The end of growing up

Today is my last post for April's NaBloPoMo, the theme of which was "Growing (Up)."  Like January's theme (change), I feel like it's a topic that is naturally occurring in my life and not one I have to really force myself to think about. Today, however, I am taken by how many of the students I come into contact with on a daily basis still have some significant growing up to do. 

The most troubling remarks I heard today were in reference to Rhianna and Chris Brown.  A group of girls was talking about how sad it is that they broke up because they had "a real fairy tale."  Not even considering the missing word "relationship" at the end of that, this was already a problem for me.  I have a real issue with little girls being raised to hope for fairy tales and Prince Charmings. The most troubling part was yet to come, though.  One of them said, "Yeah, and I don't get why it's everyone's business whatever happened between them."  (Never mind the irony that she's violating her own concern by taking part in this conversation.) 

Then the other girl said, "Seriously - cuz, you know, like sometimes a bitch needs a beat-down."

I was aghast.  This is beyond troubling to me.  Here is a group of girls that I feel are fairly representative of a good section of the current Millennial generation (generally those born between 1982-2001, although I see a difference between those born before 1990 and after, generally).  Having just finished Whatever It Takes and now almost being done with The Tipping Point, I really believe that this attitude has seeped into and pervaded the culture and will take a strong, similar force to turn it around.  Because I deal with a lot of young adults between the ages of 18 and 25, sometimes I want to believe that it's too late, that we will not be able to turn them around, that we should just give up on them and work on the kids growing up now. But we can't give up; these misguided young adults are going to be working members of our society and we can't allow these attitudes to continue to spread.  I just don't know what to do, frankly.  I hope someone does and I hope that I can help in some way.  I know that, ideally, I should have said something to those girls today.  I didn't, though, because I don't think they would have really heard me; I'm not an authority figure to them.  I'm just the girl who tells them to quiet down all the time. My brain is muddled and troubled about this today.  I know it's going to be on my mind for a while.

Melting, waiting for the third madcap

Melting, roasting, frying, wilting - call it what you want: it is warm in my apartment.  I cannot wait for it to rain tonight so it can drop twenty degrees.  80-90 degree weather is just not appropriate for spring.  Save it for summer, when I expect to be miserably warm.

I think the weather has been causing some madcap happenings.  On Saturday, as I was working on the company pot roast, I had the back door open so I could air out the kitchen.  The stove is right next to the back door, so I figured it would vent nicely.  The recipe called for fresh herbs, but I had dried so I went to the other room to check online for the equivalency.  As I was reading, the doorbell rings.  It's my neighbor saying, "I think we have your dog."  I look down and there's Oreo, staring up at me just like this:

As I surfed the web, she wandered out the back door and into the neighbor's yard, where they were having a children's birthday party!  I was so incredibly embarrassed.  I can barely get her to go out into the yard when I want her to and now she went out all by herself??  I am so glad she didn't wander out front to the street.  I hate to think about what could have happened.  She's such a good dog that I just trusted that she wouldn't go out.  I have to be much more careful.

So that's madcap occurrence number one.  Then there was last night.  It was pretty warm and the two fans we have in our bedroom make it just cool enough for me to sleep comfortably, which means it was probably at least 15-20 degrees too warm for the hubby to sleep comfortably.  Therefore, he tossed and turned all night.  Unfortunately for me, when he rolls over in his sleep, he practically launches himself up in the air and lands back down on the bed with such force that I ended up being jolted awake.  After several tosses and turns, the sheet was half off the bed so I was sleeping on the mattress.  In addition, the hubby had tangled himself up in the blanket.  I woke up chilly and aggravated, so I ripped the blanket out from under the hubby.  Somehow, though, I entirely underestimated my strength and pulled so hard that poor hubby ended up rolling out of bed!  It was like ripping out a tablecloth and having the dishes all go on the floor.  Oops!!  I woke up to a thud as his feet (I hope) hit the floor and he got back into bed, quite peeved. This is why #31 on my 101 in 1001 list is "Buy a bigger bed."  We seriously need a queen size.  But, bills first, bed later. 

