I don't always watch the most, um, highbrow television.
Not that BBC channels we get here aren't trying their hardest to provide me with hours and hours of the History of the Canoe, the History of the British Meat Pie, and the History of the River Cottage Stone Wall.
Sometimes, in fact, when work or life gets too intellectual, and I've just read a bunch of journal articles about goal attribution theory or other such constructs, I need myself an hour or two in front of decidedly sensationalist television. Times like that, even Project Runway can be too refined.
A while ago, I put an MTV show called Catfish on my iTunes favorites list. It is based on a guy who supposedly had an internet romance in which he was severely deceived. The woman he thought he was in love with didn't even exist, and he found himself talking to a woman 15 years his senior, who had pretended to be woman in the Facebook photos. Anyway, he has now embarked on a project to connect others with their online loves, regardless of whether or not the people at the opposite ends of the computer are who they said they were or not.
Spoiler alert: most people are not. At least not the halves of the internet romances who have said they are models, who only send one photo of themselves in the course of a 3 years internet/phone romance, and especially those who say they have no way to Skype. Yeah, definitely suspect those ones.
Why even watch this show?
And yet, this morning as I was working on bills, I had bought an episode and was half watching, as a woman found out her Swiss love was actually born a woman and going through a gender reassignment process. And even though she found out all of this, she was still in love with this person she'd been talking over the phone to for 2 years, never having met. It was such a beautiful ending to a terrifying situation for the transgender individual, fearing being laughed or left, once again. And here was this woman who said, nope, I love you and I'm not going anywhere.
It was exactly the kind of thing I needed to see after all the news this week.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Sometimes it isn't about actually sending out the cards
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| There was just enough time, on a sick day at home, to try my hand at a linocut. |
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| There they are. I had time to make 'em, but not really much time to find addresses or get to a post office. |
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| Consider yourself greeted. |
Sunday, December 16, 2012
The pain of too much tenderness...
That is an extract from a reading we had at our wedding. It was about loving to the fullest meaning that you laugh all your laughter, but also cry all your tears. I'm not crying, but as I was laying in a dark bedroom, trying to nap after A had already decided she wasn't tired, it came to mind. She had rolled around for some 20 minutes next to me, in our room, where for the first time she decided she wanted to try to nap.
And she had been very proactive about a nap, too. I don't suppose it had anything to do with the new pacifier I gave her last night to replace the one that is already falling apart. I may not want my kid to use the pacifier this long, but as she gets closer to not using it anymore, I sure don't want her choking on a loose piece of it in the middle of the night.
So she was off to play LEGOs, in the living room, and I was half resting, half listening for sounds of desctruction, and she came back in, popped the pacifier back in her mouth and snuggled in.
And then she said, "Mama, I need to go pee pee and kaki." She put her pacifier by my bed, and as I said "Ok, little one...", she trotted off, little bare feet and all, to the bathroom. I didn't ask if she needed my help, and she seemed totally okay with and capable of going by herself. Something which, weeks ago, I didn't think was going to happen until she was, like, 20 years old. Just giving her time and space, and trying my best not to freak out when she wanted help or a diaper or whatever, and suddenly, I heard the faucet running.
Pitter pat back to my bed. She had even washed her hands. Although I hadn't heard a flush. But I decided not to say anything, because a solo trip to the bathroom is a huge thing!
Which is when I felt all warm and fuzzy inside. And then, pop up again without a word, back to the bathroom.
Flush.
And a bathroom moment suddenly makes mama almost teary-eyed from feeling so much tenderness. I'm hoping I keep learning to give her her space, so she has time to do the wonderful things, and show she is growing, without my getting in the way.
And she had been very proactive about a nap, too. I don't suppose it had anything to do with the new pacifier I gave her last night to replace the one that is already falling apart. I may not want my kid to use the pacifier this long, but as she gets closer to not using it anymore, I sure don't want her choking on a loose piece of it in the middle of the night.
So she was off to play LEGOs, in the living room, and I was half resting, half listening for sounds of desctruction, and she came back in, popped the pacifier back in her mouth and snuggled in.
And then she said, "Mama, I need to go pee pee and kaki." She put her pacifier by my bed, and as I said "Ok, little one...", she trotted off, little bare feet and all, to the bathroom. I didn't ask if she needed my help, and she seemed totally okay with and capable of going by herself. Something which, weeks ago, I didn't think was going to happen until she was, like, 20 years old. Just giving her time and space, and trying my best not to freak out when she wanted help or a diaper or whatever, and suddenly, I heard the faucet running.
Pitter pat back to my bed. She had even washed her hands. Although I hadn't heard a flush. But I decided not to say anything, because a solo trip to the bathroom is a huge thing!
Which is when I felt all warm and fuzzy inside. And then, pop up again without a word, back to the bathroom.
Flush.
And a bathroom moment suddenly makes mama almost teary-eyed from feeling so much tenderness. I'm hoping I keep learning to give her her space, so she has time to do the wonderful things, and show she is growing, without my getting in the way.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Who let the dogs out?
Actually, the neighbor kid took the dog out last night. So, while I let her out of the door, he let her out of the building.
I was all ready to write something here about how thoughtful I've been able to be in the last week or so with A. How I am trying to slow down, take more time with her, and we are getting along better. I play more and rush less. And it helps.
And I realize how much her world is filled with rules and "don't" and "no, not yet" and "okay, but only one before dinner"....which is why it hasn't phased me as much that she is doing a lot of ordering us around lately. "No, Mama, you no brush teeth in my bathroom!" and "No Papa, you took too much of my bread" (actually that one sounded more like "RRRRARGHHH! Crash! Kick! Cry! Hit!", but it meant the same in toddler talk). So even if the behavior is more extreme, I get it.
And then the babysitter came in with A yesterday afternoon from school pickup and almost quit. Now, our babysitter is one of the cornerstones of our life working here. If this woman is not longer around for babysitting, we'd best just move back to the US. Forget my job, not feeling integrated in the community, etc., etc. This babysitter and the daycare teachers are the lynchpin.
Turns out, A is finally releasing some of this new found frustration on the babysitter, too. To me, it just means she is part of our family in A's eyes. But it was the first time she wasn't sure what to think of A's behavior at pick up. And, although beloved, our daycare teachers don't usually see kids doing much tantrumming. (One "m"? Two? Hmmm). Kids all get dressed by themselves by age 2, they get diapers off and underpants on after naps, by themselves, calmly, etc. If you are looking for empathy about how hard it is getting a kid dressed in the morning, it isn't going to come from daycare stories. And if you take a kid's daycare behavior as something to compare your home life to, you're in for a world of doubt, hurt, anger and resentment. Our babysitter had just not encountered that before, poor woman. A has been easily charmed by her calm, her patience, and all of her loving energy to play for hours, until now. And for just a second, after the fear of her actually quitting subsided by me saying a million and one things about how this happens to us all the time at daycare pick-up, I felt a little pang of....what?
It was good. It wasn't, perhaps, mature of me, but it was the feeling that the super-ninja-childcarer in our midst was also thrown for a loop by that behavior, and that, for once, I was the one doing the comforting of the adult confused by the child's behavior. I was old hat at not taking it personally. At least not the getting dressed at daycare part. Let's be honest, I find more than enough other things to take personally that aren't personal.
Anyway, I felt...skilled. Experienced. More like a rock than a leaf blowing on choppy seas. And it felt good.
And dinner went well, with just me and A. And we were getting ready for bed and...BLAMMO! Not so fast, like-a-rock-mama. Screaming, hitting fit over too much toothpaste. We both did some screaming (I'll give myself a bonus that actually I was just loud and not screaming or crying), and I did no hitting. I did a lot of getting hit and then leaving the room. And breathing. And just trying to figure out how to land this flight in the middle of a hurricane.
I finally sat in the hallway near where I put A to sit. She ran away to her room. I sat some more. She finally came out of her room and into my arms. We sat quiet for a bit. I could see this as one of our rockier moments in the last week for the raised voices and hands, but I choose to see it as an okay moment. That we ended connecting again. I take it as a win-win.
And as for the middle-of-the-night screaming when asked to move over for mama to get into bed, and screaming louder when mama say she's going back to her own room? Well, perhaps we are just going to settle our boundary disputes a little more loudly than in other families. And that can be okay, too. It is about working with what you've got - if I get upset more quickly, I may not always be the calm parent. But I, my friends, am the ninja of "I'm sorry." I can say it soon after an outburst, I can say it sincerely, and I can say it first. That is one of the biggest gifts my own mother (with a temper of her own) gave me. It doesn't mean I don't also need to work on the temper itself, but it is a hell of a start.
I was all ready to write something here about how thoughtful I've been able to be in the last week or so with A. How I am trying to slow down, take more time with her, and we are getting along better. I play more and rush less. And it helps.
And I realize how much her world is filled with rules and "don't" and "no, not yet" and "okay, but only one before dinner"....which is why it hasn't phased me as much that she is doing a lot of ordering us around lately. "No, Mama, you no brush teeth in my bathroom!" and "No Papa, you took too much of my bread" (actually that one sounded more like "RRRRARGHHH! Crash! Kick! Cry! Hit!", but it meant the same in toddler talk). So even if the behavior is more extreme, I get it.
And then the babysitter came in with A yesterday afternoon from school pickup and almost quit. Now, our babysitter is one of the cornerstones of our life working here. If this woman is not longer around for babysitting, we'd best just move back to the US. Forget my job, not feeling integrated in the community, etc., etc. This babysitter and the daycare teachers are the lynchpin.
Turns out, A is finally releasing some of this new found frustration on the babysitter, too. To me, it just means she is part of our family in A's eyes. But it was the first time she wasn't sure what to think of A's behavior at pick up. And, although beloved, our daycare teachers don't usually see kids doing much tantrumming. (One "m"? Two? Hmmm). Kids all get dressed by themselves by age 2, they get diapers off and underpants on after naps, by themselves, calmly, etc. If you are looking for empathy about how hard it is getting a kid dressed in the morning, it isn't going to come from daycare stories. And if you take a kid's daycare behavior as something to compare your home life to, you're in for a world of doubt, hurt, anger and resentment. Our babysitter had just not encountered that before, poor woman. A has been easily charmed by her calm, her patience, and all of her loving energy to play for hours, until now. And for just a second, after the fear of her actually quitting subsided by me saying a million and one things about how this happens to us all the time at daycare pick-up, I felt a little pang of....what?
It was good. It wasn't, perhaps, mature of me, but it was the feeling that the super-ninja-childcarer in our midst was also thrown for a loop by that behavior, and that, for once, I was the one doing the comforting of the adult confused by the child's behavior. I was old hat at not taking it personally. At least not the getting dressed at daycare part. Let's be honest, I find more than enough other things to take personally that aren't personal.
Anyway, I felt...skilled. Experienced. More like a rock than a leaf blowing on choppy seas. And it felt good.
And dinner went well, with just me and A. And we were getting ready for bed and...BLAMMO! Not so fast, like-a-rock-mama. Screaming, hitting fit over too much toothpaste. We both did some screaming (I'll give myself a bonus that actually I was just loud and not screaming or crying), and I did no hitting. I did a lot of getting hit and then leaving the room. And breathing. And just trying to figure out how to land this flight in the middle of a hurricane.
I finally sat in the hallway near where I put A to sit. She ran away to her room. I sat some more. She finally came out of her room and into my arms. We sat quiet for a bit. I could see this as one of our rockier moments in the last week for the raised voices and hands, but I choose to see it as an okay moment. That we ended connecting again. I take it as a win-win.
And as for the middle-of-the-night screaming when asked to move over for mama to get into bed, and screaming louder when mama say she's going back to her own room? Well, perhaps we are just going to settle our boundary disputes a little more loudly than in other families. And that can be okay, too. It is about working with what you've got - if I get upset more quickly, I may not always be the calm parent. But I, my friends, am the ninja of "I'm sorry." I can say it soon after an outburst, I can say it sincerely, and I can say it first. That is one of the biggest gifts my own mother (with a temper of her own) gave me. It doesn't mean I don't also need to work on the temper itself, but it is a hell of a start.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
What is wrong in graduate education?
I spend a lot of time these days trying to find a way to talk about this. What is going on in physical sciences that gets in the way of learning, at the highest levels of academia?
You take a bunch of well-intentioned (this is my personal opinion, and I think the only place from which I want to study a group of people, otherwise I wind up on a witch-hunt for meanies), well-educated, motivated individuals, who graduate schools may be competing to admit to their programs, and by the end of 4, or 6 or 8 years, maybe half of them have graduated. What happened? Are we really going to stick to the story of "Oh, well, only those who had the fire in the belly made it, and those others weren't meant to be continue on"?
I was talking with a figure skating coach the other day - yeah, when is the last time you heard that sentence?! - picking her brain for how coaching works in skating. I have the sense that at least half the structures of graduate education (the weed out courses, and the fact that they are called that, the willingness to not do a self-check when lots of you most qualified candidates wind up leaving the field during your own grad program; the absence of a scientific writing and speaking course in the core of any graduate curriculum) comes from the belief that the most prominent scientists are born and not made. It gives the graduate program an excuse to not intentionally, carefully and fully mentor their students. And then the other half of the practices (saying students should be working 80-100 hours a week; saying that only the toughest survive) point to the belief that hard work makes a top scientist. In fact, it kind of follows the lines of which example is being given - when professors quote from their own lives and experiences, that impostor-syndrome argument for hard-work-and-luck comes out more. When the examples of others comes us, it is more of a "yeah, well she was clearly made to do this and didn't need to be trained in most of it" gets more airtime.
Regardless, there are a lot of very motivated, top-of-the-game students being accepted to grad schools and then many of them do not finish. Or do very well giving talks or writing papers. And a lot of things are not consistently, explicitly taught. You know what would happen to a coach who didn't teach his skaters how to do spins and only concentrated on jumps?
None of his skaters would win anything. The judges just wouldn't be able to award full points.
