"Thanks again! See you next year!"

Act 1 Solstice
scene 1, they arrive 15 minutes early
Great Grandma: Here's a Christmas book for E and presents for everyone else.
Islander: That's real nice of you Grandma, but we're setting up for the solstice party right now. I'm going to put these away for later, OK?
Great Grandma: Let me hold the baby and you better let her keep that Christmas book!
Islander: I'd rather not. She's quiet and I'm trying to get her down for a nap right now, Grandma. She is really overdue for a nap and I'd like her to get to sleep before the party begins otherwise she'll fuss all evening.
Great Grandma: She should get used to it. [G.Grandma gets right in E's face, no more than 2 inches nose to nose.] Hullo Miss E! [10 decibels]
[E begins to cry loudly]

scene 2, the thick of solstice [approx 30 people mill about, conversing. Rowbear and Tine, islander's siblings are chatting with G.Grandma and G.Grandpa]
Rowbear: So, don't you think this Solstice event was a great idea?
Great Grandpa: No! I'm an American. We don't have solstice. We have Christmas goddammit. And why isn't the TV on? [turns to islander's spouse] Turn on the game, woulddya?
Spouse: No, Grandpa. The TV is put away for the party. Why don't you go into the kitchen and help yourself to a beer and a bowl of soup?
Great Grandpa: All the soups are vegetable soups, that's why! And you don't have any Miller! Goddamn smart-alecky college kids drinking wine!

scene 3, winding down [grandma is holding E, who is crying]
Grandma: I know, they are so mean to you, aren't they. But don't worry. Grandma will make it all better. We'll have a big Christmas tree and lots of presents for you.
[curtain falls]

Act 2 Christmas Lunch

scene 1 [over lunch]
Grandma: You didn't eat enough! You should eat more.
Islander: You said the beans, bread and cheese are vegetarian so that's what I'm eating.
Grandma: That's not enough make yourself a sandwich on the ham roll.
Islander: OK. Do you have any tomatoes and lettuce?
Grandma: No.
Islander: Oh... well I guess I'll just stick with what I've got.
[Islander continues to eat. She is holding a quiet E over her shoulder]
Grandpa: Merry Christmas, E! [Grandpa jovially and loudly approaches E, coming nose to nose. E buries her face in her mother's shoulder and then turns in the opposite direction. Undeterred, Grandpa walks to the other side to be in her sightline and grabs her hand.] I said Merry Christmas!
[E begins to cry loudly]
Grandpa: Hey, no fussing! [spoken sternly, as a reprimand]
[E begins to scream.]
Great Grandma: What a stinker! She's too fussy. Why don't you give her a pacifier?
Islander: We used one for a while, only to help her sleep, though, and we've already taken her off it.
Great Grandma: [horrified gasp] Why?
Islander: It didn't help her sleep and pacifiers increase the risk of ear infection.
Great Grandma: Oh, baloney! You should give her one.
[silence]
Great Grandma: I guess it's time you started her on solids then.
Islander: We've been over this already. Not 'til about 6 months.
Great Grandma: But she's too big! You need to start them now!
Islander: She's fine. Starting before 6 months increases her chance of food allergies.
Great Grandma: I told you before stop reading!
Islander: Look, I'm doing the best I can. When I want your advice I'll ask for it, OK?
[stony silence. islander is simultaneously horrified that she spoke to an elder in such a manner and proud that she put a stop to the criticism, at least in the short term]

Adventures in Parenting, part I, or getting off the intervention train

Both my spouse and I are adverse to the pacifier for a host of reasons including:
1. If you introduce it, you've got to remove it at some point
2. They're always getting lost or falling on the floor and then you've got frantic kids and parents who have moved the ability to soothe to an object that is unavailable.
3. Children who use pacifiers are more likely to suffer from ear infections than children who don't.

So, we were both set against the pacifier (neither used them ourselves) but then we ended up swaddling E at night - beginning at about 3 weeks of age because she didn't really have good control of her arms and kept waking herself up. Once we started swaddling her she didn't have access to her hands to satisfy her desire to suckle. People (mostly my pediatrician and doula) made me feel awful that I would deny her the opportunity to satisfy that desire. Thus, we introduced the pacifier.

Now at 4 months E is about done with swaddling. She protests being swaddled and frequently frees herself from her "baby straight jacket" straight away. The problem with this is, she has come to see the pacifier as crucial to her sleep (we don't let her have it except at sleep-times). She gets her hands loose and then proceeds to knock the pacifier out of her mouth. Then she gets upset because her motor skills aren't developed enough to get it back in. Lately she has also taken to waking up when she drops the pacifier in her sleep and one of us has got to run in to her room and shove it back in her mouth.

So, her sleep habits, instead of improving, have declined in the last 4 weeks - she is now up at least 3 times a night not even including the fact that she is up once or twice in the first hour after being put to bed (which is also relatively new) while she used to be up once or twice TOTAL. I was hoping that she would be sleeping really successfully without being swaddled before I removed the pacifier but now I see that I won't know how well she can sleep unswaddled until the pacifier is gone.

So, yesterday we took the plunge and took them away. I had to wrestle her down for every nap and last night she was up at least every hour and refused to sleep at all between 4:15 and 5 a.m. Today has been a little better but mostly because she fell asleep in the stroller and slept for nearly 2 hours. I just finished spending 45 minutes getting her down for her late afternoon nap. We don't let her cry in her crib so that means we are holding her and trying to comfort her as she cries inconsolably about the loss of her pacifier.

Makes you feel like a heel...

E's photo of the month: nearly 4 months old

Homecoming

The landscape was reminiscent of Soviet Moscow - prefab concrete slabs surrounded by not much - which also reminds me of much of Fairbanks, AK.

But if you think it was a humdrum trip, you are mightily wrong. No sooner had we pulled up to the resort entrance when our van-ola was charged by this bizarre and aggressive rhino that seems to have acclimated to single digit temperatures (it was about 8 degrees).
Once the danger had passed, we entered the Kalahari and donned our pith helmets. We hadn't been in there more than a minute before this mad elephant charged by. As you can see, E was terrified.It took us some time to escape that rampaging pachyderm but at last we found ourselves in the company of a very small pair of those gentle giants of the savanna and in shouting distance of a well-stocked oasis.

All the aboriginal art, all the tropical drinks! After my trip to the Kalahari, I know that I will never have to visit Africa, the South Pacific, Mexico or Central and South America because

I HAVE ALREADY BEEN THERE.

the vacation that I never imagined I would take much less eagerly anticipate...

I informed my partner that this was the year to get me on a cruise or to some cheesy resort. Only with a baby in tow does it seem like 3 days of this will be absolute paradise! I am so looking forward to being indoors out of the winter for a few days that I hardly know what to pack! And then there is this, expensive I know, but well-deserved, and I'll skimp - just 50 minutes of straight-up Swedish if you please!

what a little solstice can do!

Campy or no, we decided to push ahead with our solstice planning. The result was a fairly good cache for a local school*:

11 rubber playground balls
10 jump ropes
6 basketballs
4 soccer balls
4 footballs
3 frisbees
2 portable DVD players
3 CD boomboxes
4 computers
98 Sharpie (or equivalent) pens
268 markers
630 ballpoint pens
over 4800 stickers
2 puzzles
and cash donations

*gifts were based upon a wish list prepared by the school principal

free association

So... when I was quite young my dad began to get into genealogy. Through his research he learned that we are descended from Comte something-or-other V---- D'Argenson, keeper of seals for Louis XIV. Being a girl of 8 or 9 at the time I was notified of our illustrious family connections (all, of course, before we were exiled to Canada for evasion of the salt tax), I was quite impressed to learn that an ancestor was in charge of the seals in the King's zoo.

Although now in my dotage and long disabused of my first image of "keeper of seals," when we visited Versailles I did get a chuckle out of imagining where it was that the seal exhibit was housed.

heretofore* unconsidered vocation

Sealer of Weights and Measures

*i debated the use of heretofore and erstwhile. i initially typed heretofore, but then, while i was brushing my teeth to get ready for bed, it occurred to me erstwhile might be a better choice. what do you think? i stuck with my instincts. erstwhile seems to me to be more retrospective (more of a "formerly" without any interest in contemporary or future developments) while heretofore feels a bit more prospective (more of a "previously" with an eye to pending action) and, of course, i do fully intend to contemplate sealer of weights and measures as a potential vocation from this point onward.

a way with words: The Final Solution by Michael Chabon

This is the best book that I've read in years (probably since Sebald's Vertigo). A short and simple story of one old detective's search for a missing parrot, the pet of a child orphaned during the Holocaust, The Final Solution is much more of a novella than a novel but, man, the prose is absolutely stunning. Based upon The Final Solution, I put Michael Chabon right up there with Virginia Woolf, William Faulkner and Arundhati Roy when it comes to elegance in the use of the English language. Here, an excerpt:

...The old man stood, shrugging. With the consciousness of failure, a gray shadow seemed to steal over his senses as if, steady as a cloud, a great obstructing satellite were scudding across the face of the sun. Meaning drained from the world like light fleeing the operation of an eclipse. The vast body of experience and lore, of corollaries and observed results, of which he felt himself master, was at a stroke rendered useless. The world around him was a page of alien text. A row of white cubes from which there escaped a mysterious drone of lamentation. A boy in a glowing miasma of threads, his staring face flat and edged with shadow as if cut from paper and pasted against the sky. A breeze drawing rippling portraits of emptiness in the pale green tips of the grass.