Thankfully the temperature is due to drop tonight and the bed wars should subside.  Before the next heat wave, we'll go pick up our air conditioners from my parents' house. That was madcap incident #2.  I believe in things in threes, though, so now I'm just waiting for the third and hope it's nothing worse than these.  In the meantime, I am sitting very still, trying not to melt.

Sense Memory

It's been seriously warm lately.  Saturday and Sunday were both around 90 degrees.  I barely put my winter coat away last week and now I was digging for a pair of shorts (which I did not find - probably in the basement, bleh). But there's something else about this weather - it transports me back to the years past where summer came upon me. 

First I thought about this week last year: I was finishing my thesis, getting ready to hand it in May 1.  I was getting ready to move, getting ready for my trip to Ireland, getting ready to graduate and find a job.  There was so much anticipation.

But even more than that, I feel old months of June when I would walk to school and feel summer bearing down on me.  I never enjoyed summer as a child because there was no school and I didn't have many friends to go out and play with.  It wasn't that childhood you think of where summer is a time of freedom and imagination.  I felt trapped in the house with little to do but - of course - read my books.  I much prefered being in school, and still do. 

When I stepped outside today, I closed my eyes for a second and when I opened them, I actually felt surprised that I wasn't outside my parents' house with my Walkman, heading toward the high school.  The weight of summer heat brings so much with it.

I measure every Grief I meet...

I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes
- Emily Dickinson

Last night I found out that someone dear to me recently suffered a miscarriage in her fifth month of pregnancy.  When they investigated why the fetus died, they discovered tumors on the umbilical cord and elsewhere in her uterus and she was informed that she has cancer, so now she's in treatment for that.  She has a very happy outlook on it all, though, which I believe will help her through.

Then I found out that a former coworker died in a traffic accident.  She was only three years older than me (proximity of age always make death even harder for me) and the article I found about the accident makes it sound as though she stepped into traffic on the highway, which I find terribly difficult to believe.  But these days, isn't that always the line?  "S/he would never do something like that."  There's always someone saying the serial killer next door was such a nice person or that there were no signs before someone killed herself.  I tend to think this might just be poor journalism.  Either way, she leaves behind a husband and two year old daughter.  It doesn't matter how she went; it's just that she's gone.

I made it through teaching last night by basically being out of my own body.  Teaching is actually really wonderful for distracting oneself from other issues and concerns.  However, as soon as I got to my car afterwards, I broke down and cried all the way home, totally overwhelmed by all the sadness and suffering and loss.

Today I feel better, but a bit on edge.  I'm not sure how much more I want to bear.  I know I could bear more; in fact, I realized yesterday that there is quite a lot I can handle - but some of this is teetering on what is beyond my ability to bear.  Thankfully I have wonderful friends - friends who alternately comfort, calm, distract, amuse, and reason.  They provide logical reasons why everything will be okay, not empty promises that it all will just be okay somehow, which is something I really appreciate. The NY Times posted an article on Monday about how friendship leads to longer life, even if they're not friends you see in person regularly, but still keep in touch with (via email, phone, Facebook, etc).  It concludes that friends make your life better; I could not agree more.

I love you, except when I don't.

And by "you", I mean student papers.  In theory, I love grading papers.  When I have stacks of short grading to do (say, introduction paragraphs), I really get into it.  But when I have a stack of final papers, even if they're only four pages long (or, unfortunately, less), I just do not relish digging in.  There are just some things that I do not enjoy as often as I love them. Other things I love, except when I don't:

• cleaning
• making coffee
• cooking dinner
• styling my hair
• choosing my outfit for the day
• going clothes shopping
• going out to dinner
• hanging out with people

Sometimes I need and yearn for these things.  Some mornings I love getting my hair "just so".  Other mornings, I wish I could just wear a hat because I cannot be bothered to toy with the hair dryer, round brush, and texturizing cream.  I sometimes love being home by myself, putting on my favorite music and yellow gloves, and scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom.  Other times, I would rather lie on a crumb-laden floor than take out the Swiffer and clean it.  Of course, at times like those I can call up my sister and have my one-year-old nephew come over since Swiffering is one of his favorite activities (no lie):

That's my nephew on Easter with my Mom's Swiffer... right before he sat on it and broke it (TJ the Destroyer).  (By the way, can you not love that outfit??  He looks like a future Justin Timberlake.) 