But perhaps that is part of the problem in academia - that we don't have an explicit enough scoring sheet for graduate students. What is it they will be judged on? Sure, sure, publication record. But what are departments actually looking for? How do hiring committees make their decisions? If a strong letter of support from a faculty member that knows the student is a big deal, then no wonder grad students are scared of sounding stupid in their home departments. Any verbal performance that impacts a letter writer's opinion of that student (especially about whether he or she is smart enough for the field) is a high stakes situation. All the more so if the professors writing these letters don't really know how to judge intelligence or potential any better than "if I knew that, it must be simple, so I can't believe that student didn't know it."
You take a bunch of well-intentioned (this is my personal opinion, and I think the only place from which I want to study a group of people, otherwise I wind up on a witch-hunt for meanies), well-educated, motivated individuals, who graduate schools may be competing to admit to their programs, and by the end of 4, or 6 or 8 years, maybe half of them have graduated. What happened? Are we really going to stick to the story of "Oh, well, only those who had the fire in the belly made it, and those others weren't meant to be continue on"?
I was talking with a figure skating coach the other day - yeah, when is the last time you heard that sentence?! - picking her brain for how coaching works in skating. I have the sense that at least half the structures of graduate education (the weed out courses, and the fact that they are called that, the willingness to not do a self-check when lots of you most qualified candidates wind up leaving the field during your own grad program; the absence of a scientific writing and speaking course in the core of any graduate curriculum) comes from the belief that the most prominent scientists are born and not made. It gives the graduate program an excuse to not intentionally, carefully and fully mentor their students. And then the other half of the practices (saying students should be working 80-100 hours a week; saying that only the toughest survive) point to the belief that hard work makes a top scientist. In fact, it kind of follows the lines of which example is being given - when professors quote from their own lives and experiences, that impostor-syndrome argument for hard-work-and-luck comes out more. When the examples of others comes us, it is more of a "yeah, well she was clearly made to do this and didn't need to be trained in most of it" gets more airtime.
Regardless, there are a lot of very motivated, top-of-the-game students being accepted to grad schools and then many of them do not finish. Or do very well giving talks or writing papers. And a lot of things are not consistently, explicitly taught. You know what would happen to a coach who didn't teach his skaters how to do spins and only concentrated on jumps?
None of his skaters would win anything. The judges just wouldn't be able to award full points.
But perhaps that is part of the problem in academia - that we don't have an explicit enough scoring sheet for graduate students. What is it they will be judged on? Sure, sure, publication record. But what are departments actually looking for? How do hiring committees make their decisions? If a strong letter of support from a faculty member that knows the student is a big deal, then no wonder grad students are scared of sounding stupid in their home departments. Any verbal performance that impacts a letter writer's opinion of that student (especially about whether he or she is smart enough for the field) is a high stakes situation. All the more so if the professors writing these letters don't really know how to judge intelligence or potential any better than "if I knew that, it must be simple, so I can't believe that student didn't know it."
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Awake at 5am...again
With the Christmas shopping, visiting, packing, toilet-unclogging (see previous post), glasses-returning (see post before that one), and cold season in full swing, life changes multiple times before I even have time to consider posting. So here I am, awake again at 5am, posting a second time today. Because I might have had a sinus infection and an alien abduction before I can make it back here for another post.
It is beginning to dawn on me how erratic my body is. For the last few weeks, I can no longer nap, and I sleep for a maximum of 8 hours a night. This for an individual used to 9-10 hours, minimum. I still get tired, although not exhausted. And I'm working on week two of a sinus cold. Seriously, what up?
I'm not sure how others experience daily life, but I'm never sure if I'll wake up feeling dead, 9 hours after going to sleep, or at 5am, feeling sort of awake. And where the day will go after that? Will I wake up feeling a slight undercurrent of dread, that will carry with me the whole day, for no apparent reason, or will I feel at home in the world (one of each happened in Paris last weekend)? Why am I still awake, and why can't I nap? Is this a feature of my system, or an indicator of some change? Will I be perfectly capable of handling the homestead while M is away on a few overnights for work, or will my cough mess up my back and will I be asking him to cut another trip short because I can't lift my kid? Will I have endless patience with A's process, and see all the "No! Nein! Don't talk! No!" as part of her working out her place in our family and her voice in this world, or will I lose it, cry and be angry and just storm out of the room 3 times in one afternoon?
M often wants me to give him my 5-year plan, and honestly, I can't even give you my 5-day one with more than 50% certainty. My life changes on monumental (can/can't lift my wallet, much less my child; can/can't sleep enough from hormones or coughing fits; connected/unconnected to the greater world) scales, every day it seems. Some weeks are not like this - those ones that passed more slowly, perhaps. But this wintery, snowy, Christmas season is giving me quite the work-up. I mostly take it in stride, in a kind of resigned-to-it way, but it does make for an uncertain living situation.
Not a thing I can plan for - stability or instability.
Except that it is always a good idea to buy refundable, or rescheduleable tickets. For anything.
It is beginning to dawn on me how erratic my body is. For the last few weeks, I can no longer nap, and I sleep for a maximum of 8 hours a night. This for an individual used to 9-10 hours, minimum. I still get tired, although not exhausted. And I'm working on week two of a sinus cold. Seriously, what up?
I'm not sure how others experience daily life, but I'm never sure if I'll wake up feeling dead, 9 hours after going to sleep, or at 5am, feeling sort of awake. And where the day will go after that? Will I wake up feeling a slight undercurrent of dread, that will carry with me the whole day, for no apparent reason, or will I feel at home in the world (one of each happened in Paris last weekend)? Why am I still awake, and why can't I nap? Is this a feature of my system, or an indicator of some change? Will I be perfectly capable of handling the homestead while M is away on a few overnights for work, or will my cough mess up my back and will I be asking him to cut another trip short because I can't lift my kid? Will I have endless patience with A's process, and see all the "No! Nein! Don't talk! No!" as part of her working out her place in our family and her voice in this world, or will I lose it, cry and be angry and just storm out of the room 3 times in one afternoon?
M often wants me to give him my 5-year plan, and honestly, I can't even give you my 5-day one with more than 50% certainty. My life changes on monumental (can/can't lift my wallet, much less my child; can/can't sleep enough from hormones or coughing fits; connected/unconnected to the greater world) scales, every day it seems. Some weeks are not like this - those ones that passed more slowly, perhaps. But this wintery, snowy, Christmas season is giving me quite the work-up. I mostly take it in stride, in a kind of resigned-to-it way, but it does make for an uncertain living situation.
Not a thing I can plan for - stability or instability.
Except that it is always a good idea to buy refundable, or rescheduleable tickets. For anything.
City of lights
We were in Paris last weekend. M's sister was celebrating her birthday, and booked a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Paris for a week, along with two of her daughters, and we met them for the last few days.
It could easily have been a failed trip - they didn't have working cell phones and they got stuck in another part of the city, in the pouring cold rain, the day we were going to take them to a fancy lunch. So they didn't come to lunch. Afterwards, M promptly succumbed to some super short flu or food poisoning, and I rushed back from a shopping outing with the girls because M occupying the floor of the bathroom and baby A was doing her best to hang out with the music on the iPad. I got another cold, the apartment we rented was a 3rd floor walk-up, and we had to stay an extra day so M had enough energy to help me get our bags and our kid to the train and home. All the things it is, Paris is not a stroller friendly subway city. And it is also not a city in which to get decent coffee.
And we got home yesterday afternoon to a suite of hazmat issues:
a blocked up toilet (let's just say that it is too bad it was in the the bathroom that doesn't have a window or a vent),
the first-ever exploding diaper (just pee, but this bad boy ripped as I was getting it extracted from A's pants and diaper-gel-bits flew everywhere and then refused to be swept, moped, wiped or sticky taped up),
another blocked up toilet (I maintain that it is the fault of Parisian white bread),
a bread box that would have soon grown tentacles and slithered away,
and to top it off, and welcome us home,
a pile of bloody, small feathers on the window ledge just outside our bedroom.
What the hell happened while we were away?!
Despite all of this, I think of this trip fondly. We got to see family without having jetlag. The city was not covered in snow which was actually a good thing given how little we packed. The baked goods were lovely and we found an amazing coffee shop, about 100 sq ft in size, on the walk between our apartment and M's sister's apartment. I wound up chatting with the Italian barista and two British customers for almost an hour the morning M was recovering, his family had flown home, and baby A and I were on our own. That extra day we stayed was perfect. I've been to Paris about 20 years ago, and seen all the sights, and had no desire to run out to the Eiffel Tower or Louvre with a toddler. So we went to the nearby bakery and chose lots of things to eat. And then walked to the coffee shop, nibbling our goods, and sat in a toasty coffee shop, chatting about coffee, Paris and being expats. Later that day I dropped off A back at the apartment with M and went to get our train tickets changed, stopping at a shoe store and coat shop on the way home. No shoes, but I bought a made-in-Paris, crazy grey wool coat. We finally all got down for a nap, and then walked over to a nearby creperie and had a great dinner. The day wound up with us eating popcorn at the modern art museum's cafe - which is warm, free to get in to, and was close to home.
We got to have a few meals with family, we got to visit a few rooms of the modern art museum, we spent a few days away from home. It was lovely. And given how strong my drive is to see all the sights of a new city, it was nice to be somewhere I had already been (as an energetic 16 year old who could visit everything in a week), and just have the freedom to not need to get anything under my belt this time. Especially on our last day. No extra art exhibits, no highly praised restaurant, just a bakery and a coffee shop, and a chance to connect with a few people living in the city.
Good trip.
It could easily have been a failed trip - they didn't have working cell phones and they got stuck in another part of the city, in the pouring cold rain, the day we were going to take them to a fancy lunch. So they didn't come to lunch. Afterwards, M promptly succumbed to some super short flu or food poisoning, and I rushed back from a shopping outing with the girls because M occupying the floor of the bathroom and baby A was doing her best to hang out with the music on the iPad. I got another cold, the apartment we rented was a 3rd floor walk-up, and we had to stay an extra day so M had enough energy to help me get our bags and our kid to the train and home. All the things it is, Paris is not a stroller friendly subway city. And it is also not a city in which to get decent coffee.
And we got home yesterday afternoon to a suite of hazmat issues:
a blocked up toilet (let's just say that it is too bad it was in the the bathroom that doesn't have a window or a vent),
the first-ever exploding diaper (just pee, but this bad boy ripped as I was getting it extracted from A's pants and diaper-gel-bits flew everywhere and then refused to be swept, moped, wiped or sticky taped up),
another blocked up toilet (I maintain that it is the fault of Parisian white bread),
a bread box that would have soon grown tentacles and slithered away,
and to top it off, and welcome us home,
a pile of bloody, small feathers on the window ledge just outside our bedroom.
What the hell happened while we were away?!
Despite all of this, I think of this trip fondly. We got to see family without having jetlag. The city was not covered in snow which was actually a good thing given how little we packed. The baked goods were lovely and we found an amazing coffee shop, about 100 sq ft in size, on the walk between our apartment and M's sister's apartment. I wound up chatting with the Italian barista and two British customers for almost an hour the morning M was recovering, his family had flown home, and baby A and I were on our own. That extra day we stayed was perfect. I've been to Paris about 20 years ago, and seen all the sights, and had no desire to run out to the Eiffel Tower or Louvre with a toddler. So we went to the nearby bakery and chose lots of things to eat. And then walked to the coffee shop, nibbling our goods, and sat in a toasty coffee shop, chatting about coffee, Paris and being expats. Later that day I dropped off A back at the apartment with M and went to get our train tickets changed, stopping at a shoe store and coat shop on the way home. No shoes, but I bought a made-in-Paris, crazy grey wool coat. We finally all got down for a nap, and then walked over to a nearby creperie and had a great dinner. The day wound up with us eating popcorn at the modern art museum's cafe - which is warm, free to get in to, and was close to home.
We got to have a few meals with family, we got to visit a few rooms of the modern art museum, we spent a few days away from home. It was lovely. And given how strong my drive is to see all the sights of a new city, it was nice to be somewhere I had already been (as an energetic 16 year old who could visit everything in a week), and just have the freedom to not need to get anything under my belt this time. Especially on our last day. No extra art exhibits, no highly praised restaurant, just a bakery and a coffee shop, and a chance to connect with a few people living in the city.
Good trip.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Suck it, GlasseMasters.
Ok, I do have a more directed post for today, that just wasn't going to fit in with the last one.
I'm about to send my $700 pair of glasses back to the US for a second time, for a refund. I got them at a chain that I've patronized for the last 15 years. My prescription is high enough, in the -7 range, so I get the ultrathinned lenses with the scratch resistance coating and anti-reflection coating. I do this because I wear my glasses all the time - no contacts - so they are kind of like my wedding ring. Expensive.
And when you get the high-index lenses, even a little tilt or shift from where the center of the eye is, makes a huge, headache-inducing, world-moving, nausea-filled difference.
And I made the mistake to leave the shop, in Chicago, without my glasses feeling okay. I had two different tech's check them, adjust them, and they didn't get better. It is always the same reply "well, just wear them a bit and if they still don't work come back in..."
Bull-poo-poo, I say. I know how they should feel and something is wrong and how come your tech's are not people who wear glasses and how come you don't go and check the glasses when a person with such a large prescription tells you something is wrong, it is. Get over your policies and get my glasses in that back room and double check them. Seriously, people. Don't tell me that my glass frames shouldn't be flat in front, if that is how I wear my last pair.
Turns out, they cut the lenses wrong (news brought to me by competent Swiss super-opticians). Not just a bit wrong, although with my Rx and the lenses, that would make a difference. Nope, they must have measured where my pupils are incorrectly, because I had glasses with the centerline of my eyes misaligned my many mm's, in the vertical direction. As if one of my eyes was lower on my face than the other.
Which, just to make things clear, my eye is not. Neither is my other eye.
Thus the Willy-Wonka-swirly-world feeling.
And then, let's just say that the manager in Chicago wasn't among the most innovative at problem solving with me, and tried to leave it at "so when you come in, we will check them out for you". Dude, I told you 3 times already that isn't for over 6 months from now. Seven. Hundred. Dollar. Worthless. Plastic.
