The holidays approach

Oh boy. I'm about to fly trans-Atlantic with a toddler. One who has recently started practicing the power of "NNNNNOOOOOO!" much more, um, forcefully. Meltdowns about not getting to carry the yogurt cup to the table are no longer surprising.

(Let's just get this straight, it was an open yogurt cup, and said toddler was in my arms, and we were already, seemingly contently, on the way to the dining room from the kitchen. About 5 feet into our 10 foot trek, I'd say. And said toddler started grabbing for said cup at the same time as whining about it. Not gonna happen, toddler. Not on my not-yet-fully-awake morning watch. And not in your already-school-clothing outfit.)

And I'm already in a mood. Or was. Or maybe it started just after her tantrum. Or just before. Tough to tell some days.

Then M went into the living room where I had just placed her on the couch, screaming "Nein!", to do something that wound up stopping the screaming, and I about lost it on him.

Anyway, I'm a bit overwhelmed with the thought of traveling on an 8 hour, daytime flight, with said toddler and her lack of napping these days. Holy shit, this could really suck. And being that I am in such a foul mood, you know what else I'm refusing to do? Give out chocolates or apologies to those sitting around us in the airplane for having a child, and for my child acting like a child. Last year I was all about the apologizing. This year, not so much. I shouldn't have to apologize that I have a kid, who is a toddler, who has tantrums. Not in the way the article which suggested said chocolates actually did the suggesting. It sets up a nasty situation where you already indicate to others that your child is not ok existing. Sure tantrums suck, and I'll be the closest adult to the center of that suck, over and over again on that flight, and the act of then apologizing to someone else about it.....well, let's just say we're all happy I'm not flying today.

I get that I was clueless before I had kids, but I never gave someone the evil eye for their kids behavior on a plane. Oh wait, ok, maybe when I was pregnant and we flew business class, and the mom put a 4 and 6 year old in seats in back of us, went to sit across the aisle, put her headphones on and mentally checked out. But then, it was the height of swine flu scare, kid was fighting with his brother and coughing towards the pregnant lady who hadn't gotten a shot yet. Yup, I was kind of pissed off then. And the kid was actually really good about covering his mouth every 30 seconds. Which is how often he coughed....the whole 7 hours. And I didn't have a lot of good will for that mom on that flight.

Now is different. On Monday I was on a super packed tight tram, around 6:30pm, from the train station, on a rainy night, and two parents got on with a 4 year old, and twin 2 year olds. No stroller, and who knows where it would have fit anyway. No one gave them a seat. The 4 year old had to stand, the 2 year olds were getting upset, and soon all three were crying. Still, no one gave the parents a seat, and only once a big stop came and people got out, could they even give the kids a place to sit. Still crying. Mom starting to just get upset with crying kids. I had no A with me at the time, and had just spent 5 hours on a work trip, in blissful silence. So I started making funny faces at one of the twins. Immediately she stopped crying. Then I included the other twin. Ditto. And up til now, no one on the tram, especially those near the family, had even smiled a "gee that sucks to be a parent right now, huh?" smile at them. And it took 5 seconds and a tiny loss of dignity to help get the kids quiet. From someone who hadn't had to deal with them the previous 5 hours. It wasn't hard. WTF, tram riders?

So, while I hope there are sympathetic parents on our flight, for when I've reached the end of my rope, blog posts about how I need to ingratiate myself to those around me just because I have a kid, make me feel pretty defiant. The business men who snore like hogs never hand out earplugs to those around them and apologize ahead of time. Neither do the people who get drunk and loud. They are just "who they are, deal with it."

Yes, I know, I may have to try to get some goodwill going on that flight, but part of me so wants to just throw wet diapers at anyone staring us down. All those people who think they know better, think I should be doing something different. Whew. Got myself all riled up.

And since this rant has not managed to calm me down that much, I'm assuming I'm just having a crappy mood day today. Huh.

Artsy craftsy home stuff

I got a lamination machine about a month ago, used it for make-your-own placemat favors for A's birthday, and am now busting at the seams with other arts and crafts ideas. A lot of them center around artwork for A's room. Or life. Well, okay her life is about contained by what is in her room.

And all the toys in the living room.

But what is missing, is artwork. I want there to be some stuff that goes along with the Lithuanian songs and stories she is learning. Because while there are pages and pages of links for Peter Rabbit, Velveteen Rabbit, Goodnight Moon and other English kids books, as well as English nursery rhymes, there are pretty slim pickings when it comes to the Two Roosters (chickens, goats, a fly a mosquito and a mill all make an appearance here - they have yet to meet Nabisco), and I Planted A Clover (on a hill, it sprouted, it grew, it bloomed, I picked it, all on that hill, folks).

The clover song is the current favorite for bed time, after the lights are out. And I'd like there to be some reminders of this once she is older.

My first thought was to illustrate (or collage the hell out of) a laminated page book, with the song lyrics. Sure, it could be a plain paper book, but (1) it would get ripped to shreds, and (2) my laminator requires me to mention it by name in 76% of all craft project proposals I have in my head.