My brother is always talking about Chabon's book, The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Clay. I am certainly going to give it a try after this one.

[untitled]

Hello?
Hi, Islander. How are you these days?
Good and you?
Good. I have some interesting news. I was recently invited to a communist Christmas party.
Interesting. Who's throwing it?
You are, idiot.
Well, actually, ours is a SOLSTICE party.
Whatever, commie.

[untitled]

So, did you take E's picture with Santa yet?
Um... no.
We're going over to Mayfair tomorrow. You want to come with us?
No, thanks. We're not planning to do a photo with Santa.
Really, why?
We don't celebrate Christmas.
Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were Jewish.
Unitarian, actually, and my spouse is beginning to believe that he is a secular humanist.
Oh...[3 second pause] What did you think of the artichoke dip that Lori brought? Wasn't it fabulous?

Get the answer to that question you've always had...

What is the MEATRIX?

hiatus

Dearest Readers:

I am feeling particularly "over" this blog at the current time so I think it advisable that I take a break. My siblings and I have a family blog and these days most of my posts seem to belong over there. Perhaps when I get back into the swing of things in January (I'll be teaching, working on a couple of papers for submission and preparing a couple of presentations), I'll want this outlet and feel the desire to stay connected to my largely imagined audience. Until then, however, adieu!

that is, of course, unless I feel like posting before that, in which case, until THEN, adieu.

E's Photo of the Week: 3 months

E's Photo of the Week: 12 weeks old

We Are What We Celebrate

... so proclaims Etzioni and I must say that I believe him.

We are working on coming up with our winter holiday tradition. We know E is too small to remember this year but we want to get our tradition off to a good start because it will likely take a few years to work out the kinks. We're celebrating Winter Solstice. Here is the description/invitation I am drafting. What do you think? Too campy? Yeah, I know.

This first annual event is the beginning of family tradition. The approach of the winter solstice is easily marked by dwindling sunlight, deepening cold and darkness. At such times, when the sun shines upon us least, it would behoove us to remember our dependence on its energy, the planet we inhabit, and the others that share this finite space with us.

In our family, the increasing dark of December leads us to look past the comforts offered by home and loved ones and instead to consider the need that exists around us, however inconspicuous. In our home Winter Solstice is to be time for volunteerism, civic participation and philanthropy, a time to act to shed a little light while the sun shines dimly.

Every year our family will select a charitable, philanthropic or activist organization or individual and endeavor to provide assistance to that individual or organization. Our efforts will culminate on the Saturday before the solstice when we invite our friends and family to join us for in supporting our cause. We offer hot soup, hearty bread, lively conversation and ask that you join us!

Stuck at home. Baby sleeping.

You are Julia Kristeva! You were a student of
Roland Barthes, and came up with such important
notions as intertextuality and abjection. You
are a semiotician, psychoanalyst, scholar of
literature, and dozens more things. You are not
dead.


What 20th Century Theorist are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

What's your favorite poem?

I pulled my copy of e.e. cumming's complete poems off the shelf to weigh down E.'s blankets (so she doesn't pull them up over her head during the night). It got me thinking about the most wonderful poem of all time (#22 in New Poems from the Collected Poems). The last 2 lines of my favorite lines of all time.


you shall above all things be glad and young.
For if you're young, whatever life you wear

it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys maynothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love

whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time

that you should ever think,may god forbid
and(in his mercy)your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
called progress, and negation's dead undoom.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

Dearest blog,

I am writing to let you know that from this point on I may not spend as much time with you as I have in the past. Please don't take it personally. It's just that I finally got my ipod and I feel I need to spend most of my free time with ipod so that we can get our relationship off to a good start. It's not that I don't love you, truly, it's just that I have many, many cds to rip onto my hard drive, I need to create playlists for all my various moods and activities, and maybe even download a few songs to update my music library. They are only $0.99 after all.

Sincerely,

Islander

Coasties!

The great 'Coastie' divide

Ugg boots, private dorms make out-of-state UW students target of teasing

By MEGAN TWOHEY

Posted: Nov. 14, 2005

Madison - Emily Bach, a freshman at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, recognized her friends' Halloween costumes immediately - jackets by The North Face, oversize sunglasses, sheepskin boots known as Uggs.

"They went as Coasties," Bach explained, chuckling over lunch in a cafeteria.

[...]

Frankfurter said it's been difficult for him to integrate with Wisconsin students.

"They look down on us just because our parents have a little bit more money, because we talk about where our fathers work. They want to feel superior to us because they think we think we're superior to them. Then we're forced to."

Frankfurter said he is often ridiculed. "Just the other day, someone in my statistics class asked me where my Uggs were. I was trying to think of a comeback."
[...]
But Bach, a Milwaukee native, said it's not just where Coasties live and what they wear. It's how they act.
"They carry themselves like they're better than everyone," Bach said, as she sat at a cafeteria table dressed in a hooded sweat shirt and jeans. "I swear, it takes them like two hours to get ready in the morning. Most girls in my dorm roll out of bed five minutes before class."

Jason Gertler, a freshman from Olympia Fields, Ill., lives in Statesider but identifies more with Wisconsin students.

"They have a spoiled mannerism," he said of Coasties. "I try to hang out with public dorm kids. They're more
straightforward and quality."

Maybe it's just my predisposition to see it this way or maybe it's the article's slant (coasties target of teasing)... but doesn't it seem like the Wisconsin-Minnesota students are the ones with the chips on their shoulders? Truly, tell me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that this article supports my claim in this apparently offensive post that "coasties" are singled out for scorn - that just being different (or stereotypical in their divergence from Midwesterners) is sufficient reason for them to be disliked.

Interesting... the article points to lots of potential structural reasons for the rift on the Madison campus... difference in class background, fact that out of staters don't have equal access to campus dorms, etc.

E's Photo of the week: 11 weeks old

Fool enough to almost be it and cool enough to not quite see it....

I developed a sudden hankering to listen to yet another casualty of the great car break-in of 1995, The Smashing Pumpkin's Siamese Dream. I borrowed the CD from the library it only skips in about 300 spots. At any rate, I was under the impression that I developed this pumpkins hankering out of the blue but the other day we were watching a sporting event on FOX and I noticed that they were the Smashing Pumpkins during their highlight reel.

[untitled]

did you ever have one of those weeks when you send out a million emails, leave phone messages for folks and even directly solicit advice on your blog, and you receive nary a response?

one of those weeks in which you wonder if you don't truly exist? one of those weeks in which you feel undeniably invisible?

a matter of policy...

I've got this cardinal rule:

Never advise someone to do precise what you did not and never advise someone not to do what you did.

I mean, you can only honestly discuss the repercussions of doing or not doing what you did or didn't do, right?

So, this is the rule I employ when my siblings call me to discuss the merits of plans like the following: dropping out of grad school after less than one semester to return to [college town that is home of undergraduate institution where sibling lived until August] and get a job "waiting tables or something" so as to volunteer in an urban ecology center and eventually parlay that volunteering into a career writing alternative school science curricula focusing on place identity and conservation.

What do I do when I learn of schemes like this?
Step 1: Validate the emotion behind the idea (e.g. "I recognize that it's really hard to move to a new region - to suddenly have to drive everywhere, to live in a ranch, etc. It's particularly difficult to try to adjust to a new department and program when your unhappy with your location and you've left your friends behind.").
Step 2: Introduce an alternative and use insider knowledge to support it (e.g. But don't you think you should stick it out for the year? You're not going to live in [terrible place] forever and it really does take time to adjust - at least 9 months. Don't you remember how you hated [college] and [college town] at first? When you came home for winter break, you were thinking about not going back. Don't worry about the Ph.D. Instead think about how you can use the resources and your position there (fellowship, free tuition, etc) to start you on your path to curriculum development. How about taking some extra classes in education?).
Step 3: Denigrate oneself to avoid sounding bossy, provide more validation and refer to one's own mistakes to get around the cardinal rule (e.g. You certainly know better than I do what the right decision is and I agree completely that a Ph.D. is a waste of time if you don't like where it will take you but I still think you should give it a little more time so you won't be able to worry later that you jumped ship too soon. Instead, you could make use of your position as a funded student in the sciences at a flagship institution to develop a smart next move. I had a terrible time when I quit the peace corps after only a few months and moved back to Chicago...).