In the end, I sent them with the Swiss diagnosis, said manager had them remade when his lab confirmed the problem but never said sorry, and my mom sent them back to me from Chicago. And they are still off.
Whatever. Back they go, still under the 90 day money back guarantee, and I will go, tail between legs, to the local optician to get my new pair. What a waste of time, GlassMasters* (*names have been changed to protect something or other).
I'm about to send my $700 pair of glasses back to the US for a second time, for a refund. I got them at a chain that I've patronized for the last 15 years. My prescription is high enough, in the -7 range, so I get the ultrathinned lenses with the scratch resistance coating and anti-reflection coating. I do this because I wear my glasses all the time - no contacts - so they are kind of like my wedding ring. Expensive.
And when you get the high-index lenses, even a little tilt or shift from where the center of the eye is, makes a huge, headache-inducing, world-moving, nausea-filled difference.
And I made the mistake to leave the shop, in Chicago, without my glasses feeling okay. I had two different tech's check them, adjust them, and they didn't get better. It is always the same reply "well, just wear them a bit and if they still don't work come back in..."
Bull-poo-poo, I say. I know how they should feel and something is wrong and how come your tech's are not people who wear glasses and how come you don't go and check the glasses when a person with such a large prescription tells you something is wrong, it is. Get over your policies and get my glasses in that back room and double check them. Seriously, people. Don't tell me that my glass frames shouldn't be flat in front, if that is how I wear my last pair.
Turns out, they cut the lenses wrong (news brought to me by competent Swiss super-opticians). Not just a bit wrong, although with my Rx and the lenses, that would make a difference. Nope, they must have measured where my pupils are incorrectly, because I had glasses with the centerline of my eyes misaligned my many mm's, in the vertical direction. As if one of my eyes was lower on my face than the other.
Which, just to make things clear, my eye is not. Neither is my other eye.
Thus the Willy-Wonka-swirly-world feeling.
And then, let's just say that the manager in Chicago wasn't among the most innovative at problem solving with me, and tried to leave it at "so when you come in, we will check them out for you". Dude, I told you 3 times already that isn't for over 6 months from now. Seven. Hundred. Dollar. Worthless. Plastic.
In the end, I sent them with the Swiss diagnosis, said manager had them remade when his lab confirmed the problem but never said sorry, and my mom sent them back to me from Chicago. And they are still off.
Whatever. Back they go, still under the 90 day money back guarantee, and I will go, tail between legs, to the local optician to get my new pair. What a waste of time, GlassMasters* (*names have been changed to protect something or other).
Winter cleaning
It keeps snowing here, which in my book is pretty awesome.
And when the sun actually comes out, like it did this weekend, I'm a very happy woman.
The dog is pretty pleased, as well.
We are going for a trip soon, so I've been in the house most of the last few days, doing laundry, and trying to just straighten up in general, too. The house, more specifically, the desk, have been getting piled all the way up to my chin with...stuff. Random stuff that it is easier to dump in a pile instead of taking the time to go to 10 different corners of the house to put it away. I keep thinking I'm going to get to throw out a lot of it, but I never do. There are journals, unsent wedding cards, my kid's vaccination card, and all the other things that I do need to attend to and just never do.
And in between the playing in the snow, playing with A's new birthday presents, and cleaning house, I think how nice it would be to have a sibling for A. How much I was hoping that once I made this decision, it would have been easier to get there. Last year, this time, I was pregnant and it lasted 10 weeks. I've been pregnant twice more now, and none have lasted. Last year, in January, we thought that the miscarriage was just a glitch, since I'd carried a child safely to term. This year, I'm back not knowing whether or not we can have another child. I'm on the other side of the miscarriage statistic (the woman who has had some) that I didn't want to be on this side of. I don't hate all pregnant women, and I don't even want to be every pregnant woman I see. Like this lady on the tram the other day in her skinny jeans and wool coat and heels, with a toddler and a belly, and perfectly coiffed hair. I didn't want to be her. It looked uncomfortable, and like too much work. But some days, I do want to be the pregnant lady again, and I'm not. I don't know how it will end, which has been quite the lesson in patience and a non-resolved life.
Tonight, I have a cold and some more laundry to do, and a list to get through in the next few days before we leave. And I'm fine with not being pregnant - with the drugs I can take to help my cough and my nose and my head, with the ham and cheese I can quickly eat standing at the fridge so I don't have to slow down for a real lunch, and for the freedom it gives me. As for tomorrow, we'll see.
And when the sun actually comes out, like it did this weekend, I'm a very happy woman.
 |
| The blues and yellows and greens of sun on snow. |
The dog is pretty pleased, as well.
We are going for a trip soon, so I've been in the house most of the last few days, doing laundry, and trying to just straighten up in general, too. The house, more specifically, the desk, have been getting piled all the way up to my chin with...stuff. Random stuff that it is easier to dump in a pile instead of taking the time to go to 10 different corners of the house to put it away. I keep thinking I'm going to get to throw out a lot of it, but I never do. There are journals, unsent wedding cards, my kid's vaccination card, and all the other things that I do need to attend to and just never do.
And in between the playing in the snow, playing with A's new birthday presents, and cleaning house, I think how nice it would be to have a sibling for A. How much I was hoping that once I made this decision, it would have been easier to get there. Last year, this time, I was pregnant and it lasted 10 weeks. I've been pregnant twice more now, and none have lasted. Last year, in January, we thought that the miscarriage was just a glitch, since I'd carried a child safely to term. This year, I'm back not knowing whether or not we can have another child. I'm on the other side of the miscarriage statistic (the woman who has had some) that I didn't want to be on this side of. I don't hate all pregnant women, and I don't even want to be every pregnant woman I see. Like this lady on the tram the other day in her skinny jeans and wool coat and heels, with a toddler and a belly, and perfectly coiffed hair. I didn't want to be her. It looked uncomfortable, and like too much work. But some days, I do want to be the pregnant lady again, and I'm not. I don't know how it will end, which has been quite the lesson in patience and a non-resolved life.
Tonight, I have a cold and some more laundry to do, and a list to get through in the next few days before we leave. And I'm fine with not being pregnant - with the drugs I can take to help my cough and my nose and my head, with the ham and cheese I can quickly eat standing at the fridge so I don't have to slow down for a real lunch, and for the freedom it gives me. As for tomorrow, we'll see.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Versteckis
The instant I get to my office this morning, I sit down, boot up the computer and search "getting toddler dressed in the morning." It has been another round of me asking A to come to get dressed and her going to play with something else. After getting up with plenty of time, after setting the timer and discussing what will happen when it beeps, after making sure there is some time for her to play, and still I got:
beep beep beep
Me: Ok A, let's go get dressed now.
A: Nein! Five more minutes.
I about lost it. my voice went up, and I went into upset-mama mode. Now, looking back I think our discussion about me giving her 5 more minutes to play when I come to get her at daycare, got mixed up with the getting dressed once the beep beep happens. But, it could have also just been a request for more time. And once I've bent over backwards to structure the time, and the request hits my ears, I'm a goner. So part of this is my issue.
But, before I get a lot of suggestions about "giving her choices" and "waking up earlier" and all of that, here is a post I found that sums up our situation. This kid gets to choose, I don't care what she wears to school. And she can throw a shirt or pants off in seconds if she's in a mood. She wants to be a baby longer, too, sometimes, so the "big girl" encouragement doesn't work. I'm already operating at toddler-dressing-level-7, at least. And it isn't working for me.
Well, at least others have this issue. And I really appreciate that poster, for how she was feeling about getting all the level 2 and 3 advice. Tried it. Been there. What else, interwebs? Let's hear from the ninjas who have faces toddler non-dressing ninjas and survived.
So, back to google. And again.
One more page.
Wait. A story about a kid going off to hide for getting dressed which the mom was first angry with (thank you, o honest woman, for admitting it got to you, so I feel less alone) and then turned into a game each morning. Ding!
My kid likes Versteckis (hide and seek), and running and giggling. And I'm thinking that if I make it a case of "If mama or papa finds you put one item on", it may work really well. It combines more play with one of us, which she also wants in the mornings, with getting dressed, and I can leave off the play time in the mornings, still get up at the regular time, and leave in time for the bus.
As for "5 more minutes", we are trying that for the first time this afternoon at daycare pickup.
p.s. one warning, if you go type "getting dressed" in Amazon.com, because, say, you are one of those people who likes to have books to read with your kid about things like this, do the search in Kids' Books. Because, apparently, people can list amateur porn image books like "Buffy showers and gets dressed"....not really what I wanted to see a listing for.
beep beep beep
Me: Ok A, let's go get dressed now.
A: Nein! Five more minutes.
I about lost it. my voice went up, and I went into upset-mama mode. Now, looking back I think our discussion about me giving her 5 more minutes to play when I come to get her at daycare, got mixed up with the getting dressed once the beep beep happens. But, it could have also just been a request for more time. And once I've bent over backwards to structure the time, and the request hits my ears, I'm a goner. So part of this is my issue.
But, before I get a lot of suggestions about "giving her choices" and "waking up earlier" and all of that, here is a post I found that sums up our situation. This kid gets to choose, I don't care what she wears to school. And she can throw a shirt or pants off in seconds if she's in a mood. She wants to be a baby longer, too, sometimes, so the "big girl" encouragement doesn't work. I'm already operating at toddler-dressing-level-7, at least. And it isn't working for me.
Well, at least others have this issue. And I really appreciate that poster, for how she was feeling about getting all the level 2 and 3 advice. Tried it. Been there. What else, interwebs? Let's hear from the ninjas who have faces toddler non-dressing ninjas and survived.
So, back to google. And again.
One more page.
Wait. A story about a kid going off to hide for getting dressed which the mom was first angry with (thank you, o honest woman, for admitting it got to you, so I feel less alone) and then turned into a game each morning. Ding!
My kid likes Versteckis (hide and seek), and running and giggling. And I'm thinking that if I make it a case of "If mama or papa finds you put one item on", it may work really well. It combines more play with one of us, which she also wants in the mornings, with getting dressed, and I can leave off the play time in the mornings, still get up at the regular time, and leave in time for the bus.
As for "5 more minutes", we are trying that for the first time this afternoon at daycare pickup.
p.s. one warning, if you go type "getting dressed" in Amazon.com, because, say, you are one of those people who likes to have books to read with your kid about things like this, do the search in Kids' Books. Because, apparently, people can list amateur porn image books like "Buffy showers and gets dressed"....not really what I wanted to see a listing for.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
A Snowy Day
Today started off actually a bit worse than yesterday. At 5:50am, I was lying on my back, for like, the 30 seconds I do that every few hours sleeping, and coughed. Ouch. Bad idea.
But honestly, things went up from there. The dog did not throw up the balloon I think she ate last night, and my back was okay. At which point I heard the best sounds in the world. Well, after my daughter's laughter.
A truck engine combined with a scraping sound. A snow shoveling vehicle!
It had snowed all night, and the world was once again covered in white.
Turns out, A woke up at 6am. Usually, I would still be crying inside, but did I mention the snow? Yeah, lots of it. And kept falling all morning. Which is almost as good as sunlight for getting my mood up. Those big, fluffy flakes that fall slowly are the best - actually like a mild sedative for my brain. Like white noise. A big, cold, soft SHHHhhhhhhhhhhh, as long as I am watching it.
The rest of the day was great. I even got a 45 minute nap when I ran home to put in the pot roast (which, in keeping with today's theme, was awesome), and it turns out A took a 10 minute nap in my arms as I got off the bus with her, walked her and the sled down to our apartment, and got her to her bed. At which point she woke up.
No problemo. Which, really, makes me realize that on days when a croissant with the edge chipped off is a big problemo for me, there is something going on.
I had no more support at work, or anything, but I had snow, a nap, and a brain that was feeling good.
We played with my hand as a goose that tickled A, with the balloons from her birthday, we had a snack, we took the bottles and cans to recycling and hit a playground on the way home. It is ridiculous all we did.
I spent time with my daughter, and I paid attention to her. I took time to just hang out. I let her take her own time to walk, to play, to be. We laughed. I consider today the first day of thoughfulness Advent for me.
But honestly, things went up from there. The dog did not throw up the balloon I think she ate last night, and my back was okay. At which point I heard the best sounds in the world. Well, after my daughter's laughter.
A truck engine combined with a scraping sound. A snow shoveling vehicle!
It had snowed all night, and the world was once again covered in white.
Turns out, A woke up at 6am. Usually, I would still be crying inside, but did I mention the snow? Yeah, lots of it. And kept falling all morning. Which is almost as good as sunlight for getting my mood up. Those big, fluffy flakes that fall slowly are the best - actually like a mild sedative for my brain. Like white noise. A big, cold, soft SHHHhhhhhhhhhhh, as long as I am watching it.
The rest of the day was great. I even got a 45 minute nap when I ran home to put in the pot roast (which, in keeping with today's theme, was awesome), and it turns out A took a 10 minute nap in my arms as I got off the bus with her, walked her and the sled down to our apartment, and got her to her bed. At which point she woke up.
No problemo. Which, really, makes me realize that on days when a croissant with the edge chipped off is a big problemo for me, there is something going on.
I had no more support at work, or anything, but I had snow, a nap, and a brain that was feeling good.
We played with my hand as a goose that tickled A, with the balloons from her birthday, we had a snack, we took the bottles and cans to recycling and hit a playground on the way home. It is ridiculous all we did.
I spent time with my daughter, and I paid attention to her. I took time to just hang out. I let her take her own time to walk, to play, to be. We laughed. I consider today the first day of thoughfulness Advent for me.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Dark at 4pm
It is rainy today, too. Which probably helped set off the large sigh that has been my day.
I've showered, made coffee, and gotten my child to school. Half that time, she was howlingly upset that she didn't get to press the elevator button on our way out of the building, and I was quite unable to get to a space where I cared that she was upset. I finally did, up on the hill, while two rounds of our bus passed us by.