So then, after I made the requisite lamination pitch, I've been considering stamping or (due to a great connection I just met, who is also Lithuanian, 50 feet down the street from me) linocut type illustrations for a book or a piece of art to hang on the wall. Think old fashioned, heavy lines, each character is different colors.

Like from this Etsy shop: WindsparrowStudio

And now I'm also getting excited about the idea of making shadow boxes for some of the songs. The first step in this direction was this Etsy shop, theaterclouds, with its photographs of shadowbox type settings. (You could laminate them, of course). Cool already, but she offers different version of each done with different lighting conditions.

 Of course, I'm not going to be setting up my own photography studio, so making a real shadowbox is going to have to be enough. And I'm thinking of starting with just empty tissue or shoe boxes. To try out the idea. I see 5 hills, each with some lifestage of that clover taking shape already.

Yeah. At least in my mind.

Table manners

This year has been better. Better than last year this time. I made A's birthday cupcakes myself, instead of having someone else make them, and more significantly, I had the energy to clean up after the making of said cupcakes. We were still dragging quite a bit last year at this time, especially as the one year anniversary of A's birth came around. This year, there was nothing in my mind about her birth throughout our 4 days of celebrating her birthday, and singing to her and watching her open presents and eat cupcakes. There was no connection left to the difficult birth experience. Or the more difficult year following that.

And now, even though the Swiss do not celebrate Thanksgiving, I'm happy to say that we do. Not in any cook-it-yourself super meal, but we will be going over to some friends' with my grandmother's vermicelli stuffing in hand, for dinner. And a few hours later, we will come home, and go to sleep. No big family event, no black Friday shopping, no Friday off work. But it is still nice to take a half day off, cook some familiar food, and rest.

Now, given that we will not be at a big family gathering, the table talk will probably be pretty mild. Good manners between acquaintances are sure to lead the evening. Politeness, no name calling, talking back, inappropriate making fun of others. And hopefully we can all remember to keep our ever-moving feet off the table, A. There was a post this week on the NYTimes Motherlode blog about manners at the table.

As A gets older, we are having to once again figure out what is and isn't acceptable at the table, and how to ask her to use her voice and not her tears. Pacifiers and feet are not currently welcome at the table. We try to have a family meal together at least once a day, and everyone should get to participate. Not sure how we will teach A to not interrupt constantly. Turn taking is probably not high on the list of a small being who doesn't even get conversation yet. But of course, as parents, we want our kid to be polite and well mannered at a meal.

So what happened in academia? How come, within a culture which sometimes pursues the construction of intellectual family trees (who was whose advisor, or academic parent, etc), we don't teach table manners in setting where we all gather to interact verbally. Why is a rudely phrased question from a faculty member or postdoc allowed to ride? How come you never hear another senior member of a faculty ask an aggressive question-asker to please rephrase using a calm voice? How come you don't hear most advisors having a talk with (maybe this happens behind closed doors, but who knows) a particularly aggressive grad student to explain the rules of friendly science engagement How come we encourage shy women to speak up more and not be so scared to talk, but don't ask the people who constantly talk over their classmates to give others a turn? Dismissive comments seem to perfectly acceptable, as if being nice, or polite, or not getting into a raised-voice discussion about someone's work, and not calling other academics idiots behind their backs, marks a weaker scientist.

When did being mean become equated with scientific rigor?

Easy black bottom cupcakes

A's birthday is coming up, and I've been looking everywhere for pumpkin cupcake with cream cheese frosting recipes. And I'm fine in that department. But I've spent way too much time at a time when I don't have time, looking for the chocolate cupcake recipe.

Because I feel better this year and don't have to buy a cake for it to be healthy. I can make my daughter's birthday cake myself. And I have cocoa powder and chocolate pieces (haven't opened the bag yet, but I know better than to call them chips) in the pantry waiting for me to find a recipe. And it started getting too much.

Not in a depression way, but in a mind-racing sort of way.

And then it hit me.

I have Whole Foods brownie mix in my pantry. I have just out easied all the "easy" recipes on the web. And will not have to put vinegar in a cupcake the day I will serve it, never having tried this before.

Boo. Ya.

The other-people-on-the-bus are "not so bad, not so bad, not so bad...."

Actually, this has nothing to do with the bus, other than being about the Swiss people who are the polar opposite of the tsk-tsk-ers. Yesterday was the first long, grey, chilly day. Ooh, it took all I had to get showered and actually go into work, where I am still struggling to find a groove, and not just feel like I do random things no one cares about. (Note: I may actually be doing things no one cares about, I'm just not ready to feel that way yet. Hey, we all have an ego.)

I had the dog with me and went to get A from school. Since all our potential playdates are busy throwing up all over their moms and dads, and it was grey, we walked through the fields, talked about the cows and goats and other dogs we saw, and headed down to our street, destination: home. For some Ovomaltine, and some baking and playing inside. On the way, we met a black man with a cute little dog.

He said her name was Caramela, and I found it strange that we had our discussion in English, and that he seemed so upbeat. What was that all about? Was he a hustler? Why was he smiling so much. Yeah, this place does that to your brain. He went ahead of us into an apartment complex and as we got near it, a woman was getting out of her car. She looked at me (baby on my back, dog in hand) with this huge smile.

