3:30, which will be a typical day once I return to teaching in January. I spent the time away from him in my office, alternately freaking out about being away from him for so long and working on revisions of my dissertation. I printed out my current hefty draft, which was interesting... it actually looks like a dissertation. I might actually finish it.

Back to daycare: I’m really so impressed with the one at my work. Ms. S has been AMAZING. This morning she stayed with baby-j in the regular classroom, knowing how much he hates the “combined” room. Then, when I went to pick him up, it looked like she had been hanging out with him during naptime. Though he takes 3-hour naps at home, he woke up early from his first attempt at naptime away from home. I think Ms. S sat down and hung out with him while the other kids slept, comforting baby-j. It’s times like these when I wish I could stay at home with him... but with the daycare at work, it feels like it’s the next best thing, which is really great.

daddy / daycare

This is a guest blog entry by P, father of J and partner to L. As always, all critical comments, especially on grammar and syntax, will be ignored.

J started part-time child care this week, more than a year after our first aborted attempt to have him begin the lifelong hell of dealing with other people, aka socialization (see Sartre, Beckett, etc). As you might remember, that first go lasted all of three hours, during which J was sleeping for two and a half. In the waking 30 or so minutes, he managed to cause enough damage to warrant a phone call for me to pick him up, in which he was called names that I wouldn’t call a dog by a mangy middle-aged woman.

Needless to say, we were a bit burned. And very, very nervous about enrolling him at the child care center at L’s school, which came highly touted by everyone. But, as the entry age of 2 years, 3 months got closer, we knew we had to make another go at it, or L’s dissertation, my new job, and our sanity might be permanently marred.

So L dropped him off on Monday. There were about 15 kids from 2.3 to 5 years old in a medium-sized playroom. And about 5 adults. We like that ratio, thinking it might keep J’s animal side in check, more than that bad-mouthed lady of a year ago, at least. And after a few minutes, they separated into even smaller groups, with J in a group of about 5 with 2 adults.

And then L left, to go pay the tuition and ostensibly to work on her dissertation for three hours until picking him up again. And waited for her cell phone to ring, saying we had to pick him up and take him away and throw him into the jungle where he belonged.

The phone never rang. L picked him up as he ate his lunch at a table with several other kids. The lovely teacher, Ms. S, said he had a pretty good first day: there had been a few bouts of tears, especially when J realized that Mama was gone. But he’d played well and hard, and was doing fine. And then the same thing happened Wednesday.

Friday, alas, was my day to drop him off. When he started bawling as soon as he entered the room, Ms. S pointed out that I had the harder job than L--J now understood, as it had been repeated, that he was to be left parentless for an extended period of time. J cried loudly, screaming at me in sloppy, budding J English that I dare not leave or, or, or...

As I was sitting next to him, rubbing his back and trying helplessly to distract him with a toy truck, a boy a little older, maybe 4, came over and started rubbing J’s back as well, saying, “It’s OK, J, don’t cry.” And then a girl of about that age came over with a paper towel and began rubbing J’s eyes, drying his tears (if a little roughly). While these efforts had little effect on J’s tantrum, they brought tears to my eyes, and hope. That this place might work out. And that in a year or so, J might be the one trying to comfort another.

all the leaves are brown

We need to move out of this area, for no other reason than the *&#!cking leaf-blowers. Whatever happened to a damn rake? I try to do dissertation writing at home in the afternoon when baby-j takes his monster-long naps, which is always the time when the landscaping dudes (our landlord hires them to come to the house twice a week) decide to blow the leaves around. It’s loud and difficult to focus.

As so this morning, I drop baby-j off at the pre-school at my work, settle into my empty office with a cup of coffee in hand, prepared to work hard for a couple hours, and the whirring starts up. I look out my office window, and find more leaf-blower dudes, different ones, with bigger and louder equipment… I mean, they have a whole campus of leaves to blow into plastic bags.

Not to mention the fact that it’s late November. There are *supposed* to be orange and yellow leaves on the ground. A bare green lawn under naked trees seems somehow unnatural.

sesame redux

The first episodes of Sesame Street are out on DVD.

Here's an interesting piece about it in today's New York Times Magazine.

From the article:

Sunny days! The earliest episodes of “Sesame Street” are available on digital video! Break out some Keebler products, fire up the DVD player and prepare for the exquisite pleasure-pain of top-shelf nostalgia.

Just don’t bring the children. According to an earnest warning on Volumes 1 and 2, “Sesame Street: Old School” is adults-only: “These early ‘Sesame Street’ episodes are intended for grown-ups, and may not suit the needs of today’s preschool child.”

deciphering baby-j

baby-j calls hummus “mook.” He loves mook. Apparently mook can only be eaten with carrots, but few carrots are actually eaten—the carrot, as baby-j has discovered, is the perfect utensil for mook.

Another strange word choice of baby-j’s is his word for pretzel, which is pronounced “mek-um.” (Also odd: for some reason I have always spelled this “mechum” in my brain.)

