On those last three miles...

             I enrolled in a doctoral program in the summer of 2006.  I have always been overly achievement motivated, and I was in a bit of a career rut in the sense that I felt like I was out of ideas when it came to helping certain students.  But most importantly, after 18 months of infertility I was ready for a new goal.  I was tired of living by cycles.  I thought a new goal would refocus me.  Four days before my first class began I found out I was pregnant with Avery.  I stayed in regardless of the then irrelevant real goal.  In the past year, as I have struggled to complete comps I wondered if I made the right decision.  I felt like I had no real reason not to quit except for the need to save face. 

            A PhD program is broken into three stages.  The first is course work.  You take 75 plus hours of graduate level courses.  For me this meant spending 1-2 nights away from home to sit and discuss scholarly articles.  Sometimes this felt undoable, but looking back this was one of the easier parts.  The discussions and chances to write were invigorating.  The readings caused ongoing paradigm shifts.  If I allow myself to be totally honest, the socialization and snacks made for a nice break from the challenges of home life at times.  Most importantly everything had a deadline imposed by someone else with clear instructions.  The summer I committed to going part time at Oakland to knock out this course work I found out I was pregnant with Tessa. 

            The next step was comps.  About two and a half years ago I got five questions that I was supposed to answer through lengthy writing after reading numerous texts.  This is supposed to take about six months.  I could make many excuses for taking as long as I did, but it all came down to simply not putting any effort into the task.  I would dabble here and there, but ultimately I put anything and everything before this tedious task.  Self-motivation is the hardest of all motivations.  Finally I told myself I was calling my own bluff this summer.  I gave myself until the first week of September to finish because, really, when it comes to goals you have to eventually say, “If not now – when?”  The past months I have been locking myself up Friday nights, leaving the family on Sundays and not turning on the TV after bedtime.  Last weekend I wondered if I could make it.  I kept thinking of marathon runners.  I wanted to know how you push yourself to run the last three miles when the first 23.2 sucked the life out of you.  I reminded myself of my personal conversation I often had with myself that guided me since I picked up books my first semester as the song about being in over your head came on the radio… like a warning.  I was pregnant and working full time at the time.  I told myself I may be in over my head, but I would do this the same way the old cliché tells you to eat an elephant – one bite at a time. 

            Now I still have a new marathon to run – the dissertation (assuming I pass my oral defense of comps on the 20^th *crosses fingers) – and I am pregnant and working full time AGAIN J , but I have realized that I can do the things I decide to do.  Comps were never going to be any harder or take any longer than they were going to be/take.  The question became whether I was willing to do the time and the work.  I am glad now that I was.  I look forward to an even greater elation when I walk across the stage with my hood NEXT winter.  As a celebration, I wanted to share my final paragraph of one of my comps questions:

Final Thoughts

            As I type the last lines of this last comp on a perfectly temperate Sunday morning to the sounds of giggles and swings seeping up from the porch, I ask myself if missing so much has been worth it.  Were the lost tuck-ins worth it?  Were the moments when I told the girls that I could not play dolls this evening worth it?  Were the days when my patience with them had been worn thin by over commitments they did not ask for worth it?  And then I realize that if I can help make literacy education in Columbia a little better for all kids, I make it a little better for my kids as well.  Isn’t that an important goal?  I know I am not sure of much, but I do trust that I have thought about some things in ways others in the racing train of education have not given themselves times to think about.  Just last week, the principal at my daughter’s elementary school explained that they don’t see the value in giving the STAR early literacy test to kindergartners because it won’t teach them anything they can’t learn from sitting down next to students and reading with them.  This reminded me that there are voices of reason, or perhaps even more importantly, ears of reason in this age of accountability and standardization.  Someone said the right thing to the right person to allow Ridgeway to be an autonomous school.  On this brisk fall day, the sound of children playing reminds me that all of this thinking has been worth it and will continue to be as I seek more answers and more questions.  

