Pecos Horatio

Horatio suddenly and thoroughly entered the "why" phase a couple of weeks ago. Virginia has started saying "not fair!" to pretty much everything she doesn't like (sorry, Sugar). And then, just recently, they've picked up each other's speaking habits, so both of them say both of these charming things to a maddening extent.

My response, of course, is to tell them I'm going to turn them loose to be raised by coyotes.

You know that song, "Rock-a-bye Baby"? Listen to the lyrics. It is about a baby falling out of a tree and crashing to the ground. Sometimes parents talk (or sing) about doing slightly crazy things with their children. It helps you blow off steam and prevents you from actually doing anything crazy.

So, I tell my kids they will be raised by coyotes. This started when we were living in Norcross. Because what came to my mind first was that they could be raised by wolves (like Romulus and Remus). But we didn't have wolves in Norcross, we had coyotes. Which is actually even more perfect, because one of my favorite stories when I was growing up was Pecos Bill. He was raised by coyotes and he turned out just fine.

I'm not sure what sort of possibly maternal wildlife we have living around us now, but we're pretty committed to the coyote fantasy at this point.

With Horatio flexing his two-and-a-half year old negotiation muscles more an more, I may have threatened to give him to the coyotes too many times in the last week.

First, he looked genuinely frightened, like he believed me. Then, he apparently decided, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Howling at the moon

End of First Semester

I guess I should say something about completing my first semester of doctoral studies...

I did it!

It has been an interesting few months. Our first days and weeks in Chapel Hill were fraught with doubts as to the wisdom of my decision to ask my family to move up here for me. The kids missed everyone back in Georgia. John immediately had to travel back for business, leaving me alone with sad children, a house full of boxes, and stresses over important UNC emails I had missed.

But it has gotten better. John still has to travel to Georgia regularly. The good thing is, he is working. He is earning money and supporting us (supplemented by my stipend). We are hopeful that we'll be able to cut down on his travel even more in the new year. When he is gone, it just gives me a chance to practice summoning the serenity to be a loving solo parent to our strong-willed children. I've also made some good friends, one of whom has kindly spent many an evening with me and the kids being a cool person who comes to visit them and giving me a little adult back-up.

Virginia and Horatio have adjusted. They have made lots of new friends and enjoy their school. They get to play soccer every Thursday, which is the highlight of Horatio's week. Virginia's teacher is really good accentuating Virginia's positives and always has glowing things to say about her. V just celebrated her 5th birthday at a local teaching farm with friends from her class. She got to ride a pony!

We have been back to Georgia several times as a family to visit, so the kids still get to see the people they miss. They have even gotten better about car trips. Virginia enjoys the audio books John and I listen to. Horatio plays with toys, or just his hands (complete with airplane noises).

The thing that has been really nice for me, though, is that I love what I am doing. Not just the idea of what I'm doing or the future of what I'm doing. I'm content right now. (Maybe that will be bad later, when I have to move on, but I suspect it will work out.) This semester I've met great people, relearned how to read scholarly articles (yay!), helped write an encyclopedia article, learned how search engines work, and read a lot about jokes. When I wake up in the morning (besides, truthfully, wishing for a little more sleep) I am excited about my day. Every day. I'm excited to go to school during the week and I'm excited to spend the day with my family on the weekend.

I do need to find more opportunities for storytelling, both practice and performance. But I have been to one show here. I've been in one show here and a couple back in Atlanta. And I have a possibly foolish plan for joining the summer reading fray in 2015. If nothing else, I'm certainly living more stories.

Let the holiday festivities begin!

God Awakening

The following are "given" not as proof, but as the knowns my mind connected in the instant it produced this "what if?'.

Given 1: Either something, at some point, came from nothing or something has always existed. I encountered this idea in Sophie's World, and as unlikely as both options seem, one does have to be true.

Given 2: There are religious stories in which deities, creation, and humanity come about because of the divine attempting to know itself.

Given 3: Norse mythology includes stories about things that are yet to happen, like the end of the world.

So, what if...

...We (and by "we" I don't just mean humanity, I mean all of it, all life, all "creation") are God waking up right now? What if all of this is divine consciousness just becoming aware of itself?

Creation stories sort of deal with my Given 1. Either they describe early gods somehow coming out of the nothing, or a god already exists who creates everything else. Either way, the gods usually come before creation. My "what if" simply turns it around, so that the physical world was here first, and God is emerging from it. Or, God has always been a part of the physical world but is only recently self aware.

This ties in to the Given 2, awareness as the link between God and the physical world. The physical world, life, consciousness, instead of being side effects of God trying to know himself are the things that allow him to know himself.

And Given 3 addresses the fact that all our religious stories say God has been awake and doing things for a while now. Well, our religious stories say a lot of things, some of which are projections of the future. So, I'm flexible on the timeline.

I know that to many religions this idea is blasphemous. I know that as a pantheist it is easy for me to think things like this.