Anyway, there was my daily excuse for getting my nephew into the conversation.  Moving along...

So what is it that causes this love vs. avoidance conundrum?  Is everyone so fickle?  I hate to admit it, but even books fall into this.  I adore reading but sometimes it's the last thing I want to do, even if it's purely reading for pleasure - even if it's a book I've been looking forward to.  Is it the behavior of the residual three year old in all of us, defiant even against those things we love?  Or is it something else?  Or is it (*gulp*) just me?

Together, we are Nintendo (DS).

Yesterday I had to attend a customer service training session at work (this was to help us better respond to students over the phone and online).  Basically, it involved learning more about our own working personalities and the other possible personalities and the inherent conflicts between them.

I scored pretty much in what they called the grey area, meaning that I do a fairly good job of adapting to whatever type of "customer" I'm dealing with.  The test had four aspects overall: D (Dominance), I (Influence), S (Steadiness), and C (Conscientiousness).  My one aspect that was higher than all the rest (and the only one above the grey line) was D, surprise surprise. 

"D" people like (err, need) to be in control, getting immediate results, accepting challenges, taking authority, managing trouble, and solving problem.  Yes, yes, and yes - sign me up!  Everything the session leader said about "D" folks, I couldn't believe how eerily accurate it was.  She even said that when we are faced with someone who is complaining that they don't enjoy what they have to do or they aren't happy, the "D" response is, "So what?  I don't care if you're happy.  Just DO IT!" which, I hate to admit, are direct words that have come out of my mouth.  But it's true: I don't see what happiness has to do with many tasks; you just DO them because they need to be done.

The group D's find the most annoying are the I's; they are all about making a favorable impression, creating a motivational environment, being entertaining, generating enthusiasm, participating in groups, and viewing people and situations with optimism.  Ugh, shoot me.  It was nice, though, to sit at a table full of "Ds" and know that I wasn't alone or weird for finding these traits annoying. The "S" people like consistency, have patience, help others, are loyal, and are good listeners.  This is my husband.  The more she talked about this group and how they deal with the other groups (especially us Ds), the more I understood our home dynamic.  More on that in a second.

The "C" folks are fact people - they like directness, aren't emotional, think analytically, and use a systematic approach to nearly anything.  My husband is probably an Sc (High S, some C).  So, together, we are DS (like my Nintendo DS, the best gift he's ever given me). What got me, really, is the description of the sort of person each group needs in order to be effective.  I (as a D) need others who: weigh pros and cons, calculate risks, use caution, structure a predictable environment, research facts, deliberate before deciding, and recognize the needs of others.  Folks, you have just read an exact description of how my hubby functions in our marriage.  That is exactly a big part of what he brings to the table.  I trust him to do all the research and fact-checking because it's not something I like to be bothered with (a total D trait, apparently). Now, for an S person to be more effective, he needs others who: react quickly to unexpected change, stretch toward the challenges of accepted tasks, become involved in more than one thing, are self-promoting, apply pressure on others, work comfortably in an unpredictable environment, help prioritize work, and are flexible in work procedures.  Now, that is not me exactly, but quite a lot of it is.  I also fit a lot of what the "C" person needs and the hubby meets a lot of "C" qualities, which is what makes me think he's a good bit of both.

This workshop was, again, for work... but for me, it felt like a great marriage counseling session.  I shared all of this with the hubby when he got home from work and we laughed about just how true it all is.  We're going to see if we can find this test for him to take online somewhere so we can get a more accurate reading on where he falls (since I'm really just guessing based on yesterday's seminar).  I think this was such a great, fun, and useful tool.  It's really empowering to learn what traits of yours are not uncommon (i.e. you shouldn't feel bad about them because you're not the only one) but also how to manage those traits in personal and business relationships in order to create a workable environment.

