Heh, heh.

Sster wrote on March 12, 2008:

Can I please just rip the contents of my house out like a tablecloth after a feast?  I do not have time to clean it and there is no one else to do it.  Most days I can either be a good parent (outings!  attention!  games!  singing!  art!) or have a clean kitchen.

If we could just start over maybe I’d have a chance…

So maybe I didn’t envision quite this kind of a do-over, but I have to admit (don’t tell!) that I am enjoying starting over in terms of organization.  Our old house was sooooo so messy and all over the place.  Part of the problem was that it was weirdly designed–the storage for the things you needed in one room was almost always in another, and usually too high or too deep to get easily.  We ended up with stuff in storage (in places like over the shower–who does that??) that we never used, and stuff lying around that we did use until it got lost under a pile.

THIS apartment will be, IS already, different.  For one thing it’s laid out sensibly, with wider rather than deeper closets.  Even the crawl space designated for storage is easy to get to, and if smartly organized, easy to get things out of (key: pile things on either side so you have a path in the middle).  The kitchen is actually big enough to keep everything you need to cook and clean.

For another, I am determined that it will STAY clean and organized.  I have a pretty sweet gig right now.  I work on my dissertation two days a week and on the weekends and evenings when I can get it, and I stay home with the Snapper the other three weekdays.  When he goes to bed I have the evening to myself.  Starting from scratch, that is more than enough time to keep things tidy.  For the past two weeks they have been, even taking the extra dog care into consideration.

This time around everything goes into a labeled bin or attractive basket.  On the laundry room shelves there are bins for tools, hardware, misc. utility, bath toys, emergency supplies (flashlight, etc.), and cleaning supplies.  In the linen closet (first real linen closet of our eight-year marriage), I have three baskets: hair stuff, bottled stuff (lotion, sunscreen), and medication.  In the bathroom medicine cabinet there is a shelf for me, one for Attic Man, and the top one is reserved for cleaning supplies (no more trying to babyproof lower cabinets.  Putting cleaning stuff higher than he can reach even if he were to scale the counters is easier and safer, in my opinion).  On the inside of the coat closet door (a coat closet by the door!  what a revelation!) are a set of over-the-door hooks I got for a bargain for dog leashes, keys, and slings (we saved my favorite one from the flood :))

So if you had to (or got to) start over again, what would you do differently?  What would your new rules or systems be?  This stuff does NOT come naturally to me so I would love your ideas.

Everything is as it should be

Old normal.

In our little family today, all five of us are doing what we were made to do: I am dissertating, Attic Man is lawyering, the Snapper is at day care playing with other kids (which he loves; we have a tantrum for every leave-taking), and the dogs are sacked out in the living room after having had two good walks this morning. We are all doing so well. I am amazed that we are this OK mere weeks after being suddenly uprooted and losing almost everything we owned.

Then from extended-family land, we have a new niece this morning! She is the first granddaughter on Attic Man’s side, following five grandsons. I’d better set immediately about sending girl clothes. She has three older brothers.

And now, as a testament to the goodness of people, is the incredible (and still-growing) list of things people have done for us in response to the flood. I KNOW that we would not being doing this well were it not for the kindness of lots of people, from long-standing friends and family and strangers alike.

-Everyone who bought something from the registry. Having baking supplies in the cabinet makes it feel like home here, as is being able to take a shower behind a curtain and eat off of real dishes. Our house is coming together so quickly because of the kindness of these friends. We are giving the UPS man a real workout.

-Meg, who bought two of the most important books on the Amazon registry, the Yeats Reader and Modern Irish Drama. Meg is a dramaturgist I met while studying for a semester in Ireland as an undergrad. I carried Modern Irish Drama home with me from that semester, and while I can’t replace that exact copy, it made me cry to receive it.

-The vets at Park Towne Animal Hospital in Cedar Rapids, who conferred at their board meeting and gave us free boarding not only for the extra week the dogs stayed after the flood but the week before when we were just traveling. It was a gift worth several hundred dollars and enabled us to pay for gas to and from Madison, where they stayed for another week and a half, as well as new leashes, collars, crates, and a dog food container, all things lost in the flood. I know that vets do not make a lot of money so this was an especially generous gift.