The conversations about what there is and isn't time for in the morning, and why, are just a bit too complex for me to figure out how to pitch to a 3 year old. So, I just apologized, and said I was going to keep going. Into the elevator, down to the ground floor, out the door, to the bus stop, etc. And she kept screaming and following me.
Not my proudest moment, but we made it in to school in one piece.
And then I came to work and edited a friend's writing. I had a morning coffee with some parents from A's daycare, and lunch with another friend.
And kind of hated on my work most of the time when I wasn't actively listening. Because, when I was actively talking, I was also hating on my work.
I've looked at job sites in Zurich for English speakers, and I could perhaps be an administrative assistant or an au pair. See, 'cause this morning shows how ridiculously great I am with kids. And just think how gracious I could be, as a result, with adults who are just acting like kids. Real potential for me in guest services, I tell you.
I've read an article on the Quality of Talk in Children's Classrooms, and looked up the author. I've decided to and then decided not to email him about my research project.
I just read a website and some reviews of an App for creating books for the iPad. Apparently you sign away some serious rights if you go with Apple's iBooks author. TaleSpring seems a better way to go.
There was the Atlantic Monthly article I suggested to a co-worker. Although, technically, I think a co-worker must have to be someone you engage in some sort of work with instead of just seeing them at coffee break and not talking about much to do with my job or his. Or, really, not talking much at all.
I have signed up for another Meetup Group in Zurich, and reconsidered starting my own one, for postpartum depression. In the meantime, I have eaten half a packet of Twix, while saving myself from the other half through the help of my lunch date.
There were some e-mails I sent out, about going to listen to some people talk about science. And one to a person who might help me engage in something like a group project here at work. I'm mostly just drowning in alone-all-day-no-officemates-or-colleagues-ness. And I seem to have sent out all the emails I could.
It is one of those days. And now it is even darker than 10 minutes ago when I started writing this. What gives?!
Ok, so in the interest of posting something to end on a higher note than what is featured above, check out this great image of a Berlin playground that was featured on one of my check-it-at-least-once-a-day blogs: Playscapes . Who wouldn't want that framed, big, in their dining room, or on the wall in a lightbox for crappy rainy days like today? Not me, that's who wouldn't.
I've showered, made coffee, and gotten my child to school. Half that time, she was howlingly upset that she didn't get to press the elevator button on our way out of the building, and I was quite unable to get to a space where I cared that she was upset. I finally did, up on the hill, while two rounds of our bus passed us by.
The conversations about what there is and isn't time for in the morning, and why, are just a bit too complex for me to figure out how to pitch to a 3 year old. So, I just apologized, and said I was going to keep going. Into the elevator, down to the ground floor, out the door, to the bus stop, etc. And she kept screaming and following me.
Not my proudest moment, but we made it in to school in one piece.
And then I came to work and edited a friend's writing. I had a morning coffee with some parents from A's daycare, and lunch with another friend.
And kind of hated on my work most of the time when I wasn't actively listening. Because, when I was actively talking, I was also hating on my work.
I've looked at job sites in Zurich for English speakers, and I could perhaps be an administrative assistant or an au pair. See, 'cause this morning shows how ridiculously great I am with kids. And just think how gracious I could be, as a result, with adults who are just acting like kids. Real potential for me in guest services, I tell you.
I've read an article on the Quality of Talk in Children's Classrooms, and looked up the author. I've decided to and then decided not to email him about my research project.
I just read a website and some reviews of an App for creating books for the iPad. Apparently you sign away some serious rights if you go with Apple's iBooks author. TaleSpring seems a better way to go.
There was the Atlantic Monthly article I suggested to a co-worker. Although, technically, I think a co-worker must have to be someone you engage in some sort of work with instead of just seeing them at coffee break and not talking about much to do with my job or his. Or, really, not talking much at all.
I have signed up for another Meetup Group in Zurich, and reconsidered starting my own one, for postpartum depression. In the meantime, I have eaten half a packet of Twix, while saving myself from the other half through the help of my lunch date.
There were some e-mails I sent out, about going to listen to some people talk about science. And one to a person who might help me engage in something like a group project here at work. I'm mostly just drowning in alone-all-day-no-officemates-or-colleagues-ness. And I seem to have sent out all the emails I could.
It is one of those days. And now it is even darker than 10 minutes ago when I started writing this. What gives?!
Ok, so in the interest of posting something to end on a higher note than what is featured above, check out this great image of a Berlin playground that was featured on one of my check-it-at-least-once-a-day blogs: Playscapes . Who wouldn't want that framed, big, in their dining room, or on the wall in a lightbox for crappy rainy days like today? Not me, that's who wouldn't.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Work of Art
There is a show available on iTunes, called Work of Art, similar to other reality competitions in that contestants compete on challenges and get critiqued at the end of each episode. One wins, and one is sent home at the end of each challenge.
I really love this show - watching the creative process for artists has demystified art for me somewhat. It has made it more approachable. And instead of constantly guessing the wrong answer about who does well and not, like with Project Runway, I can usually guess who will do well. Turns out, art freaks me out (and confuses me) less than fashion does.
I'm feeling a bit like one of the artists at the bottom of the pack today, though. I've been stressed out this week, and feeling like I have too much to do, given that A's birthday is coming up (as are multiple celebrations), and I'm planning a special meal for Thanksgiving tomorrow night (even though I said no to invitations elsewhere), and still last minute shopping for A's gifts. All last minute. After a weekend spent with some stomach flu and sinus colds in the house. And another early-term miscarriage.
The cupcakes are now falling apart as they cool. And I catch myself swearing at them. At chocolate cupcakes. And I realize that I've created a lot of my own problems this week. My kid is 3 years old - she's not going to be super picky about presents, about homemade vs. store bought cake, about anything. She's rather be playing with some of the toys she has already gotten, and here I've been snapping at her, trying to rush her to get dressed and out the door. When I should have been playing with her and enjoying this time. Especially if something like having another kid is on my mind.
So I've now heard the judges' critique...."this week, you lost sight of what the actual challenge was - to celebrate your daughter's birthday in a way that is meaningful to her. Instead, you spent time making something to blog about, or trying to be interesting. You missed the mark. We find your mothering, ingenuine."
At the end of the day, I guess I've also been using all this hustle and bustle as an excuse not to sit at my desk at work and actually work. To just get my mind off of things. Which, really, makes it okay. It doesn't need to be that A needed homemade cupcakes and a special set of parties, it can be that I needed to do these things this week.
I really love this show - watching the creative process for artists has demystified art for me somewhat. It has made it more approachable. And instead of constantly guessing the wrong answer about who does well and not, like with Project Runway, I can usually guess who will do well. Turns out, art freaks me out (and confuses me) less than fashion does.
I'm feeling a bit like one of the artists at the bottom of the pack today, though. I've been stressed out this week, and feeling like I have too much to do, given that A's birthday is coming up (as are multiple celebrations), and I'm planning a special meal for Thanksgiving tomorrow night (even though I said no to invitations elsewhere), and still last minute shopping for A's gifts. All last minute. After a weekend spent with some stomach flu and sinus colds in the house. And another early-term miscarriage.
The cupcakes are now falling apart as they cool. And I catch myself swearing at them. At chocolate cupcakes. And I realize that I've created a lot of my own problems this week. My kid is 3 years old - she's not going to be super picky about presents, about homemade vs. store bought cake, about anything. She's rather be playing with some of the toys she has already gotten, and here I've been snapping at her, trying to rush her to get dressed and out the door. When I should have been playing with her and enjoying this time. Especially if something like having another kid is on my mind.
So I've now heard the judges' critique...."this week, you lost sight of what the actual challenge was - to celebrate your daughter's birthday in a way that is meaningful to her. Instead, you spent time making something to blog about, or trying to be interesting. You missed the mark. We find your mothering, ingenuine."
At the end of the day, I guess I've also been using all this hustle and bustle as an excuse not to sit at my desk at work and actually work. To just get my mind off of things. Which, really, makes it okay. It doesn't need to be that A needed homemade cupcakes and a special set of parties, it can be that I needed to do these things this week.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Vincent van Goat
We are increasingly using videos with A, but she is still unused to much of the kids' cartoons. They make her upset, or they are too fast paced. And I really wonder who is producing this stuff for kids. The themes are pretty grown up, and take us to discussions I don't know she is ready to have.
So we stick to Sesame Street playlists online, which M watches and plays with her, some iPhone and iPad books and stories, and the Baby Einstein series videos. They are just slower.
Today we finally broke out the Baby Einstein art video. It was all about colors, and Vincent van Gogh's paintings (for the purpose of the video, he was a goat).
Afterwards, we rolled out some white IKEA drawing paper and M, A and I went looking around the house for objects of each color. A also had the responsibility of checking through the dog's toybox to find an object for L.
It was a pretty fun 20 minutes. I give you our collaborative installation pieces.
So we stick to Sesame Street playlists online, which M watches and plays with her, some iPhone and iPad books and stories, and the Baby Einstein series videos. They are just slower.
Today we finally broke out the Baby Einstein art video. It was all about colors, and Vincent van Gogh's paintings (for the purpose of the video, he was a goat).
Afterwards, we rolled out some white IKEA drawing paper and M, A and I went looking around the house for objects of each color. A also had the responsibility of checking through the dog's toybox to find an object for L.
It was a pretty fun 20 minutes. I give you our collaborative installation pieces.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Christians, science needs your help
This story was on the BBC News site today. It is about a man who has been in a vegetative state for a decade, and was thought not to have awareness of his surroundings. Turns out, an MRI machine was able to detect brain activity that was translated into answers to questions the doctors asked him. Imagine. What a great story. And what a moment of worry, about the debate on taking patients off of life support when there are no physical signs of awareness.
It made me rethink my position on that. Made me realize how much we don't know about how the human body and mind work.
But let me say that again - IT MADE ME RETHINK MY POSITION. As a scientist. That is what scientists do. That what we are supposed to do, when new information is available. I changed my mind.
It wasn't someone preaching about what the Bible says that changed my mind. It was evidence. Data. That was brought about by thinking, caring individuals, who decided to try yet another way to communicate with a person who was assumed to be dead to the world. It was a humbling moment, that reminded me that the cutting edge of science (and I who listen to it) can be wrong. It reminded me to be thoughtful and careful with how I interpret what doctors tell me. It didn't make me throw away my belief in the scientific method, it reminded me to keep an open mind.
So as a former Christian, one who had some pretty strong beliefs about stuff in the Bible, I wanted to remind Christians that science needs them, too. To become doctors and researchers. Because science will listen if you can show evidence (not scriptural passages) like this, and I think that says a lot about the practice of science.
Not the most eloquent post form me, and I welcome comments from readers who may have understood what I'm trying to say and have a better way to say it.
It made me rethink my position on that. Made me realize how much we don't know about how the human body and mind work.
But let me say that again - IT MADE ME RETHINK MY POSITION. As a scientist. That is what scientists do. That what we are supposed to do, when new information is available. I changed my mind.
It wasn't someone preaching about what the Bible says that changed my mind. It was evidence. Data. That was brought about by thinking, caring individuals, who decided to try yet another way to communicate with a person who was assumed to be dead to the world. It was a humbling moment, that reminded me that the cutting edge of science (and I who listen to it) can be wrong. It reminded me to be thoughtful and careful with how I interpret what doctors tell me. It didn't make me throw away my belief in the scientific method, it reminded me to keep an open mind.
So as a former Christian, one who had some pretty strong beliefs about stuff in the Bible, I wanted to remind Christians that science needs them, too. To become doctors and researchers. Because science will listen if you can show evidence (not scriptural passages) like this, and I think that says a lot about the practice of science.
Not the most eloquent post form me, and I welcome comments from readers who may have understood what I'm trying to say and have a better way to say it.
I think I need to be more mindf
I write a post a while ago about how I wanted to be more thoughtful in my everyday life.
Because, let me be honest, if it was up to my instincts, as soon as M and A left for school, I'd be on a couch or bed, with a second cup of coffee and a chocolate bar (perhaps garnished with peanut butter), watching hours of YouTube videos, or bad British TV. I can waste time like an Olympic Champion. Of wasting time, that is. My guess is that Olympic Champions of Things Like Sport don't dedicate many hours a day to the aforementioned activities.
And even when I'm out, I spend a lot of my travel time (when I am on my own), flicking through Facebook, Kindle and iWeather on my phone. Did the temperature just change? Does that App say it might snow tomorrow? Is it raining right now where I am? If I don't keep refreshing that screen, how will I know? "Gosh, I wish it would stop raining on my iPhone so I could see if the app tells me it is raining right now..."
Although these many activities keep my brain pleasantly amused in a sort of stupid, neuron stunting way, they don't make me calmer, or more centered. They bring an undertone of unease to my life that I like to erase every once in a while and start over.
Thus the idea to spend a month more thoughtfully. Instead of starting my morning half hour of free time with web surfing, I start it with an errand I've been putting off. Like writing a blog post, say, or making a phone calls (that's a whole 'nother post...how it is possible for me to hate the phone so very much?). Like now, for instance. My brain is a very easily distracted brain. As soon as I am no longer in a context, it may as well not have existed.
I had to pause to go to the bathroom, and on the way back I'm already thinking about getting a new dog bed, since L doesn't have any good ones anymore, and then I think "but where the hell do you buy one online here in Switzerland, oh wait I'm going to IKEA soon and maybe I can stop at Interio to, hey I need to rent that car for the IKEA trip..." Sigh. Today I managed to get back to writing, luckily, although these last 7 sentences almost didn't make it into this world.
So anyway, my month of thoughtfulness. It was going well. I would put an extra 10 minutes into writing a card to a neighbor who is housebound, instead of clicking 10 times on Facebook refresh, if I was feeling disconnected from people. I would get an errand done per day and cross it off the kitchen whiteboard list. And since I am easily influenced by visual information, I decided to write a reminder to myself about thoughtfulness on the "chalkboard"-like sticky calendar on the wall.