"Seriously, who are these people?", I'm thinking. She wanted to meet the dog. Suddenly, she wanted to know how she didn't know us since she knows most dogs in the neighborhood. Ok, she must be a hustler, because what neighborhood? The people around here barely look at each other, much less interact in a neighborly way most of the time. We got to chatting, that she and her husband have a dog named Caramela, and the man walking the dog must have been one of the foreign exchange students coming to their potluck they host every year, and got asked to walk the dog. No wonder he spoke English first, and had a skip in his step. The man hadn't ridden the tram enough yet! He was newly from Ghana. A ha. And, thank god. For Swiss people like this woman, who was not only hosting newcomers but within minutes of meeting me had made sure I called her phone, knew what apartment she is in, and said we should come over, with our dog, for dinner some night.

What? Awesome.

At work, I had found that one person I thought totally ignored me by email had just sent a note to a different, unused e-mail account of mine.

And later last night I spent 2 hours out swing dancing with some smiling Swiss people. Who dance really well.

Do you know how much I needed just one of those things to happen yesterday? I have to figure out how to make them last for the week now, because it is a gray day again, I continue not to have a standard way I spell that light black color, and I could learn to like it here if the frown-to-smile ratio stays below 50%.

And to bring it on home, how cute are these alligator scarves? Am I going to knit one? I doubt it, I found them while looking for a tutorial on putting a pocket on a knit vest. I can barely knit straight, these babies would probably break me. I'm sticking to things I can actually finish. Hmmm. Maybe I'll just sew some pockets on afterwards....

The judgemental old ladies on the bus, go "tsk, tsk, tsk,..."

Currently, A is singing a lot. Swiss German songs from daycare, the ABC song from (I guess) the Fish School app on the iPhone, and now The Wheels on the Bus. Each verse has great little hand gestures, and it repeats well, and no wonder kids like it. Good stuff.

And, heck, we ride the bus a lot. The wheels on those buses go round and round. The doors go open and shut. The driver, however, does not say "move on back", or even the Swiss German version, and sometimes we wish he did. And the people on the bus, instead of going "up and down", kind of get flung forward and backwards, sometimes landing on the floor during a particularly, um, enthusiastic application of either accelerator or brakes.

And there is a characteristically Swiss verse to "the Bus" song here, that keeps getting my goat. See title of this post.

Twice now, in the last two weeks, as A and I have been riding public transport to a birthday party, once in matching puppy outfits, once in plainclothes, the 60 and over age group ladies have decided to fix their disapproving gazes, curled sneering noses and lips, and shaking heads on us. The first time, when A and I were in puppy outfits, and looked pretty home made, cute, non-Halloweenish, A on my back, I went from smiling on the outside and inside, to barely smiling at the b)(*#&$ on the outside. People here judge you a lot.

Yes, they judge you everywhere. But in India, I knew I didn't fit it, and that just my lighter colored hair meant I was going to be stared at. In Chicago, they know better than to show it lest a "oh no you di'nt" altercation starts up, and my British friends tell me that although you are judging left and right you never, ever, show it on your face and you may even apologize or smile for nothing in the direction of the one you are judging.

Here, they put on their nasty face, shake their head, stare, and sometimes even wag a finger.

So it happened again last weekend, the second incident, when we were not in costume, and this time it was two ladies. I assumed it wasn't us they were looking at at first. But when we got off the tram, they were still staring (this part still amazes me), and when I smiled at them, they just stared back. This time, I was ready for more action. As the tram pulled away, I raised my eyebrows, kept smiling, and waved at them. And kept my inner smile.

It sort of redefined that first incident for me, too. Of course it is them, and not me. And since people so openly judge you here for their version of right and wrong, one day you get told off for having the dog off leash on the walk near the house, and the next, for having her off leash. On the same walk.

Still, it would be nice to have some more ammunition (not the metal, live kind, as one of my Facebook friends suggested, tongue in cheek, that he would lift his jacket and show them his piece). Like some things to say. And a particularly vexing way (to the perp) to say them. My friend L, who was over for a playdate with his daughter yesterday, and is Swiss, recounted his approach to some people on a train once. I think he is self-possessed, and not flustered, enough, to handle these things well. Or at least in a way I would like to. So I've decided there should be an iPhone app, where we come up with the most common 100 finger-wagging situations you encounter here, that he can record a slightly shaming, but smiling, video response to, and the app user can play them in the direction of the disgusted party. We could name it "L tells you off, in Swiss German."

On failing, and then not.

Given that I work in science education, reading over and over articles and websites and books that stress the importance of trying things out yourself, it is surprising how often I still forget to apply that to everyday life. I have spent, my usual, 5 hours thinking about this bathroom light contact paper cover. I have found that there are no single hole punches of the office supply variety for sale in Switzerland (I refuse, so far, to buy a craft one with smaller holes, for $17). I have seen all sorts of images on my Google searches for Scandinavian designs, patterns, animals, and Mid Century Modern designs, patterns, animals. I've gone from the idea of abstract shapes to sheep silhouettes, to fish, to triangles arranged all over the place when I realized how poorly one pair of scissors cut contact paper.