What to do?

So, I've got this fellowship-type-thing this year. It provides me an office closer to my home than the Soc Dept. I pursued the fellowship mostly because I thought it would be great to have an office walking distance from home. So, the things is, I got the fellowship but I've been housed outside of the institute that gave it to me. I am situated in a shared cubicle in a policy-oriented research center. So, my cube isn't private (even a shared phone line which defeats the purpose of using my office number when I set up interviews) and I'm surrounded by strangers. Nor have I located any private spaces in the building. Since I live so close, they didn't give me parking - I agreed to this because I did not foresee my troubles. Thus, I have absolutely nowhere to pump and you are supposed to pump about every 3 hours to keep up your milk supply (especially since I only go in 2 days a week). Not to mention the fact that it gets a bit uncomfortable if I hold off for too long. The upshot of this is that I never go to my office for more than 2 hours or so (not including the 30 minutes spent walking round trip) and rarely do I go at all since the startup costs of walking there and getting set-up are not worth the limited time I have to work. I won't be able to make use of it even next semester when it is much easier to leave the tyke.

I sent an email to someone in the institute apologetically asking if there was a private space that I could make use of for pumping. That was 3 weeks ago and I never received a response. We have a meeting coming up in which we are supposed to talk about how it is going in our offices and I don't know what to do. Should I lie and say it's going fine or should I explain my troubles in front of several nearly complete strangers? On top of it, I don't want to sound ungrateful because this fellowship is usually used to support minority researchers so I know they did extra work to be able to offer me one and part of the work they did was finding someone to house me. I also don't want to come off like someone who isn't really making use of the fellowship - like I'm not a serious student, etc.

You don't realize how the world is not at all accommodating to people with infants (sure I can breastfeed in public but I can't bring my baby to work, can I?) until you're in the thick of it.

On Board Games

Remember Risk, the game of world domination? Remember that, back in the old days, the armies were represented by roman numerals (I for one army X for ten, etc.)? Did you know that now the armies are represented by little figures (a foot soldier = 1 cavalry = 5, etc.)? What kind of baloney(bologna?) is that?

We played board and card games all the time when I was growing up. I still enjoy them. In fact, I have been meaning to put together a "Board Game (and cribbage) Olympics" for several years now. Alas, I never live in the same place long enough to have sufficient friends to make such an event worthwhile. It seems to me that in a board game (and cribbage) olympics you've got to be able to have members of your team specialize - have someone who can compete in the scrabble competition, someone else in Settlers of Cattan...

Although I enjoy games, I've lost an interest in many of them, Risk and Settlers of Cattan included. I don't really enjoy games in which all your moves involve a calculated risk and your probable success or failure is evident from the start or very early in the game. In such instances, I don't really see the point of playing because if the outcome is different from the probable one then it's just a matter of luck and there's no fun in that. Of course, the probability of winning in Settlers of Cattan is a bit more difficult to determine because the dice are supplemented by the ports and because the board changes every time. My siblings (and partner) accuse me of being a poor sport because I often want to throw in the towel very early on. I guess I probably do this more when I know I'm going to lose than when I know I'm going to win. It sucks to keep playing a game you know your going to lose after all.

Mastermind is another one. If you make your first moves correctly, it is likely that you will finish in 4 of 5 attempts at code-breaking per trial. As long as your opponent sticks to the rules, there is nothing s/he can do to stump you. Furthermore, there is no particular skill involved if you managed to break the code more quickly - you were just lucky in your color choices. So, if your opponent also knows the most efficient method of breaking the code and you're both placing the code pegs randomly, only random chance will determine who wins. If, however, your opponent doesn't know what method to employ, you'll almost surely beat them. Sure, it's fun the first couple of times but it gets old.

E's Photo of the Week: 10 weeks old

It seems that I often feel I have little to write about beside my experiences as a new mother. After all, how much time do I really get to spend reading for pleasure, keeping up with the New York Times, or even thinking and writing about "diversity" as a cultural imperative? Right now I am pretty much a one-trick pony. Thus, lacking anything else to say, I am continuously tempted to share photos, but I really would rather this blog didn't become a space completely devoted to E because it would be nice if I was not consumed completely. So, from this point forward I will share one and ONLY ONE photo per week. I am drawing my line in the sand!

it's like the true story of a swordboat that is caught in the convergence of the Nor-easter that swallowed a hurricane....

That's right. This past week will go down in family history as the week of the perfect storm. Fortunately, we appear to have pulled through.

It started like this. E. was having some gastro-intestinal thing going on remarkably similar to constipation. We took her to Chicago last Saturday and completely destroyed her sleep routine. She slept very little that day - just catnaps in the carseat or in people's arms. We got home at 11 at night. I have never seen her cry out of sheer exhaustion like that. Then we changed the clocks the next day so I tried to keep her up until 7 p.m. so she wouldn't wake me up at 4 or 5 a.m. Throw into the mix the fact that she was subsisting on highly caffeinated milk as a result of my Halloween chocolate binge Thus, by Monday night/Tuesday morning, E. was incapable of sleep. She literally slept for no more than 40 minutes at a time Monday and Tuesday night. Thus slept I.

Then on Wednesday we took her for her first round of immunizations. That afternoon she had a terrible reaction to the immunizations and screamed for a couple of hours. I finally got her to sleep and she slept just as fitfully that night as she had the 2 previous nights. Thus slept I.

By Thursday she was so sick and so exhausted she refused to be anywhere but in my arms and she cried most of the time she was there as well. I explained to her that babies are supposed to become less fussy in the second month but she was not moved. I actually did get her to sleep pretty well on Thursday night but I was so tired by that point I couldn't sleep at all. She relapsed Friday and did OK last night.

It was also a big week for development. She rolled over (front to back) 5 times, began to open her hands which had heretofore been clenched into fists much of the time, and actually picked up a toy and brought it to her mouth.

So, there it is, folks. The skies appear to be clearing so it appears I've managed to weather this one.

I regret to inform you...

that a grave misfortune has befallen us. I have only recently learned of this disaster. While some of you are lamenting the fact that "USDA organic" is an increasingly meaningless term and others of you are shaking your heads in misery as you read about riots in suburban Paris, you remain blissfully unaware that times are far, far more desperate than even presidents who use fear to rule dare claim.

Yes, it is my solemn duty to announce, somewhat belatedly as I had to go into hiding for a time once I became privy to this dire news, that Lemony Snicket, escape artist and chronicler of nefarious schemes, has managed to deliver another account of the misadventures of the ill-fated Baudelaire orphans. The Penultimate Peril provides an account of another in the series of unfortunate events the Baudelaire orphans were forced to endure subsequent to their parents' suspicious demise, which here means before their parents were murdered as a result of the schism of the VFD and Violet, Klaus, and Sunny first fell into the clutches of the evil Count Olaf.

Beware! It is possible that, on an innocent trip to your local bookstore or library, you too will become ensnared in the treachery and heartbreak that Violet, Klaus, Sunny and all who know of their miserable lives are forced to bear day in and day out (which here means that there is barely a moment when we are not thinking about the trouble caused in the past Count Olaf and his associates and all the troubles we expect to encounter in the future).

Happy Halloween!

It's not that the time is passing so quickly, it's just that so much happens each 24 hours

She isn't even 2 months yet!

Nose and Toes

What a beautiful baby!

I didn't learn that if babies are going to have a fussy period in their early lives, they are likely to begin fussing about 4 weeks after their due date until well into the fussiness. Incidentally, I find it quite interesting but not surprising that many of babies' early developmental milestones are clocked from their due date instead of their birth date. Talk about feeling irrelevant as a parent! At any rate, in E.'s case the onset of fussiness coincided with the arrival of a particularly heinous case of infant acne.



(this isn't E. I decided we didn't need to photograph her acne.)

Of course, I was slightly bothered that my baby reminded me of myself in 7th grade and that her erstwhile soft and smooth cheeks were now rough and oily. However, what was remarkable about the whole thing is the effect it had on strangers. Before the acne appeared and now that it's gone, strangers always speak to me about my lovely baby, asking how old she is, etc. When I walk down the street with a stroller, passers-by peer inside to get a look at E and invariable compliment my child. While she had her acne those folks who got a look at her would say nothing at all. They might give me a pitying smile but, more often than not, they would not react at all and fail to make eye contact.