But because I can think it, I do. I ponder it. I wonder what it would mean. I don't know. I'm not putting it forth as a fact. Just a thing I think about.

We humans like to imagine ourselves as the end. God made us as something special amongst the rest of creation. We are the culmination of evolution. Maybe though, we (humans along with the rest) are only the beginning.

Please, No Toys for Christmas

Let me paint you a picture of what happens to the average toy:

The child wears down Dad at the store. Mom comes home from a conference. It's a birthday or Christmas. The child acquires a new toy. The child is so in love with that toy. It is the best toy in the world. This moment is why adults buy toys for children. It makes them happy.

Within the next day or so, the toy finds itself among all the other toys.

Our "dining room" / playroom / office / place where we dry clothes. All those colored drawers on the bookshelf are filled with toys. Also notice the floor, table, and "kitchen."

It is put away, lost under a couch or in the car, forgotten. It is occasionally re-found and enjoyed, but mostly makes an appearance when the children play a fun game called put-ALL-the-toys-all-over-the-floor-and-pretend-they're-the-ocean.

In all seriousness, we have reached toy saturation. We got rid of piles and piles of toys in the yard sale before we moved and we still have too many. We have moved into a smaller house and do not have room for all of our stuff. (John and I have gotten rid of things, too, lest you think only the kids have sacrificed.) Also, we are trying to live a more minimalist lifestyle. We truly want to have fewer things. If we manage to save money by having less, we would like to spend it on doing things together instead.

That said, we would be happy just to see you at Christmas, in person or through the miracle of face-time. But if you feel so moved as to gift our little darlings with a holiday package there are some great ideas here and here.

I promise they'll still be really excited and I'll be less likely to break my foot on the wine-dark sea.

I Love Being a Librarian

Presumably I chose the career of "librarian" because I saw it as a good fit for my personality on some level. And I totally did. But I am only just now realizing how utterly perfect it is, for me, to be a librarian.

Either that or the combination of reading mountains of scholarly LIS research and YA dystopian novels and science fiction has warped my brain.

I had some vague hope that as a doctoral student I would be able to put together my divergent interests, which in competing for my limited time were causing me to be hopelessly overbooked. (I still struggle with overbooking, but I'm working on it. Old habits...)

Specifically, I wanted to merge my librarianing and storytelling worlds, because I love storytelling and I'm kind of going to keep doing it whether I have time for it or not. This is playing out. I'm immersed in a storytelling research project right now and I've cleverly managed to combine finding a new story to tell with a class assignment.

I remember a time when I was a young child and I wanted to be all the things. I was going to be a ballerina and a clown and an astronaut and a mom. I maybe never really outgrew that. I still want to do a lot.

And then I was going to be an astronaut for a long time. That is still a big part of who I am. There is a reason I have a growing body of personal stories that start, "Both my parents are scientists..." (Well-liked stories, by the way. Apparently people can relate.)

This is where the unlikely intersection of ALL my interests in library science gets almost eery. I am seeing science fiction come true. I didn't even realize how much that would mean to me.

Okay, now stick with me. I read an article about how search engines treat yes-no questions. The findings of the article suggest that search engines tend to rank websites that will answer "yes" higher than those that will answer "no." And, people tend to show a preference for the "yes" results. AND if people look at more than one website, it is to confirm, not challenge, what they learned from the first one they looked at. All of this put together adds up to people actually getting a lot of wrong answers. [White, R. (2013.) Beliefs and biases in web search. SIGIR '13. 3-13]

One of the ways search engines know how they are doing is by paying attention to what people click on. Basically, because of our search behaviors, we have told the search engines to lie to us.

And then, all of the sudden, I realized I read about this. This past summer I read I Robot and in one of the chapters a robot with an anomaly that allows him to read minds tells people what they want to hear instead of the truth. He can read their minds, so he knows the answer they want. And the first law of robotics says that he must not harm humans. He views making them unhappy as harming them. In the end he is confronted by two people at once, and unable to please them both, goes crazy.

Asimov says, in the intro to the book I used to share my with 3rd grade classes when we talked about science fiction, that if scifi authors get it wrong it is not because they go too far, but because they don't go far enough. Who knew the robots would live in the cloud?

On our latest drive to Georgia (To surprise my mom for her birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom!) I listened to the BBC radio version of Douglas Adams's Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. One character is obsessed with both computers and music. He sees patterns in all data, in the whole universe, and sees music as this beautiful representation of the patterns.

The library world can be divided into systems and users. I have a definite user bias, but I can get my science fix from the systems side. And Adams has reminded me that there really is no difference. Both sides make beautiful music.

A Friend to Comb my Hair

I debated about whether to blog this, because, ew.

We had lice.

If we have seen you recently, and you are itchy. We're sorry.

Virginia said her head itched this summer and I checked her for lice every time she mentioned it. But it wasn't until after we moved and I was doing her hair one morning that I actually saw a couple of the little buggers. Le sigh. Because just moving to a new city and starting a PhD program wasn't enough to worry about.