I had two pieces cut out with the nasty scissors, that were rough on the edges, was just thinking how to get my hands on a friend's hole puncher since the cheap two hole one I bought really is for Swiss bills only, and this morning I finally got fed up. I found the better scissors, I told myself just to try something, anything, to get a feel for the light, the material, the results.

And there it is. I'm done, happy enough with it, it dims the light as I wanted, and since it is a nasty fluorescent lamp, the cover on it was plastic that doesn't get very warm. Perfect for white contact paper.

And I have a much better sense for working with the stuff now. There really is no substitute for learning something in context, instead of just trying to perfect the idea before even touching, playing, ripping, and messing up the material.

I'm thinking that any design tradition that embraces imperfect lines and organic shapes, is the one for me.

In other news, I realized last night that upgrading the desktop computer to iLife (iPhoto) '11 has deleted all my photos of A and anything else from before one year ago. Her whole first year pretty much, and M and my life together before that. I am extremely disappointed with Apple. I have all the photos also on my laptop which will never be getting that upgrade, so I am just pissed off instead of completely destroyed and emotionally broken. On some of the Mac forums, people are chiding those who did not back up their computers and actually lost their kids' first many years of life photos, comparing it to preparing for a natural disaster. Because, of course, we all decide to upgrade to earthquake '11 as soon as it hits the stores and we should treat a company like Apple as a force of nature, and not expect more from it. Uh huh.

Craft websites

I need a place to store all of these links and ideas, so this is a purely selfish post.


1. play kitchen from recycled nightstand

2. DIY rubber stamps made with old erasers.

3. Heck, just the CURBLY website in general , for things like popsicle stick magnets, and, well, just go look.

4. And Pinterest

5. Knittable floor poof





6. And for those of us who still wind up at IKEA more than flea markets...IKEAHACKERS

I may put more stuff up here, especially if anyone has suggestions. For now, I am sated.

Kids and art and such

In the previous month, we've started collecting craft supplies at our house, hoarding them for the impending cold, rainy, grey winter months when A and her friends will be spending more time inside than at the playground. We're going to need something to keep us occupied. And instead of buying new toys, M and I have decided to see what we can make with the empty water bottles, eggs cartons, tissue boxes and toilet paper rolls. While the other objects are all still waiting the arrival of enough peers to make a bowling alley/construction set, the toilet paper rolls have already made their debut. M draws little people on them. It may still be a bit early for A to appreciate the roll people.

A paper towel roll became a crocodile that could eat, and then poop, all manner of object. That one went over a bit better. I state for the record, that was not my idea.

It seems that other people also reuse toilet paper rolls for art projects. Just a little more highbrow and fricking amazing.

I found that artist's website while searching the internet for paper cutout patterns or designs I can use on some white contact paper I have, that I want to cover A's bathroom light (one of those soul sucking long fluorescent deals) with, to dim it a bit for evening tooth brushing time. I think that detail is out of my league. Perhaps a few stars or moons might be achievable with minimal self injury from the exacto knife.

A has just gotten over a long cold. Ok, not gotten over, but the fever and extreme cough are gone long enough that she can go back to school, we can all sleep through more hours of the night, and I can recover. And I know she's feeling better because she has her characteristic energy back. To jump and sing, to wail and cry on the floor, to say "NO!" over and over again, and to eat. All the raisins out of many slices of Panettone. I used butter on the remaining bread parts to get those in as part of yesterday's snack.

And just as parental exhaustion over a toddler illness gives way to parental exhaustion over a back-to-normal force of nature, I think again about the second child.

When you start dating someone your family likes, "when are you getting engaged?" seems to come up way earlier than you are ready to answer. This doesn't stop through "married", "having kids", all the way through "second kid." I think people who ask this have either lower-key kids, no kids, or lots of help with their kids.

Sure, I'm getting to the edge of my 30s, and it may take us a long time to conceive again, it may not even be possible. Who knows. And friends of mine whose first kids are about A's age are either pregnant or starting to talk about that next child. And I feel like I should to.

And then I find myself exhausted. One more great day, with so much to do and see, and some tantrums to calm, but a lot of wrangling and not a lot of down time, and I'm spent. It is time to put that question away for now. Because I can't plan on another child at this moment. Even the thought of being pregnant while I have such an active kid and such a weak back, is daunting. I still need 95% of what I bring to any given day, to mother, but also to get to where A and I are enjoying each other. It isn't time yet for us. I think it is just time to enjoy our crazy, laughing, screaming, singing, kissing, kicking, talking kid full on a while longer. The second child question will have to wait.

For now. I think I've found a cute pattern that is within my reach...using a hole punch. Wait, where am I going to get a hole punch?

Screens and kids

There is a post and many comments on it, on the NYTimes Motherlode blog recently, about keeping toddlers away from TV. So many different opinions, so many different experiences, and yet there is always this undertone, similar to that about natural childbirth, and breastfeeding, that if you aren't doing it, it is because you don't care enough. Your priorities just aren't in the right place.

http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/10/20/the-real-problem-with-toddlers-and-tv/

For the issue of TV watching, there is this sense from some commenters that those parents who do let their 2 year olds watch TV or videos, they should stop using it as a cheap babysitter. And that since X study or Y report talks about how TV is harmful for kids, you shouldn't let them see it yet.