-Speaking of money, all the family members who sent checks. We keep needing these dumb little things that one seems always just to already have around until one’s entire home gets buried in toxic sludge, like bath mats, baskets, shower curtain rings, etc. It has also helped with our more major refurnishing efforts.

-Our new landlords, who showed me the place on a Thursday, and when I returned with Attic Man on Friday, had the lease and keys on the counter. We moved in the following night. What we now understand about the housing shortage around here and rapidly rising rents (as well as the arrival of FEMA temp housing) makes us wipe our brows in relief. They really helped us dodge a bullet.

-Local friends who gave us their spare mattress and box spring and a dresser. I am not that keen on used mattresses from strangers, as crunchy as I am, and a new one would have broken the bank. It is nice to have something to sleep on. The man of the couple also helped us clean out our stuff and breathed in toxic fumes to do it.

-Our old landlord’s maintenance man, who was sent to the old house when the flood started to put in a back-up sump pump, but who stayed to help Attic Man move stuff to higher ground. When it became clear that the flood waters were going to crest at record levels, this man took the cedar chest that Attic Man’s grandfather made that was full of wedding stuff and other memorabilia, loaded it into his truck, and kept it at his own dry house.

-The Snapper’s teacher, who watched him all day the day we emptied out the upstairs and would not take a check from me for it.

-The cop who pulled me over for not having a license plate on the front (you have to do that in IA, and I was one day past due for putting mine on) and let me go to fix it. I am not proud of using the flood card but in this case it was the actual reason I hadn’t done it. I got it put on that same day.

-My brother and his wife, who let me stay an extra day at their house when the flooding started and offered to house us longer should we have needed it, and who fed, walked, and put up with our dogs for over a week.

-My sister-in-law and husband, who offered the use of their house in Michigan while they traveled elsewhere. We did not end up staying but it bolstered us to get the offer.

-My sister, who asked me what my favorite spices were and sent every single one by mail as well as brown basmati rice, baking powder, and baking soda.

-The amazing Catholic volunteers who, when Attic Man was in Davenport interning away and I just couldn’t step into that house again, cleared out all of our damaged things. It took them five hours. I baked strawberry-banana bread, which seemed like a weak gesture indeed in light of the work they did. I was glad not to have had to pick up muddy items like the Snapper’s crib mobile or that dress I loved or the books I’ve spent a lifetime collecting.

Everyone who sent words of encouragement and support. It helps more than anyone realizes.

The Snapper’s favorite toy. Within two weeks Attic Man had a replacement found on a used toy website sent to the apartment.

Where have you been all this time? Oh, there you are. Awesome.

I’ve had a good couple of months.  After a pretty rough fall in which almost no writing occurred and I began to think of my dissertation as a gaping wound from which I would never recover, and that would actually eventually take over my whole body (yes, I used “which” twice, and yes, I’m being just a tad melodramatic) I began 2008 with a lovely writing streak due in large part to finally securing good childcare.  I have also for the past five weeks been embarking on a get-fit-and-stop-eating-junk quest that has pumped such energy and general evenness into my life that I am wondering why I ever ate anything unhealthy ever and why it took me so long to just get moving.  My body is getting stronger.  I got a paper accepted to my first non-home-institution conference and I won a competitive fellowship for next year.  My son is thriving and my husband is kicking ass at school.  And I didn’t even get PMS this month.  Really.
And here I am, suddenly out of energy, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by conference paper assemblage and dissertation whittling/expansion.  And definitely totally overwhelmed by housework.  Your suggestion is a good one, Molly, and I am already thinking of ways to implement it.  But I’m starting to think that there is something else going on that has nothing to do with having or not having time to clean.

I gave up my therapist at the beginning of the year because I can’t fit it into my schedule (she’s in CR and I work in IC the only days I have child care and she doesn’t have evening hours), and I think it was a mistake.  I’m getting hit again with this thing I can’t name and it sucks.  I would like it to go away.  I have no interest in working through it and figuring out what my childhood has to do with it.  I really just want to write and not have a perfect home but one that has clean dishes to cook and eat in and is occasionally clean.  I have managed to be a good parent–the one constant, and the only thing I feel good about right now.

The blinking cursor.  The impulse to rent a new apartment and burn the old one.  The urge to sue Quicken because for someone already so bad at finances frequent server outages can mean the difference between a bill paid on time and a bill going into collection.  The thought of a whole day of lovely unencumbered study and writing that will amount to nothing but a depressing blog post.  Ugh.

