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.

A Good Idea ... Not Entirely Thought Through

For Christmas, we gave a LOT of books. I also made bookmarks to go with them. I thought it was a nice idea; there was no way I could make everyone's gifts, but at least this way I could include a small handmade item.

And the bookmarks did turn out quite well, if I say so myself. For my family, I included a fall picture from the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. For Keith's family, it was a beach sunset picture from Costa Rica. Every bookmark had a picture of Eleanor on the reverse side.

I did forget one thing in all my careful planning and detailed work. I didn't take into account how much babies love pictures of babies. My sister Erin called me the day after Christmas to say her son Gavin (15 months) had stolen both her bookmark, and her husband's right out of the book. Not long after that, my book was sitting on the coffee table. Eleanor saw it and her eyes lit up.

"Baby!" she cried.

"No!" I said, but it was too late. The bookmark was already out of the pages, being eagerly grasped in tiny hands, caressed by chubby little fingers.

Next time, maybe I should put the dog's picture on the back?

Is It Really That Hard?

Why is it, every time I place something Very Important in a Very Special Place so I can NOT lose it ... I can never remember where that very special place?

On the other hand, I'm also capable of losing things that I use all the time. Where are you, glasses? I miss you!

Snowed In, Black & Blue

By 5 o'clock the next evening (Tuesday), I'm a wreck. I've spent the entire past day worrying about Gomez. Is it bad? How bad is it? It can't be that bad, right?

I barely see her all day Tuesday. I go to campus for a few hours of technology training, while Erin watches Eleanor. When I get back, we feed the babies, we eat lunch, the babies go down for a nap .... I try looking for Gomez in all the usual spots, but to no avail. She had spent Monday night under our bed. I could hear her moving and licking throughout the night. I didn't sleep well. I tried to stay in position, the way she likes me, with my arm curled just so, perfect for a small cat body to curl into my warmth in the middle of the night. In the morning I woke up tired, stiff, and restless, but she never came.

So by Tuesday afternoon, I'm getting worried. I understand that, if she's hurt, she's going to want to be alone to lick her wounds. But I need to see her, and make sure she's not looking worse than the day before. Plus, if I don't know where to find her or at least what area of the house she's in, how are we going to catch her to even get her to the vet? Keith is already leaving work early so he can get home, we (gently!) stuff her into the carrier and I can get her to the vet by 5 o'clock. We don't have a lot of time to spare, waiting for Gomez to grace us with her presence.

Erin and I are both in the kitchen, talking, and I think I hear Gomez's collar clinking softly in the basement. I look at Erin, and she hears it, too. I go to the basement, closing the door behind me. Again, I call for her and she comes to me. I love that cat. She is looking a lot better, and my heart soars. She's cleaned off all the blood, so the fur on her tail looks normal, but it's still bent at a funny angle. So what if Gomez's tail always has a kink from now on? I'll still love her!

I pet her and scratch behind her ears and tell her how wonderful she is. Then I give her the "good news" that we're taking her to the vet in a few hours to get checked out, so she'll feel better. As the word "vet" crosses my lips, she turns away and runs back under the couch.

How does she even know what that means?!? Our friend who runs the shelter where we first got Gomez comes to the house to give her vaccinations every year, so other getting spayed at 8 weeks or so, she's never been to the vet. But Beckett must have told her it was bad news, because she was off like a shot.

But at least I saw her, she was looking better, and I knew what part of the house she was in. I closed off the basement and went back upstairs. On second thought, I grabbed the cat carrier and took it back downstairs with treats in it. She came out again to sniff the carrier, and I started feeling better about our prospects for that evening.

By 5:30, I'm angrily texting Keith from the waiting room at the vet's. We've been sitting for a half-hour without even being shown into an exam room. Very frustrating when they gave me a hard time about being prompt for our appointment! Finally, we get shown into a room. I explain what happened—by this point, I've adopted my mom's theory that Gomez must have been playing with the stockings from below, because otherwise how could the stocking holder have landed on her tail? Or rather, I explain what we think happened, and that I'm certain her tail is hurt.