I was planning on writing this post this morning, before heading off to work, but A got croup last night. And as part of our shower-in-the-bathroom-off-her-room-as-humidifier campaign, A's bedroom floor got flooded. Even after her coughing spasm settled around midnight, and she was asleep again, I was constantly listening for the sound of her breathing. I was sleeping with the white noise off, with my ears as close to her head as possible. She'd keep rolling onto her back to sleep and every 10th breath would just not come. She'd stop breathing. I'd try not to freak out. She'd wiggle around and wheeze again. I'd wonder when we should go to the hospital. She'd stop breathing again, turn, and continue her wheezy sleep.

Luckily, we both got some sleep last night, so even though she wasn't off to school today, I wasn't a total wreck. It was kind of nice to hang out at home waiting for the doctor's appointment. She was a bit slower than usual but in a good mood. But I still needed to get ready. I gave her my iPhone to play some Fish School. And thought about the post I'd wanted to write.

Among our friends with 2 year olds here, there is a range of TV or video use with their kids. And I think that is perfectly ok. Turns out M and I have the ability to not use TV very much because we have a solid amount of daycare for A, and a babysitter, and some household help. This is a luxury. And one on a very fine line. Because one night of illness, and our precariously just-barely balanced lives get knocked on their asses. And the iPhone games and Sesame Street videos on You Tube whoosh right in. Because our kid is a firecracker. And because, unlike with social science and psychology research, this watching-or-not of a screen doesn't happen in a controlled setting. It isn't about playing with her or having her watch TV, with difference between the two. Life doesn't happen in a single-variable-changing situation. Sometimes it means the morning goes smoothly, for two, still tired parents. And we enjoy each other's company. And I imagine that there are a lot of people who have a lot less resources, and a lot more stress who are using TV or videos to maintain some sense of sanity.

I currently live in a country where everyone has health insurance regardless of a job. Where salaries can be good, and where we moved because our standard of living would rise, monetarily. There are many social supports for people here. My husband shares a lot of household, pet and child duties with me. And I get to choose TV or not when I have the cushion of sleep, and other safeguards (although that may not be today, given my inability to find the right words today). As soon as they are gone, iPhone is my wingman. As part of a loving, caring, calm household. As part of getting through a tough sick-day.

On a trip with three friends last weekend, we spent a lot of time retelling our children's birth stories, breastfeeding stories, parenting stories. We had each been given completely different experiences, and even different views of the same experiences. Each woman's body is so unique in terms of how it will or won't conceive, birth a child, lactate. And yet all the judgment gets brought down hard for only one of two options - right, and wrong. We don't respect people's bodies in context of their lives, or their parenting decisions in context of their messy, complex, multi-variable lives.

Research studies and real life family life are very different. It is a good thing to keep in mind.

24 minutes

That is what my laptop battery says I have left. I'm at home, so I could plug it in, but I need to get going for the day, so it is a good inspiration to write something and go. I have a cold, first of the fall season, and although I'm grateful that I (and not A) am up coughing at night, I'm still a bit slow. How nice would it be to stay in bed all day!

But work things are starting to move slowly, in a nice direction, and I want to take advantage of that motivation. For my playground project, I just had a lovely lunch meeting yesterday with an architect who also works for an "accessible playgrounds in Switzerland" group, and she had great contacts and information and idea for me. It finally felt like this might become more than just something I surf the internet for, on my own. More than just reading playground blogs (there is more than one - that surprises you, doesn't it?), and searching on "cool playground", "natural playground" and "science playground." I also had a chat with an ed psych PhD student on the other campus last week, and we've decided to try to establish some sort of journal club or reading group for science education academics. Finally. Sometimes living in a new place bring too few of these kinds of life-giving, thirst-quenching encounters where you no longer think it is just you that isn't so happy with the status quo.

However, (oh look, now that I am just writing and not on Amazon.com anymore, I have 25 minutes left!) for now I have been in my pajamas, with warm socks on, the radiator turned up all the way, under a cozy flannel duvet cover, looking for knit toddler clothing patterns. I've sent some 8 e-book samples (the free excerpts) to my reader from Amazon.com, and I just hope that many of them have images of what patterns are inside. I'm looking to make a long vest or sleeveless tunic for A to go over all her long-sleeved tops. Why are there no baby undershirts? I just want this kid to have an extra layer for winter, and a long-sleeved t-shirt from Old Navy isn't cutting it on its own. But I find no baby tank tops or sleeveless onesies for an almost 2-year-old, not here not online in the Americas. My solution then, is to go for an outer layer for over all the long sleeves. Besides, they say that the nap room at school is really warm, so the kids sleep in their lightest layers. Bingo - just pop off that tunic and the Old Navy tshirt is ready for pajama service.

I spend a lot of time "windows" shopping on the internet. Ok, Mac OS X shopping. I don't by all that much, even if I do constantly "add to bag", all across the .com world. I'm finally buying from Etsy, but even there, I have some 50 items in my shopping cart, and only 2-3 actually purchased. I guess it lets me spend time in English-speaking internet space doing some shopping and that is comforting and familiar. Easy.