Can we stop making Anne Hathaway say she's fat?

This past weekend I watched Rachel Getting Married, the movie that Anne Hathaway was nominated for an Oscar for.  The hubby was working and I was enjoying a rare night at home alone with nothing to do so I borrowed this from the school library (free!) and settled in for the evening. 

(Side note: I'm so used to having a hundred things to do that I actually couldn't sit and watch the movie straight through.  I got up, cleaned the bathtub, baked cookies, cleaned the kitchen, and a few other small things, all while going back and watching a few moments of the movie, then pausing it to do something else.  I really need to learn how to just SIT and do one thing at a time, but that's not the main point today.)

In the film, Hathaway's character is fresh out of rehab and makes a point of saying several times how she's fat because rehab makes you fat.  Considering she's probably a size 6 (4?), this was annoying and aggravating.  Similarly, in The Devil Wears Prada, she is made fun of for being the "fat, ugly" girl because she's a size 6 (not 0/2) and doesn't wear designer labels daily.  Yes, this is a commentary on that particular realm and how a size 6 is nightmarishly fat for fashionistas like that, but it's still disconcerting and aggravating. 

Later in the film, she beams with pride as she informs Stanley Tucci's character that she's now a size 4.  In Bride Wars, Kate Hudson (!!) is the fat (!!) one.  *sigh* For the filming of The Devil Wears Prada, Hathaway said, "I was thin for my height. I basically stuck with fruit, vegetables and fish. I wouldn’t recommend that. Emily Blunt and I would clutch at each other and cry because we were so hungry."  That's pathetic - utterly sad and pathetic.  But she's also said, "I've had directors say to me, 'You're the best actress for the role, but you've put on weight recently.' If people can't understand you've put on five pounds, I don't want to deal with them." 

I hope she expands this idea to no longer taking rolls that force her to say she's fat, even if the film is trying to make a point (because I don't think either Rachel or Prada accurately make the point that she's NOT fat). Can we please recognize that actresses who are thinner than one of my thighs are NOT fat?  Can we please write films for them that don't ask them to state that they are?  Can we please write films that don't explain fat as a state that comes about from eating too much chocolate or going off of drugs?  Can it not be an automatic personal failure?

By the way, as I type this and have Hathaway's IMDB page open, there is a Slim Fast ad running down it's side proclaiming that you, too, can kick your cupcake habit if you join the Slim Fast plan.  Oh, yes, of course - why didn't I think of that?  A small shake in a can would be SO much more fulfilling than a hearty salad or bowl of soup or light sandwich for lunch.  That must be why I'm fat.  Or maybe it's the drugs I quit taking or all the chocolate I eat. I don't mind commentary about what is/is not fat in films.  In fact, I welcome it.  However, what I object to is clearly thin actresses having to play the fat role because they're a size 6 instead of a 2.  I know we're not used to looking at normal sized women on screen, but how about we use a size 10 as the normal woman, even though size 14 is the norm?  Or wait, I know - how about we properly represent the full range of sizes and shapes women come in?  If I lined up all the women I see regularly, you would see a full range of heights, weights, and fitness.  You'd see thin and out of shape and you'd see plus-sized and in shape.  You'd see tall, short, thin, heavy, average, pudgy, slouchy, insecure, bold, casual, dressy, stylish, and style-challenged women.  And I hate when people say things like this and then close with, "But they're all beautiful" - but guess what?  They are.  They are beautiful on the inside AND the outside.  They are all loved and treasured by the people who know them.  They do wonderful things for people.  They work hard at their jobs.  They raise precious, loving children.  They are fierce competitors.  They're nerds and geeks, shopaholics and spendthrifts, great cooks and kitchen disasters.  What they are not are women who need to be continually told that a size 6 is fat.  They ARE beautiful, so there.

We've got style, how 'bout you?

My friend Danielle at Delightfully Sweet reads/skims many, many blogs and websites (so many that I wonder how she has time to do all the things she does - I'm beginning to think she has a Harry Potter time turner):

(Remember, Hermione uses it to get to more classes?  You find out about it in book/movie three, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.)