On Parenting and Tough Decisions

            When I was in 7^th grade my parents sat us down for a family meeting.  By this point I realized family meetings usually meant bad news.  They proceeded to say, somewhat excitedly, “We are moving home.  We are moving to St. Louis.”  St. Louis isn’t home, I thought, Bartlett is…  I had amassed some amazing friends and was living the high life as I had slowly merged into the popular crowd.  I spent the next days and even year selfishly pouting about how this decision affected me.  Never did I consider the agony that surely went into that decision.  How many tears did they shed or pros and cons did they weigh before they felt ready to sit us down and pass on that news?

            Ultimately the decision worked for us.  I would have never gone to MU, met Sephus, had my girls, worked at Oakland, (insert any other event that occurred since then) had the move not happened.  Would I still have flourished in Chicago... probably…  but this is my life and I like it. 

            Perhaps all of that was somewhere in the back of my mind when I got the call from Ridgeway Elementary today that Avery had officially been accepted through the lottery system.  We knew we were first on the waiting list, but the secretary told us it would be very unlikely that we would make it in anytime in the near future.  We were okay with this.  Though there are things we love about Ridgeway: multi-age  classrooms, a close-knit community, a history of stellar kids that have gone through the program, promise of continuity for all three girls if we moved, there were also things we loved about Parkade.  Something about it felt right.  I liked the diversity, the location, and the amazing teachers and principal we met there.  What would have been a pretty easy decision for many, was excruciating for me.  After I got the call, I burst into tears and called Sephus, my mom, and my dad.  The tears lasted almost an hour.  Much of this was from the stress of changing back to school nights, having the wrong supplies and the knowledge that Avery would find this last minute change unsettling, but much of it was about something much bigger. 

            In addition to calling into question many of my personal beliefs about social inequity and public schooling, this decision became the first tangible moment in my life when I had to make a decision for Avery.  Yes, I know I have made a million decisions from what diapers to use to whether to work or not,  But this one felt different.  It was so concrete.  Two options… two sets of consequences…  two lives…  I will never know how, but Avery’s live will inevitably be different because of this decision to go to Ridgeway.  Her friends will change; the books that are put in her hands by chance will change, the interests she have will change.  Suddenly I am so moved and overwhelmed by the power we have as parents over another human’s life.  Yes, parenting is an incredible responsibility in the form of caring for the physical well being of a child, but the mental well being is infinitely more impacting.  I don’t think there was a wrong choice, but our lives will change because of it. 

On Gender, Girl’s Weekend and Trying to Pee Standing Up

My proof that Sephus is a well-balanced man! 

When I was a little girl the absolute coolest human being in the whole wide world was my big brother Jason.  He was 22 months older than me, and I was star struck by him.  I wanted his full attention at all times, and I wanted to be him more than anything.  This manifested itself into failed stunts such as trying to pee into a training toilet while standing up.  If you have never attempted this as a female, let me assure you that it makes quite a mess and can upset a young mom trying to care for two toddlers.  I can clearly remember looking up at Jason standing as king of the playground on top of a slide at Bartlett Park - chest glistening high above.  I immediately ripped my shirt off too because I was hot and wanted to be king of the slide alongside him.  My Grandma Rubin quickly admonished me for such a tasteless act, and I sauntered off pouting and confused by her statement, “little girls can’t do that.”  This was one of the first times I came face to face with my gender and the impact it would have on my life. 

            Growing up with brothers has a profound effect on females.  Sure, I played with my share of dolls when I was a child, had a killer Walgreen’s dollar-nail-polish collection, and could enjoy girl drama at recess with the best of them, but I was not prone to embracing many stereotypical aspects of femininity.  Because Jason and Jon were, and remain to this day, a few of the people I most like to pass time with, I developed a comfort around males that not all women might have.  I am able to hang with a bunch of guys and remain totally unfazed by some of the words that come out of their mouths, especially when talking about girls, because I had heard it all being near my brothers and their friends. Because I admired the two so much, I think I grew up viewing male company and admiration at the ultimate goal in life.  This translated into having my first crush at age five when I would chase Jason’s best friend around his bedroom in hopes of a kiss on the cheek.  In middle school it translated into trying to find a boy to flirt with in each class period so I had a reason to attend.  In high school it meant placing all male relationships in front of my girlfriends to the point where my best friend had to call me out one evening our junior year. 

