It's 1:25 on the Wednesday Before Thanksgiving

I've been awake since 5:00ish.  Tiny Boy had a weird screaming moment and I had to go downstairs and retrieve milk, which he didn't drink.  (Note to self:  tell him you'll get it and then don't.  He might just go back to bed.)  Mostly his sleep is getting better but not the compulsive night drinking, which tends to be clustered 4-7 am.  I know he "should" be able to go 11 hrs without food, but he just can't. And it's still really hard to get calories in him in the evening, if not in the form of goldfish crackers. (He is, astonishingly, somewhere close to the 10th percentile for weight.  Small triumphs.)

So I'm a little out of it.

I have about two hours more of actual work I'd like to do.  And about two hours of domestic work. And about two hours of reading for "fun."  Which does not add up to the roughly 2.5 hours before I pick up LG from her friend's house.

I'm thinking I'm going to forget about the work, which I can always bring with me, and hole up in the coffee shop by my mom's house, which I like to do anyway.  On to the cleaning...

Community

I am astonished by what happened in Ferguson yesterday.  And yet not.  But it is so hard to live in a world where violence and injustice and racism are just part of the norm.  I don't accept that.  I have to.

*

Today there was a bomb threat on campus.  Quickly determined to be a hoax, and not immediately threatening enough to be frightened, in the way that I was when a gunman opened fire last summer at the pharmacy close to my house and my kids' schools were on lockdown for hours.  But enough that my students--the few that showed up on this last class before Thanksgiving--wanted to go home.

In the hour I would have spent teaching, I called Dr. Boy.  We have not been a couple in any way in many years, yet he's the person I go to in moments of crisis.  He also happens to be a black man.  It was him I was thinking of when I heard about Ferguson yesterday.

*

He asked me about how my books are doing.  These books published by small presses that haven't really been reviewed yet.  But I have received so many kind emails and notes.  Long lost ones reconnecting.  Other SMCs.  I agreed, today, to do a reading and workshop at Dr. Gorgeous's place in a few weeks.  The thought of reading some of that stuff in front of her I find absolutely nauseating, more revealing than any procedure in which her hand was up in my uterus.  But it's also absolutely the right place for me to be.  That is, and always will be, my community.

Trading Childcare

One of the best things that A. and I do is "timeshare" our children.  Not every weekend.  But it works well when we both need some extra time without children underfoot.  Today she watched all four (ages 10, 8, almost 5, and 3) at her place while I graded papers.  Then I took all four to the children's museum while she ran errands.  The two little ones were tricky in the end--they wanted to run in different directions--but otherwise fun was had by all.  And I'm down to about 2.5 hours of grading that need to be done by Tuesday...which could actually happen.

Cycle Day 13

And I'm still bleeding.

What the fuck?

That's all.

I Really Needed That Glass of Wine

Things are just crazy busy.  The past week has involved Tiny Boy's birthday (and the baking), the purchasing of a new car, a road trip for a poetry reading, chairing a major committee meeting, organzing a campus event, and a trip to the pediatrician's office, on top of the more banal teaching of classes, attending department meeting and chairs and director's meeting and two committee meetings, holding office hours, and doing something resembling writing.

Tiny Boy has his well-visit tomorrow.  I need to return to the car dealer to retrieve my old parking sticker so I can exchange it for a new one.  Before Thanksgiving I need to write a letter of rec, attend two more meetings, teach four more classes, attend a talk, a graduate student committee meeting, and grade. (Down to about 4.5 hours of the paper grading, plus the 1ish of smaller assignments.)  And submit final manuscript for my book.

Big Cat should probably go to the vet for cardiac imaging, as she's doing that howling/panting thing when she seems to be in major distress, and the housecall vet can't really do much for that. Unfortunately, putting her in the car results in the same symptoms, so I'm reluctant, especially since previous imaging didn't reveal anything treatable.

I'm sure there's something else.

Oh, I tentatively agreed to do a thing at Dr. Gorgeous's new place, the same day as I need to be at commencement.

I can't even tell you how much I am looking forward to the part of winter break when the kids are in their respective schools and I am OFF.  I'm thinking TV marathon (Gilmore Girls?) and a massage.

The Car

So it turns out I have an emotional attachment to my car.