Because, let me be honest, if it was up to my instincts, as soon as M and A left for school, I'd be on a couch or bed, with a second cup of coffee and a chocolate bar (perhaps garnished with peanut butter), watching hours of YouTube videos, or bad British TV. I can waste time like an Olympic Champion. Of wasting time, that is. My guess is that Olympic Champions of Things Like Sport don't dedicate many hours a day to the aforementioned activities.
And even when I'm out, I spend a lot of my travel time (when I am on my own), flicking through Facebook, Kindle and iWeather on my phone. Did the temperature just change? Does that App say it might snow tomorrow? Is it raining right now where I am? If I don't keep refreshing that screen, how will I know? "Gosh, I wish it would stop raining on my iPhone so I could see if the app tells me it is raining right now..."
Although these many activities keep my brain pleasantly amused in a sort of stupid, neuron stunting way, they don't make me calmer, or more centered. They bring an undertone of unease to my life that I like to erase every once in a while and start over.
Thus the idea to spend a month more thoughtfully. Instead of starting my morning half hour of free time with web surfing, I start it with an errand I've been putting off. Like writing a blog post, say, or making a phone calls (that's a whole 'nother post...how it is possible for me to hate the phone so very much?). Like now, for instance. My brain is a very easily distracted brain. As soon as I am no longer in a context, it may as well not have existed.
I had to pause to go to the bathroom, and on the way back I'm already thinking about getting a new dog bed, since L doesn't have any good ones anymore, and then I think "but where the hell do you buy one online here in Switzerland, oh wait I'm going to IKEA soon and maybe I can stop at Interio to, hey I need to rent that car for the IKEA trip..." Sigh. Today I managed to get back to writing, luckily, although these last 7 sentences almost didn't make it into this world.
So anyway, my month of thoughtfulness. It was going well. I would put an extra 10 minutes into writing a card to a neighbor who is housebound, instead of clicking 10 times on Facebook refresh, if I was feeling disconnected from people. I would get an errand done per day and cross it off the kitchen whiteboard list. And since I am easily influenced by visual information, I decided to write a reminder to myself about thoughtfulness on the "chalkboard"-like sticky calendar on the wall.
 | |
| Good indicator that you need more thoughtfulness in your life...you managed only to write "THOUGHT" before you were distracted, and the "FULLNESS" is now missing. Indeed it is. |
Monday, November 5, 2012
If you put that shoe on, I'll give you a Snicker's bar
So things are our house are not at that point. I'm a big proponent of "no motivating with food", since there are some issues on that count among the adult population of A's family. Be it dieting, or not, or sneaking a whole bar of white chocolate the other night when I wasn't even hungry and already watching an hour of bad TV, I'd rather my daughter not think of food as an emotional aid.
And yet, I use it as one, her father does, too. As do many people in her family. Even as simple as us not really being present and accounted for until that coffee is ready.
I scoffed at the "piece of candy for using the potty" idea, until I was on a transatlantic flight with a kid who isn't always excited about using the toilet, and perhaps a bit wary of the airplane bathroom. I just didn't want to regress back to both diapers AND a pacifier (and the pacifier was in seat 16 F for the long haul). So I shelled out, last minute at obscene airport prices for a box of mini chocolate bars, and she got one each time she went to the bathroom on the trip. I'm not talking a rice cracker snack incentive, I'm talking a shot of milk or dark chocolate for each trip. And since she's not that fond of toilets, it didn't translate to us going there every 15 minutes. But she did tell me she needed to go - it got her over the roadblock. And it was just for the plane and airports.
I'm a big fan of the contained breaking of rules. So even though I'm now thinking that perhaps a small snack from the raisin/peanut/Smarties jar we got as a birthday party favor isn't worse than all the loud voices, emotional and physical manipulation we resort to with 5 minutes to get out the door. Or maybe I need to bring back the iPad/iPhone games privilege in the mornings. Because getting A ready to leave for school is just sucking my soul out of my nose these days.
The dread of those 15 minutes (our experiments have ranged from 5 min to 30 min) before having to get out the door is starting to creep into most mornings. We have breakfast together at the table, for, at least 30 minutes. There is a bit of time to play. There is the option to choose one's own clothing if one helps getting ready. There is the option to stay in one's pajama's until after breakfast, wet saggy diaper and all. There are so many things we've tried, that this issue is still waiting for some breakthrough.
And although it may be a video game, I'm going to have to consider food, too. My child, like the dog, and her parents, is food motivated. What can I say to that? Will work for food. Entire family will work for food. Especially since I'd rather not become the authoritarian, bitchy mom instead.
I wonder what kind of morning snack I could be offered to have more patience during "getting out the door time". Hmmmm...
And yet, I use it as one, her father does, too. As do many people in her family. Even as simple as us not really being present and accounted for until that coffee is ready.
I scoffed at the "piece of candy for using the potty" idea, until I was on a transatlantic flight with a kid who isn't always excited about using the toilet, and perhaps a bit wary of the airplane bathroom. I just didn't want to regress back to both diapers AND a pacifier (and the pacifier was in seat 16 F for the long haul). So I shelled out, last minute at obscene airport prices for a box of mini chocolate bars, and she got one each time she went to the bathroom on the trip. I'm not talking a rice cracker snack incentive, I'm talking a shot of milk or dark chocolate for each trip. And since she's not that fond of toilets, it didn't translate to us going there every 15 minutes. But she did tell me she needed to go - it got her over the roadblock. And it was just for the plane and airports.
I'm a big fan of the contained breaking of rules. So even though I'm now thinking that perhaps a small snack from the raisin/peanut/Smarties jar we got as a birthday party favor isn't worse than all the loud voices, emotional and physical manipulation we resort to with 5 minutes to get out the door. Or maybe I need to bring back the iPad/iPhone games privilege in the mornings. Because getting A ready to leave for school is just sucking my soul out of my nose these days.
The dread of those 15 minutes (our experiments have ranged from 5 min to 30 min) before having to get out the door is starting to creep into most mornings. We have breakfast together at the table, for, at least 30 minutes. There is a bit of time to play. There is the option to choose one's own clothing if one helps getting ready. There is the option to stay in one's pajama's until after breakfast, wet saggy diaper and all. There are so many things we've tried, that this issue is still waiting for some breakthrough.
And although it may be a video game, I'm going to have to consider food, too. My child, like the dog, and her parents, is food motivated. What can I say to that? Will work for food. Entire family will work for food. Especially since I'd rather not become the authoritarian, bitchy mom instead.
I wonder what kind of morning snack I could be offered to have more patience during "getting out the door time". Hmmmm...
Friday, October 26, 2012
Grey grey grey, ding!
Fall in Zurich.
Not so much sunlight. Cold and damp.
A good time to put in some halogen bulbs, bring out the fuzzy slippers and pajamas. And start catching up on Project Runway. I finished my dissertation conclusion with a reference to the judges on Project Runway, and how random their advice was each week - you didn't design outside the box enough, you went waaay too far outside the box, not enough color, too much color....These people are not much for standardized, consistent feedback. Granted, by now, 10 years into the show, even I know that you don't use fabric items for the candy challenge. C'mon, designers, have you not watched all the shows before applying?
Motivation can be tough in this weather, too. Especially when you are working alone a lot. So this fall, by lucky accident, the online work date is back in my life. Thanks for happening upon my office on the wrong week for the talk you were looking for, P. When I was finishing my dissertation, E and I would do 45 min. work sessions with a chat window open. We'd state our goals for the time period, (I'm going to wokr on 1., 2., and 3....) and then go work for 45min., with a timer set. Ding! Then we'd check in, by text or video, how the time had gone, take a 5 or 10 minute break, and start again. Sometimes 4 times in a row. It was how I got my dissertation written, even sitting at home. I wouldn't have made it without that peer pressure. So P and I did this on Monday, and it went well. Knowing that someone else is also working, having to write down your goals, all those things that don't happen when surfing the web in search of motivation, that is what makes it so powerful.
And my favorite quote from that time - that writing leads to motivation, not the other way around. It is part of why I keep this blog. Because some days, if I can just get writing, even about a topic as boring as Zurich weather, it gets me writing, and then I'm off the couch, looking for my socks and boots, and on my way to work.
Not so much sunlight. Cold and damp.
A good time to put in some halogen bulbs, bring out the fuzzy slippers and pajamas. And start catching up on Project Runway. I finished my dissertation conclusion with a reference to the judges on Project Runway, and how random their advice was each week - you didn't design outside the box enough, you went waaay too far outside the box, not enough color, too much color....These people are not much for standardized, consistent feedback. Granted, by now, 10 years into the show, even I know that you don't use fabric items for the candy challenge. C'mon, designers, have you not watched all the shows before applying?
Motivation can be tough in this weather, too. Especially when you are working alone a lot. So this fall, by lucky accident, the online work date is back in my life. Thanks for happening upon my office on the wrong week for the talk you were looking for, P. When I was finishing my dissertation, E and I would do 45 min. work sessions with a chat window open. We'd state our goals for the time period, (I'm going to wokr on 1., 2., and 3....) and then go work for 45min., with a timer set. Ding! Then we'd check in, by text or video, how the time had gone, take a 5 or 10 minute break, and start again. Sometimes 4 times in a row. It was how I got my dissertation written, even sitting at home. I wouldn't have made it without that peer pressure. So P and I did this on Monday, and it went well. Knowing that someone else is also working, having to write down your goals, all those things that don't happen when surfing the web in search of motivation, that is what makes it so powerful.
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| A photo of a small town in Missouri. Nothing to do with the post, except for all that grey. |
Thursday, October 25, 2012
"Oh no, only one, we aren't grown up enough to handle more"
It is 9:30am and I've just finished all the dishes. We're talking a full kitchen of dirty dishes from the last 4 days. Pots of crusted-on oatmeal, wooden spatulas that have to be scrapped, dishwasher emptied and restocked and running. And the last thing I knew, it was 8:30am.
Anger may be undesirable for most things but it sure does make for a clean kitchen. Good thing I had such big load, otherwise I'd be currently matching socks in the middle of the bedroom floor. And that doesn't really take enough physical activity to process anger.
And boy was I angry. Mixed with being sad, once the anger subsided.
We were trying to get dressed for school. And said little person needed to poo. And that took a while. And that was fine. But as soon as that was over, little A wanted to play at the sink, instead of wash her hands, and I said "no." And all hell broke loose.
One attempt by me to put underpants on a kicking, flailing screaming child. Two time outs from me. (And for me, let's be honest those things are for parents almost more than for kids). And then M had to step in, because A just wasn't going to calm for me at that point. Insert my first pang of "shit how do single parents do this because I'm scared of who I'd be if I didn't have back-up." And then the second pang, the one that turns all this in on me - that I can't handle even one kid. I can't get one kid dressed and out the door in the morning. She's screaming for her pacifier, and I'm so ready to take a blowtorch to the thing that keep getting lost in her bed and waking us up, and commented on by people across the world. Americans included...Hertz rental car van driver, you so did not help by commenting - after a 10 hour flight and jet lag and an extra bag scan for the apples that we ate on the plan, and exhaustion and worry about getting a bum luggage trolley to move as car seat kept falling off the pile - that your grandson gave up his pacifier at 2 years old. It may be a month and a half late, but, bite me.
And so I retreat to the kitchen. I'm in tears, sobbing, trying to keep the boogers at bay so I can just see a pan or pot. I feel deep down inside so unfit to handle this, wanting to just become an authoritarian and get rid of this kid's spirit, turn her into someone who listens when I say no. And there is no way I can see myself to justifying another child at this moment, I who have lost it. I who can't even think about tomorrow morning and how that is going to be, much less the next 18 years. I'm so disheartened by these moments, and the fact that I have all of this time, like with the first time we tried to get pregnant, to keep thinking about whether or not it is a good idea. I have time to reconsider constantly.
In the end, M and A were finally ready to go to school, 20 minutes late, with a pacifier in her mouth (that I said yes to, while dreaming of dropping it into liquid nitrogen and smashing it with a hammer), and I was still upset. And sad. And somewhat angry. About a lot of things. I managed to get it together enough to go give a little, quiet goodbye kiss on her cheek, and to M. I managed to not do it with a passive aggressive bent. I didn't manage - I let myself not manage - a bright cheery "bye, have fun, see you later!" I went back to the kitchen quickly because the tears were coming again, and for the moment, I'd decided she might get more upset about me crying.
From the hallway, just as the door was closing, she said "I'm sorry, Mama." I came out of the kitchen because I hadn't heard what the words were, and she said it again. "I'm sorry." I hadn't asked for that apology. I don't try to force her (after the first month we started time-outs) anymore to apologize. I let that one go a while ago in some moment of trust that it would eventually work out okay. And this morning, it did. She apologized because, I think, she felt there was something unresolved. And it allowed me to wish her a good day. And that kind of feels authentic, that I didn't force myself to be cheery when I really wasn't, and that it happened out of the blue, and that I wasn't trying to engineer it. And it really did make things better.
And yet, I was left sad. Still furiously scrubbing the pots, going to get another tissue, and feeling the weight of parenting on my shoulders this morning. Feeling so unfit for this job, so undone by this morning, and not sure how I will make it. Followed by the reminder that I've even been considering a second child and feeling so silly for that. I guess it is going to be a bit of a sad morning. And I'd like to be okay with that, and not let it take over the whole day.
Oh, hey, I should go email in my US presidential election ballot now.
Anger may be undesirable for most things but it sure does make for a clean kitchen. Good thing I had such big load, otherwise I'd be currently matching socks in the middle of the bedroom floor. And that doesn't really take enough physical activity to process anger.
And boy was I angry. Mixed with being sad, once the anger subsided.
We were trying to get dressed for school. And said little person needed to poo. And that took a while. And that was fine. But as soon as that was over, little A wanted to play at the sink, instead of wash her hands, and I said "no." And all hell broke loose.