Dear Funk,

You are not welcome.  Go away and let me write and enjoy my life.

Sincerely, but with no love,

sster.

Do Over

Can I please just rip the contents of my house out like a tablecloth after a feast?  I do not have time to clean it and there is no one else to do it.  Most days I can either be a good parent (outings!  attention!  games!  singing!  art!) or have a clean kitchen.

If we could just start over maybe I’d have a chance…

I’m going to bed now.

A Reminder, Just for Me.

Thanks, Paragraphein.

From: What Privileges Do You Have?
-based on an exercise about class and privilege developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University.
(If you participate in this blog game, they ask that you PLEASE acknowledge their copyright.)Directions: Bold the statements that apply to you.

1. Father went to college.
2. Father finished college.
3. Mother went to college.
4. Mother finished college.
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor.
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
9. Were read children’s books by a parent.
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18 assuming that sport counts.
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18 assuming that sport counts.
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively.
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18.
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs.
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs.
16. Went to a private high school.
17. Went to summer camp.
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18.
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels.
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18.
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child.
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house.
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home.(mortgage not paid off)

25. You had your own room as a child.
26. You had a phone in your room before you turned 18.
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course.
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school.
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college.
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16.
31. Went on a cruise with your family.
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family.
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up.
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family.

It’s funny because this list is based on upbringing, but it reminds me of how privileged I am NOW.  For instance, I may not have any direct relatives who are physicians, attorneys, or professors, but I have many close contacts and friends who are.  Mostly I’m thinking about how different my son’s answers will be, and how that scares me a little bit.

how much to wish for

We have this pen that a friend of mine from Women for Peace left when she came over to talk about PR.  It says, “The devil laughs when you pray for prosperity.”

A few minutes ago Attic Man was looking for his gym shorts so he could work out.  I offered that it was probably in the dirty laundry downstairs and he replied, “someday I’d like to have more than one pair of gym shorts.”  “When you’re a lawyer, dear,” I answered.

I’m a person ideally committed to simplicity and the idea that as long as you’re fed, clothed and loved, you have enough.  But then there’s a big, big part of me that is starting to maybe kind of sort of let myself think theoretically about the fact that in two and a half years, barring out-of-the-ordinary tragedies, I will be a professor married to a lawyer.  Even if we have jobs at the bottom of the totem pole in our respective fields, we will be living a far more comfortable life than we are now, or at least will have the opportunity to do so, even with our student loan debt.  And I am starting to think about how nice it would be to have a vacuum cleaner that picked up ALL the dog hair, a full-sized dishwasher, more than two wearable pairs of pants.  A house that we own, so if it’s crappy we can fix it instead of waiting for the landlord to never fix it.

How much is it alright to wish for?  How can I do both, be satisfied and look forward to a more materially stable life?

Two Days

Two days working at the group home.  Two days dissertating.  Two days of homemaking and childcare.

One day called “Family Day” for me to be exhausted and for Attic Man, who has been caring for the Snapper all weekend, to race to school to catch up on work.

I can’t tell whether it’s ‘balanced’ or crazy, this radical, constant role-switching.  The group home is two very long days in a row, but the other days are mixed up–one buried in books and writing with kisses at the door, one in pajamas until midmorning frantically trying to catch up on laundry and dishes, one back to the books, one morning at home followed by an afternoon at work.  There are no transitions.  I put on a hat and set off running.

Two times I am really, really tired: Thursday night, after we’ve all been away from home for 11 hours, and Sunday, after my two long shifts.  Sunday is the bad one–I just can’t be needed any more, but there is a child and two dogs who have missed me, so that isn’t an option.  I feel grateful for my life on dissertation days and to a certain extent on homemaking days, and for moments at the group home.  I do not feel grateful when the exhaustion that has nipped at my heels all week finally catches up with me.  I cry, pick fights, get despondent.