Lice suck. We bought some of the noxious shampoo (didn't use any on Horatio) and began the tedious daily process of nit picking with lice combs.

My kids don't have tons of hair, so combing their little heads hasn't been the worst thing ever. But then there is my hair. Thick, long, and unaccustomed to having each strand forced apart. (Hello frizz.)

And you're not supposed to just comb the hair. You are supposed to examine the scalp for lice and nits. I can't see my own head. I asked John if he would comb my hair and he said, "It's so long...."

It reminded me of "I Claudius." Early in the series, Tiberius is in the bath with his brother. (It's a Roman bath.) They have the following conversation:

Drusus: A man should keep himself clean, not have slaves do it.
Tiberius: And how's he supposed to scrape his own back?
Drusus: He gets his brother to do it.
Tiberius: If he hasn't got a brother?
Drusus: He gets his son.
Tiberius: If he hasn't got a son?
Drusus: Gets his friend.
Tiberius: And if he hasn't got a friend?
Drusus: Then he should go and hang himself.
Tiberius: I've tried it. Better to have a slave scrape your back. 

[The Romans would put oil on themselves and scrape it off to clean - if you're wondering about the whole back-scraping thing.]

We've just moved away from everyone. I don't have a sister here to comb my head. My daughter is too young. I don't have a close enough friend here yet.

Don't worry, I'm not considering hanging or slavery. Just hoping I can avoid becoming Emperor of Rome.

North Carolina

I don't really know what to say about moving to North Carolina. So, here are some pictures. 

Graffiti seen along a walking/biking trail that leads from near our house to some shops and restaurants. Maybe I can use it in my dissertation. I expect to be referencing McLuhan.

The breakfast table. Notice the kids drinking tea out of tiny mugs.

My school!

I have claimed some desk space in the dungeon. It is where I spend pretty much all of the time I'm not in class.

Train tracks near the house. We hear the train sometimes and have seen it parked down this way.

Our front door.

There are edible things growing in the back yard!

Look for the tiny green tomato.

Neighbor/stray cat leaves paw prints on my car. :3

I finally gave in to the kids sleeping in my bed last night. John has been back in Georgia for a couple days and they were scared/not sleepy/missing Daddy.

Fading Horatioisms and Electra

Horatio is making a real effort to speak better. It is amazing to watch and I'm so proud of his development, but also, I miss his cute mispronunciations and misnomers.

Most notably, he has almost completely stopped calling Virginia "Mine." She is "Ginya" instead. It started about a week ago. At first he alternated the two names, but now she is usually "Ginya" or "My Ginya."

Then, this weekend he said "boo-nana." Instead of "nana."

On our most recent trip to and from Georgia (...since the move to NC. I know I'm not doing a good job of actually blogging what is happening in my life) we listened to a playlist I created of all my storytelling CDs. The playlist just covered the round trip. One of the stories we heard (which I had not heard before) was Jay O'Callahan's "Electra."

We have started joking about the odd neighbor from his story who would ask her dog, "Why does one bark, Bones?"

What if we talked to Socrates that way?

"Why does one meow, Socrates? Why does one climb the door frames? Why does one destroy cardboard boxes? Why does one chew plastic bags?"

But most importantly, "Why does one lick one's own butt?"

Oh woe is me, my children will not be tiny and cute for much longer. And the chorus says, "Woman up, Electra."

The Phone

I have a confession to make: I hate calling people on the phone.

Not so much with people I know. I do like talking to friends and family. Although sometimes, even with these folks, I have a moment of anxiety, worrying that I'm interrupting something and they *gasp* won't want to talk to me.

But the bigger problem is in calling people I don't know. Straightening out utility, credit card, loan issues on the phone, making reservations, ordering food. If I can do it online, or talk someone else into doing it for me, I absolutely will.

Why on Earth does making calls give me anxiety? Possibly a manifestation of my introvert nature. I'm not good at small talk, and interacting with new people usually involves small talk.

I'm too nice, so I have a hard time with sales people. Sometimes calling for routine things involves people trying to sell you stuff.

Also, I'm sensitive, and I don't like people being irritated with me. I worry about bothering them by calling at a bad time, or bringing up something they don't want to talk about.

I did work for a call center briefly, and this probably didn't make things any better. It was okay during the summer when I was giving high school students surveys over the phone. But as soon as I had to start asking for donations I had plenty of people angry with me.

The point of all this isn't to explain why I haven't called you. It is to say that this is one area of my life in which storytelling is providing some unexpected healing.

My volunteer work results in phone calls. I've called to remind people to renew their membership. (This especially frightened me after the call center experience.) I now quite regularly participate in (and lead! eep!) conference calls. I talk on the phone to connect with storytellers across the country who have some ties to the work I am doing.

I've learned a couple of interesting things:

1) Scheduling calls removes most of my anxiety. If I know I am making a call at a certain time, and I know the other party is expecting my call, I'm much more at ease.