"I don't know if it's broken," I say, "but it's definitely cut. I think I saw flesh when she let me get close."

The vet's eyes widen. "Flesh?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Maybe not. Maybe I was wrong about that." This is my first indication that this appointment might not go as well as I'd hoped.

The vet and the assistant take Gomez in the back to cut away some of the fur and take a good look at the tail. The vet is back in short order, with bad news. She says that the tail is seriously lacerated. She's not sure if she will be able to suture it back together, or if she'll have to amputate.

Amputate.

I was completely shocked. I was so worried about whether it was broken or not, I never considered that the cut would be the worst part. Skin heals, right?

She said she would like to wait until the rest of the clients were gone, so she could take time to sedate Gomez (who was in a lot of pain during the exam) and get a closer look. If it looked like she could suture the tail, she would do it that night and I could take Gomez home the next morning (Wednesday). If she would have to amputate (amputate!) the tail, she wouldn't be able to do it until Thursday. She would call me that evening with the results.

I signed the paperwork for the sedation and left in a daze. I had told Keith I'd call him as soon as I knew what was going on, but I couldn't. I was relatively certain that, if I called and talked to him, I would cry. And I really didn't want to be driving home in the snow, bawling.

I walked in the kitchen while he was cooking dinner. Eleanor ran over and gave me a hug. Keith took one look at me and his eyes widened. "Where's the cat?" he immediately said.

It wasn't too much longer before the vet called to say that the cut was too deep, and she would have to amputate. They asked whether we wanted to bring her home on Wednesday morning and bring her back first thing Thursday for the surgery, or have her stay at the vet's until after surgery. I asked them to keep her, because I was too scared of her doing something else while she was home, and trying to catch her again.

The house felt so empty without her all day Wednesday and Thursday. I couldn't stop worrying about her. I kept wondering whether the outcome would have been different if I had brought her to the vet earlier. I asked Keith if I should pose that question to the vet, and he said, "No!"

What would it change, really? I wanted to hear that I did the right thing and it wouldn't have mattered, but what if that's not the answer I got? I'd rather live with not knowing than live with knowing I cost Gomez her tail. Besides, the stocking holder is already in the garage, in the Goodwill pile. This is a situation that I hope to never encounter again, so hearing what I should have done would not be useful knowledge.

The surgery was Thursday morning; the vet said they'd call in the morning and I could probably pick her up in the afternoon. I lasted until 11:40am, picturing all kinds of worst-case scenarios because they hadn't yet called, and finally called them. The receptionist confirmed that Gomez was out of surgery, it all went fine, and I could pick her up at 4 o'clock.

That was wonderful news, and my heart lifted a little. I just had to stare at the clock for 4 hours .... Eleanor and I arrived at the vet's at 3:53pm. After another long wait in reception (which I didn't mind so much, because I was pretty nervous about the "reveal"), we were ushered back into a room to see Gomez. The assistant brought her in, already in the carrier and set it on the table. Once she left, Eleanor and I peered in.

Gomez peered back. I don't know what I was expecting. That I wouldn't recognize her? She looked just like Gomez! From the front, anyway. From the back .... she's much more ... compact. The tail is just a little stub, now. We thought she'd have more tail than that, because the cut was much further down. But the vet explained sometimes there's issues with blood flow if you amputate too close to the injured area, so she wanted to be safe and cut the tail shorter to prevent any future problems.

I'm now sitting on the couch, typing. Gomez is curled up underneath the couch, refusing to come out. I think she's embarrassed by her restraint color and bandaged stump. But mostly by the collar. It's not very dignified. We did try taking it off for 30 seconds, and she immediately started attacking the stump. So, undignified though it is, it will stay on.

Now that I've finally poured out the whole entire saga (I know, this was way too long, but it was very cathartic for me. Thanks!), I'm going to bed. I will curl myself in the perfect position, on my side with my arm extended. Just right for holding a healing cat with a tail stump, should she decide to join me. I love that cat.

