I'm writing this because I'm having one of those days where I am utterly uninterested in work. Utterly. Very difficult to fake that I don't want to read another piece of freshman composition, or agree/disagree with the president at the staff meeting, or be a conduit of information, etc. etc.
All in all, I'm having a good year being senate chair...so far. Today, however, I could just as easily chuck it all. Today would have been a good day to get the girls off to preschool, then go back to my clean house and drink coffee and read all day long.
Anyway, here's where we are right now: looking for a job for Jeffy. There might be one at my school, and there are most definitely two positions at a campus in San Jose. As the leads come in, the applications go out, but I am preparing myself for The Move, whether it be this spring or next. Jeff has dealt with the inevitable living-with-the-mother-in-law thing (I think the $3500 a month rents have gotten his attention), and I am slowly shifting my books from our storage space to my office, to make room for--possibly--furniture that we'll need to store while we build our house. All decorating work on our current house has stopped, even though the place is becoming really cute and actually lived-in-looking.
Rosa and Claire were here last weekend, which was wonderful in that soul-recharging way, and we walked down to our place to have a little looky-round. It is becoming more real. It is also a bit terrifying...this creating something from nothing.
The girls are excellent. Excellent girls.
I've joined Pinterest, if anyone is interest. My handle is drbucket. There you can see what a big fan of clutter I am. It seems that all I want to do is organize: books, pictures, spices, etc. That's ok. You is what you is.
Health is good, albeit the weight thing. At least I'm thinking about an exercise regimen....
Monday, October 15, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Pudgy Kleptobotanist
Ok, I'm fat. Fat fat fat. I weigh 135, which pushes this squat, small-boned European to a BMI of 24. Until my thyroid surgery--and excluding my pregnancy--I was a comfortable, if somewhat pudgy 128. Now that my metabolism is regulated by drugs, I am totally unclear as to what I can and can't eat and how much I need to exercise.
I began doing aerobics last spring, in a last-ditch attempt to look all right at my college reunion party. It worked really well, and I continued on through most of the fall. But then winter hit, and when the light goes, so does my energy. I tend to lie in bed whenever I'm home. This sounds awful, but it's the truth. The girls don't mind too much, as they are all over the house, doing their almost-four-years-old thing. I read, I check my mail, etc.
Now it's spring, and like the bear waking up, I'm on the move. I've started walking at dusk, looking for green things to clip with my Leatherman Micra, the only utility tool with a strong pair of scissors, instead of pliers, on the end. I wander around my neighborhood, noting which houses are vacant (not as many anymore), which are being used as vacation rentals (some)..., while surreptitiously picking up pine resin (I'm learning how to make incense) and making small bouquets of my neighbors' extra blossoms. Note: I only take flowers when there is an abundance of them, or if the bush is in a weird, out of the way place. I feel guilty about not asking, but not enough to stop doing it.
I also listen to music while I'm walking, and have been surprised at some of the random, unidentifiable, but great songs that have made it onto the Shuffle...no doubt a result of my wanton downloading. Yesterday I was singing Oasis's "Don't Look Back in Anger" at the top of my lungs while cruising down busy Jefferson St. This is not Jeff's kind of music, so I normally wouldn't be hearing it/singing it at all. It was extra special.
And...I do become more philosophical when I slow down and walk. Themes emerge, dreams get tossed around in my head, and best of all, I am satisfied, mostly.
I began doing aerobics last spring, in a last-ditch attempt to look all right at my college reunion party. It worked really well, and I continued on through most of the fall. But then winter hit, and when the light goes, so does my energy. I tend to lie in bed whenever I'm home. This sounds awful, but it's the truth. The girls don't mind too much, as they are all over the house, doing their almost-four-years-old thing. I read, I check my mail, etc.
Now it's spring, and like the bear waking up, I'm on the move. I've started walking at dusk, looking for green things to clip with my Leatherman Micra, the only utility tool with a strong pair of scissors, instead of pliers, on the end. I wander around my neighborhood, noting which houses are vacant (not as many anymore), which are being used as vacation rentals (some)..., while surreptitiously picking up pine resin (I'm learning how to make incense) and making small bouquets of my neighbors' extra blossoms. Note: I only take flowers when there is an abundance of them, or if the bush is in a weird, out of the way place. I feel guilty about not asking, but not enough to stop doing it.