But the detective-award this week goes to me: I discovered the origins of Too-oh-day, the mysterious phrase I first described in September (but he’d been singing this for much longer):

And the real stumper, the phrase P and I cannot figure out, is “Too-oh-day, too-oh-day.” Typically it is yelled in staccato: “Too! Oh! Day! / Too! Oh! Day!” and is accompanied by lots of foot-stomping. A cash prize will be awarded to any blog readers who can provide the origins and meaning of this mysterious phrase.

Lately he had added an “ahhhhh” after the phrase. Also, P suspected for a while now that the phrase was actually more like “Too! Oh! Nay! (Ahhhh!)” and wondered if baby-j was referring to Ernie of Sesame Street fame. Though baby-j doesn’t watch much TV, he does enjoy a Sesame Street DVD from time to time. There’s a part in one of the DVDs when Big Bird, having searched everywhere for Ernie, sings:

“My journey... to Ernie... is done!!!” Having not really watched this much with baby-j, I didn’t realize it until this week, when it finally hit me. He was singing “To Ernie... is done!”

You’d think I’d discovered the Holy Grail. P told me I should have called him immediately after my discovery, which would have been while he was at work. The best thing about this revelation, though, was baby-j’s reaction as I began to sing the correct phrase. A huge smile lit up his face; I could feel the joy as he sang along with me. I got the subtext: Yeah, mama, how come it took you so long to get it?

My journey... to Too-oh-day... is done. Thank God.

from "flight of the conchords"

A French friend of ours sent along this link, so I'm sharing it here. I found it hilarious, probably because it showcases the extent of my own mastery of the language. Baguette!

you should see the other guy

Ah, so he tumbled head first down some concrete stairs outside Wednesday aftrenoon and we ended up in the ER. It doesn't look too bad in this photo, but when I took him in, the bump was sort of scary-looking... like the time when I was 13 and fell on my face in the street, blacked out, and woke up to my brother looking at me with a horrified expression on his face. How do I look? I asked. Fine, he lied (poorly). Later, he told me that I looked like The Phantom of the Opera.

baby-j is doing well now--happy and energetic as usual. This morning we woke up at 6am, all huddling together to stay warm. Turns out yesterday the plumber who came to replace the hot water heaters neglected to turn the gas back on so we had no heat last night. We ended up hopping in the car to run errands as a way to avoid nose icicles.

change the margins

See http://www.changethemargins.com/.

Not only would we save paper, but I wouldn't have to get any more of those papers from students in 16 pt. font with 3-inch margins on each side. :)

definitely not a brown recluse

As promised, here are some pictures of baby-j in costume. I carried this heavy spider on my shoulders for about a half hour walk through the woods on Halloween night. My body is still recovering, but I still prefer this one to the brown recluse.

I just realized as I write this: what a strange choice I made in putting baby-j in a spider costume. Maybe next year he can go as poison ivy, or an injured middle finger.

housing news

I’ve been waiting a while to write about it here, but now we’re gotten to a point in the process where it’s ok: we’re purchasing a house! We’re finally in contract with the sellers (it took about a month), and the closing date should be in December or January.

We are still sad about leaving our first house, but in spite of that--or maybe because of it--we are very excited about this new place. It’s close to a lake, and the house itself and yard are both a great size for us: modest, yet roomy. It’s on a corner lot, and there’s a fence all around the property, which is great for baby-j and his tendency to rove. There are several big old trees on the lot, and room for some gardening. One room in the basement is partially finished; I am referring to it as the “future toddler art room.” We will be able to walk to the (very small) downtown, and bike to the public beach in the summer. It will be about 20-25 minutes to work for P, and about 40-45 minutes to work for me (anything closer was completely out of our price range). So the commute, especially compared to the old one (90 minutes each way!), is not too bad.

Oh, we are just so excited.

Fun Fact #1: This will be our sixth residence in 3 1/2 years.
Fun Fact #2: If we move in December, we'll have lived in three different states this year. That should provide some excitement at tax time.

jack-o 2007

Here's a shot of this year's jack-o-lantern. I carved it Monday but it was shriveled by Tuesday.

Last year's jack-o-lantern looked a bit more cheerful, I think. No sure why. Maybe it's the buck teeth on this guy.

baby-j Halloween costume pics will be posted soon...

progress. sort of.

I’m currently revising the first draft of the final chapter of my dissertation. (I fear this may make you think I’m almost done--if only that were true! I will have to go back and revise it all in November and December. But my goal is to submit the first draft of this last chapter to my advisor this week.)

This chapter is by far the hardest one. I’ve been moving and adding, moving and adding for weeks.

Overheard this morning in our home office:

Me (Sighing): “This is just so hard.”

P (Laughing): “Well, it’s not supposed to be easy.”