Photo courtesy of Keith, as nearly all photos are. The good ones, anyway.

Snowed In and Bluer

So you remember how I was feeling all sorry for myself on Monday morning, because of the weather and all? Little did I know how much worse it was going to get.

First, I ruined the oatmeal. How can you ruin oatmeal, right? Well, a few months ago I switched from instant packets to steelcut oats (are you proud of me, Gege?) to make it a bit healthier. With the steelcut oats, you boil water on the stove and then add the oats and let them simmer about 20 minutes. (FYI, Eleanor LOVES them!) I've done this about a million times. But for some reason, Monday morning I measured and poured in the water, and then measured and immediately poured in the oats, into the cold water.

I watched the oats falling into the pan and thought, "Why in the world did I do that? I've never done that before. Is this a sign that today isn't going to go well?" I tried to convince myself it wouldn't make that much of a difference, but it really did. The resulting muck was neither tasty nor texturally pleasing.

Fast forward to lunch. (The rest of the morning was fine.) I am feeding Eleanor lunch in the dining room, when we suddenly hear a big crash in the living room. Gomez goes streaking past us, on her way to the basement. I see a Christmas stocking on the floor, and realize that she managed to knock the heavy metal stocking holder off the mantel. I put everything back and go on with lunch. For the next 10 minutes or so, I occasionally notice that Gomez is completely spazzing out. Not that she's anywhere near us. First she's in the basement, then in the attic, then back to the basement, running around like a cat possessed. This is not a good sign, but not a terrible sign. She did this before when she was playing with yarn and got it wrapped around her leg and it freaked her out.

Eleanor and I do a brief tour of the house, but can't find the cat. Now I'm getting worried. What did she do?!? I take Eleanor up to her room for her nap. Thankfully, she's asleep in 10 minutes flat. I quietly close the door and then race around the house, trying to locate the cat and (hopefully) get the offending piece of yarn off her leg so we can snuggle.

I can't find Gomez anywhere. But I do find blood on the stairs down to the basement, and on the doorframe up to the attic. This, plus her conspicuous absence, is definitely not good. My heart and mind are racing. What could she have done?!?

I look under our bed, which is where she usually goes to hide when upset. She's definitely not there. At first, I can't find either Gomez or Beckett, and I stop breathing. Did both the pets escape? But all the doors are closed! It's a weird, animal-version of the locked room mystery. But the mystery is solved when I realize that Beckett actually managed to get himself all the way under the covers for once, and is sleeping in a tight, warm little ball on the bed. I yank off the covers and say, "Beckett! Have you seen your sister? I think something happened, and I'm worried. Do you know where she is?"

He doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's not at all concerned. I decide to look on/under the guest bed. As I'm looking under the guest bed, Gomez comes running down the hall to me. I love that cat. I couldn't find her, but she made sure to come to me and tell me that she was okay.

Except, of course, she wasn't. She purred and headbutted me, but she was still agitated. I saw blood on one dainty paw, and her tail was matted about 3/4s of the way down. She patted me down and climbed all over me. I pet her and talked to her, hoping that she would settle in on my lap long enough for me to assess the damage. But instead something spooked her and she ran off again.

I decide to settle in on the living room couch and call for her. Clearly, I can't find her if she doesn't want to be found. And she usually does find me when I'm sitting there and curl up on my lap (part of the reason why I don't always post as many blog entries as I mean to).

So that's what I do, and she does come to me. I love that cat. She had to be in pain, but she took the time to reassure me that she had everything under control. She patted me down and sat in my lap for awhile. This time, it was clearly her tail that was the problem. She was running around just fine, so I decided the blood on her paw probably came from her tail. I can see that one spot on her tail that is completely matted, and there is a definite kink. Once I see it, it's obvious. It hurts to watch her try to move the tail, and the end just .... doesn't. The lack of cohesive tail movement freaks her out again, and she's off.