Who cares right? It's only a case of acne. The most difficult thing about it was, as I said, E.'s acne coincided with a few weeks in which it was a challenge to keep her happy. I wanted all those compliments because they made it easier to weather the few stormy evenings I was having with my baby.

Field Trip

It being a beautiful, sunny, blustery fall day, we decided to take a little field trip down to Racine (pronounced rah-CINE for those folks who, like me, are regionally challenged when it comes to Wisconsin pronunciations). There is a fabulous off-leash dog park down there along the Root River (Johnson's Park). We had also heard that downtown Racine is quite nice. Lastly, someone brought us some great baked goods from a Racine bakery. Since I am always up for quality baked goods, have been searching for a good bakery since I got to Milwaukee and have enough of a sweet tooth that I would be willing to drive 40 minutes on occasion to satisfy it - and you know that's saying a lot since I am generally unwilling to drive anywhere - I decided we should check it out.

O&H Bakery, dear readers, is the best bakery I have encountered north of the windy city. It might even count as the best I've had west of Portsmouth if you want to discount my favorite Chicago Chinatown Bakery (Happy Garden) and the best fancy pants bakery (Bittersweet, also in Chicago).

We loaded up on kringle (I'm not really a fan of kringle but my partner is), a giant napoleon ring, a potato doughnut, and a slice of heavenly coconut cake. Next time I have an event, I am picking up one of these babies!

ipod, at last!

I've been wanting an ipod forever - talking about getting one for at least 2 years. The thing is, I felt it would not be responsible to spend our limited funds on an ipod since I had a perfectly serviceable Sony Sports Cassette Walkman (remember those bright yellow things?) that I purchased back in 1995. Yes, I was the last person at the gym listening to CASSETTES. Well, the landscape changed a bit this week. I haven't been to the gym since about August 26 and, apparently, they failed to process my membership renewal and cleaned out my locker. So, when I went to workout for the first time (a fiasco taking E. on the city bus that was 30 minutes late to hand off to her father at his office where she proceeded to cry), I was handed the contents of my locker with an apology. Missing (STOLEN, they determined) from the garbage bag of gym paraphenalia was my Sony Sports Cassette Walkman and my heart rate monitor. They're going to pay me to replace both items. I, however, am going to trade up on the Walkman for an ipod.

So, what do you think, should I go for the nano or the standard ipod? Wasn't there something called the ipod mini before? I think that was what I had decided on last time I was drooling at the apple store.

top o' the mornin'

I'm sorry that I don't have time for a proper post - this week has completely gotten away from me. For example, I just realized that I should have made the trip to Madison for my diss group today and I cannot for the life of me figure out what I have been doing since Monday - I remember Monday. I believe this sleep deprivation - 7 weeks with no more than 4 hours of sleep at any time - is beginning to take its toll.

At any rate, my little nephew is so amazingly cute. He looks like a little leprechaun.

If it's not obvious, he has flaming red hair.

that's my girl!

I wrote earlier about feeling that one's child is or is definitely not displaying characteristics they inherited from oneself. Everyone says that E looks like me - it's the upturned little nose they say. Well, I can't say that I see it but I guess that should come as no surprise since I am not used to thinking too much about what I look like - I am sure it would be much easier for me to see it is E. resembled her father. However, E. does take after me in at least this respect:
E.'s favorite non-uterine sounds to aid in sleeping
1. Box fan on medium setting
2. The Cure Disintegration played on the loud side

Are you hungry? Tired? Bored? Too hot? Too cold? Gassy? Oh, I know. You need the potty!

I like to think that I am trying to be a nouveau* mom and I mean nouveau in the sense that I am staying on top of the cutting edge wisdom when it comes to child-rearing. Amazingly, I do this despite the fact that Levitt claims it is likely to make little difference in terms of my child's life chances. So, yes, I offer my child the gift of sleep, make use of the other 4 s's, and put my child down for a nap after 1 - 2 hours of wakefulness. I firmly believe that "breast is best" and that you can't spoil a child for the first 6 months. I do a lot of baby-wearing, eschew schedules but love routines, and have even started collecting organic baby food recipes. Yes, folks, what's nouveau right now is primarily a return to the "ancient wisdom" of child-rearing (often what folks in non-Western and pre-Dr. Spock societies do/did) and I lap it up. This, however, might be going a bit too far. I mean, I will look into it but, I really can't see myself holding my 6-week-old child over the toilet and saying "Psp-psp-psp" 15 or 20 times a day.

*Please don't correct my grammar. Nouvelle, yes I know, nouvelle.

it's like that one movie. you know, the one about climate change in which the northern half of the u.s. becomes a frozen wasteland...

Last night when I woke up in the wee hours to feed E, I could hear geese flying overhead, migrating south, presumably. I don't recall hearing of geese flying south at 3 a.m. before. Have they changed their migratory patterns to elude air traffic or are they just in a hurry? Perhaps it's all a lot more bleak than that and, in a mere 72 hours, my home will be buried under 100 feet of ice and snow.

Today I am that tree that fell in the forest...

MIERS = LACKEY

I can't believe Bush would appoint another incompetent insider to an important post after that FEMA fiasco.

Rant: Where should I begin?

It's been a while since I've had time to post. Even as we speak I am writing frantically, glancing frequently in the direction of my little one who is sleeping fitfully - a potential sign that she is about to demand my attention. This is also how I shower, eat (I cannot tell you how many meals I've swallowed without even registering the taste), and even sleep these days. But that is not what I am writing to gripe about.

Today I went to a baby shower. It is important to go out and do things, I feel, even though it is a million times more complicated to get into the car and go anywhere with a 5-week-old baby than most activities are worth. However, you've got to do it, I reason, because at some point it will get easier, but how will you know when that is if you aren't going out to notice the change?

Anyway, I attended a shower on the other side of town. The guests were a bunch of folks I don't know (not counting the mother-to-be and one other guest). I arrived 30 minutes late because there was an accident on the highway and because my mapquest directions had me on a road that is closed for construction. But I digress...

When I arrived at the shower, the topic of conversation was one of the guest's working mothers blog and a NYT article she discusses on the blog about Harvard students who aspire and/or expect to be housewives/stay at home moms. Now, I know there is room to argue claims about the upswing in women staying home (or men, for that matter). However, what the folks at the shower wanted to talk about was how it was wrong for women who planned to "stay at home" to "take up a space" at Harvard when someone who would make "better use" of their Harvard education could have attended.

I am not sure what frustrated me more, their implicit devaluation of home-making vis-a-vis other things a college grad might do or their view that an elite college education is of no value to those who choose to stay at home. I said I disagreed with the notion that future homemakers should be banned from the Ivy League. Your career aspirations are not factored into college admissions and that is as it should be. What about those folks like Natalie Portman who waste their Harvard degrees as actors? What about all those super wealthy and well-connected kids at elite schools who will never have to work a day in their lives or who will land those CEO positions even if they go to BU because it is in their blood? From where I'm sitting, there are plenty of folks taking the spots of people who would "really use" a prestigous BA, whatever that means. When it comes to the value of education at an elite school to those who choose to stay home, the most obvious benefit, even though it ain't pretty, is locating a spouse. However, just experiencing college is of value. Just because one may eventually end up staying at home doesn't mean one can't be well-read, well-traveled, etc.

Anyway, E. is telling me that my time is up.

Gender Failures, finale

OK, so maybe this outfit is a little boy-ish but I'm a dog fan so I thought this was a really cute sleeper and we only have one sunhat.

dog huntin'

Book Review: Broken for You by Stephanie Kallos

An elderly recluse with a brain tumor, a young woman searching for the man who abandoned her, a suave yoga-practicing senior doorman, a deceased and sarcastic mother, a gay Jewish head chef, and a house full of priceless artifacts representing many lives lost...
These are just a few of the characters that animate Broken for You. Kallos does a wonderful job constructing characters, living and otherwise, with an undeniable presence. The relationships developed in the pages of Broken for You are likewise very real, if at times a bit saccharine.
Ultimately, this is an optimistic and uplifting novel that highlights the importance of human connection and underlines the fact that it is never too late to begin to live one's life.
The only drawback to the novel is that it winds up too neatly. Kallos manages to favorably resolve the personal dilemmas of every single one of the characters she introduces. It's a bit too much of a happy ending.
I recommend this novel with the caveat that, although it's better than Nicholas Sparks, Faulkner or Sebald it ain't.