2) Storytellers are just great people.

If you have to face your fears, it really helps to face them in a warm and loving environment. That isn't always possible, but for me, in this case, it has worked out that way. Every storyteller I talk to, no matter what I'm talking to them about, is kind, helpful, and not at all scary.

Who knows, after a few more years of storytelling-related phone calls, maybe I'll be cured!

Well I'm not holding my breath on that one. But in the mean time, if you want to talk to me, let's schedule a call!

Laughing Buddha

I've been reading Being Peace by Thich Nhat Hanh. The opening chapter is about smiling - which makes me smile just reading it. And he talks about, if you want to have a Buddha statue, to make sure it is a laughing Buddha.

I think reading Being Peace has lead me to my recent discovery that Virginia is a laughing Buddha.

Let me explain.

"God is everything" is a mantra I use often in my meditation, or any time that I need peace or comfort. It is comforting to be nestled in God's hands at every moment. In my meditations, I do attempt to understand all people, even people I find difficult, as true expressions of God.

This is a particular area of the "God is everything" concept that is difficult for me. If a person is giving you trouble it is hard to think of them nicely at all, let alone as God.

The loving kindness meditation works a little better for me with difficult people. I can find it in my heart to wish them well. And if there is some selfish part of me that hopes that if they are happy they will be kinder to me - well, I also wish myself well and perhaps if I am at my best I will be kinder to them.

My children fall into a special category. In some ways it is easy to see God in them. And it is easy to wish them well. But, I'm also responsible for them. I have to both accept them, and help them grow.

Virginia and I have had a rough week - and the summer hasn't even really started. Thursday night, while I did a workout video and heard nothing from the playroom but happy playing, Virginia and Horatio actually took Virginia's detangling spray, hair gel, and comb from the bathroom, and Daddy's scissors from his office. Virginia cut Horatio's bangs, and a chunk of her own hair.

When I ask her why she does things like this, she tells me that she doesn't mean to, she is just "too excited." This answer has infuriated me, but I've decided to start taking it seriously. Now when I see her getting "too excited," I invite her to calm down in a way that isn't punishment, but takes her off the path of impending bad choices. Once she gets overexcited, by her own admission, she is incapable of making good choices, so we might as well head it off before things get out of hand.

Virginia is my oldest. My experiment child. My daring girl, whose personality occasionally conflicts with my own. We have a lot more tough roads ahead of us. And I know that it isn't just her behavior that needs to change. The way I view her has to change, too.

Accepting her too-excitedness is a start. But even better is to see her as a laughing Buddha. I can see her as God that way - laughing. She loves life so fully. This is not a thing about her that I need to change. Redirect her energies, maybe, but not restrain.

This is an old picture. Pre-haircut.

End of a Chapter

My students had their last day of school on Friday. Although I do hope to make some cameo appearances at my school in the future, my time as their teacher is over. My students are the thing I will miss the very most from this job.

(On a side note, I realize I am steering myself towards a career that does not as much involve working with children... Maybe I'll take more storytelling gigs for kids. Or maybe I'll get to do some field work in media centers.)

Since I had worked with itty-bitties before (toddler story time), the younger elementary grades might have been a more obvious choice for me. But I was asked to take the older grades. I'm so glad it worked out that way, because I think I have really grown with them and learned about myself.

I love third, fourth, and fifth graders. AllMost of them. But I have felt especially close the the fifth grade. It could be because I knew them the best, after teaching those students for three years. Or it could be because I gave them more privileges, like having book clubs with me, and this allowed me to know some of them better. Or it could be that I have a special place in my heart for kids who are on the cusp of growing up.

What surprises me about this is that as soon as I first began to think of working in schools I knew I could do elementary or high school, but NOT middle. I hated middle school when I was a student. I vowed never to go back. I started to soften when Tersi Bendiburg said, during a workshop, that she likes middle school the most because of what they are going through. Positive adults can really make a difference in their lives. Now that I have learned I have something to offer those in the double digits, not just itty-bitties, I think maybe, just maybe, I could work with middle school children.

My students taught me that everyone has at least one area in which they shine, and if you help a student find that area, you are a hero. The library really can be a safe place for children to investigate their curiosities, especially with the help of an understanding librarian. I can read the same book four or five times a year, several years in a row, and not get tired of it. I can read to three classes a day, then come home and read to my own kids and not get tired of that (though I might get a little horse). And the energy and enthusiasm you put into teaching usually pays off - even if it's not always obvious right away.

I worked very hard to get this job, and in some ways it feel strange to just...leave. But I couldn't have done what I'm doing now four years ago. Something that's happened in the last four years has helped me get here. I think, though, that it is everything.

Diastasis Recti

After more than four years I can finally do a crunch and not feel a huge gap between my abs.