One attempt by me to put underpants on a kicking, flailing screaming child. Two time outs from me. (And for me, let's be honest those things are for parents almost more than for kids). And then M had to step in, because A just wasn't going to calm for me at that point. Insert my first pang of "shit how do single parents do this because I'm scared of who I'd be if I didn't have back-up." And then the second pang, the one that turns all this in on me - that I can't handle even one kid. I can't get one kid dressed and out the door in the morning. She's screaming for her pacifier, and I'm so ready to take a blowtorch to the thing that keep getting lost in her bed and waking us up, and commented on by people across the world. Americans included...Hertz rental car van driver, you so did not help by commenting - after a 10 hour flight and jet lag and an extra bag scan for the apples that we ate on the plan, and exhaustion and worry about getting a bum luggage trolley to move as car seat kept falling off the pile - that your grandson gave up his pacifier at 2 years old. It may be a month and a half late, but, bite me.
And so I retreat to the kitchen. I'm in tears, sobbing, trying to keep the boogers at bay so I can just see a pan or pot. I feel deep down inside so unfit to handle this, wanting to just become an authoritarian and get rid of this kid's spirit, turn her into someone who listens when I say no. And there is no way I can see myself to justifying another child at this moment, I who have lost it. I who can't even think about tomorrow morning and how that is going to be, much less the next 18 years. I'm so disheartened by these moments, and the fact that I have all of this time, like with the first time we tried to get pregnant, to keep thinking about whether or not it is a good idea. I have time to reconsider constantly.
In the end, M and A were finally ready to go to school, 20 minutes late, with a pacifier in her mouth (that I said yes to, while dreaming of dropping it into liquid nitrogen and smashing it with a hammer), and I was still upset. And sad. And somewhat angry. About a lot of things. I managed to get it together enough to go give a little, quiet goodbye kiss on her cheek, and to M. I managed to not do it with a passive aggressive bent. I didn't manage - I let myself not manage - a bright cheery "bye, have fun, see you later!" I went back to the kitchen quickly because the tears were coming again, and for the moment, I'd decided she might get more upset about me crying.
From the hallway, just as the door was closing, she said "I'm sorry, Mama." I came out of the kitchen because I hadn't heard what the words were, and she said it again. "I'm sorry." I hadn't asked for that apology. I don't try to force her (after the first month we started time-outs) anymore to apologize. I let that one go a while ago in some moment of trust that it would eventually work out okay. And this morning, it did. She apologized because, I think, she felt there was something unresolved. And it allowed me to wish her a good day. And that kind of feels authentic, that I didn't force myself to be cheery when I really wasn't, and that it happened out of the blue, and that I wasn't trying to engineer it. And it really did make things better.
And yet, I was left sad. Still furiously scrubbing the pots, going to get another tissue, and feeling the weight of parenting on my shoulders this morning. Feeling so unfit for this job, so undone by this morning, and not sure how I will make it. Followed by the reminder that I've even been considering a second child and feeling so silly for that. I guess it is going to be a bit of a sad morning. And I'd like to be okay with that, and not let it take over the whole day.
Oh, hey, I should go email in my US presidential election ballot now.
Friday, October 12, 2012
I decided to wade into the probably already calming waters surrounding this one....
There is an everyone's-new-favorite-WHAT!?! letter about expectations in graduate school circulating through the astronomy community this week, complete with lots of commentary after the fact.
http://www.astrobetter.com/
I've got an opinion about it, like most other people who have read it. Let's be honest, I've got LOTS of opinions about it. And let's be honest, I'm not going to be the most eloquent, and for sure not the most diplomatic. This is a blog, that almost no one reads, so I'm going to write what I write.
1. "However, if you informally canvass the faculty (those people for whose jobs you came here to train), most will tell you that they worked 80-100 hours/week in graduate school. No one told us to work those hours, but we enjoyed what we were doing enough to want to do so. We were almost always at the office, including at night and on weekends. Nowadays, with the internet, it is fine to work from home sometimes, but you still miss out on learning from and forming collaborations with other graduate students when everyone does not work in the same place at the same time. We realize that students with families will not have 80-100 hours/week to spend at work. Again, what matters most is productivity. Any faculty member or mentoring/thesis committee will be more than happy to work with any student to develop strategies to maximize productivity, even in those cases where the student is unable to devote more than 60 hours to their work per week."
How about students with any other interests, too? Who want to have a pet, a hobby, a cause, a passion? A relationship? Let's not make this a women's issue, and let's not forget that there are many men with families who you are also losing (who would probably make much better mentors for having had time to engage with their kids and the complexity of family life instead of being absent) with this mindset.
And how about overachievers coming from dysfunctional families, from alcoholic or other abusive situations that result in their needing external validation like they need oxygen. I'd say you're underestimating the amount of overworking students (who become the lauded professors) who are doing what they are doing because their parents didn't do enough for them as kids.
2. Second, a related problem is that some students are not reading enough of the literature. All students should read at least several papers/week. You do not have to read the entire paper, as sometimes just the abstract, intro, figures, and conclusions will provide you with sufficient information. Nevertheless, please read. Knowing what is going on, right now, in your field and other fields is crucial to your development as a scientist. We would like to see more students engaged in defining their research projects and theses. We would like to receive more telescope proposals from students and post-docs that do not include faculty members. To do so, a detailed knowledge of the literature is a must.
Third, we are pleased with how Science Coffee and Journal Club are going and thank the many students who help make both of those opportunities available to everyone. We also recognize that we as a faculty need to do a better job at participating. Yet we have received some student comments about the way in which faculty do participate. Namely, that some faculty-student interactions have become too intense. In these cases, it is not the faculty member’s intention to make the student uncomfortable. The faculty member means to interact with the student as he or she would a peer. That should be flattering to the student! Faculty questions (at least in this department) do not arise from a desire to embarrass a student speaker, but from a real scientific interest in the answer. In such cases, the student should do his or her best to respond and, frankly, to consider the experience good (and relatively gentle) training for any discussion at Caltech or at Tuesday Lunch at the Princetitute.
Ahhh, my home base. Excuse me, I need to go put on my Lucha Libre mask....
First, if you think that reading the literature is crucial to doing well in this field, then you'd better act like it, and put it on the curriculum. Right there next to the other classes. If it is important to know how to read, you need to teach it. You need to give your own tricks and ways of reading. What questions do you approach a paper with, and don't leave out the sociological ones (Did someone I know write this to b(*&-slap someone else who left him/her off of a previous paper? What is the personal history behind this paper, that the reader knows, and how does that make him/her read it differently?). Don't pretend that a list of three bullets teaches someone how to read a text. Especially not one so culturally enmeshed. Same goes for answering a question, that may be asked because: someone understood the talk but wants to disagree but not in an overt manner, someone who is pissed off, someone who didn't understand the talk (ha, ha, like that is ever acceptable by the community!), someone who is trying to clarify something for the grad students in the audience, or someone who just doesn't want their department to be embarrassed by no one having asked a question after a talk.
Second, the framing of some faculty questions arise from individuals who do not know how or may not be capable of speaking with respect or have the awareness that they have power in that room and in that building. And when faculty spar with each other verbally, or with a postdoc, how often do they explain to students why this is acceptable but not for the student to do? What it takes to be given license to spar? If you, as a senior member of the community, have ever sat in a room where a faculty member was sarcastic, or inappropriately aggressive (read: any question that gets gossiped about after the event) towards a junior member, and not spoken up, not asked the faculty member to rephrase the question more neutrally, you're part of the problem. In this culture of advisor-as-scientific-parent and student-as-scientific-child, it is the equivalent of sitting around while a father or mother verbally oversteps their bounds with a child. Once you start excusing your colleagues (intended or innocent) jabs as "you just need to learn to toughen up", you're in abusive family territory. Abusive. Because kids don't have the power in the family. And you are protecting a colleague's feelings over that of a powerless individual's. You have a higher salary, a tenured job and the power to affect that student's career - it is not a room full of peers when there are faculty and students together, regardless of the ideal of intellectual academic discourse.
Third, in the "department as academic family" scenario, that last statement is like saying "you should be happy that we only make fun of you meanly in this family, in the other ones they use a belt and a broken bottle."
3. Fourth, in their evaluations for the APC, some students alluded to research or advisor problems that other students were having and that “no one else knew about.” If you have a problem of any kind, or know someone who does, please come and talk with me or another faculty member. Encourage the other student to do so. Use your mentoring/thesis committees with or without your advisor present. It makes no sense for someone to be struggling and not seek help. These problems can be solved, but only after they are uncovered.
If there was a departmental map available of all the actual relationships (marriage, friendship, affairs, secret supporters) among the faculty, a student might feel more comfortable complaining about a problematic "faculty-parent" instead of fearing that any complaint will be subverted in favor of the inttra-faculty relationships. And to go complain to an obudsman in hopes of impartiality? Like that's not going to get you kicked out of the "family." Or heaven forbid you are thinking of leaving academic but not sure - stating such might get you already listed as someone not worthy enough to have known from an early age that this was a calling. Or hell forbid you are depressed. If I don't know I'm going to talk with a person who has dealt with depression themselves or from a close friend/family member, and understands its power, no way I'm going to speak up when I'm not in a position of power. Thank goodness for some brave faculty who will use their power to speak up.
4. Fifth, while we welcome the thoughtful, honest, and insightful comments that we generally receive from students in their department evaluations, a few students are somewhat rude. In those cases, it is hard to draw sympathy for your problem. In your career, providing constructive criticism to your department and colleagues is important and should be valued. Being negative and disrespectful will generally not fix the problems and will make colleagues less likely to work with you.
Again, parent .vs. child - it is the parent's job to model behavior desired. The parent has the power. As does the faculty advisor. Just because some forums like a journal club are supposed to be about peers and equals, there is almost no variable in which graduate students have equal power or say - job stability, salary, expectations. And there are many instances of faculty who do not want either constructive or other kinds of criticism. If your faculty are not modelling it, don't expect the grad students to step up.
6. And finally, mostly what I hope is that the writer of the letter doesn't get thrown under the bus for articulating the many arcane, and misguided ideas that I think many science faculty members have about education, management and mentoring. Science faculty are mostly only trained in research - not in anything else that is important to the job, at least not in a methodical way. There is no reason we should think they will be good at mentoring, gender and minority issues, teaching, managing a group, at any level better than beginner.
Your professorship is no more noble than any other job, so don't keep giving up parts of your life, your family life, your marriage, your health as if it were. If you were to die, or quit, the academic machine that keeps asking for pounds of flesh would pretty cold-heartedly replace you, quickly. They'd hold a memorial, or a moment of silence and then get busy forgetting any legacy or heart or time you put into this. Fidelity to the institution is some sort of noble idea, and yet the institution is rarely faithful to its faculty.
Your family and friends, however, would be devastated and feel the loss. Even if you stopped having time to tend to those relationships because you were in an office 80 hours a week.
http://www.astrobetter.com/
I've got an opinion about it, like most other people who have read it. Let's be honest, I've got LOTS of opinions about it. And let's be honest, I'm not going to be the most eloquent, and for sure not the most diplomatic. This is a blog, that almost no one reads, so I'm going to write what I write.
1. "However, if you informally canvass the faculty (those people for whose jobs you came here to train), most will tell you that they worked 80-100 hours/week in graduate school. No one told us to work those hours, but we enjoyed what we were doing enough to want to do so. We were almost always at the office, including at night and on weekends. Nowadays, with the internet, it is fine to work from home sometimes, but you still miss out on learning from and forming collaborations with other graduate students when everyone does not work in the same place at the same time. We realize that students with families will not have 80-100 hours/week to spend at work. Again, what matters most is productivity. Any faculty member or mentoring/thesis committee will be more than happy to work with any student to develop strategies to maximize productivity, even in those cases where the student is unable to devote more than 60 hours to their work per week."
How about students with any other interests, too? Who want to have a pet, a hobby, a cause, a passion? A relationship? Let's not make this a women's issue, and let's not forget that there are many men with families who you are also losing (who would probably make much better mentors for having had time to engage with their kids and the complexity of family life instead of being absent) with this mindset.
And how about overachievers coming from dysfunctional families, from alcoholic or other abusive situations that result in their needing external validation like they need oxygen. I'd say you're underestimating the amount of overworking students (who become the lauded professors) who are doing what they are doing because their parents didn't do enough for them as kids.
2. Second, a related problem is that some students are not reading enough of the literature. All students should read at least several papers/week. You do not have to read the entire paper, as sometimes just the abstract, intro, figures, and conclusions will provide you with sufficient information. Nevertheless, please read. Knowing what is going on, right now, in your field and other fields is crucial to your development as a scientist. We would like to see more students engaged in defining their research projects and theses. We would like to receive more telescope proposals from students and post-docs that do not include faculty members. To do so, a detailed knowledge of the literature is a must.
Third, we are pleased with how Science Coffee and Journal Club are going and thank the many students who help make both of those opportunities available to everyone. We also recognize that we as a faculty need to do a better job at participating. Yet we have received some student comments about the way in which faculty do participate. Namely, that some faculty-student interactions have become too intense. In these cases, it is not the faculty member’s intention to make the student uncomfortable. The faculty member means to interact with the student as he or she would a peer. That should be flattering to the student! Faculty questions (at least in this department) do not arise from a desire to embarrass a student speaker, but from a real scientific interest in the answer. In such cases, the student should do his or her best to respond and, frankly, to consider the experience good (and relatively gentle) training for any discussion at Caltech or at Tuesday Lunch at the Princetitute.
Ahhh, my home base. Excuse me, I need to go put on my Lucha Libre mask....
First, if you think that reading the literature is crucial to doing well in this field, then you'd better act like it, and put it on the curriculum. Right there next to the other classes. If it is important to know how to read, you need to teach it. You need to give your own tricks and ways of reading. What questions do you approach a paper with, and don't leave out the sociological ones (Did someone I know write this to b(*&-slap someone else who left him/her off of a previous paper? What is the personal history behind this paper, that the reader knows, and how does that make him/her read it differently?). Don't pretend that a list of three bullets teaches someone how to read a text. Especially not one so culturally enmeshed. Same goes for answering a question, that may be asked because: someone understood the talk but wants to disagree but not in an overt manner, someone who is pissed off, someone who didn't understand the talk (ha, ha, like that is ever acceptable by the community!), someone who is trying to clarify something for the grad students in the audience, or someone who just doesn't want their department to be embarrassed by no one having asked a question after a talk.