Gender Failures, Deuxieme

Earlier this week we ventured out of the house and into the car with our new baby in order to run errands. What errands? Well, despite the fact that we didn't even know if we were going to have a boy or girl baby until the relevant body parts saw the light of day, within 2 weeks of delivery we already had a huge pile of god-awful pink and purple flowery and frilly baby clothes to return. Call me crazy, but I would think that anyone who tells you that they decided not to find out the sex of their child ahead of time in order to avoid gendered clothing wouldn't suddenly decide that they want to dress their baby in little pink dresses with purple flowers and embroidery that says, "I love my daddy." Furthermore, anyone who was known to say, "I just want to avoid that Packers cheerleader outfit for as long as possible." prior to the birth of their child is unlikely to have a sudden change of heart upon the arrival of their daughter which will prompt them to dress their child in a badgers cheerleader outfit. So, ungrateful jerks that we are, we returned all of it, except that which came without receipts. We're taking that to the consignment shop.

A related issue, why is it so crucial that people establish the sex of your baby immediately and why is it that, if there is no pink or purple or frills or flowers, that folks assume a baby is a boy? When we returned the pink stuff to baby gap and were standing at the register to exchange it for this, the cashier said, "Oh, my god, someone gave you girls' clothes for a boy?" I responded, "It's a girl but we don't see the need to dress her in pink all the time. There's nothing particularly boy-ish about the outfit we're getting is there?" When I went to Osco yesterday afternoon, the cashier looked at my baby, sleeping in a little yellow t-shirt and nothing else as it was a hot day and said, "What a cute little boy." Exasperated, I replied, "What makes you think she's a boy?" To which the cashier replied, "Oh, just a bad guess." Of course, it was a good guess because usually folks with girl babies designate their babies as girls with "girly" things.

It seems to me there are a few ways to handle gender annoyances:
1. Buckle and dress my girl baby like a "girl."
2. Stop correcting folks and allow them to interact with my baby as if she were a boy.
3. Compromise by sticking with gender neutral clothing but get a little red headband or something to indicate "girl-ness."
4. Keep doing what I am doing.

Blog Status: Thanks for your patience!

Thanks for reading. I am giving myself the month of September to figure out how to get through the nitty-gritty day-to-day of life as the parent of an infant. It is my hope that I'll be up to blogging more consistently and, who knows, even getting some work done, by the time lovely October rolls around.

Best for TV watching:
1. M*A*S*H reruns
2. Football

My childbirth experience - you're probably not interested

I had this dream a few weeks before I had the baby in which my doula came to the house. She was hanging around and it was getting late and I was beginning to wonder when she was going to leave. Finally, she looked at me and said, "Well, are you ready?" I replied, "What are you talking about?" She responded, "It's 8:30 and I expect that you will have this baby by midnight." I responded, "That's funny. I didn't even realize I was in labor."
Wishful thinking but, in fact, I was uncertain that I was in labor until the very end.
Here is how it happened. Just after midnight on Friday I woke up with contractions. They weren't very painful and were pretty far apart but I was too excited to sleep. I putzed around the house and online. Finally, I decided I should try to get to sleep. That was a mistake because the contractions were more painful when I was lying down and, furthermore, when I started to doze off the contraction would startle me from sleep. It was more painful then because I would tense up.
By 6 a.m. they were coming at about 5 minutes apart, which is when many folks head to the hospital. Since I was trying to do most of my laboring at home, I called my doula, Jen, at that point. I also decided to hop in the bathtub. The bathtub was a mistake. Once I got in there the contractions stopped altogether and my doula arrived to find me not in labor at all. I felt like a schmuck.
We all tried to get back to sleep for a couple hours and I did manage to sleep for a bit but then the contractions returned, at about 10 a.m. but they were not regular at all.
Jen decided to head home. She told me to call if anything changed but that she expected I was in early labor and could go on like that for days. I was disappointed and skeptical that I was going to meet my goal of having a natural childbirth. I mean, if contractions in early labor hurt that much, how was I going to stand the later contractions?
I told Jason that I wanted pancakes so we ended up at "The Baker's Square," joking all along that we might be wasting our last chance to eat out. Anyway, I was still having contractions all across the board (4 minutes, 7 minutes, 12 minutes, 4 minutes, 4 minutes, etc). We went home and putzed around. Finally, I decided to take a shower at around 5 p.m. and at this time my brother showed up. He was in town for a frisbee tournament. We sat down to dinner. I tried to sit on the chair and found that I was completely uncomfortable, as if I was sitting directly on the baby, so I moved to my stability ball (thank you, pilates!). At this same time, my contractions started coming regularly at 4 minutes. We moved inside to watch preseason football (the colts, I believe). From this point on, everything is a bit surreal and I only recall bits and pieces.
I decided to call Jen to let her know that the contractions were pretty regular even though they didn't feel much stronger that the ones I 'd had earlier. I reasoned that I must be in active labor because, if I wasn't, there wouldn't be any such thing as natural childbirth (or at least people who were crazy enough to opt for it more than once). I called my OB to let her know that she might be called in later. Jen arrived and we left for the hospital. I arrived just after 10 p.m. already dilated 8 out of 10 cms. By the time my doctor arrived at 11, I was fully dilated.
My pushing phase was protracted (3 hours - they usually give you drugs to move things more quickly at 2 hours but my fabulous OB saw I was making progress and let me continue on). Pushing is very hard mostly because you feel this tremendous urge to push but it is difficult to figure out how to direct the urge. However, compared to the contractions, pushing wasn't painful at all. With the contractions I'd been experiencing all day there was nothing to do but try to relax and let them do the work of moving the baby down and opening the cervix. Contractions hurt like a sonofabitch. Pushing is really hard work but at least the contractions in that phase are telling you to do something and you get to do it. All along my contractions remained several minutes apart. Often we would get in long discussions between bouts of pushing. Sometimes I was a little too out of it to take part in the discussions but I was lucid enough to listen to them.
After E. was born, I had a uterine hemorrhage delivering the placenta. I wasn't really paying attention to anything beside my new baby at this point. In order to stop the bleeding, my OB gave me a shot of pitocin, a drug that helps the uterus contract. It did work to stop the bleeding. However, I lost a lot of blood, enough that they were thinking about transfusing me. I lost so much, in fact, that a couple of hours later when they tried to get me out of bed to get cleaned up and moved to my permanent room, I passed out. I had to spend the next 17 hours in bed (using a bedpan, UGH!). I was SO excited the next morning when I had recovered enough to take a shower.
So, yeah, that's about how it went. I am happy I opted to for natural childbirth and I intend to do it again next time.

so far so good

Someday in the next 18 years I will find the time to tell you all about birthing a baby or, at the very least, to tell you what personal volition and the blessed blend of hormones coursing through one's body during childbirth see that I remember and deem appropriate for public consumption.

But in the meantime there is this little one:
name: E.
birthdate: 8/28/05
weight: 7 lbs 11 oz
height: 20 inches


my daughter E.

Remember, you heard it here, folks

Islander recommends the following to induce labor:
1. A one-hour prenatal massage in which the massage therapist pays significant, although not exclusive, attention to labor-inducing pressure points.
FOLLOWED BY
2. A stinky cheese dinner. Namely,

Islander's very own radicchio and fettucine in tomato gorgonzola alfredo

1. Cook one pound fettucine until slightly undercooked. Rinse and set aside.
2. In a large sautee pan, heat 2 TBSP olive oil over med heat.
3. Add 2-3 cloves chopped garlic and sautee.
4. Stir in 1 large fresh tomato or 3-4 roma tomatoes, chopped and peeled (unless you're too lazy for peeling). Make sure to include any liquid on the cutting board.
5. Immediately add 1 or 2 heads of radicchio, thinly sliced. Sautee until the radicchio wilts (about 2 minutes).
6. Stir in 1 pint of half and half (or heavy cream if you're a purist or nonfat evaporated milk if you are particularly fat conscious) and 1/2 cup vegetable broth. Simmer until the liquid thickens (about 10 minutes).
7. Add 6 - 8 oz. of crumbled gorgonzola cheese. Remember, it smells worse than it will taste so don't skimp!
8. Once the gorgonzola is melted, stir in fettucine and cook until the liquid is absorbed and the fettucine is al dente.
9. OPTIONAL but, who knows, it could be the ingredient that puts you over the top and you barely taste it anyway: Add 1 tsp of caraway seed.
10. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately.