Let me tell you what doesn't work to correct abdominal separation (in my experience):

• doing nothing
• doing ab exercises
• not doing ab exercises
• T-Tapp (it is a good workout, but didn't fix the problem)
• body brushing (feels good, though)
• binding (basically, wearing a corset)
• sucking your belly in whenever possible
• pulling your belly in for 100 reps several times a day

Let me also acknowledge that some of these things might have helped, but just not been enough for full healing. And some of these things might work if performed better or more frequently than I did them. But you need a solution that is right for you, right?

Abdominal separation has plagued me since I first discovered it's existence after Virginia's birth. Why have I been surprisingly silent on it, given the fact that I am open to discussing much more embarrassing things on the blog? 

I considered it the worst thing about my postpartum body. I was depressed about my inability to fix it. I knew that I was doing a bunch of ridiculous things to try and repair my belly. I didn't want to write about my high hopes over and over again, just to have to later admit that I had, again, failed to make an improvement. 

Let me try to explain why this has been so frustrating. I am in the best shape of my life. I was recently declared "disgustingly healthy" by a nurse. I run. I do yoga. My diet has been hugely improved by my realization that healthy, for me, means eating foods that make me feel my best - and making the necessary changes.

I have not made these improvements with the intention of losing weight or inches. It was just to be healthy, to feel energetic. But, I do now wear the smallest size I've ever worn in my adult life. My weight is in the same range that it always tends towards. So, I have successfully gained muscle and lost fat. 

But in spite of all of those things my stomach has still been soft, round...loose. 

And although I ignored the advice at times, I couldn't really do much to strengthen my abdominal muscles, because it is supposed to make the muscle separation worse. This ended up not being a huge problem because I just couldn't do my pilates DVD anyway. Couldn't even modify the moves to make them easier. If you can't sit up, you can't sit up. 

As much as I really do try to love my body as it is, this one thing did bother me. 

And it is not just a cosmetic issue. It is a health problem, if a minor one. Abdominal separation affects posture and can put strain on back muscles. 

I was kind of over the exercises. I felt like I had tried quite a few already and they hadn't worked. But somehow I found the hope to order another DVD. BeFit-Mom won me over by being so authoritative not on general fitness, but on postpartum fitness, specifically, and on the issue of muscle separation. (This is not a paid endorsement, by the way. Just found something that works for me and thought I'd share.) 

I have only done the workout for diastasis recti so far, and not nearly as often recommended (end of school schedule is making it hard). I had zero expectations of seeing any kind of improvement after only a few weeks. The thing is, I think my muscle separation wasn't even that bad. It is just so hard to exercise the muscles that need strengthening to pull the abs back together. 

I'll keep doing this workout a while longer before moving on to the more general ab work. I don't want to push it. It is just nice to finally see one of my wild attempts at healing myself pay off. 

The best thing about this video is that, even though the workout works months or even years post-pregnancy, it is mostly aimed at women a few months postpartum. I get to laugh at the advice at the end of the workout about exercising when baby is asleep. Most likely Virginia is on the mat next to me attempting to do the exercises, too, and Horatio is dive-bombing me from across the room making sure I really do have my stomach muscles tight. 

I knew I would be left with some scars from pregnancy and parenthood. I don't try to get rid of the stretch marks or dye the gray hairs that are popping up with new and frightening frequency. But this thing, I can put it back the way it is supposed to be. So I'm going to. 

I Can Do This Forever

I ran my first half marathon recently. It was difficult, but I've signed up for another one this fall, knowing that since I've already done some long distance training it will be easier to get up to 13 miles this time.

When I was a child I hated running. I always got a cramp in my side. When I breathed slowly and rhythmically like the PE teacher suggested, I would not get the cramp, but my body thought I was suffocating. It took a great deal of will power to continue breathing like that and override my body's urge to take great gulps of air.

It wasn't until I was out of graduate school and without access to a free gym that I even thought about running again. The thing about running, is that it is free, and you can pretty much just walk out your front door and start doing it.

I ran around a small track, slowly increasing my time, until I could run a mile without feeling like I was suffocating. Then I started running two miles, and then three.

When I first began running, I noticed that I spent most of the time wondering when I could be done. "Is it over yet? The torture? Can I stop?" I listened to audio books to take my mind off the time and this was a great diversion for a while.

A year or two ago I stopped doing that. I love audio books and still listen to them in the car. But I spend so much of the day plugged in that I really need my running time to not include electronic stimuli. And after a few years of running, I no longer spent the run wondering when I could stop. I could appreciate being outside, the green trees, the air I was breathing.

Then this January, thanks to my sister, I started training to run longer distances. And even on my long runs, I stayed unplugged. Long runs are hard, and I will admit to moments of "Can I stop yet?" But when that question comes up, I don't tell myself, "Just one more mile." Or, "Just 30 more minutes."

I tell myself, "I am fine. I am comfortable. I am doing this. And I can do it forever."

Because, in a way, I am doing it forever. I am doing it in this moment, and this moment is all that exists right now.