As always, the man has a point. And with that, I provide a link to this article about how, if you enjoy writing, you best keep it to your own damn self if you're around me. It about sums up my feelings this morning.

jammin'

It's been a great weekend, but a long one. I'm so tired I can barely stay awake... so I'll let this clip speak for itself. Taken a few moments ago as he was getting ready for bed, this is baby-j jammin' to his dump truck.

in a box

P and I have the occasional lame argument from time to time. Today’s concerned last year’s Saturday Night Live sketch, featuring Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg, about a special holiday present. Basically, the conflict arose over what, exactly, made this video so funny. The argument erupted over the definition of “player,” and actually, continued discussion about what makes something funny makes it decidedly un-funny, so I’ll spare you. But I’ve included the video here for your enjoyment if you haven’t already had the pleasure.

(By the way, it’s a bit indelicate, so you might play it when children aren’t in the room.)

dough

We've been making bread here lately: this is baby-j during one of these sessions. He insists on using the fork to knead.

Of course, there is also much eating of the dough.

think before you pink

Here's an interesting site about pinkwashing, a term with which I was previously unfamiliar.

grandpa

We have a calendar on the fridge with a picture of baby-j, one of his cousins, and Grandpa. Each time he passes by, baby-j points to it, and calls out: “baby-j! C! Creepa!”

Yes, that’s right: “Grandpa” is pronounced “Creepa!” P says maybe it could be his gangsta-rap name.

onslaught

I've posted before on my feelings about the Dove campaign, but... this video is some nice work.

hmn conference

Today I went to the Holistic Moms Network national conference and got to hear Elizabeth Pantley, Peggy O'Mara, and Chef Ann Cooper speak. It was most amazing. I got my copy of Lunch Lessons: Changing the Way We Feed Our Children signed by Chef Ann Cooper, who spoke while we dined on hotel food that, ironically, made me feel ill for the rest of the afternoon.

Her statistics were crazy (they can be found on her Web site). Ten companies control 90% of our food supply? Philip Morris receives 10 cents of every dollar spent in grocery stores, but farmers receive 9 cents of every dollar? What the hell? If this is the kind of stuff my sister-in-law learns about each day in graduate school, I have gained (even) more respect for her: if I had to think about these depressing facts each day, I might just go insane. (P: No comments on that last point, please.) ;-)

baby-j poetry slam!

I caught baby-j reciting the poem mentioned in my last blog entry. It takes a few moments for him to prepare, but there's no stopping him once he's up on the boot box.

poetry

baby-j has taken to standing again on the boot box next to the couch, as he did a few months back. Now, though, he does pliés, and shouts his original poetry while using his hands to express himself. This is this week's poem:

I see...
a piece a' me, a piece a' me

I see it!
I see it!

Oh. Wait.

I saw... a piece a' me, a piece a' me.

I see it!

(stomp. stomp.)

(hurls self onto couch.)

what will they think of next?

Ok, so I posted this already on my Facebook page, but I just find this link so crazy, I have to share it here, too:

Don't Tase Me, Bro!

Could this be 2007's version of "Make Love, Not War"?

the fruit formerly known as “bo-chi-chi”

This morning I was awakened by my son plopping a crate of strawberries down on the pillow next to my head, poking me in the shoulder, and saying “Mama, strawberries!”

(He used to call them bo-chi-chis. How fast they grow.)

a mess

Tonight I went out to dinner with my friend L and our doc advisor. On the way, I negotiated the madness of news crews smack in the middle of the block—ABC, CBS, NBC, and NY1. I imagine there will be more in the next few days, especially in light of the events in Jena.

Go here for a brief run-down of the story if you haven’t seen it. But don’t read the guest comments. The supposition that Dr. Constantine placed the noose herself is so upsetting to me I want to scream.

this way

Last week we went to the park and had a great time trying to catch up to our son the whole time. When baby-j points, we follow. Which way are we going now?

:(

Feeling just a bit down this week because:

--I handed in about 75 pages of the dissertation to my advisor Tuesday and now, as I wait for her to read it, I'm doubting myself, and feeling that it's awful and I suck and I'll never get this whole thing done in time.
--I was reviewing old blog posts and saw that a year ago I predicted we'd have to move from our house for the simple reason we liked it so much.
--we don't know where we want to live even though we know we have to move from this apartment because the rent is more expensive than a mortgage and we're not crazy about living in this kindasnooty neighbornood anyway.
--tomorrow we're headed to the old neighborhood to visit with our wonderful old neighbors and I'm just dreading it because I'm already miserable thinking about how great our old place was and how we'll never get that back and also we'll have to see our old house and how the new owner has changed it. Oh, yes: welcome to the selfishness that is me.

So... bleh. Sorry for the depressing entry. Hopefully I get back to the cute-baby-picture posting tomorrow.

live lightly

If you get a chance, check out this site:

The Live Lightly Tour:
sustainable living in an RV powered by veggie oil

It is pretty sweet. I especially love her amazing pictures and narratives; they're inspiring.