Royal Treatment and the Motherboard

Still having problems with the desktop. They sent someone out to replace the power supply yesterday but that, apparently, is not the issue since the computer has conked out without warning 4 times in the 18 hours since the technician left. I called again and they're sending someone out to replace the motherboard. This is blogworthy for 2 reasons:
1. Somehow, although the email confirmations of service that they are sending are being sent to me, the first was addressed to Jason [my last name here]. I guess this isn't too odd since my partner called in the issue and his name is Jason even if his last name is not my own. Today, however, the email was addressed to PAUL LISS. Who are you Paul and how did you come to share my email address?
2. I bought this computer through the department with my grant. Apparently this gets you extra special treatment from Dell. They said that, since I bought it on an academic account, they don't need to run through all the troubleshooting rigmarole that they do with normal humans (you know, when they have you sitting in your study with a crick in your neck from the phone taking your computer apart and you ask them to assure you again and again as you look in horror at the various pieces of hardware on the floor that you won't lose any data). Instead, they can just keep replacing parts until the bugger works the way I want it to. I'm having a glimpse, my friends, of the way life works on the other side of the dissertation and I like what I see.

Sometimes you've just got to love Enya

From Anywhere Is

I wonder if the stars sign
The life that is to be mine
And would they let their light shine
Enough for me to follow
I look up to the heavens
But night has clouded over
No spark of constellation
No Vela no Orion
[...]
The shells upon the warm sands
Have taken from their own lands
The echo of their story
But all I hear are low sounds
As pillow words are weaving
And willow waves are leaving
But should I be believing
That I am only dreaming

Exhibit: Attempt at telling family to leave me alone already without hurting any feelings

Hello everyone.

Thanks for all the phone calls. It really means a great deal to me that you are all anticipating the arrival of the newest family member. Believe me, there probably isn't anyone more excited than I am! Not only would I like to meet the peanut, I would like to have my body back!

Sorry I haven't gotten a chance to get back to all of you but the phone has been ringing off the hook for the last week or so with people "checking in" and sometimes by the end of the night I am too tired to talk to folks about how I haven't had the baby yet. As you can imagine, it is a little frustrating to know that, supposedly, a baby is coming sometime soon but to have no idea when. I understand why some people opt for elective induction of labor, that way you know what day you're headed to the hospital and aren't climbing the walls in anticipation and frustration.

Anyway, don't worry. As soon as the little one puts in an appearance, you'll be the first people we call. But remember, it could be a while...

I hope that you are all doing well.

Your Sis

a little update

1. We ended up seeing Broken Flowers in my neighborhood. We both liked the movie.
2. I did "dare to be great" with my baking and it worked out just fine. I made daffodil cake, a marbled angel food cake. The yellow marble is flavored with orange juice and the icing is orange as well.

daffodil cake
3. My doctor said that she recently heard that fresh pineapple helps bring on labor so that's what I had for dessert this evening. Amazingly, I've spent my entire life believing that I don't like pineapple when, in fact, it is quite tasty. I guess in the past I've always had the canned stuff. Or, perhaps, I had it in the wrong context - on pizza or in a fruit salad instead of plain.
4. Yesterday someone told me that shrimp also helps to bring on labor. Although I am unwilling to eat whole shrimp, I did eat a Thai red curry for dinner that contains shrimp paste.
5. Naturally, any other absurd labor-inducing tips are welcome.

Oh, brother.

One of the wonderful thing about having so many siblings is that someone is always doing something noteworthy or frustrating or, at the very least, worth a chuckle. This week it was my mild-mannered-computer-programmer-by-day-rock-star-by-night brother who entertained us all. He attended a social event in Chicago and managed to land himself in the style section of one of the city's hipster rags.

can't buy a bucket

This morning I weeded vigorously to see if I might shake the baby loose. No contractions yet. This was upon the advice of a cousin who told me that my grandmother always used to say that she managed to induce labor (all 13 times!) by engaging in exhausting housework - rearranging the furniture, washing down the walls, etc. I went for weeding and then intended to clean out and clean the fridge but, alas, when I came inside I decided to catch my breath for a few minutes and check my email. It is then I learned that my desktop has died or, at least, is in a coma.

I followed all the advice Dell offers on their website but no luck. Apparently it is a power problem I am having so my partner is bringing a spare dell power cord home from work as a last resort. If that doesn't work, I'll have to get it serviced. Naturally, some of my work is not backed-up anywhere else. Naturally, the last thing I want to imagine myself doing tomorrow is driving a computer to Madison.

So, yeah, thankfully Martine is coming to town in a bit and we're getting together for lunch because otherwise I am fairly certain I would spend the entire afternoon crying about how I am completely at the mercy of the fates. I was planning to bake an angel food cake for my partner's birthday (it's tomorrow). But, with the way that things are going today, perhaps I should skip the "dare to be great" angel food recipe and go for a sure thing like peanut butter cookies.

movie night

I have finally met someone in Milwaukee with long-term friendship potential. This is not to say that there aren't a lot of potential friends walking around or that I don't have some "starter friendships," only that my life is not organized in such a way that I get to meet a lot of people in general. Thus, meeting potential kindred spirits occurs even more infrequently.

So, anyway, this person is great and so nice that she invited me out to a movie. She had her baby ages after the due date and understands how caged one can feel in the final weeks. All summer I've been wanting to see "Mad Hot Ballroom" and she agreed to see it but it turns out that it isn't showing on Tuesday night. I recommended "The Beautiful Country" with the caveat that it might be a bit heavy. She countered with "Wedding Crashers" and "40-Year-Old Virgin."

So, here's the thing, I've spoken before about my distaste for bad movies. I am generally amazed that the movie industry knows they can make idiotic shit films and still turn a buck on them and the idea that I would blow $8 to see some crappy movie kills me. I end up doing it anyway, of course, because I want to hang out with folks. But you don't really socialize at a movie you just sit there. Monster-in-Law is just the most recent example of time and money wasted in the interest of fostering or maintaining friendships.

On top of that, both of those movies are showing at theaters outside of the downtown/eastside area of the city. This means that I would have to drive instead of walking or taking the bus. I LOATHE driving which is precisely why I moved to an area of the city where I can walk to the movies, bookstore, supermarket, etc.

So, in conclusion, I am difficult and a snob.

Harrowing experience

Where have I been? you ask.
Well, don't worry, I've haven't been doing anything so productive as having a baby or even getting work done. No, I have been WITHOUT INTERNET since Friday night/Saturday morning. You cannot imagine how an inability to while the hours away online makes my current waiting game all the more tortuous.
This morning Time Warner called out the big guns, you know the important people who fix serious problems with the service and, consequently, only work during regular business hours, and got me up and running again.
Hallelujah, I say, hallelujah.

Book Review: White Like Me by Tim Wise

This little book is written by a well-known anti-racism activist and speaker. Tim Wise reflects on his own experiences as a white male to make a case for the existence of white privilege and to suggest that white folks have an interest in doing something about it. The book isn't academic in the least and I, for one, feel that it would be a more convincing text for those who aren't already inclined to agree with Wise's perspective if he referenced some of the data on prejudice and discrimination to shore up his anecdotes (yes, yes, I know statistics don't move people but STILL...). It's not that the episodes he recounts aren't compelling, it's just that when you fail to supersede discussion of personal experiences you cannot argue that an individual's experiences, for example, of reverse discrimination do not have the same impact that white privilege does.

Although I am not sure that I would assign the book to undergrads, I am definitely going to snark some of Wise's material when I teach Race & Ethnicity. Most helpful to me personally was Wise's discussion of how to deal with "white bonding" - when folks tell racist jokes, etc., to other white people- and his argument that it is counterproductive for white folks to be motivated in their anti-racist activism by a desire to help people of color. Instead, they should be motivated by self interest. We must all confront racism, he argues, because of what it does to our psyches and our communities no matter how white.

Anyway, by all means read it if you are into this kind of thing, if you aren't familiar with the white privilege stuff but think a new perspective might benefit you, or you are trying to figure out how to deal with those pesky students in your Race & Ethnicity lecture.

yes, yes, I am still here and still very expectant.

Holding pattern

Word to the wise:

You have a friend who is VERY pregnant. By all means call her and ask her if she wants to get together because she is probably climbing the walls. She cannot concentrate on anything. She's accumulated everything she needs. She's filled the freezer with meals that just need to be reheated. She's organized all the drawers and cupboards. She's got 5 different books going so she can switch between them when her mind begins to wander.

She's starting to feel that she will be pregnant for the rest of her life and just wants that baby out and, yet, she is completely terrified at the thought of such a dramatic life change. As she climbs in to bed every evening she thinks to herself, "This might have been my last night without a baby." Eating out she opines, "This might be the last time I get to eat out without worrying about keeping the baby happy and quiet." Then, just as certainly as she is a little sad that her life could be drastically different by morning, she is worried that her life will not be different at all. "I could go on like this for enough 2 1/2 weeks and still be under the curve," she thinks to herself with horror.