I stop thinking about a future reality that will be more comfortable. This is my reality. It is good, and I am totally managing it.

That is how I get through long runs. But I'm realizing it is how I manage other areas of my life as well.

My labor with Virginia, for example, was very intense. Every time I had a contraction I thought, "Okay. Okay. I'm surviving this. But I don't think I could handle any more pain." Then the next one was worse, and I survived that, too.

One of the things that got me through, (probably thanks to fantastic birthing hormones) was that I didn't once think about how long I had been in labor, or how much longer I would have to do it. I just accepted that, at that moment, it was my reality. As far as I knew, I could do it forever.

I actually had a harder time with Horatio's birth at the end because it wasn't that intense until the last hour or two and I did find myself thinking things like, "I won't have to do this for that long this time." Those thoughts made me impatient and distracted me from fully embracing my current reality.

As per usual, I find it easier to deal with physical challenges than emotional/psychological ones. So there is still a pretty major thing I need to work on "doing forever." It is just, life, I guess. My schedule.

I often feel "too busy." I have too many responsibilities and I do too many things. I long for the weekend, the summer, the end of a project, retirement (just kidding on that one...kind of).

But new "to-dos" always pop up and those less busy moments rarely come. When they do, I am tempted to fill them with other tasks, or I waste my time with something like TV and think, "Is this really the promised land I thought it was?"

Just like with Virginia's birth, I am constantly on the verge of calling "Uncle!" but I constantly learn that I can actually handle more.

I don't really have to run forever. I don't really have to be in labor forever (thank goodness!). But I probably will feel busy forever.

Don't worry. I've totally got this.

Mine

I wrote recently about Horatio calling Virginia "Mine," but I have to elaborate.

Before my sister was born, my mother told me that she would be the best and most expensive gift that I would ever get. I've never forgotten that. My sister is my best friend. I share her with others grudgingly. And, as the saying goes, God help the mister who comes between me and my sister!

Of course, I was the oldest. She came to me as a baby and she was mine.

Horatio persistently calls Virginia, "Mine." He knows her name is Virginia. He can kind of say it. But to him, she is "Mine."

Horatio is the youngest. Virginia was already here before he existed. But I think the name is no accident. He truly views her as his. And it is adorable.

He loves to play with Virginia. He has a plastic Mickey Mouse toy and a plastic Minnie Mouse. They play with them together. Virginia was looking for Minnie the other night and I was a little worried about her calling it hers, because technically, both toys belong to Horatio. He found Minnie first, walked towards Virginia, and said, "Give Mine Mi' Mouse." He handed it to her.

And then there was when the kids ran to find me (in the bathroom, of course). Virginia said, "Momma, look at this!" Then she and Horatio hugged for me. Just for the cute.

When Virginia and I tried to leave for our date together a couple Fridays ago, Horatio wasn't sad that I was leaving. He was sad Virginia was leaving. He likes playing with her after school.

I have to admit that when I was expecting Horatio, part of me hoped we were having another girl. I understood girls and I wanted Virginia to have a sister like I did. I just knew they would be best friends.

After Horatio was born I tried to think if I knew any older sister-younger brother sibling combinations where the siblings were close. I had a female friend in high school who had a brother my sister's age. She and her brother were good friends. But, I'm pretty sure they were a united front against their parents.

Although Virginia and Horatio do sometimes tag team me, I am relieved that they are best friends... without viewing John and myself as a common enemy. And Horatio is sure that even though Virginia came first, she has always been here for him.

A couple of clowns.

Barely There

It is "fitting," I suppose, that I am attempting to purchase a "Barely There" bra, since that is a perfect description of my breasts.

But maybe "fitting" isn't the best word because the bra...didn't. Even though it was an extra small and was a style that was supposed to accommodate those of us who have hard-to-pinpoint sizes. There was still room in the cups. Is there a bra manufacturer called "Why Bother?"

"Why bother?" has more and more often become my motto when it comes to top-half undergarments. I don't even wear a sports bra while running anymore. There isn't enough there to bounce.

The only reason for me to wear a bra is that sometimes the right bra can give the illusion of my actually having breasts. And since many women's shirts and dresses are shaped for chest curves, a little padding helps my clothes look like they fit me.

I already have a bra by Barely There (by the way, I'm sure the name is supposed to refer to the bra's comfort, not it's size) that I like quite a lot. It is kind of like a sports bra, but it has thinner straps and is lightly padded. It is soft, has no hooks, and because it stretches, it fits me just fine (even though I am not a real bra size). The only problem with the bra is that it comes up pretty high in the middle, so I can't wear it with many of my shirts and dresses. I was just looking for a bra that was similar, but cut lower. It was actually my fault that I accidentally got one without padding. No padding definitely falls into the "why bother?" category. I can look boobless without wearing a bra, thankyouverymuch!

I'll give Barely There one more chance with another style that I triple-checked does have padding. For those times when I feel like dressing up and looking good in my dress clothes.