So: What do I do? My plan for the day, if you'll recall, was to hunker down in my pajamas and not set foot outside. Everything is covered in snow and I'm not even sure if I can get the car out of the drive, much less what the state of the roads would be. I don't want to take Eleanor out in this weather unless I absolutely have to.

Do I absolutely have to? I mean, Gomez seems to think that she has everything under control. She's reassured me several times. I've conferred with Mom and Keith and Mary Lou. Everyone agrees that since she doesn't have a concussion, there's probably not much that can be done. If the tail is broken, the vet will take an x-ray and splint it, but it's not a treatment that warrants taking the baby out in this weather.

On Keith's good advice, I do call the vet and see what time their latest appointment is that day. It's 4:40—still too early for Keith to be home from work. I am not at all confident of my ability to get a wounded, scared cat into the hated carrier all by myself, or with Eleanor's help, rather. So that's what really makes up my mind not to take her in that day. I make an appointment for 5:00pm the next day.

(to be continued)

Snowed In and Blue

I was going to call it the "Post-Holidays" blues, but that's not quite right. First, I'm not a big fan of New Year's, but I'll blog more about that later. I know that I am a bit sad about Christmas being over, because Eleanor enjoyed it so much, and I enjoyed buying presents for her.

But Christmas has been over for awhile, and we've moved on. I'm more depressed because Keith went back to work today (hence why I'm already up and typing before 7.30am), after being off since Christmas Eve. It was so easy to get used to spending the entire day together. Keith, Eleanor, and I would all have breakfast and play together. Maybe one of us would run off to workout or run or accomplish some small task on the to-do list. If Eleanor was driving me crazy, I could just say "Here!" and take a short break to replenish my patience supply. Once she went down for her nap, we would play a quick game of Bananagrams before moving onto laundry, cleaning, or whatever else needed to be done that day. It was a life that was very easy to get used to.

And now it's gone. No more mid-morning workouts. No more naptime Bananagrams. No more handing off the baby when I'm out of patience.

In this situation, I would typically run some errands to get out of the house and out of the rut. Eleanor and I might go to the bookstore, to pick up some 2010 calendars. Or swing by the grocery store for some necessities. But it snowed all weekend. We went out yesterday afternoon and the roads were in worse shape on our way back home than they were when we first left. I don't really relish the idea of taking Eleanor out on snowy roads unless I really have to, and I don't.

So here I am. Staring at the Christmas tree, feeling sorry for myself. But I'll do my best to enjoy it. Since I have no intention of setting foot outside the house, I dressed in warm, comfortable old clothes. I don't have to worry about my hair. (We won't even pretend like I bother with makeup.) I can't even imagine what I'm going to do to entertain Eleanor all day, but I guess I've done it before and I will do it again!

And in-between games of Pat-a-Cake or knocking down towers, I'll gaze wistfully into space and sigh, wallowing in my self-pity, thinking of all the people who have an easier life than me. That way both of us will be entertained. And then I'll go back to reading board books or playing with puzzles.

New Year's Resolutions?

Should I make resolutions for next year?

When I first started this blog, I was all about it. I broke them down into different categories and reported back periodically on my progress. Not because I thought anyone was really that concerned, but to keep myself honest.

And then, Eleanor was born. All that went out the window. My goal for 2008 was pretty much to just still be alive for 2009. Success!

In 2009, things improved a lot. Eleanor is becoming more independent all the time, allowing me to still bits of time here and there to get things done. I switched to teaching part-time (or professoring, if you prefer), which offers a good schedule and that I enjoy.

Most importantly, in 2009 I've worked a LOT on calming down, going with the flow, not being so hung up on my to-do lists. I need to learn to accept that days don't always go as planned, and it's okay if sometimes my to-do list is barely touched, much less finished. It doesn't make me incompetent or lazy or a bad person. It's life.