I also listen to music while I'm walking, and have been surprised at some of the random, unidentifiable, but great songs that have made it onto the Shuffle...no doubt a result of my wanton downloading. Yesterday I was singing Oasis's "Don't Look Back in Anger" at the top of my lungs while cruising down busy Jefferson St. This is not Jeff's kind of music, so I normally wouldn't be hearing it/singing it at all. It was extra special.
And...I do become more philosophical when I slow down and walk. Themes emerge, dreams get tossed around in my head, and best of all, I am satisfied, mostly.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Circle is Now Complete
Jeff and I have entered a new phase of parenting, one that I'm embarrassed to admit has happened so late. I'm happy it happened at all, though, so I'll share.
We are a family.
Having two helpless creatures to contend with for three years has been very difficult for me. I fought it from the moment my daughters were born: there is a photo of me taken two weeks after I gave birth, where the expression on my face is unmistakeable: I was in utter misery. I don't like looking at that picture now, because it takes me right back to the feeling that I had grown another appendage, in the form of a 50-pound double-stroller: it was unwieldy, attracted attention, and contained two new things that were sooooo fragile. I lugged everything around with the ironic satisfaction that at least I was 38, and not 28. At least I did not have to add the frustration of not being able to travel or go to bars! Jeff, though not as hormonally affected as me, was equally in the dumps. It was so selfish, I know, but I don't feel as guilty about it now: we were used to being totally, albeit collectively, self-centered. The sleep deprivation alone was devastating enough. The constant uncertainty about the future (would she cry again; would we get to sleep for at least 30 minutes?) was unnerving. I was a terrible mother, I thought, though it was hard not to love each girl for the person she was slowly becoming...in the moment. Then the other would wake up.
We were working. We were not-quite-making it, financially. Lots of stress. My mother saved us so many times....
Our experience stopped feeling like triage about a year ago. It wasn't abrupt. We just began to be able to count on having more free time, like after bedtime, or when the girls went off with grandma, they wouldn't exhaust her to the point where she wouldn't want to do it again--like next week. As they began to potty train, drink out of real cups, eat the same food as us, and the amount of equipment needed dwindled, so did a lot of the anxiety. Childcare had stabilized at age 2, when they joined a bigger preschool (try finding legal childcare for twins under 2) and liked it. They did not cry or fuss (so much) in the car.
My husband and I also came back into focus with each other. Our relationship had always been conspiratorial: what happens when your own children become "the enemy"? We had begun to argue, like siblings, over who deserved x more (sleep, free time, sympathy, whatever). As he is a little brother and I am a big sister, you can probably guess how dysfunctional it became at times. When we began to laugh at it, I realized that we had moved ahead.
The girls themselves, however, were the real stars. At three, they began to do most things by themselves. Really, though, to me they become more complete. All of the fragmented parts of their personalities began to solidify, and even better, they began to tell us about it. I won't bore you with the story-about-my-brilliant-kid times two, but I will say that I began to look down on the sleeping faces of my daughters and think, "Wow. I am lucky to have each of them." I wouldn't say, yet, "I'd do it all again in a second." I would probably hesitate. (Note: I did more than hesitate two blog posts ago.)
I've never had to work so hard. In comparison, tenure (at least, at my institution) has been a cakewalk. Cancer, too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I (and Jeff) have been through. I will never say to a first-time pregnant woman (especially if she is my daughter!), "Boy is your life going to change." No fucking shit (Shirley).
We were driving the other day, somewhere, our car full of preschool paraphenalia. There was a vague smell of old sandwich, but we were all listening to Al Jolson's "I Love to Sing-a!" and trying to follow along with it. The windows were down and the mustard was in bloom. I started thinking (around the lyrics), I love California in the spring. I love being able to put the windows down. I'm glad to be driving a nice car with a tank full of ($4.16) gas. I love Jeff. I love my friends, many of whom are also enjoying Al Jolson. It felt like our car was a meteor, streaking toward its destination, in one piece. For now? Perhaps.
I'm glad I had kids. Dear me in 2008. I don't envy you. You can't see past the next 15 minutes, but I'm here to tell you that in about three years, you will be grateful. I promise.
We are a family.