I know what you are thinking. "SB, didn't you used to have breasts? Not, like, big ones. But bra-worthy, at least?"

The answer is, yes, I did. Though I was a late bloomer, my breasts did eventually come in like every other girls'. They have shifted in size over the years between A and optimistic B, depending not as much on my weight, as the hormones coursing through my veins. Birth control pills made them a little bigger. During pregnancy I could actually achieve cleavage. And during the early weeks of breastfeeding they were HUGE. Okay, not huge, but they looked that way to me.

As my children weaned, the breasts got smaller. I got pregnant with Horatio before Virginia stopped nursing. So this is the first time I've actually seen what my post-pregnancy, post-nursing boobs look like. They're "barely there."

Now, once again, I know what you're thinking! "SB, pregnancy and breastfeeding didn't really shrink your breasts. They got stretched out from getting bigger and then smaller again."

Um, no. If my breasts had their pre-pregnancy volume in a larger container, I would still be able to hoist them up in a good bra and have them look more or less normal while they were restrained. There is nothing there to hoist.

Pregnancy and breastfeeding have changed my breasts in other ways. They are a different shape, which I actually prefer. Before they were kind of pointy and cone-shaped. Now they are rounder and look more womanly.

Also, and this I'm not as fond of, my nipples are always out. They fold, but they don't go down.

I'm hoping this all comes across as humorously self-deprecating. I have spent some time, in my life, lamenting my small breasts. But now, even though they are smaller than ever, my biggest gripe is the poor fit of my clothes. And that is more of an inconvenience than anything else.

I love my body. I'm just trying to figure out how to wear it.

Horatioisms

Horatio doesn't talk as much as Virginia did when she was two, but he is starting to say some pretty cute things.

We went to the park recently and I was pushing him in the swing. He had a look like maybe he was done, so I asked if he wanted to get down. He said, "No."
Then I asked, "Are you going to keep swinging forever and ever?"
He smiled at me and said, "Eber, eber, eber."

One night last week I was putting the kids to bed by myself and we had had not the easiest night. Horatio would not stop crying. I finally told him, "If you are going to cry whether I'm here or not, I might as well not be here." And I left the room for a few minutes. I fed the cats, heard Horatio calming down, and went back into the room.
I lay down next to him. He settled in and snuggled me. But I've been working on not actually staying in the room until he falls asleep. So I said to him, "Okay. Now Momma needs to put on pjs, but I'll come back to check on you in a few minutes."
He asked, "Be back?" (First time I ever heard him say that. He's still working on multiple word sentences.)
I told him, "Yes. I'll be back."
When I came back, of course, he was sawing logs. I closed the door so if he woke up later, he would know that I did come back.

Horatio loves macaroni and cheese. He actually has an unfortunate love affair with cheese. Unfortunate because I've stopped eating dairy, so it is rarely in the house. My mother buys him baby gouda sometimes and he eats it almost as fast as the cat eats his food when we feed him a little bit late. Another favorite food is "bunnies." There are bunny grahams by Amy's. He makes them hop across the table into his mouth.
I made the kids Amy's instant mac and cheese on Friday night before John and I left the kids with Sugar for the evening. I told Horatio it was "bunny macaroni."
He said it back to me, "Bunny...roni."
Best thing ever.

The little prince has accepted that, as the youngest, he often needs help doing things. And he isn't usually shy about asking for help. But he has gotten particular recently about who helps him. It isn't always the same person, but lord help us if he doesn't get the person he wants.
For example, say I am making breakfast and lunches in the morning, and Horatio needs help peeling his banana a little further. Virginia or Daddy could easily do this for him. When he says "Momma do it!" and Momma doesn't do it, the banana simply can't be eaten. And he will cry emo tears about it.

Horatio pronounces "Virginia" as "Yaya," but it has become clear that he has also made up another name for her. It sounds like, "My," or "Mine." I like to think he means "My Virginia," but I'm not really sure.

He makes an effort now to repeat words we say and I know that he'll be talking up a storm soon. I'm not at all bothered that he is not as precocious as Virginia so far. He is my baby and I like his cute little boy talk.

There's Always More Information Than You Asked For

If you have been reading the blog for a while, or have heard some of my stories, you are probably wondering what I could possibly share that even I previously thought of as TMI (too much information). Well you can thank my new friends in Listen to Your Mother for breaking down a barrier, and making me feel that, yes, I can share even this. (You want to come to the show now, right?)

Several months ago I discovered a lump, node, bulbous protrusion, I-don't-know-what, towards the opening of my vagina. I probed it, looked at it in the mirror, and had no explanation of how it had gotten there. It was a little bigger than a pea, slightly lighter in color than the surrounding skin, and not at all painful.

But still, it was a new something in a delicate area, so I called the Kaiser nurse line.

Now let me tell you about the Kaiser nurse line. They are my safeguard against hypochondria. The Internet can convince you that whatever your symptom, you are going to die from it. So instead of trying to decide myself between, "it's probably nothing" and "I'm dying," I call the nurse line. They will tell me if I shouldn't sweat it or if I should see a doctor. OR if I should see a doctor RIGHT AWAY.