This is a big lesson for me to learn, but I'm getting there. So, in the spirit of that lesson, I think I'm going to forgo the New Year's Resolutions. I definitely have some ideas in mind: about fitness, about writing, about leisure. But I am going to resist the urge to write them down and then see them as set in stone (absolutely must happen!) in my mind.

Maybe, at the end of 2010, I'll let you know, generally, how I did on achieving my goals. And you'll just have to believe me!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Merry Christmas!

In my opinion, there's two types of people. Either you look forward to Christmas Day, or you live for Christmas Eve.

I love Christmas Eve. I love the anticipation. You could be getting anything you've ever wanted—or the best present you've never even thought of. But once you have it, you'll know it's perfect. It could still be a white Christmas, no matter what the meteorologists say. Everyone could wake up happy and at peace with the world and it could be the best Christmas ever. The Christmas Eve gathering is a big party, filled with excitement and expectations and giddiness. Anything could happen!

Compared to the anticipation, the reality can never live up to that. Christmas is just a day. One filled with presents and much loved family, it's true. And one (almost entirely, I did try, but I don't want to forget to bring anything to my parents!) devoid of to-do lists. But it is a day. You will never get EVERYTHING your heart ever desired, or those perfect gifts you never knew you wanted, but will forever cherish. Nor should you get everything, because then what? You eat a lot of good food, and then feel a bit ill from too much indulging. You still need to clean up after the presents have all been unwrapped, and that laundry isn't going to wash itself.

So now that I'm writing this, it sounds really depressing. But that wasn't my point. My point is that I entire the Christmas season as a whole much better than just Christmas Day. Which I think is a good thing, because it means I get to savor a month of preparations and decorations and gift wrapping and Christmas movies, instead of enjoying just one hour of opening gifts on Christmas morning.

I hope that it can be considered a key to how I approach life. I would like to think that I have that kind of attitude, anyway. It's not the destination that matters, but the journey. Appreciating the preparation, whether it be education or pregnancy or saving up the money to buy a house. The journey has endless possibilities to be explored, while there is just one singular destination. Where's the fun in that?

Let's all enjoy the journey. And Merry Christmas!

Not Santa!!

As suspected, Eleanor was not a fan of Santa. She fell asleep in the car on the way there, and was still half asleep when we got there. The American Legion was PACKED with kids and parents and grandparents. It was noisy and crowded, and she just wasn't sure how she felt about it all.

She made her feelings about Santa clear, however. We went up to put Eleanor on Santa's lap and she flipped out. She gave a few short warning screams when we were milling close by, but as soon as I made a move towards the big man in red and he waved his bell at her, the scream became much louder, longer and more urgent. Get me away from him!!!!

So, no pictures with Santa this year. But we did collect a present, which she opened in the safety and calm of Grandma and Grandpa's house. It was not one, but two! baby dolls. She carried them around the rest of the day, clunking their heads together, dropping them, carrying them upside down .... doing everything a caring mother does. I suspect that they are just the beginning of a much bigger collection.

Hopefully she's starting to associate Santa with presents. And next year she will be happy to sit on his lap, tell him everything she wants, and hold out her hands for her gift. For this year, I can't wait until she opens the doll stroller we got her and she can take those babies for a ride! In the meantime, maybe we can get a picture of her holding a Santa ornament?

Visit with Santa

I can't believe this was Eleanor on Santa's lap last year. She looks so tiny!

We are going to visit with Santa again this weekend. I hope that she enjoys it. We've been reading "The Night Before Christmas" and she recognizes Santa now. She even chants (an Eleanor version) of "Ho, ho, ho!" when asked what Santa says. Which means it sounds more like "Ooo, ohoooo, oooo," and she repeats it about eight times, instead of three.

She is much more involved in everything Christmas this year. We have three old Advent calendars that we display on the dining room windowsill. One is a "repurposed" calendar of Santa in nature—a snowy woods scene, where he is followed by a moose, squirrel, wolf, and other animals of the forest. When you open the doors, however, my Mom has replaced the original pictures with pictures from throughout my childhood, and made up her own rhymes about the family (the cats play a particularly prominent role). She gave these calendars to me and my sisters one year, and I always enjoy looking at it.