***

We tried something new yesterday that confirms to me that we have now entered the “chopped liver” phase of parenting which I believe is supposed to last until the child turns 35 or even 40.  I have noticed that on daycare days our midday nurse is getting shorter and shorter, and that while morning drop-off goes quite well, pre-nap midday drop off does not.  The Snapper is also taking soy milk well now.  So I thought that although it has been a nice interlude for me and a chance to reconnect, it might no longer be worth it for the boy.  So yesterday I dropped him off at 8 and didn’t return until 5.  His teachers reported that he drank two whole sippy cups full of soy milk, and didn’t cry before or after his nap for the first time since starting daycare.  He was happy to see me but didn’t act like I’d been gone for decades.  I am happy for him but sad for me.  We’re almost certainly entering a time of increased weaning, as we’ve never gone this long in the daytime without nursing (as for pumping, if I’m going to put up with the time loss and inconvenience I might as well nurse him–and no way can I pump enough to equal two sippy cups at this stage).  I don’t think he’s ready to fully wean, thank goodness.  I hope he continues to nurse for a good long time.

At any rate I think this all means that he is nicely attached and emotionally doing quite well.  This makes me pleased and proud as a parent, of course, but also a little sad that he doesn’t need me as much.  I will probably be getting over this soon.  I am already moving in that direction, especially since my productivity increased noticeably yesterday.

***

Snow.

Fishy Dilemma

Little updates: The Snapper is completely back to normal with no need for pain meds and eating normally (like a horse); little house has NO BASEMENT! In the midwest!; I am too sick to exercise, starting antibiotics this afternoon–we’ll start next week, and in the meantime, hide your scales!

On to present business. I am not politically active when it comes to my version of vegetarianism, though I am always happy to explain it to inquirers (who have been nothing but courteous and complimentary, by the way). What it comes down to for me is 1) I’m not pleased with the meat industry’s treatment of animals, however much my girl Temple Grandin has succeeded in improving it; and 2), most importantly, it is an ethical position relative to the world food supply: you can feed more people with grain than you can with meat. If we all ate less meat and were generous with what we didn’t eat fewer people would be hungry. I say it’s an ethical stance because I don’t believe for a second that I am lessening world hunger by not eating any meat but fish. It’s a lifestyle choice that keeps me close to my concerns with hunger and poverty and hopefully encourages other people to do the same.

Which is why I was on www.goveg.com* the other day–my food choices make me periodically curious about what PETA is up to and if there is any new and interesting research or thinking. Whereupon I clicked on “Fishing Hurts” and learned about a 2003 study that indicated fish feel pain, anxiety, and fear as they are being killed. I also read a number of articles on the site explaining that conditions in fisheries and farms are inhumane to fish, and that far from being brainless little nothings they have social structures and emotional relations to one another that are similar to mammals. I did some googling and found mention of another study from the University of Montana. I don’t fully understand the science, but a researcher there maintains that the physiological responses the 2003 study claims indicated fear were nothing more than reflexes of some sort and reasserted the long-held (by me, too) assumption that fish do not suffer in their deaths.  The 2003 study looks reputable but the Montana one is in a journal of a title that makes me suspect it is tied in with the fish industry.  So honestly I don’t know where to go with this one.  Do fish suffer or don’t they (and if they don’t feel pain, are there other issues with the dignity of their lives?)?  Then there’s also the issue of massive water pollution, chemicals, etc. that all make their way into our fish.

Attic Man suggested that if the fish industry bothers me I should also be looking to take dairy off the table, as the issues there are similar, and in that case, we know chickens and cattle don’t like being stuffed into small, airless spaces.  I responded that I feel my body needs dairy, but that fish is really optional (though very, very loved), and that I’ve made my peace with dairy because I am not able to afford free range, organic, etc. (I try to as often as I can, esp. because my body does better with hormone-free milk).  I am all about what people’s bodies seem to be telling them.  But I don’t know if this is a satisfactory position ethically or not.  I don’t know how much the fact that I LOVE fish and dairy plays into things.  I love poultry but gave up that…I even eventually gave up locally hunted venison (yum).

For the record I am not against killing animals as long as we need them (and we mostly don’t) and that the killing is done quickly, compassionately, and as painless as possible.

I’m thinking about giving up fish and seafood for Lent to enter a period of discernment about it.  Any thoughts?

*Yes, this woman is from my alma mater.

Under the Knife, etc.

-The Snapper goes under the mask and under the knife tomorrow as the urologist looks for a missing t*sticle. It’s minor but it’s surgery, and it’s general anesthesia so there’s a undercurrent of worry. The next worst part of it is that he can’t eat or drink anything after midnight or have milk products (including breastmilk–I checked) 2-3 hours after he comes home. That will be at least twelve hours of not nursing during a time when he arguably needs to nurse the most. Attic Man will be on hand for that time as we’ve decided that he will not understand why I am there but refusing to nurse him. I am not looking forward to not being there to see him off and see him for recovery.