Ok, Kindle book samples, let's see what you've got for me.

Relaxing

I waste my time by looking through Etsy and trying to come up with things to do with the various rooms in our apartment. Right now, I have orangey wood floors, white walls, that bed (only a headboard height set of shelves, and none of the decor around the bed), and a 3X3 version of this shelf

What I would really like is to make the space bright enough to get me through winter, but also able to cool down for summer months without A/C.

Unfortunately, I really like these pillows from Esty that don't seem to match that there red shelf so well....

Fall is here

Fall and my new B&W "film" for my iPhone Hipstamatic app. And times when I'm going for longer dog walks again. Actually, the last few days have been really nice. And these photos are from some 8 days ago. The weather is back to giving us at least a bit of sun each day, and I've been through another "I'm depressed, no wait, it was PMS" episode. Regrettably, it peaked while M and I were at the restaurant I last ate the night I went into labor. So I was convinced it was depression back, with the first really rainy cold day, and all the memories of the 17 hours of labor. But, it wasn't, and I'm trying fish oil pills now to see if they might lessen the mood swings every months. No more sobbing in a restaurant bathroom for me, thanks.

And the apartment keeps coming more and more together, final touches on moving around furniture. One metal bookshelf I hadn't touched in over a year finally got re-arranged, and now I just need to find family photos to put up over our work area. 

Here's to black and white photos being as morose as it gets for me this winter.

The park

The park in color

Spiders are everywhere when the fog rolls in.

Some street posts had webs in 4 directions, hanging from every available sign.

"The hill" - where we inch our way up each morning, stroller in front of us. Not a great trek for bad knees.

Steve Jobs and Sesame Street chickens

How many hundreds, thousands of posts today are going to be about Steve Jobs? I just heard on NPR, probably 12 hours late, that he passed away. It was one of the few plug-inable devices in our house that is not an Apple product. And I'm sad. In a heavy way. It is 11amI guess these cases where a human being, despite being extremely influential and rich and able to try everything it takes to get well dies, still really get to me. No hiding behind "If only I had....., I'd have gotten better." No hope remains in these cases. Individuals with huge drive and ingenuity, and bank accounts, can't stop terminal illnesses, either. A Nobel Prize was given to a doctor who died just a few days before the awards were announced, and who had tired to cure his own illness with all the latest, newest research-informed treatments from within a research institution.

At the same time, it is the last gorgeous day of early fall today. And I need to get out of this house and into the sunlight. I have some photons to absorb, and a daughter to pick up in a few hours. So my legs are shaved one last time to wear a skirt, I've finished downloading the newest artist I've learned about from Sesame Street You Tube videos, Feist, and I'm off to the big wide world.

"1, 2, 3, 4,, chickens just back from the shore, 1, 2, 3, 4,....."

4am yoga

It has been a while since I've been so present during the little, 15 minute yoga routine a physical therapist gave me for my back. I have yet to return to her for our last consult, 4 months overdue now, partially because I keep "falling off" the yoga horse and never seem to sustain a 2-week practice. And she said to call her once I'm doing the routine each day for 2 weeks.

I'll do it for 10 days straight, now after A goes to sleep (sometimes as quietly as possible in her room while she goes to sleep but only if she is no longer aware enough of her surroundings to pop up like a meerkat, glow-in-the-dark nuggi hanging in mid-air), and then on day 11 will just be too tired, or fall asleep while I'm getting her to sleep. And then one day missed turns into two, and then into a week.

At this point often I am still having enough events per day that could strain my back, that I do it. Last week, on a 10 day hiatus, the end of a soap foam massage at a spa saw me almost slip off the stone tablet I had been laying on and crap! Ow. Reset the clock, can't call the physiotherapist until I feel a bit better (definitely no yoga that night), and now I am on day 5 again.

But last night I was just tired. I hadn't gotten a nap. Instead, I'd been prepping for German class, which is still one of the more engaging activities in my week. Once the 11:45am drowsy wears off. The teacher is really good at using little games of socializing to get us writing and talking - yesterday it was "2 truths and 1 lie" and I managed to fool both people I was playing with. I have not, in fact, ever flown a plane for 30 minutes. I have, however, swum in the Amazon river, and almost knocked over Stephen Hawking.

So German class went by, and soon I was meeting my mother- and sister-in-law to pick up A at school, then found myself heading off for an hour's break into town so the three of them could interact. And then it was dinner, and bedtime routines and goodbyes and I just wanted to sleep as I was laying in a dark room, waiting for A to drift off.

Now it is 4:45am, and I have been awake for about an hour, and spent the last 45 minutes in the living room. Sitting in the dark, watching the lights of Zurich, eating some yogurt snack from the fridge. And generally unhappy that I was awake and seemingly not settling. So I did my yoga. It just takes 15 minutes, which although that can feel like a precious long time at 9pm, feels like nothing when you know you have at least 45 minutes before you have a hope of falling asleep again.