The other two aren't as personal, but still memorable. One is a very modern style calendar, featuring Santa and the elves at a Christmas feast, that Keith and I bought the last time we were in England. The other is a glittery, snowy scene of old half-timbered buildings that my parents brought back from their trip to Germany.

Anyway, point being: every morning for breakfast, Eleanor looks at all three of the Advent calendars and enjoys opening all of the doors. It's amazing how much she has changed since last year. She has adopted a stuffed snowman; she carries him around, puts him on a chair at the table, covers him with a blanket to go to sleep, and hugs him profusely. I wish I got half as many hugs and kisses as the snowman!

It is so much fun to have a child at Christmastime. It makes me feel like a kid again. The season is so much more magical.... But. We met Erin and Gavin at the mall today. Most of the time, Eleanor was excited to look at the people and the stores and the decorations. After getting pretzels at "an autonomous unit for mid-mall snacking," we stopped at a playground. Gavin immediately loved it, and started playing. But Eleanor was a lot more fearful of the unknown equipment and the oversized turtle. She needed Mama to play with her on everything once before she was okay, and even then she still had moments of panic where she looked for me or Erin.

And it made me wonder about how her visit with Santa will go this year. She is very friendly and outgoing, but in large groups it can take a long time for her to warm up. I'm actually guessing that it's not going to go well. I don't think we'll have another picture like the one above. If she stays on his lap long enough to get a picture at all, I think it will be one of a toddler in abject misery.

Maybe she'll prove me wrong. And I know that, by next year, she will probably be throwing herself at Santa, reciting her Christmas wishlist before she is even on his lap. We'll see what happens this year, though. The fact that she is so much more aware and involved, but not yet talking or understanding everything we say can be a mixed bag.

Free at last .... to worry about next semester

Well, this afternoon is the final exam for this semester. Not too many students have availed themselves of the opportunity to turn in the essay early via email, so I'm expecting to see quite a few in person this afternoon.

Ever since our trip to Costa Rica, I have been fantasizing about my Christmas break. A whole month off! Classes done by Dec. 7! I imagined myself taking the time to relax and enjoy the season.

I know this will surprise no one who knows me, but I haven't been as relaxed as I'd hoped—so far, anyway. There's plenty of holiday-related errands and chores to do. But mostly I am getting worried about being prepared for next semester. I've felt like this semester, I was always working so hard to stay one step ahead of the students because I got hired at the last minute. I promised myself I wouldn't ever let that happen again, and that next semester I would be better prepared.

And yet .... so far, I haven't found much time to get ready for next semester. I'm teaching two new classes (new to me, anyway), so that means entirely new syllabi and texts and quizzes and exams. All of which is in a very early state of preparation. Suddenly, this vast break is starting to look a lot shorter and more crowded.

But, I need to keep in mind that the worst-case scenario is that I'm staying up late a few days before the semester starts to finish my syllabi and get them to the copy center for the first day of class. Just like I was this semester. But even if that happens, I will still be better prepared than I was last semester. Because now I will have the experience of teaching and creating lesson plans and the reassurance that I do know more about this whole process than I gave myself credit for a few short months ago. So, even in the worst-case scenario, I'm still better-prepared than I was for this semester. And that's a relief to know.

Angie's List

I don't think I blogged about this before, but it's been coming up in conversation lately so I thought it was worth mentioned. We have been members of Angie's List since we moved to Cleveland 3.5 years ago, and have found it invaluable.

The theory behind it is that the list gives consumers an opportunity to talk about horrible and wonderful contractors, and also gives other consumers a better sense of whether they should hire a contractor or not.

When we moved to the East side of Cleveland, we didn't know anyone on our side of town and couldn't get any personal recommendations for plumbers, carpenters, etc. So we signed up for Angie's List to see what contractors other Angie's List members either recommended or suggested we avoid.