Anyway (before I go on a Harry Potter tangent), I, too, look at a lot of sites and some blogs (although not nearly as many, it seems).  I find myself too disparaged at times by other people's style and abilities.  I wonder why I can't dress like that, why I don't have the money for certain things, why I don't have the time to cultivate the hobbies and activities that other people do.  I love that people share so much of themselves and their lives online, but I'm always curious for more information.  Just how do they manage to look so good, have that picnic, write that book, raise that kid, film that show, take those pictures, cook those dinners.  I don't have time to cultivate a photography habit, write a book, go food shopping, cook a nutritious and inexpensive dinner, have a kid, raise that kid, dress him or her cutely, dress me cutely, have great hair, be witty, relax, read great books - and on, and on, and on.  These are all things I want to do, but I'm wondering if everyone has to pick and choose.

It reminds me of those birth control commercials where the family has several kids, goes skiing, moves to Memphis and the mother hopes to "finish a book, finish a sentence!"  And then they go on to have a very cute little girl after going off the birth control.  There should be other types of control.  I don't have time to perfect my dinner making, so I should be on "dinner control" - what I do for dinner shouldn't count towards my weight and nutrition until I'm ready to direct my energy toward it.  Or "hair control" - my hair will always look good (just not great) until I have the time and money to get my color done and spend a little more time on my hair in the morning.

I'll admit it: I'm a control freak.  There, I said it.  Type A, all the way.  Perhaps that's why I feel like I should be able to have it all and do it all, even though I recognize that's nearly impossible.  But the promise of it keeps me striving, keeps me working at being a better wife, cook, friend, sister, daughter, and most importantly, a better me.

I will keep avoiding certain websites, though, because they make me feel too inadequate... and I'm not going to stop wishing for a time turner.

A day for the babies

I was always told that holidays are great, but that they're really for kids.  Since my siblings and I were the youngest ones in the family until recently, we were basically "the kids" and I really did love holidays.  But now, with my two nephews, I get it.  The best parts of my day involved playing with my two nephews and watching them "open" their Easter baskets.  They're both too little to understand about opening presents, but they both loved their new toys.

It's still weird to think about having a baby of our own, but I'm really starting to feel like, "Okay, yeah, we could manage that and it feels like it would fit."  I have never EVER thought before that a baby fit into my life - seriously, never - and was fine thinking that one might never fit... but today I had a weird feeling. As we left my parents' house, I felt weird that we were just leaving, the two of us, as my sister and her husband left with TJ.  Then later, at my in-laws house, after my sister-in-law and brother-in-law left with little David, the house felt kind of empty.  It felt weird not having a baby around.  Does this mean we should have one of our own?  Well, no, not right now; we have to time it right in regards to work and school and make sure we have income... but it's not the terrible and scary thought it used to be... and that in itself is practically scary.

You do what you have to do.

For the next month and a half, I am working a lot of six day weeks.  By this I don't mean six full-time days, but that I have to show up for work six days a week, even if I get to leave early one day because I came in on Saturday.  None-the-less, it's still taxing.  I'm used to having Saturdays and/or Sundays where I can sleep in and laze around before running errands or cleaning or getting ready for a night out.  Now I have to get up six mornings a week and since we go to the hubby's parents' house every Sunday afternoon for laundry and dinner, I don't have a single day to myself.

But it's what we have to do.  I'm lucky to have my job, especially since it seems pretty secure.  I'm also lucky to have my second job, not just because it brings in income we so direly need, but because I enjoy it so much.  If you are going to have two jobs, it's incredible to like them both, especially the second one, which has the possibility of feeling like a chore.

