Under the Weather

I know I've been sick a lot lately when Eleanor runs to the tissue box, takes out one tissue and holds it near her face. She then puts her lips together and makes a raspberry that sounds a lot like me, blowing my nose.

At least neither Eleanor nor Keith have caught my cold yet (fingers crossed). I hope everyone else is doing well and staying warm!

Nobody Home

I think it's particularly true on campuses that there's a lot of no man's land: random seating areas or desks for any student or faculty member that might be looking for a place to get some work done.

In particular, there's one desk that I often pass at work. Instead of being a clearly unclaimed, open-for-business study carel, it looks like it could be someone's desk. It is a good-sized desk, with drawers. Pamphlets about tutoring and internships are littered across the desk's surface. And on one corner of the desk is a phone.

This is the part that makes me wonder. It's a VOIP phone with a red light on the handset that lights up when there's unheard voicemail in this particular extension's mailbox. And, for the past several weeks, that red light has been lit every time I walk by.

I can't help but think about the unheard voicemail. Who was calling? What did he want? Does she expect an answer in a timely manner? Is there one message, or several? Is some lazy professor giving out this extension as a way to get out of contact with students?

Why is the idea of unheard voicemail so troubling to me? I think it's something akin to the idea of a tree falling in a forest. If you completed your task (the phone call), but no one is there to hear it, isn't it like you haven't accomplished anything?

Onto Number 2?

As soon as Eleanor turned one, we started getting the question: When are you going to work on #2?

Disregarding the complete invasion of privacy, the question is an interesting one. How close in age do you want your children? As close as possible, to be (hopefully) constant playmates and friends? A few years apart, so you never have more than one in diapers at a time? More than 5 years apart, so the first is off at school and you can still have quality alone time with the second? And there's so many other factors to consider, including your age, whether you're planning to have more than two, if you would ever like to have spare time/money/energy again ....

I'm not going to lie to you: I found Eleanor's first 6 months to be really tough. Partly because we were having such a hard time with breastfeeding, and partly because my personality does not go well with words like "play it by ear," and "just wait and see," and "relax." It was a very stressful time for me.

In contrast, Eleanor at a year-and-a-half is a completely different experience. She is a wonderful, unique person with her own wishes that she asserts regularly, at length, with volume. She is doing new things all the time, and I'm really getting to enjoy her company.

Plus, many of my friends are onto Round 2. Most of their first children are older than Eleanor, but not always by much. I envy them the second pregnancy; I imagine that they feel calm and confident the entire time, since they know exactly what they're getting into.

You would think that this would make me think about getting pregnant again. And yet, the opposite is true. Yes, I want to have at least another child. But I find myself saying, more often than not, Maybe we should wait a little bit longer. At first I definitely wanted to wait until Eleanor turns two. But now I'm wondering if maybe we should wait until she's 2 1/2, so she's definitely out of diapers by the time the second one arrives. Or if she's 3, she'll understand so much more and be such a help .....

I am reluctant to go back to those early days of sleep deprivation and worry and stress (although I would hope the worry and stress, at least, would be at least slightly eased the second time around). Every time I try to think back to that time, my gut reaction is "I'm not ready!!" I think I'm more worried about it now, having been through it once, than I was pre-parenthood.

On the other hand, I am also reluctant to give up this time with Eleanor. I'm not eager for a fourth, unknown person to intrude on our cozy family circle of three. (Plus pets, of course!) Even though we all know we would love Littler L as soon as he/she arrived, the abstract concept of another child really just makes me yearn to spend time with the child I have. I want to appreciate her, and show her how she is the sole center of my universe. For now.

Because I'm sure at some point, the scales will tip. Instead of my first reaction being, "I'm not ready!" it will be a sense of openness and hope at the possibility. Just like it happened the first time around. A gradual change from "I'm not ready to be a Mom!!!" to "Well, maybe ...."

Settling Back In as Professor

We're a few weeks into the semester, now, and I'm settling in much more readily this time.

Have I ever mentioned how much I HATE the first day of a new job? It's not the actual work that's the problem; no one gets anything done on the first day. It's all of the other bits that you don't know about—the fabric that makes up the background of your days at work. Where's the coffee maker? Where's the bathroom? Which toilet never flushes, and needs the handle jiggled? Who do you avoid? Who is fighting with whom? Is it de rigueur to outfit yourself bounteously from the office supply cabinet, or should I only take one pen and a pad of paper?