We have used Angie's List to find our plumber, who is great, and the roofers from last year (pretty good), and some others. We have never been displeased with a highly recommended contractor on Angie's List. Conversely, we did NOT find our window contractor on Angie's List because he was recommended by a local restoration society. And we had to take him to small claims court to get him to finish the job.

I was just reminded of this because I was talking to a friend who got screwed over by a moving company. I told her that, for future reference, Angie's List might be helpful. And that made me think that I should mention it to all of you! So if you're looking for contractors and don't know where to begin, I highly recommend Angie's List!

A Winter Treasure Hunt

I don't always like the cold weather. I resent bundling up every time I go out the door ... or even get out of bed. During the cold months, it is rare that my toes are ever bare, because my feet turn into icicles (just ask Keith). I have a slew of scarves and have been known to wear that one particularly thick, chunky sweater for an entire week if the temperature stays below 20 or so.

But there is one part of winter apparel that I enjoy. And that's getting out all of my winter coats, and checking the various pockets. I always keep lip gloss in my pockets throughout the winter, because my lips are as dry as my feet are chilly. So I always like to be prepared. And then, when warmer winds blow and I gladly put away my winter jackets, I forget all about them.

Until this time of year comes around again. In the past week, I've found a tube of Vaseline lipcare, shiny Neutrogena lip gloss, and even a dark-hued Burt's Bees lip gloss (a big splurge for me). Typically, I don't use or carry many lipsticks, but rely on the cheap and tasty Bonne Bell Lipsmackers to get me through the winter. I think I've found one or two of those, too .... it's sort of like an early Christmas present, from Winter 2008 me!

Free at Last!

Class and tutoring are over for the semester!! I have finals next Wednesday, but that's it. I feel a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders!

My first semester teaching has been a real challenge. I always felt a step behind, having only been hired a week before classes started. I would sit down on Sunday and plan the coming week's classes, then do it all again the next week. The only time I was much further ahead than that was when I had to get everything ready for the sub during the Costa Rica trip; and that meant a night up until about 4 am to get it all together.

I also spent a lot of time wondering whether I was doing the right thing or not, in certain classroom situations, with grades, with assignments. Are they really learning what I'm teaching? Is this helping anyone?

But at the end of the day, I think it went pretty well. Some failed, but some passed. Some seemed to really improve their writing. I made plenty of mistakes, but I hope that I learned from them, and next semester will be smoother.

Until then, I'll be glad to take a break from grading and teaching. I still need to plan for next semester, but at least I have a few weeks this time, instead of just one!

And extra exercise!

Since passing out from dehydration in Costa Rica, I've renewed my vow to drink "enough" water. I feel like the numbers are always being debated, but generally I do aim for 64 ounces a day. I think this may be a bit of overkill, considering how much tea I also drink, but better safe than sorry.

The week of Thanksgiving, I didn't do a very good job of it. It's only been in this past week that I've met my goal or come close most days. So it's only recently that I've been peeing about 20 times a day.

When not well-hydrated, I always forget about this "side effect" of proper hydration. But it's encouraging to think that I'm not only better hydrated, but also burning more calories with my frequent trips to the bathroom! That's serious multi-tasking. Now if I just get a pair of those ridiculous Shape Up Walking Shoes, I'll be set.

Real Love

You know how I know Keith still loves me, even after all these years together?

He, like most sane people, is driven crazy after a few minutes of listening to sappy, repetitive Christmas music. I, on the other hand, can't get enough of it and usually listen to it nonstop from Thanksgiving evening until New Year's.

And yet, knowing full well what he was in for, he voluntarily programmed the living room tuner to the 24/7 Christmas music light rock station. The tuner that is hooked up to 4 SPEAKERS.

That's love. Selfless (self-flagellating?) love. Thanks, Keith. You can talk to me about Fantasy Football statistics all day on Sunday, and I will do my best to follow.