The hubby's temp job ended Thursday and so I have been super worried about money and life plans.  My jobs alone can't cover all the bills and household expenses (we're talking just basic food and gas here, no extras) so it was imperative that he find something new.  Not long ago, he went into a fave pizza place to see if they needed any help - this would be his second job.  They recently called to ask him to pick up a few hours taking phone orders and now that they heard his job ended, they've offered him more hours and have promised him that as long as he needs the job, he has it.  It's not a lot, but it's something and it's enough to pull us through.  And now the hubby is even talking about going back to school so he can finish his bachelor's degree.  Being a school addict, this makes me incredibly happy, but it does so on a practical level, too.  The unemployment rate is higher for people without college degrees and it is indeed harder to find a job if you don't meet the basic "college degree required" part of a job listing.  (Yes, I believe that the degree doesn't necessarily mean much as far as job skills and knowledge are concerned - I've met enough people with college degrees who couldn't tell their ass from their elbow - but we live in a time where it's valued so it only helps to have one.)

It will be a lot - both of us working and taking classes, but sometimes I think a schedule like that is preferable.  Your free time becomes so much more precious and valued.  I like being busy and productive and would really like it if the hubby and I had similar levels of activity.  I can see it working out really well for us.  The unfortunate part is that we wouldn't have a lot of extended free time for friends and things like that, but we would just have to make sure we take the time to plan fun activities with everyone once in a while.

We've also been talking a lot lately about when to have a baby.  We have vague plans about this, but it's scary to think about getting pregnant and having a baby when finances are precarious.  Those little buggers aren't cheap, after all, but I'm going to be 35 next summer, which is the big "uh oh, danger danger" age for conception and pregnancy so, if possible, I'd like to get in one pregnancy before that.  We'll see if it happens, though.  We're not trying right now.

But, if nothing else, now we get really cheap pizza.  I can definitely live with that for a while.

Things I have to deal with today...

Things I have to deal with today that I never envisioned as part of my adult life (especially my 30s)...

1. Sharing a hotel room with my boss.

2. Nodding off and painfully smacking and re-smacking my head on an airplane window.

3. Having to think about every single little tiny expenditure because every bank account is empty and every credit card is nearly maxed or overdue for payment.  Add: worrying about trying to pay for something in front of my boss and having the card denied.

4. Constant spousal employment worries (the hubby's temp job ends this Friday).

5. Wondering if my hotel-room-sharing boss will mind watching two hours of Dancing With the Stars after dinner.

6. Having TSA throw away my facial moisturizer and hair wax because the containers were too big.  I explained that I didn't believe lotion and wax counted as liquids but I was assured that they do.  I want to appeal that definition.

Bringing the future to the past

Today I went to church twice.  No, I'm not extremely faithful or religious.  Today is Palm Sunday, so I went to church for that, then this afternoon my whole family went into NYC to celebrate my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary.  The blessing for them was held at the church on the Upper East Side that my parents were married at and I was baptized at.  Other than my baptism, I've been to that church twice before (for the baptism of my little cousins) and really looked forward to and loved going again, especially since this time I had my husband with me (we hadn't even met yet the last time I was there).

Most of the service was in Estonian (which is what my father's family is) and a soloist even sang "Amazing Grace" in Estonian, which brought tears to my eyes.  Like I said, I am not particularly faithful or religious, but I do enjoy being in church and am moved by it quite frequently (and that's not limited to churches either; I have teared up in synagogue, too).  I have great respect for faith and religion and for those whose life it helps.  I know a lot of people have issues with church-going, but I think I was lucky enough to grow up attending a really great church whose congregation does a lot of great things for people.

Of course, my nephew TJ was there today and it was great to watch him toddle around the church.  He's such a joy; people really are drawn to him (except for one bratty kid who kept stealing his toys and trying to knock him over and punch him; I swear, I wanted to clock that kid - he had to be at least five or six and he was picking on a one year old).  It was really emotional to sit in this church where my parents were married, where I was baptized, where so many people of my heritage still gather to sing their national anthem and pray in their homeland language - and then watch my darling one year old nephew toddle around.  He's only 1/4 Estonian, but I wonder what his heritage will mean to him.  How will he view and put together all the different nationalities that have come together to create him?  Will he think of all the family members who left their homes and traveled to a new country so that their children could have better lives, not even able to think far ahead enough to this wonderful little boy who would one day wander down the aisle of this church still speaking the old country language?