Second, the framing of some faculty questions arise from individuals who do not know how or may not be capable of speaking with respect or have the awareness that they have power in that room and in that building. And when faculty spar with each other verbally, or with a postdoc, how often do they explain to students why this is acceptable but not for the student to do? What it takes to be given license to spar? If you, as a senior member of the community, have ever sat in a room where a faculty member was sarcastic, or inappropriately aggressive (read: any question that gets gossiped about after the event) towards a junior member, and not spoken up, not asked the faculty member to rephrase the question more neutrally, you're part of the problem. In this culture of advisor-as-scientific-parent and student-as-scientific-child, it is the equivalent of sitting around while a father or mother verbally oversteps their bounds with a child. Once you start excusing your colleagues (intended or innocent) jabs as "you just need to learn to toughen up", you're in abusive family territory. Abusive. Because kids don't have the power in the family. And you are protecting a colleague's feelings over that of a powerless individual's. You have a higher salary, a tenured job and the power to affect that student's career - it is not a room full of peers when there are faculty and students together, regardless of the ideal of intellectual academic discourse.
Third, in the "department as academic family" scenario, that last statement is like saying "you should be happy that we only make fun of you meanly in this family, in the other ones they use a belt and a broken bottle."
3. Fourth, in their evaluations for the APC, some students alluded to research or advisor problems that other students were having and that “no one else knew about.” If you have a problem of any kind, or know someone who does, please come and talk with me or another faculty member. Encourage the other student to do so. Use your mentoring/thesis committees with or without your advisor present. It makes no sense for someone to be struggling and not seek help. These problems can be solved, but only after they are uncovered.
If there was a departmental map available of all the actual relationships (marriage, friendship, affairs, secret supporters) among the faculty, a student might feel more comfortable complaining about a problematic "faculty-parent" instead of fearing that any complaint will be subverted in favor of the inttra-faculty relationships. And to go complain to an obudsman in hopes of impartiality? Like that's not going to get you kicked out of the "family." Or heaven forbid you are thinking of leaving academic but not sure - stating such might get you already listed as someone not worthy enough to have known from an early age that this was a calling. Or hell forbid you are depressed. If I don't know I'm going to talk with a person who has dealt with depression themselves or from a close friend/family member, and understands its power, no way I'm going to speak up when I'm not in a position of power. Thank goodness for some brave faculty who will use their power to speak up.
4. Fifth, while we welcome the thoughtful, honest, and insightful comments that we generally receive from students in their department evaluations, a few students are somewhat rude. In those cases, it is hard to draw sympathy for your problem. In your career, providing constructive criticism to your department and colleagues is important and should be valued. Being negative and disrespectful will generally not fix the problems and will make colleagues less likely to work with you.
Again, parent .vs. child - it is the parent's job to model behavior desired. The parent has the power. As does the faculty advisor. Just because some forums like a journal club are supposed to be about peers and equals, there is almost no variable in which graduate students have equal power or say - job stability, salary, expectations. And there are many instances of faculty who do not want either constructive or other kinds of criticism. If your faculty are not modelling it, don't expect the grad students to step up.
5. Tenth, your evaluations of our program identified some concerns, including a lack of computer support, inadequate representation of women and minorities among the faculty and colloquium speakers, and poor attendance by faculty at various department talks and functions. We are working on all three. Professor E has developed a plan for better student support of student computing. The faculty hiring committee is developing a detailed plan to make sure that the best women and minority candidates are encouraged to apply and carefully considered for the job. The colloquium organizers have been made aware of your concerns. All faculty are being strongly encouraged to participate more in the intellectual atmosphere of the department. Do not ease up on reminding us of these points.
Unfortunately, in this department, the last 9-10 hires were male. Over the period of many years. So really, how much more time did they need to find someone female or minority to hire? And did they really hire the "best" men in these 9-10 positions? And were all the current faculty carefully considered for their "bestness" and only that? Or did some of them get on the faculty for a range of reasons? Gender equity comes when you have as many "less-than-best" females as "less-than-best" males on your faculty. However you want to define "less-than-best" - be it legally, in terms of mentoring, in terms of teaching, in terms of research, in terms of anything...
6. And finally, mostly what I hope is that the writer of the letter doesn't get thrown under the bus for articulating the many arcane, and misguided ideas that I think many science faculty members have about education, management and mentoring. Science faculty are mostly only trained in research - not in anything else that is important to the job, at least not in a methodical way. There is no reason we should think they will be good at mentoring, gender and minority issues, teaching, managing a group, at any level better than beginner.
Your professorship is no more noble than any other job, so don't keep giving up parts of your life, your family life, your marriage, your health as if it were. If you were to die, or quit, the academic machine that keeps asking for pounds of flesh would pretty cold-heartedly replace you, quickly. They'd hold a memorial, or a moment of silence and then get busy forgetting any legacy or heart or time you put into this. Fidelity to the institution is some sort of noble idea, and yet the institution is rarely faithful to its faculty.
Your family and friends, however, would be devastated and feel the loss. Even if you stopped having time to tend to those relationships because you were in an office 80 hours a week.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
The stretch limo is waiting
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| Ricidulously fantastic potato pancakes. Which are really just a vehicle for sour cream. |
I've been away from Zurich for a month now. In the US, for family medical issues (that have settled and are ok now), family visits, and a wedding. And for that month I was on a lot of main caregiver duty, because M only came for the last 10 days. I had help from grandmothers, and from some good friends, which kept me going. Mostly to JCPenney's or Target, places I would wander, trying on cheap, not so well-made clothing. I went to Whole Foods and stocked up on pancake and cookie mixes. I must have hit a DSW shoe store some 3 times, and unfortunately for A, those times she was with me. I think we've finally determined (on her part, too) that she does not, in fact, "like shopping", kind of like "I no like Istanbul, Mama."
I spent too much time in, and on the way to and from, stores. I spent too much time feeling worried that I would offend people who I didn't visit enough. I spent too much time trying feel like I was living in the US, shopping where I used to, visiting many people I know, trying to re-establish connections that there wasn't actually enough time to re-establish.
I also connected with different people, though. Some I hadn't known as well, and made some deeper friendships. I spent time making loud, funny noises with my mouth, with A, in an attempt to make it the last 20 miles of a long days of flights and car rides. I worked on speaking up about what I would like, and what I didn't like to those with whom I sometimes have a hard time doing this.
And I ate about the weight of my carry-on in potatoes, butter, sour cream and bacon at the rehearsal dinner for my cousin D's wedding. I drove about 5 different manual and automatic cars (and gained some 5 extra no-walking pounds) over 4 weeks, some rented, some borrowed, and lost just a bit of my soul every time I was at a Hertz Rental office. But I gained back some soul at a small, independent kids' shoe store in Chicago's north side, and at any place that served pancakes or french toast. I went to Toast in Chicago twice. Twice. For a food snob, my culinary desires in the US tend to gourmet comfort food. Chicken and waffles, Baja style shrimp tacos, Peanut Butter cheesecake, and anything from Toast. I mentioned that place already, yes?
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| Pretty good Kugelis. Also, vehicle for sour cream, thank you very much. Perhaps the leftover butter/bacon/sour cream sausce, too. |
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| When you need a cab to the airport from the Chicago 'burbs, one option for the family bursting at the seams with luggage is....a stretch limo. "Mama, this is a biiiiiig taxi!" she said. M and A practice their "no paparazzi" moves. |
Friday, August 31, 2012
At glacial speed
Usually, I will go for my iPhone to help my brain get started by a barrage of useless activities like Facebook and checking the weather. This morning, it is cold and rainy, what feel like the first day of fall just sneaking in, and even 6:53am seems a lot darker than it did yesterday. And I let myself be calm and feel it.
It is a slow motion, of something big, something heavy. It is the passing of time, the approach of my 40th year, the changing of the guard, the end of the summer I thought we might just get pregnant and without having to do all that soul searching just get thrown into the mess, and chaos and energy and fray of a new life. And I would put off thinking about my career a bit longer, or my age. We would have a few more years of not even having the time to notice that time is passing.
Mind you, this isn't really a sad feeling. It is slow, it is calm. There are probably still a few years in which, if I really want (or just accidentally end up there), I can hop on over to that glacier top. It isn't going anywhere fast. I could probably even just step a bit more vigorously and catch it, with its new baby and upheaval, and blinding in-the-momentness that a new child brings to a family. It wouldn't even require a jump. But where once that 40 years old mark was slowly approaching, it is now almost lined up with where I'm standing, and soon will be receding. It is the next stage of life. I will still enter it, sooner or later, and I realized yesterday afternoon that having another child will not make me 36 again. And many of those women around me that I've felt the second-child-having influence of so strongly, they are still in that 35-38 range.
So yes, of course I can still try for a child. I'm healthy, I've gotten pregnant at least twice now, it is likely possible. But it means something different to me approaching 40 than it did approaching 36. I'm not "too old" to have another child in the literal, can your ovaries and uterus do this sense. My husband is not 65, and on and on. But I did not realize that the cycle of having one child would last 6 years for us, starting with starting to try getting pregnant, through infertility and interventions, through a difficult beginning, a first ray of light and then through a miscarriage and then the recovery. When I started this baby having activity, I was 33 years old. I've woken up this morning and I'm 39.
And I have no certainty about another child or not. I know that this morning I was calm, I had time to lay in bed another 10 minutes and hear that slow movement of life. I had energy to make a nice breakfast and to not pull A to run to the bus. We had smiles and time to talk about how sometimes none of us wants to go to work or school. I had time to sit in the foyer, while she screamed about having her pacifier taken away, until she calmed down - I didn't have to wrap her in a jacket and carry her flailing with boots to the bus.
It is the first day of fall, and I've decided to have a month of calmer, thoughtfulness. I will not be giving up on losing it sometimes, but I will be trying to find one thing per day to do or actively choose that connects me with others. That makes the world a bit better place and funnels some of my energy of not being pregnant with a second child back into the world that could definitely use it. I will slow down this month, for the next 3 weeks at least. I will notice this month passing.
I may not be able to move the glacier back (in my mind it is majestic, grand, solid and slow, its coldness is not really a feature, it is not a sad glacier, it is just ancient and bigger than me), but I can make this time before 40 fuller and honor it.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
What does Schroedinger's cat have to do with babies?
Fresh on the heels of the older fathers studies that I wrote about last time, out came a smaller, seemingly quieter piece of news about reproduction - a study that indicated multiple miscarriages may be caused by a woman's body's inability to reject unviable embyros. It hasn't shown up on the NYTimes Motherlode blog, where all the hottest topics and reports make a visit these days, but I hope it slaps on its best party dress and sparkles and starts making the rounds, because I think it will cause a lot of tears for a lot of women and then perhaps a huge, forgiving sigh.
The researchers claim that their research showed that some women's uteruses (uteri? uteroes? whatever, you know what I mean but can't spell) aren't that good at distinguishing between a viable and unviable embryo, and just go implant the hell out of anything passing through. Including embryos that wouldn't have resulted in a successful pregnancy. So instead of a "why is my body broken and not providing a loving, nurturing space for these embryos" kind of situation, which I think can lead to extreme feelings of failure, really, it is just a "oh, my uterus is just a bit too accepting of all embryos, and what other women's uteruses (it is English, so just let's pretend I can pluralize that way, ok?) wouldn't have even given another glance at, mine just got all "oooh, let's take them all home, and raise them". Like some of the characters...well, all of the characters, on Sex and the City and bad choices with guys. Your miscarriages weren't because you failed to provide a healthy place for a baby to grow, those embryos wouldn't have become babies in anyone's uterus.
It isn't you. At least not in that way that I think many of us who had a miscarriage and we didn't know the cause were thinking. It isn't your fault, you're not broken. You're probably an overachiever in life, actually. More than a little over-enthusiastic, perhaps? Especially if you're willing to keep trying for pregnancies after the harrowing experience that is a miscarriage. Turns out, so is your uterus.
Well, who knows what effect this has on women, but for me, I found it to be a strongly emotional result. Sure, perhaps it meant that I'd been producing damaged eggs or something, but at least it wasn't the case that my body was rejecting the baby that my brain and heart had been hoping and wishing for.
And it comes at a good time for me because I think I was pregnant again. Just for a few weeks. I didn't actually have the chance to take a second pregnancy test to confirm what I was feeling or the results of the first one. And while we've been having such long discussions about whether or not we want another child, and kind of settled one the "only one" side of the tracks, I seemed to have become pregnant again, and now not. Or maybe it was a false positive and I wasn't.
Who'd have thought that pregnancy and quantum mechanics seem so related? Not this guy. Turns out, I disagree, and I think women who have been possibly pregnant, know exactly what this is like. Quantum weirdness has nothing on us. In that time before you can test for pregnancy, but think you may be pregnant, if you are being harshly realistic, you know things can go either way. You can be both pregnant and not pregnant at the same time. Your thoughts switch between, "I am, and what will that be like" and "Nope, I'm not and this is all just hopeful", and until you do that measurement, the system doesn't collapse into just "yes" or just "no."
The researchers claim that their research showed that some women's uteruses (uteri? uteroes? whatever, you know what I mean but can't spell) aren't that good at distinguishing between a viable and unviable embryo, and just go implant the hell out of anything passing through. Including embryos that wouldn't have resulted in a successful pregnancy. So instead of a "why is my body broken and not providing a loving, nurturing space for these embryos" kind of situation, which I think can lead to extreme feelings of failure, really, it is just a "oh, my uterus is just a bit too accepting of all embryos, and what other women's uteruses (it is English, so just let's pretend I can pluralize that way, ok?) wouldn't have even given another glance at, mine just got all "oooh, let's take them all home, and raise them". Like some of the characters...well, all of the characters, on Sex and the City and bad choices with guys. Your miscarriages weren't because you failed to provide a healthy place for a baby to grow, those embryos wouldn't have become babies in anyone's uterus.