I hate not knowing all that stuff. All the little stuff that adds up to a lot of questions and feeling stupid. Everything that isn't technically part of your job, but creates your total job environment.

Every day last semester still felt a little like the first day of a new job.

There's so many different requirements for different times of the semester. There's the literal first day of class. Then there's the first time you have to make copies. The first time you ask for a room change. The first time you are required to post progress reports online. So many tasks that are spread throughout the semester, in drips and drabs, so you know that another unknown is always just around the corner. It makes me twitchy.

Or, I should say, made me twitchy. This semester will be different! Don't get me wrong—there's still plenty of unknowns. I'm teaching two classes I've never taught before. Plus the new students always make it interesting, I'm sure, no matter how long you've been teaching. I am using Blackboard for the first time. I still don't know who all is fighting with whom, or much at all about campus politics.

But I do know how to make copies. And submit grades online. And that I have survived one semester intact, so surely I can make it through another one. Right?

A Crayon Badge of Honor

Relating to my last post about wearing Eleanor's hair bands: Don't you think we, as parents, should get some slack in our personal appearance? Maybe there's some kind of pin or ring that we all have so that, when we're out in the "real world," our messy hair, mismatched socks, and frumpy, lumpy sweaters all fall into context.

Of course, this wouldn't really help. There is only one standard for personal appearance, and it's set by Hollywood. So I don't come anywhere near it, even on my best days. It's not a sliding scale, that gives you slack for the fact that you only got 2 hours of sleep last night, because of a crying baby. It does not grade on a curve, based on the fact that all 3 of your children simultaneously had different sports activities/clubs at 3 different locations for the past week.

The standard, unfortunately, is set. There is no changing it, or getting a free pass. The only question is: what is my response? Do I keep striving to get as close to perfection as I can? Or do I pack it, and consider an outfit that is 1) washed, 2) not jeans, and 3) matching to be good enough? In case you can't tell, I'm leaning towards the latter option.

Very Professional

As I was driving across town this morning, I turned my head slightly, and my hair fell in my face. That's when I realized that I didn't bring anything with me to put my hair back, if needed.

How could I let this happen? I thought. I'm a Mother!

Then I realized that I probably do have several of Eleanor's hairbands stashes in various diaper bag pockets. She refuses to ever wear them, but I like to keep them handy in case she EVER changes her mind. In a pinch, I could wear one of those. In particular, she has a few fuzzy pink and blue ones shot through with silvery bits that are a good size for my hair. I know because I ended up wearing one around the house the other day.

And that's when I realized that it's inevitable. One day I WILL leave the house wearing one of Eleanor's hairbands. One that is totally inappropriate for a moderately professional, occasionally fashionable woman in her thirties to wear. And it will be the day that I'm getting observed in the classroom, or I run into an old high school classmate.

Stumpy Is Recovering Nicely

I posted two very traumatized entries about Gomez's unfortunate accident ... and then never mentioned it again.

So I did think I should take a moment to say that she is healing nicely. Don't let the serene expression fool you—she hates the plastic cone. But the vet gave us dire warnings about how we need to watch her carefully without the cone because she could rip out the stitches and cause major damage in a minute flat. I take off the cone when I know we can spend some time together and wow, does she do a lot of grooming! I never knew until now. I used to call Becket the teenager of the family because he sleeps in until noon and sighs a lot. But I might be changing my mind, based on grooming habits.

You have to look closely in the second picture to see what's left of her tail, otherwise you might miss it. Oddly, the worst part is the fact that it's not furry. Thankfully the fur is starting to grow back in so it's looking better every day. She gets the stitches out this coming Friday. I am so ready to put this whole incident behind us! (Sorry, that seems like a bad pun. Cut this traumatic episode short?)

It does make me concerned about what happens when, for the first time, Eleanor does herself some serious damage. I know it's kids and life and it's bound to happen. Have I mentioned that Eleanor now likes to bungee jump? She gets in her Johnny Jump Up, then climbs on her little plastic chair and jumps off. That's my girl! So I do foresee trips to the emergency room in our future. But if I couldn't sleep or concentrate for a week when my cat got hurt .... what am I going to be like for my kid?!? Yikes.