I bought this car in 2001, to drive halfway across the country to my new job.  This car earned much of its 140,000+ miles driving back and forth to fertility clinics and doctor's appointments, 2002-2004 and 2008-2011.  Its carried a lot of emotional and physical baggage.

Taking my son's carseat out and putting it into a new car should be a joyous thing.  But it's sort of making me queasy.  I'm sure I'll like the new car.  But right now it has no history.  And maybe that's a good thing.

Where Does the Seven Hours Come From?

So I've got a stack of papers to grade which I estimate will take 7 hrs.  I want them returned by next Tuesday (last class before Thanksgiving).  Where will that 7 hrs come from?  I could give up sleep.  I could give up TV or night leisure.  I could reallocate work hours, so my "research/writing" time goes to teaching.  I could keep my kids in daycare longer.  I could forgo my already minimal attempts at exercise.

The problem is this is already a packed week, with a pediatrican appt, an extra committee meeting, and a trip to Hip University Town for a reading (mine).  All that stuff is already about 7 hrs that will cut into the aforementioned activities.  I had a babysitter this afternoon, thinking that I'd get grading done but in actuality I read for class and started making my lecture notes.

In practical terms, I think I will (a) see if I can get a babysitter for next weekend for a few hours (and if not, we're going to implement LG's Burger King plan), (b) keep LG in aftercare for about 30 minutes longer than usual on Tues/Thurs, (c) borrow a bit into writing time, (d) use a bit of my ordinary course prep time for grading and do some at night.  Everything gives a little and nothing is sacrificed completely.

And on that note, I need to get LG into bed so I can get on to other things!

What would you give up if you needed to find some extra time?

Something Resembling Balance

Tonight I went to a friend's house for a grown-up "girls just wanna have fun" night.  LG had a sleepover.  Tiny Boy stayed with our babysitter.  It's very rare that I go out at night for fun.  I'm glad I did; it's something I need to do a bit more, as so much of my life is work and kids.  I'd guess that for most single parents having a social life is what gets sacrificed.

But as I said in my replies to comments on the previous post, I'm also not a crazy workaholic.  I work hard.  I work efficiently.  But I'm not the sort who puts in 50+ hrs per week, even as an academic.  I do my job.  And by all "metrics" I do it well--I have the publications, the teaching evaluations, I do my share of service--but it's not what I live for.  I have a career I like, but mostly my job is a means to an end.

And on that note, it's 9:20; I need to read for class and go to bed!

Ask the Readers!

We're in a food rut.

I like reading cookbooks and hunting for recipes online (but also get really overwhelmed).

What are your favorite cookbooks?

Or specific recipes you really like (preferably that fall in the 15 minutes category)?

LG will try almost anything.  Tiny Boy is also fairly adventurous (he eats cold brussels sprouts for lunch!) but doesn't like mixed food (i.e. if I make a stew, he'll only eat it if I dissemble it and he refuses soup, which makes me sad).

Weekends (II)

It's now 5:00.  Soup is simmering on the stove.  Tiny Boy is playing with Little People, some sticks, a train set, and miscellaneous game pieces in a plastic bag.  (Don't ask.  I'm not.)  LG is upstairs doing her weekly book report.

We were out the door by 10:00 for a model train show (and I need to remember when I decide to go again next year that it's actually pretty lame, unless you're a collector, as it's geared toward buying train pieces not as much seeing them go, which is what's fun when you're three [or ten or forty-one for that matter!]) and then home.

My babysitter showed up, unexpectedly, at noon, because we had a communication glitch (mostly it's an every-other-week arrangement).  I gave him a cup of tea, we talked, and I sent him on his way.  It didn't seem, at noon, that there was so much to do, particularly as I have almost an hour during ice skating to grade.

After lunch, the kids and I all colored with colored pencils (three different coloring books; mine is all patterns) and even LG was content to be with the family.

The kids skated, I graded a few short things, we ran a quick errand and stopped for cupcakes (yum!) at a bakery on the way home.  All in all, it's been a lovely Sunday.

But now I'm remembering that I have two committee meetings this week (that require advance preparation and then take up time that I'd be using to do other things) and I haven't finished the novel we're starting on Thursday and I need to get book edits done at some point and, well, yeah...