And it was the most present I have been in my yoga routine for, what, months? Maybe I've only felt that "there and only there, moving and stretching, breathing and not thinking about 100 other things" a few times in the 8 months I've been doing it. It was great. And then I'd notice how great it was, and bolstered by such a personal "win", start thinking of what I could do next during this awake 45 min. I'd write in my blog! And then, maybe tomorrow I'd make a few changes in my routine, in my interactions with M and it would be a great day. I'd get more work done, and oh I still haven't done X and Z! But, unlike most times, I managed to get back into that "present" of just breathing and stretching some 5 times. Which is rare for me.

Tack that onto actually feeling sunshine on my legs as I walked in town on my furlough yesterday afternoon, on a street I am usually pushing A's stroller down and not noticing much of anything subtle about myself, and having a chance to write for 15 minutes (with pauses and edits, even!) and I'm suddenly drowsy and calm.

Say what?

Argh! I even had to retype the title because my German keyboard has z and y switched. It first said "Saz what?" Maybe that would be a better title for this entry, anyway.

It is Monday, midday, here in Europe. I came into work to have another fresh-faced go at the work thing, and made a point of going to my group's coffee hour, at the Physics cafeteria at 10:30am, even though I was going to have my first German class (in post-beginners' German) shortly afterwards. I went, it was quiet, with only 3 of us there, I tried to ask a few questions to liven things up, about people's weekends. A few more people came. Someone who had just been speaking with me in English switched to German. And so went the rest of the 30 min, as others came for coffee.

Oh, such good practice for you, to have to speak in German, someone might say. Up yours, I might reply. I am already a bit lonely at work. I spend a lot of time working on my own. No one seems interested in a journal club up here. I'm tired. And conversation isn't flowing as things stand, even in English.

Yes, that is a bit bitchy. In reality, though, I'm trying to participate in my group's activities, and to have to strain to listen in on conversations, to be the only woman whether 2 or 10 other groups members show up, when I might catch 20% of what is being said, only to realize that it is a private conversation that was marked early on by some quiet word or two that I missed, is not what makes a Monday easier. I kind of just wanted to move back to the US this morning around 11am.

Ironically, my German class was 50% women, with a talkative, very approachable female instructor, and I had a great 1 1-2 hours speaking German with people not from work. As long as I remember to get a sandwich or lunch just before class, I think this is going to go well. As for work, maybe I'll just start an online journal club.

Summer is officially over

I just read the dooce.com post for yesterday. And there she is, writing about how seasonal affective disorder hits her every year at this time. Sad for no real reason, just sad. In September, around equinox. So I am putting in a photo I took last week, that I love the look and feel of, that no way in hell am I ever going to set as my desktop during any cold/grey months of the year.

There it is, end of summer, almost 8pm and the streetlights have just turned on.

No wonder. I have been extra vigilant with the am-I-depressed-again self assessments and even though it has been sunny most of last week, yesterday and the day before, I was in a mood. Sad, disappointed with work, unmotivated, add a pinch of bitchy. And had no idea why. And was hoping that it wasn't the call to medication again.

I think that living with depression feels like your strings are stretched a little more loosely than other people's. We zip through our day on these lines, and below us are happy fields and sad pools, and when you are depressed, your zipline just sags a bit, and your feet get caught in those pools, you slow down and then stay longer immersed in the pools. When I was on anti-depressants, my zipline was stretched tight. My feet didn't touch those pools, even when I passed them. They were there, I saw them, but my physical self didn't feel like it was caught in them.

Thank god for an ex-Mormon blogger with a good enough sense of humor and a depressive system to remind me that some of these downs are shared by many many people. There were some 60 comments on her post saying things like "Oh! I forgot about the seasonal change! No wonder I hate everything these last few days and don't know why I'm sad."

Perhaps this also explains my sudden interest in the Hipstamatic B&W expansion pack for my iPhone. Great photos, lovely focus on shape, and totally depressing. Rock on, subconscious!

In other news, L left back for home, so summer really IS over, but she left behind the coolest arrangement of 70% of our artwork on the dining room wall. We just went from no art, to most of our art being up and it feels more like home yet again.

I really don't care if you like me or not

Lie. Of course I care. And this may be one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to teaching effectively. I'm helping teach a course for new physics lab instructors, and the group of 7 male PhD students and postdocs look at me while I talk. Some of them don't, perhaps hoping I don't ask them a question.

But maybe they are just bored. Crap, look at that guy, who has been the most active participant so far, his eyes are rolling back into his head. I'm boring him! I'm boring them all! Quick, smile more, song and dance, why won't they smile and nod at me? Why won't you like me?!?

Wait time, out the window.

Skip some parts of my slides, because they probably think what I'm saying is too touchy feely. I don't give edicts, or rules, I'm just talking about building rapport with your students. Which, apparently, I suck at. Or do I? I have no idea.

I do know that it shouldn't be the point of my teaching, whether they like me or not. Because it leads to too many "right?" (smile, nod and hope they do too) moments. So what my last minute activities didn't fly, I've made notes to make them better next time. At least I stopped talking for a while and they got to do something.