It isn't you. At least not in that way that I think many of us who had a miscarriage and we didn't know the cause were thinking. It isn't your fault, you're not broken. You're probably an overachiever in life, actually. More than a little over-enthusiastic, perhaps? Especially if you're willing to keep trying for pregnancies after the harrowing experience that is a miscarriage. Turns out, so is your uterus.
Well, who knows what effect this has on women, but for me, I found it to be a strongly emotional result. Sure, perhaps it meant that I'd been producing damaged eggs or something, but at least it wasn't the case that my body was rejecting the baby that my brain and heart had been hoping and wishing for.
And it comes at a good time for me because I think I was pregnant again. Just for a few weeks. I didn't actually have the chance to take a second pregnancy test to confirm what I was feeling or the results of the first one. And while we've been having such long discussions about whether or not we want another child, and kind of settled one the "only one" side of the tracks, I seemed to have become pregnant again, and now not. Or maybe it was a false positive and I wasn't.
Who'd have thought that pregnancy and quantum mechanics seem so related? Not this guy. Turns out, I disagree, and I think women who have been possibly pregnant, know exactly what this is like. Quantum weirdness has nothing on us. In that time before you can test for pregnancy, but think you may be pregnant, if you are being harshly realistic, you know things can go either way. You can be both pregnant and not pregnant at the same time. Your thoughts switch between, "I am, and what will that be like" and "Nope, I'm not and this is all just hopeful", and until you do that measurement, the system doesn't collapse into just "yes" or just "no."
Thursday, August 23, 2012
How old was your dad when you were born?
It is date night here at our house, which means the babysitter is coming and we're heading out to celebrate the end of M's exam week and almost-end of the work week with dinner in the Old City and a movie. Probably "What to Expect When You're Expecting."
Because it has that American-ness to it that we're both craving a bit right now. It doesn't have to be awesome to be comforting.
I keep calling it "What Did You Expect?" or "What Were We Thinking?". I didn't much like the book of the same title when I was expecting because, as many before me have pointed out, it has that "sad you, who can't live off of no caffeine and fruitjuicesweetened-practically-everything when you are pregnant - you must not really love your unborn child" quality to some of its suggestions. It could be a playbook for out-earthmothering your fellow pregnant ladies. But I do expect some easy laughs from the movie.
And at just the right time. Because the hottest thing on the NYTimes right now is this article about increased risk of a child with autism or schizophrenia with advanced age of the father. This just days after I finished reading this book on a family whose autistic daughter has beaten a lot of odds to communicate with a computer with grace and eloquence, wit and insight, about autism itself, and the rest of the things a teenager thinks about. That is the life-afirming part of the book. The description of the exhaustion, sadness and burnout that the family lives with, and still uses respite care to help combat, is the part that prompted me to start talking with M about why we want another child.
Just to be a companion to A? We have enough crap of our own we're still working through that maybe we are better off teaching her to make close friends, spending some extra money on serious charity contributions that also leave a legacy (instead of looking for an embodied legacy in another child), and just keep working on our own issues.We could donate to places helping families who are already struggling. We could try to make a difference in this world in a different way.
And what if we were to have an autistic child? The book was already in the process of being read when this question came up and almost drowned me. What if all the things that have gone wrong with getting pregnant and giving birth and having a miscarriage, what if they all actually point to some reason we shouldn't try for another child? What if my body, which is almost 40 years old, is trying to tell me about my chances with the next child, and to just stop here?
Then the article came out. Well, gee, that sure helps the picture. Although, I have to say it is nice to hear anything that for once tells the menfolk they too are not untouched by reproductive aging. That it isn't just my biological clock ticking away, it is his, too. I mean to be gloating in a general, I-represent-all-womanhood sort of way, not to imply that I'm thrilled for M to have to think about all of this now. I mean, we're both old - double whammy.
And as a nightcap to all that, A had her first exorcist-level meltdown, which I only navigated with so much grace (heck, yeah, I'm proud) because of how much I've worked on myself, and the fact that a close friend's kid had a similar one a few weeks ago. I could chalk up 25 minutes of screaming, thrashing, running in random-including-the-street directions if I put her down, kicking and wailing to a developmental phase. I was one cool customer, even on the bus part of the program. I was exhausted afterwards (and A is now sleeping it off), and amazed at how randomly it passed. And feeling a profound sadness for lives where that continues to be a daily occurrence even for older children and adults. I could get through it because I knew it would pass (today, and in some months).
For tonight, though, we're going to go see What You Didn't Expect You'd Be Expecting, or something like that. And, hopefully, it will be good for a few laughs.
Because it has that American-ness to it that we're both craving a bit right now. It doesn't have to be awesome to be comforting.
I keep calling it "What Did You Expect?" or "What Were We Thinking?". I didn't much like the book of the same title when I was expecting because, as many before me have pointed out, it has that "sad you, who can't live off of no caffeine and fruitjuicesweetened-practically-everything when you are pregnant - you must not really love your unborn child" quality to some of its suggestions. It could be a playbook for out-earthmothering your fellow pregnant ladies. But I do expect some easy laughs from the movie.
And at just the right time. Because the hottest thing on the NYTimes right now is this article about increased risk of a child with autism or schizophrenia with advanced age of the father. This just days after I finished reading this book on a family whose autistic daughter has beaten a lot of odds to communicate with a computer with grace and eloquence, wit and insight, about autism itself, and the rest of the things a teenager thinks about. That is the life-afirming part of the book. The description of the exhaustion, sadness and burnout that the family lives with, and still uses respite care to help combat, is the part that prompted me to start talking with M about why we want another child.
Just to be a companion to A? We have enough crap of our own we're still working through that maybe we are better off teaching her to make close friends, spending some extra money on serious charity contributions that also leave a legacy (instead of looking for an embodied legacy in another child), and just keep working on our own issues.We could donate to places helping families who are already struggling. We could try to make a difference in this world in a different way.
And what if we were to have an autistic child? The book was already in the process of being read when this question came up and almost drowned me. What if all the things that have gone wrong with getting pregnant and giving birth and having a miscarriage, what if they all actually point to some reason we shouldn't try for another child? What if my body, which is almost 40 years old, is trying to tell me about my chances with the next child, and to just stop here?
Then the article came out. Well, gee, that sure helps the picture. Although, I have to say it is nice to hear anything that for once tells the menfolk they too are not untouched by reproductive aging. That it isn't just my biological clock ticking away, it is his, too. I mean to be gloating in a general, I-represent-all-womanhood sort of way, not to imply that I'm thrilled for M to have to think about all of this now. I mean, we're both old - double whammy.
And as a nightcap to all that, A had her first exorcist-level meltdown, which I only navigated with so much grace (heck, yeah, I'm proud) because of how much I've worked on myself, and the fact that a close friend's kid had a similar one a few weeks ago. I could chalk up 25 minutes of screaming, thrashing, running in random-including-the-street directions if I put her down, kicking and wailing to a developmental phase. I was one cool customer, even on the bus part of the program. I was exhausted afterwards (and A is now sleeping it off), and amazed at how randomly it passed. And feeling a profound sadness for lives where that continues to be a daily occurrence even for older children and adults. I could get through it because I knew it would pass (today, and in some months).
For tonight, though, we're going to go see What You Didn't Expect You'd Be Expecting, or something like that. And, hopefully, it will be good for a few laughs.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The alumni newsletter just came in! Great.
I just finished filling out an online survey for a Prestigious Graduate School Fellowship I once received, back when I was in Astronomy (about 1500 years ago). It dropped me right smack down in the middle of all the mixed (okay, mostly bad, actually) emotions I had every time I got my yearly "What kind of cancer have you cured this year?" call from the head of a different Pretigious Graduate School Fellowship program. Let's say that I started off my university life as a pretty prestigious kind of student. I studies physics and math and astronomy and I did really well in homeworks and exams. I did research projects and went to conferences and even taught some lectures as an undergrad. I got into all the grad schools I applied for, and I didn't set the bar low.
And at the end of 9 years in astronomy grad school, I quit. Dejected, depressed, no publications to my name, very little belief in myself. Single. Childless. (Although, I was going to be married soon, which was one of the very few points of light in my days back then). But every year since I'd spent a year at Cambridge, I'd get a call to see what glorious accomplishments I'd racked up. My fellow Fellows had gotten early tenure and professorships, some at Harvard or Princeton. They had research groups and I had a cat with kidney failure that I treated with subcutaneous fluids each day, I small house my mom had been smart enough to encourage me to buy in super-cheap Tucson, and a surprising hidden talent as a swing dance teacher. These yearly calls made me feel so low, so unaccomplished.
And let's face it, the alumni updates from, well pretty much anywhere I had attended, were depressing. So, in honor of not having started crying filling out this online survey just now while marking "extremely poor" on a number of aspect of my grad experience, I've decided to put up my own alumni update.
Or rather, two of them. Because, in the intervening years I've learned that everyone has their pain and failures, even the early tenure at Harvard folks, and that some are just better at masking it, or have it in more private aspects of their life.
Almuni update that makes me feel good about myself
"A" received both an NSF Graduate Fellowship and a Churchill Scholarship after graduating with a 4.0 GPA in Astronomy and Physics. She went on to get master's degrees in astronomy from both Cambridge University and the University of Arizona. While completing a PhD in science education, she was asked to talk about her research on the culture of communication in academia at locations as varied as IBM and Harvard, and internationally. She and her husband, daughter and beloved dog currently live in Zurich, Switzerland, where she works part time in academia and concentrates the rest of her time on raising her daughter in Lithuanian (her parent's first language), English and Swiss German. They have been enjoying traveling across Europe especially this summer - to Rhodes, Amsterdam, Torino, Istanbul and Stockholm. Also, she has recently decided just to love her 6 foot tall frame as it is and give up on worrying about fashion trends, instead following her creative instincts.
But really, wouldn't we all prefer the kind of alumni update that made the rest of us feel better about ourselves?
Alumni update that should make you feel better about yourself.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Giving the pacifier back
My daughter loves her "nuggi" (the Swiss German name for a pacifier).
I don't love it. Sometimes I'm just embarrassed by it - that some other kids her age (and seemingly every last child in Istanbul) gave theirs up months ago. Granted, I feel embarrassed when I'm in that "my parenting is what makes her who she is" state of mind. Sometimes I just know we're getting close to 3 years old and both the pediatrician and dentist say that is the time to be done with it.
We've gone through so many cycles of my pushing to limit it. She doesn't use it anymore, even for naps, at daycare. And now that constitutes much of the work week. At some point when she was around 20 months old, after a long trip, we found ourselves in double-binky territory for sleeping, and I was beside myself with anguish about it. First world problems, indeed. Except that, if she awoke in the middle of the night, and couldn't find both pacifiers, I or M was called in, loudly, to help.
I imagined that by this time, close to 3 years old, she's be over them for naps. For a while, she was falling asleep in her stroller without them. But not for long.
Now the challenges of convincing her to go sit on the potty in the morning, and getting her cooperation to get dressed (generally and issue of mine, but vital when my back is acting up), have gotten greater. They are accompanied by a lot of whining (I'm not saying whose is louder), and me finding myself trying more time-outs for not putting on socks when I've asked. That isn't what I need time-outs for. And in general, I can always use some practice in negotiating and compromise.
So the nuggi is back in our life, no longer removed once she is out of bed (although for a month or two that helped her stay in bed a bit longer and me get that last 5 minutes of sleep I needed to not be a zombie). It stays with her as long as she is making progress on the taking off of the pajama, the diaper, the sitting on the potty, the getting dressed. And in the evening it calls her name, encouraging her to sit still a bit more while I finish brushing her teeth.
I get it, it is bad for her dental something or other. Looking at that last sentence, perhaps I don't get it. It is bad for something. But so is having a morning full of tears and cajoling and general unhappiness.
The pacifier has taken some ground back. For now. And if a second binky tries any campaigning, forget about it. No deal. But one nuggi, I've conceded that ground.
I don't love it. Sometimes I'm just embarrassed by it - that some other kids her age (and seemingly every last child in Istanbul) gave theirs up months ago. Granted, I feel embarrassed when I'm in that "my parenting is what makes her who she is" state of mind. Sometimes I just know we're getting close to 3 years old and both the pediatrician and dentist say that is the time to be done with it.
We've gone through so many cycles of my pushing to limit it. She doesn't use it anymore, even for naps, at daycare. And now that constitutes much of the work week. At some point when she was around 20 months old, after a long trip, we found ourselves in double-binky territory for sleeping, and I was beside myself with anguish about it. First world problems, indeed. Except that, if she awoke in the middle of the night, and couldn't find both pacifiers, I or M was called in, loudly, to help.
I imagined that by this time, close to 3 years old, she's be over them for naps. For a while, she was falling asleep in her stroller without them. But not for long.
Now the challenges of convincing her to go sit on the potty in the morning, and getting her cooperation to get dressed (generally and issue of mine, but vital when my back is acting up), have gotten greater. They are accompanied by a lot of whining (I'm not saying whose is louder), and me finding myself trying more time-outs for not putting on socks when I've asked. That isn't what I need time-outs for. And in general, I can always use some practice in negotiating and compromise.
So the nuggi is back in our life, no longer removed once she is out of bed (although for a month or two that helped her stay in bed a bit longer and me get that last 5 minutes of sleep I needed to not be a zombie). It stays with her as long as she is making progress on the taking off of the pajama, the diaper, the sitting on the potty, the getting dressed. And in the evening it calls her name, encouraging her to sit still a bit more while I finish brushing her teeth.
I get it, it is bad for her dental something or other. Looking at that last sentence, perhaps I don't get it. It is bad for something. But so is having a morning full of tears and cajoling and general unhappiness.
The pacifier has taken some ground back. For now. And if a second binky tries any campaigning, forget about it. No deal. But one nuggi, I've conceded that ground.
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