Update: Home and recovering well.

-I drove by the little house in our price range and it’s cute. The neighborhood is full of these tiny houses and it looks working class/grad studenty. There is a playground three or four houses away and a big open park. The yard is big, bigger than what we have now, with a grand old tree, and it’s fenced in. It’s about $100 more than we’re paying for rent now, but seeing as we spend $160 on gas commuting to IC right now, we’ll come out slightly ahead. We’re in email contact with the lessee at the moment. We’ll see if it comes to anything. In the meantime I’m finding houses in that range in that general vicinity, which is about 3 miles from the law school, not really walkable but very commutable. We talked about public transit but that will not save the kind of time we need to be saving to make this move. So I am thinking we may be able to do a house. That makes me feel A LOT better. We may still end up in an apt. but maybe not, whereas before I was thinking it was inevitable.

-Thanks for thinking of joining Fitness Sisters, Abebech and Jenny! I’m still working out what I want my indicators to be. I think that we should all have our own goals to track, and y’all can put them in the comments section so we can encourage each other. That way it can be personal to you but you’ll have the support of the other women. Also, I’ve thought about the jeans thing and I’ve gone back and forth. I have those jeans, too, the ones that I wore when I was last at my ideal weight. Ultimately I think we have to leave the jeans out of it, because jean size obsession (or even concern) is awfully close to weight-watching. I want to get away from size and think health and fitness. If you want to have that as a goal, cool, but maybe keep that on your side of the internet and just talk about how many times you went to the gym or took a brisk walk.

Bridesmaid

I went to get fitted for my sister-in-law’s wedding in the loveliest of pearl pink gowns the other night.  It was OK when I told the lady my pants size range, and OK when the larger of the two didn’t fit, OK that the next largest didn’t fit (or so I thought until I saw the back cleavage), OK that the size that did fit was outside my normal comfort zone.  I thought, this is alright because I am happy and healthy except for needing to get out there and exercise.

Then I saw my back and the back of my arms and immediately went straight to, “oh my God!  nobody can see me like this!  I have to lose 20 pounds and tone up my arms before the wedding!”  Because, you know, the wedding is ultimately about me and how I look in a bridesmaid’s dress and not at all about the joining of two people madly in love and the loveliness of my sister-in-law (who is indeed going to be stunning–I’ve seen her and I’ve seen her dress and it’s a winning combination).  Also, 20 pounds?!?  There’s not much of a disease/longevity risk with 20 pounds.  I shouldn’t gain any more, true, and I should gain more muscle.  I’m working on that.  But 20 pounds is not a big deal unless you are convinced you have to look a certain way to be beautiful.

And I am trying to get off that train.  It is very easy for me to lose weight if I am serious about it.  Dieting doesn’t work in the long run, though, and it’s not particularly good for you.  I need to tweak my daily food choices, which are already pretty good minus too much ice cream and french fries.  I need to exercise.  But mark my words: I am NOT going to spend the next three months trying to lose weight.  I am not getting up on that scale!!  I am beautiful and I need to focus on health.  I could tell myself that I’m losing weight for health but it is really for vanity and feeling myself not worthy of western standards of beauty for white women in their thirties.  I am done with that shit.

Honestly, if Weight Watchers really meant what they say about it not being a diet and how it’s about “learning to be healthy,” they would throw out the scales and JUST talk about good food choices and exercise.  People would end up losing weight anyway.  Of course you know how much I hate that weight loss is a business.

How do y’all feel about Queen Latifah’s commercial for Jenny Craig?  I have pretty mixed feelings about it.  On the one hand, I think she’s gorgeous and I love that she’s a role model for all kinds of women who don’t usually see themselves represented positively up on the big screen (how else could she have played “Big, Blond and Beautiful” in Hairspray?).  On the other hand, on the commercial she emphasizes that she’s doing it for her health.  It makes me wonder if she insisted upon that wording or if it’s savvy marketing for people like me.  On yet another hand, she’s already a spokeswoman for the cosmetics industry so she’s into conforming to a certain extent.  At any rate, I hope she does get healthy, whatever that might mean for her, and I hope she keeps advocating for larger women.