The other thing that I have encountered again is the confusion over how to pitch this stuff. I'm the only woman in the room, I'm not a working scientist, and I don't believe in "I know better than you" presentations. And yet, people want to learn from masters, those who they feel are better at them at things. How do I strike a balance between getting them to buy into my expertise on these topics without having to pull an alpha roll on the audience with a flurry of my PhD letters and references and establishing dominance? How do you preach non-dominance without dominating a class full of male physicists to get their attention. Or anyone for that matter? Female physics professors, too. How do I challenge the cult of genius in a presentation when I worry that I have to convince the audience I'm a genius to listen to my presentation.

Foucault used to dream about writing an article anonymously so that people would read his ideas fresh, with no preconceptions about who was writing. And yet, to get people to publish it, to spend time reading it, he knew he would have to sign it. I may not be no Einstein, but maybe I'm a little bit Foucault.

Always wondering, not often saying it

If this is not the first blog post of mine you have read, chances are you know already that I am fairly open about my depression, about anti-depressants, and issues surrounding both. And I stopped taking anti-depressants again, after almost a year, a few weeks ago.

Like the last time I did this, there was the feeling that life was way more bearable and stable, that enough things had changed in those 10-11 months, that it was time to try without the medication. And as last time, there was a tiny fear of taking off the training wheels I'd been happily tooling around with for almost a year. How would I feel? Would I start getting angry with A again? Would I start crying again? Would it have been a mistake, and maybe show me that I'll likely be on the medication from now on, at least until my daughter it a lot older?

I probably told 3-4 people that I went of the medication. I told M, my cousin, and a few friends here in Zurich, one of whom has gone through a lot of similar ups and downs as me. They are people I trust to know this, mostly because they have been the ones I didn't get the pity looks and the "ohhhh, you're still on the medication, huh? That's too bad..." vibes from whenever I spoke of how I was feeling. Just a suggestion, if you have a loved one who is on anti-depressants, and is speaking about it openly, not with shame (even more so for those who are ashamed of it), talking to them like this does not help. It isn't nice, it isn't kind, you're not really interested in their well-being if you haven't taken the time to realize how monumentally their struggle was before the drugs and how much better they feel now. So stop it. It is not that different from "ohhh, you're still single?" or "ohhh, you are still in that relationship you hate?" No matter how nice a tone a person tries to put on those statements, they are all, still, essentially, judgmental. They show your disappointment about something in the person's life.

Aaaaanyway, the withdrawl from the Cymbalta sucked. Lots of nausea, even now once every few days, out of the blue. A nasty 4 hours of stomach cramps, maybe. Other than that, I'd love to say I didn't notice any change, but there were small ones.

As I was boarding the plane to Copenhagen a few weeks ago, I could feel a little wave of sadness about something I had been thinking or reading, when I said "goodbye" before my trip to A, I cried, at the thought of something happening to me on the flights and not coming back, and every few days, I can feel the not-so-happy hormones surround my thoughts. It reminds me of the swings in the park. When A sits on them, her feet wave freely about, high above the gravel. When I sit on them, if I don't lift my legs, my feet drag in the gravel. Being on anti-depressants was like having shorter legs for a while - I didn't have to put in effort to lift myself out of the sad gravel, and pretty much every day my feet were clear of it.

So, for a few weeks, I've felt my long swingset legs come back, and that has been ok. Sure, I wish I was a more unflappable person, but my brain doesn't work that way. And it is the reason M and I always kiss goodbye when we part in the morning, because many years ago I was keenly aware of how fragile life is and I wanted to make sure we had a proper farewell. Every day. Now it is just habit, and a nice one, even if one or both of us it upset with the other.

Then a few days ago, Monday afternoon, I had to get A from daycare early because of a holiday, I had stupidly brought her big tricycle for the park but not thought about having to corral that and the stroller on the buses and trams, she was on day 5 of a nap-strike (which is now over, thank everything!), I hadn't napped, and I almost lost it, 5 minutes after pickup, on the way to the bus. I couldn't find M on the phone or text, and his building was locked (because of the holiday) so I couldn't leave one of the vehicles there, or even go cry in his office for 5 minutes.

Shit. Shitshitshitshit. I don't want to cry. Why do I feel like crying? Do I have to go back on the meds again so soon? Can I not even handle one messy 30 minutes? Shit. Don't cry! That's dumb, not actually crying doesn't mean I'm not depressed if I then spend all my energy trying not to cry. How will I know if I have to get on the meds again? What limit of shitty behavior or mood will I set this time? I don't want to wait too long? Oh, I'm so disappointed in all of this. Crap!

It passed. I went about the rest of the afternoon, lugging that tricycle around, and then catching A as she sped across the park and down the block, and it was tiring, but fine. 

Last night I got my period. 

Big, huge, loud sigh. A once a month, weepy afternoon, I can handle. I can learn to take more easily and gently. I can cancel all plans but those that help me out. It is probably not the depression again, after all. But from now on, now that I've realized that I might have this tendency long-term, now that I've been on medication twice, I'll always wonder.

(The image is a painting by Chris Bellamy. It is already sold, but if I weren't I would want to buy it. That is what it looks like to me when I walk in the forest without my glasses on.)