The past few semesters I've had a Tues/Thurs rather than Mon/Wed teaching schedule, and while it's taken some getting used to, on the whole I like not having that Sunday night freak-out, which was particularly pronounced back in the day I'd have a morning drive to Dr. Gorgeous's office before my first class.  But on weeks where I barely take a breath--and there have been several of them running--it's hard to put aside all that will happen come 9:00 am Monday morning and just be in the moment all weekend long.

It's hard for me to know for sure, since I got tenure and had Tiny Boy at the same time, but I think this is the biggest gift of tenure for me.  The house is a mess.  There's a ton of work.  But it's really okay.

Weekends

Seems I had my first NaBloPoMo slip up, but given that I'm not officially doing this, and it's just for fun, I'm not going to think twice about it.

*

Yesterday LG and a friend went back and forth between our two houses.  When they arrived--the friend's dad brought them back--he (a professor of economics) asked if I'd gotten anything done.  The kids were great, he said, built a fort and kept to themselves (and it might be noted, entertained the younger brother (8) over there).  Not really, I said, nodding in the general direction of Tiny Boy.  Pretty much every toy was strewn across the living room floor, including a series of train sets.  Yeah, he said, I forget about that.

I'm starting to see that there might be a time in the year future when Tiny Boy doesn't need an eye on him ALL THE TIME but we're not there yet.  He knows how to undo every baby latch and gate in the house, and he's a climber (bookcases) and generally not the best when it comes to basic self-preservation instincts.  He also has IDEAS, you know, like dumping paprika on a sheet of paper as part of an art project.  And if LG is with him, there is often squabbling, hitting and general craziness. Divide and conquer.

So while my own weekends would be most enjoyable if there was something (vegetables, a chicken) roasting in the oven and I could drink a lot of tea and read books while my children play happily in the background, in reality our weekends go more smoothly if we get out of the house for a Tiny Boy friendly activity.  Today there is a train show.  Then I'm supposed to have a phone date with a friend three time zones west.  And then the kids have ice skating lessons, during which time I will comment on some student writing so I can go into the work week a little less crazed.

In Lieu of Twitter

Tiny Boy is in the tub.  I'm going to paint my toenails silver.

That's all.

Resistance

It is 3:40.  LG, who now walks home from school with a friend, will be home in about twenty minutes.  I have somehow managed to check off all the items on today's to-do list (including reading ~80 pages in a novel, responding to a grad student's proposal, reading a revise-and-resubmit for a collection I'm editing, doing publicity on upcoming events, and ordering my books for next semester), as well as taken a walk and baked pumpkin-banana bread.  I'm not quite sure how it all got done, much less with a few minutes to spare.

I could keep working, plowing away on tomorrow's tasks (or done a bit more to prep for one of my classes or read a thesis-advisee's latest) but why?  There will always be more to do.  The things that need to be done tomorrow will be done tomorrow.  I find myself instead resisting that culture that says DO MORE.  Or, as Laura Vanderkam's latest talks about, make use of "time confetti" for meaningful ends.

So when my girl comes home, we will have "LG and Mom Time" before picking up Tiny Boy.  The rest of it can wait.

The Things They Say

Bedtime, Tiny Boy in the crib, hanging on me.

Me:  "I like your hugs."

TB:  "I like your body."

In the Quiet

I'm sure I've mentioned at one time or another that the hardest thing for me as a parent (outside the sleep deprivation!) has been the NOISE of it.  I require long expanses of quiet in which to work, to think, to shut out the world.  I seem to have been given two children who require noise.  They need music and TV.  They like banging and singing and stomping.  We run into trouble on weekends when these sets of needs conflict.

For two weekends now Tiny Boy has been taking ice skating lessons at the same time as LG.  I was skeptical--he's not yet three!--but he manages to keep himself upright quite well, and he likes chasing balls on the ice with hockey sticks.  And for the fifty minutes they're both on the ice, I can comment on a few pieces of student writing and glance up and see one or both of them moving gracefully, smiling, just being happy kids.  It's like watching other people's children and then remembering they're mine.

But mine without the hands-on responsibility of caregiving, as someone else is doing that.  And they're quiet.  Slowly we are entering a new era.

Sunday Morning

Tiny Boy is watching the "boompas" on Willy Wonka.

LG is upstairs singing some pop culture thing I don't know.

Potatoes with red peppers and andouille sausage in the pan.

We all slept.  No one is crabby (yet?).

This is a promising start to the day.