Molding, shaping date night

I knew the hubby had finally gotten around to reading some of this blog when one night he walked into the living room and said, "Did I really say 'Why do we need a date night, we're married?'"  I said yes; he said, "I'm an ass" and walked out of the room to go back to reading.  The next day in the car, I explained to him my thoughts on the matter.  Date night isn't a natural thought to him since he hasn't been reading women's magazines since he was ten years old (like yours truly).  Also, we really just never dated.  Even our first date was more of a hang-out than a date; and then we clicked so much that we just started spending time together - all our free time, every day for a while.  Other than special holidays or things, I'm not sure we ever had an actual date.

So of course date night isn't going to be natural for us.  I was a little liberal on my 101 list for last month in that I counted our weekend in Baltimore as the "date night" for the month, but it fit.  We relaxed and we actually got to spend a good amount of time by ourselves Sunday morning, just talking and laughing.  For our life, it was a date.  Today we're going to the Liberty Science Center, which I'm counting as a sort of daytime date (although we did also go out to dinner Thursday night to celebrate the Columbia notification, which also felt like a date).

So we're getting there.  I think as I start school and we start talking about when to have a baby, date night is going to become even more important.  As I've expressed before, we're still working on becoming that well-oiled machine you should be in order to bring a baby in to the family, and I think date night is utterly instrumental to this.  We get to talk without a TV or computer around; we get to maybe talk about things that we haven't talked about but need to.  I'm not the best at sharing my thoughts or worries or fears; date night gives me a quiet, slower time where I can figure out what I want to say and how to say it.  I'm amazed at the things I was able to finally say to the hubby when we were in Baltimore and when we went out to dinner Thursday night - things that have been on my mind for a while.  In those moments, I feel like I get a glimpse of who we actually are as a couple.

Tiptoeing into the Ivy

So remember how I got into one grad school program but really wanted another one?  Well, I got into that other one.  This fall I will be working on my Master of Education (Ed.M.) at Columbia University-Teachers College.

Part of me thinks I'm plum crazy to get back on the grad school train, but I do have my reasons for this.  I do want more of an education credential.  Wherever my career ends up going, it's going to involve some sort of education administration; I don't doubt this.  Whether I stay with my current job for a while (which is education administration) or whether I decide to try teaching full-time (if I could ever get such a gig), there would always be administration involved.  The program I'm attending is Teaching of English, so I'll be studying the methods and theories behind teaching composition and literature.  This is absolutely perfect for me because I'll get to continue studying literature but I'll also learn how to be a more effective teacher - something I plan to continue working on for as long as I'm teaching.

When the hubby and I were deciding on wedding photographers, I narrowed it down to two.  The one we ended up not going with does some work for Columbia University and so he had us meet him at a coffee place right by the campus.  We walked through the campus to get there and I totally fell in love; I even dragged Tom into the bookstore and bought myself a sweatshirt.  As of late, I have worried about that sweatshirt; I knew that if I didn't get in, I wouldn't be able to wear the shirt anymore because it would make me too sad.  I just heard from Columbia last night so I haven't yet worn the sweatshirt since being accepted, but I know that when I put it on, it's going to feel different than the last time I wore it.

The email from Columbia came in at 5:21pm yesterday; I was still at work and, thankfully, alone.  My heart was pounding and my hands were sweating as I opened the email.  After I read the first line of the letter: "I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted..." I let out a "WOO!" and pounded on my desk, like a drum roll.