            Luckily, my one-year stint in an all girls dorm with some of the coolest women I could ever meet taught me the value of female friendships.  As I hang out with some of my best adult friends at Lake of the Ozarks I am reminded of the power of females in my life.  Last night, as we drank wine (0r Shirley Temples) around the lake, I told these lovely ladies that I get something from hanging out with them that I could never get from a room full of men.  The energy and buzz of conversation is something I crave and thrive on.

            Gender is on my mind as I prepare for the birth of my third daughter!!!  The irony of this is not missed by me.  As a teenager, I swore up and down that I would have all boys when I grew up.  They were cheaper, easier and just more fun.  Now I realize the beauty of girl company; I am fascinated by this role of sister that I see played out every day by Avery and Tessa.  I am amazed at the amount of purple and pink that has gathered in my house…

            When I first met Sephus our good friend who set us up said that I would like him because he was androgynous.  This sounded AWFUL to me.  Is that like a worm, I thought…  After eleven years I see the total truth in this wise observation.  Sephus is a foreboding male at 6 feet 6 inches.  His current hobbies are brewing beer and catching raccoons in the back yard.  He can talk football as needed with my dad or whoever else is around.  At the same time, he is spending his weekend playing with our girls and pinning trail mix ideas on Pinterest.  Later this month he will be decorating his fifth cake for a friend.  I think I am a bit androgynous myself.  I was able to get ready in five minutes last night for girl’s night, and I am career focused to a fault.  At the same time, I oohed and aahed over pink and brown newborn kimono shirts at Carter’s yesterday and took part in a gossip session or two after dinner.  I desperately hope that together we can use this balance to create strong independent females who can mesh with both genders. 

            I believe firmly in the power of gender and interactions based on it in to shape who we are as people.  I believe our gender both opens and closes doors for us.  My goal for my girls is to embrace who they are and to open more doors than are closed.  I hope that they can find balance in a houseful of females.  And if not, I know I will at least probably never have to mop up pee off the floor due to a failed attempt to mimic a hero of an older brother.  

On Being Fat...

I don’t quite get SocialCam.  Why do you want people in your newsfeed to know what you are watching – especially when it makes it possible for others to consider you shallow?  Several people I know have been enjoying S*&@ Fat Girls Who Think They’re Hot Say.”  The watching of this video offends me.  Granted, I do not know the motivation behind the viewer, but the mere existence of the video is off putting.  It turns those who are fat into, “The Other” – a group worthy of gazing at or even stigmatizing.  Most importantly, the other is to be officially considered a cultural unit one is not a part of.

            I am fat.  I don’t hate myself for it as many think I should.  Sure, at times I wish I could walk up multiple flights of stairs more quickly or that I could buy those adorable dresses at White House/Black Market which opened last week at Columbia Mall!  However, I simply enjoy eating.  I don’t feel the insane pressure to order a salad when I am out to eat with female friends.  I would prefer to not assure everyone that I skipped breakfast and lunch as I fill my plate at an evening barbecue. 

            The older I get the more I feel the need to defend this cultural group I am a part of.  I felt so redeemed when a professor told me that obesity is the new trait we have decided to demonize in America.  Of course, my journey to confidence has been complicated and ongoing.  Growing up, it did make life hard.  I blamed my weight for my fate as a single high schooler.   (Man – I wish I had a dollar for every close guy friend I crushed on who said, “You are going to make some guy so happy someday.  You are funny and nice…”  “Hello idiot! “ I always wanted to shout.  “I could make you happy if you weren’t such an asshole.”)  I considered it the reason I did not get into a sorority at MU.  (I had a 4.0, was captain of the debate team, president of STUCO, and VP of Drama Club.  The president greeted me at EACH house I went to and I got NO call backs after the second day.)  I flat out had a manager at Steak n Shake tell people I couldn’t wait tables (which is where the real money was) because he won’t hire anyone for the floor who needs a large shirt.  But now I am able to realize all those people had a problem with my size, I didn’t.