Having two helpless creatures to contend with for three years has been very difficult for me. I fought it from the moment my daughters were born: there is a photo of me taken two weeks after I gave birth, where the expression on my face is unmistakeable: I was in utter misery. I don't like looking at that picture now, because it takes me right back to the feeling that I had grown another appendage, in the form of a 50-pound double-stroller: it was unwieldy, attracted attention, and contained two new things that were sooooo fragile. I lugged everything around with the ironic satisfaction that at least I was 38, and not 28. At least I did not have to add the frustration of not being able to travel or go to bars! Jeff, though not as hormonally affected as me, was equally in the dumps. It was so selfish, I know, but I don't feel as guilty about it now: we were used to being totally, albeit collectively, self-centered. The sleep deprivation alone was devastating enough. The constant uncertainty about the future (would she cry again; would we get to sleep for at least 30 minutes?) was unnerving. I was a terrible mother, I thought, though it was hard not to love each girl for the person she was slowly becoming...in the moment. Then the other would wake up.
We were working. We were not-quite-making it, financially. Lots of stress. My mother saved us so many times....
Our experience stopped feeling like triage about a year ago. It wasn't abrupt. We just began to be able to count on having more free time, like after bedtime, or when the girls went off with grandma, they wouldn't exhaust her to the point where she wouldn't want to do it again--like next week. As they began to potty train, drink out of real cups, eat the same food as us, and the amount of equipment needed dwindled, so did a lot of the anxiety. Childcare had stabilized at age 2, when they joined a bigger preschool (try finding legal childcare for twins under 2) and liked it. They did not cry or fuss (so much) in the car.
My husband and I also came back into focus with each other. Our relationship had always been conspiratorial: what happens when your own children become "the enemy"? We had begun to argue, like siblings, over who deserved x more (sleep, free time, sympathy, whatever). As he is a little brother and I am a big sister, you can probably guess how dysfunctional it became at times. When we began to laugh at it, I realized that we had moved ahead.
The girls themselves, however, were the real stars. At three, they began to do most things by themselves. Really, though, to me they become more complete. All of the fragmented parts of their personalities began to solidify, and even better, they began to tell us about it. I won't bore you with the story-about-my-brilliant-kid times two, but I will say that I began to look down on the sleeping faces of my daughters and think, "Wow. I am lucky to have each of them." I wouldn't say, yet, "I'd do it all again in a second." I would probably hesitate. (Note: I did more than hesitate two blog posts ago.)
I've never had to work so hard. In comparison, tenure (at least, at my institution) has been a cakewalk. Cancer, too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I (and Jeff) have been through. I will never say to a first-time pregnant woman (especially if she is my daughter!), "Boy is your life going to change." No fucking shit (Shirley).
We were driving the other day, somewhere, our car full of preschool paraphenalia. There was a vague smell of old sandwich, but we were all listening to Al Jolson's "I Love to Sing-a!" and trying to follow along with it. The windows were down and the mustard was in bloom. I started thinking (around the lyrics), I love California in the spring. I love being able to put the windows down. I'm glad to be driving a nice car with a tank full of ($4.16) gas. I love Jeff. I love my friends, many of whom are also enjoying Al Jolson. It felt like our car was a meteor, streaking toward its destination, in one piece. For now? Perhaps.
I'm glad I had kids. Dear me in 2008. I don't envy you. You can't see past the next 15 minutes, but I'm here to tell you that in about three years, you will be grateful. I promise.
Monday, February 13, 2012
I Still Need a Boat
It's early Feb., so I must be depressed. Yep. Like clockwork.
I won't bore you with the details.
One of my colleagues listen to my complaining, and then said, "You have tenuritis."
I'm one small hurdle away from the Big Day.
I'm also rethinking what I'm doing, career-wise.
I'm also pondering certain things that I don't like the idea of, but must do; and once done, am happy to have done. I have a very inconsistent record with things of this nature.
What about you?
I won't bore you with the details.
One of my colleagues listen to my complaining, and then said, "You have tenuritis."
I'm one small hurdle away from the Big Day.
I'm also rethinking what I'm doing, career-wise.
I'm also pondering certain things that I don't like the idea of, but must do; and once done, am happy to have done. I have a very inconsistent record with things of this nature.
What about you?
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