And then?  I proceeded to cry.  This was it.  This is what I have worked so hard for over the past ten years.  I sent those monthly payments to my first college after dropping out so I could pay off my outstanding balance to them so they could release my transcript and I could transfer to another school and finish my degree.  I took 2-3 classes per semester, including summers, at night while working full-time during the day so I could finish my B.A..  I gave up a decent-paying job and moved two hours from everyone I know (including my then new boyfriend, who is now the hubby) in order to attend grad school.  I holed up and alienated nearly everyone over those B.A./M.A. years because I was driven and dedicated to doing the best that I could at all times.  I won a Teaching Assistantship and didn't treat it like a given or a free ride or something I always knew was mine. I worked hard, learning everything I could about teaching from anyone who was willing to talk to me (I have a particular fondness for my grad school friend Nadia, who taught me so much about teaching and navigating grad school).  I studied my ass off and earned high honors on my comprehensive exam.  I wrote my ass off and earned high honors on my thesis.  Without this, those would just be personal badges of honor.  I have a friend who says he read Moby Dick just so he can drop, "Oh, well, when I was reading Moby Dick" into conversation.  That would have been the worth of those honors.  I was most definitely proud of what I accomplished, but I now feel that it wasn't just for me.  I know that putting this all together helped me get into this program.

I always joke that I wanted to go to an Ivy League school since I first understood what the Ivy League was.  I fully understand and believe that I could get an equally good education at many schools, but I'm always working to make myself proud.  The first time I felt like this was the day of my undergrad graduation:

I worked hard; I was wearing honors tassels; I was graduating from a school I loved (and still love) so much.  That photo was taken at about 6am after only 3-4 hours of sleep, but I look rested and honestly happy.

The next time I felt proud was when I found out I earned honors on my comp exam and thesis.  I didn't find out about the thesis until the booklet from graduation (which I didn't attend) arrived in the mail with my diploma and nearly had to sit down as I saw the double stars next to my name.

And then there's today.  I can't wait for Orientation - to walk onto campus and be able to say to myself, "I belong here."

Some assembly required

Growing up, you think that your adult life just falls together - that you get there, to this magic state that is adulthood, and you know exactly how to go about managing your life.  Because I have honest and down-to-earth parents, I understood that life threw you curve balls, but lately I've been thinking about the ways in which many people I know seem to have to work at reclaiming their lives.

I started writing poetry (bad, bad poetry) in high school.  If I remember correctly, I figured that all the cool, depressed people did it and so I wanted to, too.  I think I also really needed a creative outlet.  Even though my verse was terrible, I enjoyed putting it together.  I took poetry writing in college and eventually did a creative writing senior project that was comprised of a ten page paper and fifteen pages of poetry.  I handed that in at the end of April 2005 and haven't written a poem since.  I wanted to take poetry writing in grad school, but by the time it was offered, I really wasn't on the creative writing track anymore and the professor that taught it was so intimidating and smart that I didn't feel qualified to sign up for the course (he was my thesis adviser, though).

So most of what I feel like I know about poetry writing comes from my undergrad years, where I was fortunate enough to have some amazingly wonderful professors.  One note that often pops into my mind is that "poets need free time."  By this they meant that you can't write poetry if you don't take the time to slow down and notice what's going on around you.  But this couldn't be passive, either - you have to go out and live a life; it can't be so slow that you're just at home all the time (even Emily Dickinson had some personal interactions).

These are the two situations that I have struggled with since handing in that senior project.  I was either so busy that I felt like I never stopped running around and, when I did, I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open OR I rejected all of that so strongly that I holed up at home and did away with most human interaction and recreation.  This is why "Write 10 poems" is on my 101 list; not only do I want to write ten poems, but I want to get myself back into the balance where I can.

These days I can feel it once in a while and it is so refreshing and enlivening.  I've even had a few lines of verse pop into my head.  I haven't written anything down, though.  The machine isn't ready to produce any product yet; it's just getting warmed up.  The next two months are very busy, though - there isn't a single weekend where I don't have something to do, whether it be work or travel or some social obligation, so slowing it down is going to be difficult, especially since I also don't have fully free evenings.  I can't help but get angry sometimes that I have to work this hard to get some time for myself, that I have to push away people and activities and responsibilities just so I can gain some head-space, but it's a must.  I'm a happier person when I have that time and my brain is in a thinking, creative space, and that will make me a better friend so it does work out in the end.  This blog is actually helping quite a bit; I've found that taking the time to compose my thoughts on one idea is helping me slow down.

We may ride the see-saw as a child, but creating balance is really the work of adulthood.