            Sometimes I think that fat people are one of the groups it is universally acceptable to “dog on” in public because being overweight is considered one’s own fault.  This may or may not be true.  Many of us have multiple reasons for why we look the way they do.  Though I can’t help but think that except for a handful of acquaintances, everyone I know has a bad habit that contributes to issues with physical or mental health.  Some of us just don’t have to wear them everywhere we go.  And… being fat is just one aspect of overall health.  For those who are keeping track, I have a cholesterol reading of 140, perfect fasting blood sugar and an average blood pressure of 120/70.   (Okay that doesn’t really add to my overall point; I am just rather proud of these stats.) 

            We all are the whole sum of our parts.  If I was not who I am WHOLELY, I would not be married to Sephus.  (Who for the record, is an angel for glancing my way despite my size and for once responding to an asinine comment I made about how a friend of ours is probably glad that her boyfriend lost weight by saying, “I HOPE NOT!”)  If I got into a sorority at MU, I would not have gone through college with four of the best friends a girl could ever ask for.  Finally, if I had not been teased from first grade on, I am not sure I could be a kind shoulder to students who are ridiculed for their size, income, intellectual abilities or anything else that makes them feel like “The Other”.  For overweight kids who have confided in me, I do try to stress the importance of working out regularly, and making healthy food choices along with our indulgences but what I really want to tell them is this: we are not the problem, society is…  

Tonight... We are Young

  

I was driving the girls to daycare this morning and “We are Young” by Fun came on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sv6dMFF_yts&ob=av2e which is my newest "pop" obsession.  It was one of those perfect moments.  I was singing at the top of my lungs and feeling carefree.  I  remember how it played when we drove home from dinner on our mini-vacation to Kansas City a few weeks ago.  That night the weather was sublime, the girls were charming, and Sephus and I were so happy to be together after my trip to D.C.  All I could think about that night was how young we really are in the bigger scheme of things. This is so important to remember as I feel so "middle-aged" lately.  It was ironic that it came on again this morning because tonight we are taking the girls out for a date night again.  This is our life now, and these kinds of nights are becoming my favorites.

 This morning, as I was getting a little too into rocking out, I heard Avery quietly mumble, "I like this song."  Later I heard her singing it to herself as I walked her into daycare.  Suddenly I was so nostalgic for those moments listening to "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins and "You are the Sun" by Lionel Richie.  Jason and I have such fond memories of driving around with my parents when these were constantly on the radio - probably when we were the girls' ages - and loving and hating those songs at the same time.  We never really thought about how they were pop songs.  My parents were in there thirties then, just as I am now.  They were young...  I sure didn't see them that way as they were our rocks and such "grown ups".  It is so interesting to be here - where they were - trying to imagine if they felt young... even hip...  listening to their top 40 hits. 

Last weekend we had our good friends, the Sleeths, over, and the kids disappeared to the basement for hours so we got to hang out as adults.  Sometimes I envy the kids in the basement as I remember family barbecues with the Smith, Bear or Leskis families being among the best times of my life.  We had total freedom in those moments.  We never really thought about what the parents might be upstairs talking about.  We were young.

In so many ways, aging is cyclic.  Time is random.  (The other day Avery asked me how many months old she was, and I about fell out of the bed saying 61 months.)  The weeks go by faster each year, yet I still have so many weeks left in front of me.  I want to remember them.  So, the time seemed right for starting a blog.  I have avoided this need to write for some time because I worried that no one would care to hear my ponderings.  Today I was compelled to share these thoughts.  I realized that whether one or one-hundred people read, I have stories I want to tell.  So feel free to follow along and share your stories as well.

 "We are young!  So let's start the night on fire."