So, as I said, by all means give her a call to shoot the breeze or ask her if she wants to get together but don't ask her if she's still pregnant or to refresh your memory as to her due date. Don't comment (unsolicited, anyway) that it looks like "the baby's dropped" or hasn't or whatever. Distract her from her pregnant state. It's already more real than anything ever has been.

"It's mine! God gave it to me!"

For a little more on how God's will is indistinguishable from "might makes right" - from Times coverage of folks resisting the Gaza pull-out:

Israel's withdrawal from Gaza and four smaller settlements in the West Bank marks the first time that Israel will pull out of areas that were conquered in the 1967 war and are considered by the Palestinians to be a part of a future state. But many of the settlers here regard Gaza as part of the biblical land of Israel granted to the Jews by God, and the pullout as a betrayal of its finest citizens by the state.

Reborn!

I went to bed at 8:30 last night, woke up hungry at 5:30, went downstairs for a few spoonfuls of yogurt and a glass of water, returned to bed, lay awake for about an hour, and just when I decided that I was going to get up and enjoy the early morning, fell asleep until 9 a.m.

Today I feel like a whole new woman! You should have seen me swimming my laps at the gym. I feel so good today that I don't care if this kid decides that s/he wants to stay put long enough to start school by correspondence.

God says

From The Times yesterday, "Lutherans Reject Easing Gay Clergy Rules:"

The Rev. G. Scott Cady of the New England Synod said rejecting gays who feel a call to ministry was tantamount to questioning the will of God.
''We have vacant pulpits and altars in congregations all over this country, We have people crying out for pastoral care,'' he said. ''The Holy Spirit has said, `All right, here they are. Here they are.' Are we going to now say, `Thanks Holy Spirit, but we prefer something else.'''

This quote strikes me because my conservative christian brother, a fringe member of the liberal ELCA (go figure, I know, I was hoping this vote would go the other way so he would have to move to a more conservative synod), would have said nearly the same thing if they'd voted to allow gay clergy. One of the things about "faith" that gets me is the extent to which folks feel they need to act as if it is "God's will" that they are doing while refusing to acknowledge that what precisely "God's will" is doesn't seem to be patently obvious, is often a subject of disagreement, and that their personal understanding of God's will is frequently strangely in tune with their own preferences and desires. For instance, Rev. Cady clearly believes that gays in his church want to be ministers because it is God's will. My brother believes that gays will "burn in the fiery pits of hell" (let's ignore the fact that hell isn't particularly biblical) and, thus, any homosexual who thinks it is God's will that they serve as a minister is either very mistaken or, even more likely, working for Satan. In cases where there is a vote on church doctrine, I find myself all the more puzzled - wondering how we know the difference between "God's will" and the tyranny of the majority.

That's your child!

You know how parents have a tendency to point out when their child is not theirs? "That's YOUR son/daughter." usually comes into play when a parent believes the child is exhibiting behaviors that could only be the result of the 50% of genetic information that the disclaiming parent did not contribute. A sociologist by training, I question the extent to which we can cite biology as the sole cause of behavioral characteristics. However, I begin to hope that I am wrong.

You see, my partner likes to do everything early. He revels in living ahead of schedule. He finishes his papers days before his own already overly optimistically scheduled completion date. When we go on a driving vacation, he always tries to get me to leave for the trip the night before we planned and to return early as well. When flying, he frequently shows up at the airport hours early and talks his way on to an earlier flight. He finished college early, he entered the academic job market ahead of schedule, etc.

This penchant for precocity (or "jumping the gun" as I refer to it when it causes trouble), is not something I possess. I like to be right on time, perhaps even flying in under the wire. No need to do things early, I say, because circumstances change and the next thing you know you've created more work for yourself. This is frequently the case when it comes to things like packing your bags for a trip or doing your taxes, but I must say that I do benefit from my partner's desire to be ahead of schedule when it comes to work.

So, my doctor has now returned from a week's vacation. I AM READY. Each morning as I pull on one of the 2 pairs of shorts and 5 shirts that fit, as I struggle to bend down and see what is on the lower shelf of the fridge at lunch, as I treat the blisters that my shoes leave on my swollen feet, I think to myself, "Please, kid, be your father's child."

Jane says

I am reading some Jane Addams right now - doing some thinking/writing about class and race privelege in reaction to "the transmission of poverty" school of thought. I've always thought it fairly peculiar that I did not come across her writings until my graduate training in sociology (in a seminar on American Pragmatism). Had they been introduced to me while I was working on my first masters' at the University of Chicago School of Social Service Administration, I might not have jumped ship on social work. However, I suppose they did not have us read Addams for the same reason that I jumped ship: the predominance of the clinical/professional model of social work in which the client and not the context is seen as that which should be treated.

Anyway, a couple of quotes from "The Subjective Necessity of Social Settlements:"

"[T]he paradox is here: when cultivated people do stay away from a certain portion of the population, when all social advantages are persistently withheld, it may be for years, the result itself is pointed at as a reason, is used as an argument, for the continued withholding."

this one I particularly like-
"We are all uncomfortable in regard to the sincerity of our best phrases, because we hesitate to translate our philosophy into the deed."

Pasta v. Noodle

I make one particular fettucine dish a great deal over the summer. It contains fettucine (cracked pepper and spinach mixed is best), marinated artichoke hearts, feta, avocado, carrot, red onion, asparagus, and sun-dried tomatoes. I dress it with a balsamic vinaigrette. It refrigerates well and is a real crowd pleaser at picnics and potlucks. My partner refers to this lovely dish as "noodle salad." To which I invariably respond huffily, "It's not noodle salad, it's a fettucine toss or, if you must, PASTA salad." My partner snickers and says with a pompous accent, "Ah, yes, pasta."
Last night we made zucchini and eggplant parmagiana with whole wheat spaghetti on the side. As he was setting up our plates, my partner queried, "How many noodles would you like?"
OK, here is the thing, it is hot and I am walking along with 7-9 pounds of baby under my skin. I am short-tempered and likely to fly off the handle at any moment.
"For god's sake, I don't want any noodles! I would like a small serving of spaghetti! It's PASTA!"
Fortunately my partner, who has grown accustomed to my outbursts, took my obvious emotional upheaval in stride. "When is it pasta and when is it noodles?" he rejoined.

Thus, our dinner conversation turned to decision rules on pasta and noodles. We concluded the following:
1. Both noodles and pasta consist in the main of flour (not only wheat), water and salt cooked in water. Noodles refer to this combination of ingredients in Asian or Asian fusion cooking and in the case of egg noodles. Pasta refers to this combination in Italian-derived and most American cooking.
2. When possible refer to the particular pasta/noodle by name (e.g. fusili, lo mein, rice stick noodle, macaroni).
3. When in doubt as to classification as pasta or noodle, be guided by the name. Macaroni=pasta chow fun=noodle egg noodle=noodle penne=pasta.

pathological

And the life-time achievement award for the sociological turn of speech that does more harm than good goes to
The Intergenerational Transmission of Poverty!

Book Review: Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer

A friend recommended Artemis Fowl, claiming that the series was fun and similar in many respects to the Rowling books. So, the other day while I was cooling off in the wading pool, I read it.

Artemis Fowl is a 12-year-old criminal mastermind, the youngest member of a wealthy old family of criminals. His father was lost at sea over a year ago and his mother's grief has led her into insanity. Artemis, spurred on the emotional upheaval in his family, hatches a plot to steal fairy gold in order to restore depleted family riches and (perhaps?) be granted a wish. Once Artemis takes action, Colfer shifts our attention to fairyland, and to the adventures of Captain Holly Short (assigned to LEP recon, get it?) and a small cast of characters working to derail Artemis' nefarious plot and repair the breach Artemis creates between the magical and human worlds.

The first of a growing series, Artemis Fowl attempts to provide the intricately woven plots and detailed world of the Potter series coupled with the wit of Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events. Unfortunately, the book fails on both counts. Although the premise has potential, the creativity Colfer employed in developing it is largely absent from the book itself. Character development is minimal. For the most part Colfer's characters never depart from the stereotypes he uses to construct them. The pace of the book is quite uneven, at times the storyline drags while at others circumstances with tremendous potential for development are resolved in a sentence or two. Although there is plenty of material for witty commentary on the part of the intermittently present narrator, for the most part the narrator does little but make toilet jokes and point out upcoming twists in the plot.

This book isn't particularly worthwhile so I don't recommend spending the couple of hours it takes to read it unless you're killing time at the airport or something along those lines.

what's in a name? (Part II)

Last night I dreamt it was a boy and my partner came up with the name Ran'Ulf or something like that, which he derived from Stargate SG-1 (don't ask me to explain, not only was it a dream, I don't follow SG-1). I was horrified by the name, absolutely horrified.

Martine's questions

Here are my responses to Martine's questions:
1. what is something you'd like to do before you die?
Move back to the island.
2. what is something you likely won't do before you die that you think you might regret not doing, but at the same time don't necessarily plan on actually doing?
Hike the appalachain trail.
3. what is something that you thought you'd like to do before you die, but it turns out it probably isn't that a big a deal to you whether you do it or not?
Write a novel.
4. are you someone who is more likely to regret doing something or regret not doing something? Not doing.
5. what is something you'd like to do before you die and are likely to do soon?
Have/raise a child.

Expectant

She pointed diagonally across the parking lot, indicating the shortcut which departed from the tree-lined sidewalk and traversed the steaming black-top of the lot. “Walk that way to save yourself some steps.” It sounded to me like an order, not a recommendation. As I complied she looked at me seriously, “You should have a hat on.” I walked on in silence.

Pregnancy is an illuminating experience.

My expectant state seems to inspire goodwill and even happiness in many people on the city streets who look me in the eye, smile, and often even say hello as if I am more noteworthy than the other people walking past, someone to be acknowledged, perhaps even more than just a singular someone. Although sometimes I want to be as invisible as everyone else, I do not mind the smiles.

Others see me as infirm, someone whose mental capacity has dwindled in step with her belly’s expansion. I must be directed across parking lots, told what to wear, what to eat and when to rest. “You should not be carrying that bag.” “You should have stopped exercising months ago.” “It is too hot for you to be outside.” Even as a child, I never took kindly to outside direction. Now an adult, I positively bristle with anger when I receive unsolicited direction, not friendly advice, direction from people whose authority is suspect.

If what I saw at my own baby shower this weekend is any indication, having the baby won’t deliver me from being ordered about. My friend, Anna, hosting the shower has a three-month-old baby herself. My partner’s grandmother began issuing commands as soon as she and Anna were introduced.
“That baby is dressed too warmly.”
“You shouldn’t hold her so much.”
“You need to let her cry.”
“If she eats every 2 hours, then she isn’t getting enough food. You need to start her on solids.”
Shocked that anyone would suggest that Anna’s baby, who is as big as the average baby 2 months her senior and covered with rolls of fat, was ill-nourished, and fearing that Anna was about to cry as a result of the continuous attack on her parenting, I interrupted.
“Actually, Grandma, they say that you are supposed to stick to breastfeeding for the first 4-6 months. Even after that most of the nutrition for the first year is supposed to come from breastfeeding or formula with solid food being introduced gradually.”
Grandma snorts. She is the depository of the wisdom of the ages. “That’s just a fad. If you want to sleep through the night you need to give them cereal, but it sounds like you’re against giving cereal.”
“It’s not me. It’s the World Health Organization, the American Association of Pediatricians, the American Medical Association…”
“Those doctors don’t know what they’re talking about."
"Well... the research shows.."
"You read too much.”

Basket case

You think I've got it under control, do you?
Well, I've got news for you because it's atomic magnetism, not will, skill, or even luck, that keeps me from falling apart.

1. I am the worst RA of all time and soon the entire State of Wisconsin will be aware of how awful I really am.
2. Midsummer head colds suck.
3. You know how I always swore that I wouldn't allow myself to worry about those things my parents always worried about? How I always said that there were more important things than, well, things? Here I am worrying.
4. I carry most of my tension in my jaw and shoulders - hence the mouthguard when I sleep to save what remains of my teeth and help my TMJ. Days like today insure that I have ground my teeth down plenty before I even hit the sack.

A harrowing glimpse of what lies ahead....

diaper bank

words of encouragement

To all you prelimmers out there, even though I know that you are studying and unlikely to read this post before the event, I wish the best of luck on that heinous exam.

Pending Child, Pending Chaos

My dad is a funny one. It seems to me that he has never really been comfortable with the advisory aspect of the fatherhood role, preferring instead to use encouragement and, perhaps a bit more frequently, shame to move his children in what he feels is the right direction. In rare instances when he is actually concerned enough to issue some kind of warning or advice, he generally resorts to the parable or bottles up his concerns for so long that he ends up blurting them out in the most negative hurtful way possible. I have been working with my dad on this. When he speaks to me about his concerns regarding my siblings, I talk to him about how he might productively share his advice and experience with that sibling. I encourage him to frame the discussion in terms of his own experience - how did he learn what he thinks his child should know?

As a result of all of this, I appreciated this recent conversation with my dad.
"Are you ready for the baby?"
"Well, I guess so. I'm not sure how ready you can be for the inconceivable. We've just done a lot of reading and are trying to accumulate the necessary stuff and all that."
"You know, when I was a new parent, it was quite a shock for me to loose so much control of my life. The two of you are people who always have situations under control and I just want you to realize all of that is about to change. I worry that it will be difficult for you."
"Thanks, dad. I've already got an inkling of that even just noticing all the clutter and the worrying and all the extra responsibilities and we don't even have a baby yet."
"Well, that's just how it is so make sure that you take it easy on yourself."
"Yes, sir, and may I say that you did an excellent job imparting those words of wisdom!"

What's in a region?

The JFW community seems to be having a grand old time discussing the cache Midwestern origins may have in Boston-area dating game. It is an odd discussion for a couple of reasons.

Jeremy's post is primarily concerned with what he should do about his car. He states that folks have suggested a lack of wheels will limit his dating prospects. This is a preposterous suggestion. Many people who manage to get lucky all the time in Boston do so without the benefits of car ownership because many Boston residents do not own cars. Boston has about the most comprehensive and convenient mass transit system in the country. The city is not designed for the automobile. Just one example - if you want to take your date to Fenway for a game, you will quickly learn that, even if you have a car, you should not drive to the game. On the sox website they tell you not to drive. Perhaps, if you have always lived in places where cars are a necessity, then it is difficult to believe that there are places in which cars are not only unnecessary, but, in fact, a nuisance. Boston is one of those places. Just one nuisance example- Boston gets much more snow than Madison and the design of the city makes snow plowing and removal extremely difficult. Not only do you have to worry about finding street parking, you need to deal with an informal system of winter parking space ownership in which folks who shovel out spots designate those spots as their own (using cones, signs, etc).

On the value of Midwestern roots in dating: It should first be noted that most people who have lived their lives on the east coast don't even know the term Midwest (referring to Wisconsin as "out west" or something similar), don't really know anything about what life is like off the seaboard, and don't really think it is important that they find out. They have never given the "interior" much thought because it never occurs to them that it is so different from their own world (the same way that folks who have always lived in areas developed for automobile use don't realize that some places are not that way). I think that most Americans think that the part of the country they live in is quitessentially American and regional differences come as a shock.* There is not much that draws people out to spend a great deal of time doing more than driving through much of middle America outside of Chicago while the distribution of cities, universities, etc, makes it more likely folks from the Midwest get "out east" at some point or another.

As an east-coaster(which, actually, is as false an appellation as referring to everything west of Philly as out west) who has spent much of her adult life in Chicago and Wisconsin, I have observed that the folks who seem to make the most of Midwestern/East Coast differences are Midwesterners themselves. My partner's Midwestern family disdain my vegetarianism and cooking with "fancy"and "spicy" ingredients like pesto and garlic and attribute it to the fact that I'm from the east while, in fact, my been-in-New-England-since-the-white-folks-started-coming family also wishes my diet and cooking were a little more "normal." I was surprised when long-time friends from Madison (originally from Greenbay and outside of Minneapolis) visiting us in Portland last summer reacted with obvious disdain to people they encountered on the street who looked "stereotypically" east coast (e.g. were wearing white shorts and boat shoes and boat hats, etc). Almost every time we came across such people, one of them would make an ugly face and comment about how they must be a Kennedy, wonder aloud what time their next polo match was, or make some comment about how they have probably never been to a Menard's. I finally told them that they were offending me, that the folks they were ridiculing didn't do anything to deserve their disdain and, likely, did not even reciprocate it.

What's the point here? I'm not quite sure. Let me try to sum up:
1. When in Rome - in order to really experience a new place, one should endeavor to live life as the folks who live there live. That way, instead of feeling animosity toward a place and people because of all the ways in which your own taken-for-granted ways of doing things don't work there, you come to recognize and appreciate another orderly way in which life works.
2. Don't vilify people on the east coast for not taking a great deal of interest in the Midwest. For the most part it's simple ignorance. It may be painful to realize that folks think roots or even an entire region are insignificant but, likely, many of us experience similar situations frequently: when our relatives call us teachers instead of professors; folks don't want to talk about our research interests because they have no practical value; or people observe our work flexibility and comment that it is about time we "get a job."

*even the folks from Manhattan are surprised by some of the taken-for-granted things that are lost when they leave the island.