The problem is that there are a handful of symptoms that could easily be nothing, but must be CYA (cover your ass) red flags. If you call with one of these symptoms the nurse line will calmly tell you that you must see a doctor within 24 hours, and then the doctor will treat you like a hypochondriac, which is, of course, what I'm trying to avoid.

I called in and had to talk into the phone about my vaginal barnacle (red flag) and the nurse made me an appointment within the next 24 hours. Because this was an urgent appointment, I didn't exactly have my pick of doctors. The nurse asked if I would mind seeing a man. I had never had a man gynecologist before. But, I thought to myself, I'm a modern woman. I'm open minded. I've had two children, which involved lots of nudity in ways that were not at all flattering. There were only women and John in the room, but still, I can totally handle seeing a male gynecologist. Another man seeing me naked isn't that big a deal, right?

Things started off okay. He shook my hand, was polite, and there was a nurse in there the whole time, which I understand is standard practice. Half-nude in the stirrups, I let him prod around down there.

His diagnosis: sebaceous cyst. Basically a cyst filled with fat. It formed on the scar I had from Virginia's birth. (She was born with her hand near her head, so her elbow and shoulders came out at the same time.) The strange thing is, I had no tearing during Horatio's birth. So NOW I get a cyst on the scar tissue, just out of nowhere?

After he told me what it was, I was still lying there in the stirrups. He poked at the cyst. Then, quite casually, with his finger on the cyst, he asked, "Do you want me to take care of it?"

I had a moment of panic, imagining him holding a scalpel inches from my skin. (It's not like I could see what was going on down there.) I really thought he was about to cut the cyst open right then.

I hesitated. And (if he was about to do anything) he hesitated.

"Uhmmmm..." I said, "This might go away on its own?"

"Yes." He said.

"And it isn't harmful in any way?"

"No."

I told him, "Let's just leave it."

He agreed. He even volunteered that cutting it open would be a little painful and I would need some time to heal before resuming regular activities. But if I did nothing I could go on with business as usual.

Overall, I got what I wanted out of the visit. I confirmed that I wasn't dying. Even though I had an urgent appointment and I wasn't dying the doctor did not treat me like a hypochondriac. And I suffered no unnecessary cutting to my vagina.

But...I'm not sure about going back to a male gynecologist. He truly didn't do anything wrong. It was just that in that moment of panic, I realized it isn't just about a man seeing you naked. There is something else to the man/woman / doctor/patient dynamic and I may not be modern or open-minded enough to deal with it.

Fun With Giardia

Several weeks ago, I was home with the kids one afternoon after work. It was really nice outside. We went in the back yard and the kids were playing at the sand table while I did yoga on the deck. Horatio started hanging out on the yoga mat with me. I was able to kind of work around him, and it seemed like he was being sweet. I finished my poses and lay down to meditate. Horatio was snuggled between my legs.

And then he threw up on me. It was all over his clothes, my clothes, the yoga mat. At that moment, John came outside. He had just gotten home. I looked at him in horror! Horatio and I stripped (we have a fence around the back yard) and went straight into the bath while John (he's a legend) cleaned up the porch.

Horatio perked right up after his bath but we still kept him home the next day (them's the rules). And then everything seemed fine.

Until a couple nights later when he did it again! This time the kids were both in the play room and I was in my room when Virginia came in and said, "Horatio is dripping."

I thought, "What, like dripping blood?" I actually said, "What do you mean?"

She said, "From his mouth." And I started to get the picture. I walked into the playroom to once again find a big mess. This time not in a place we could just hose down.

Again, John came home soon after and helped with the cleanup.

This time Horatio still seemed unhappy after vomiting and his tummy was visibly bloated. I called the nurse line (which has always been very helpful) and I was reassured that we could continue to watch and wait for several more hours and only needed to take action if things got worse.

He had a tough night, but seemed better again the next day. He continued to have minor tummy trouble off and on for days, but we thought his digestive tract was just irritated from whatever illness he had had.

Then I got it. One Friday I woke up feeling not great, but took some Imodium and soldiered through. Sometimes my stomach is upset for seemingly no reason, so if taking something for it works, I usually assume I'm okay. Around lunch time I noticed that I felt nauseous when I was hungry so I managed to eat some food. I snacked on poweraid and pretzels on the drive home.

I wasn't okay. When I got home and the Imodium wore off...it was bad. I couldn't eat anything else and had to get through the nausea and then gnawing pain in my stomach. I was either on the couch or in the bathroom into the middle of the night, when there was nothing left inside my body and I could finally lie down to sleep. (Law and Order is my show of choice when sick on the couch.)

I was fine, but tired, the next day and continued cautiously about my business. By the next week I certainly had no thought that I was still sick. But almost the exact same thing happened the next Wednesday. I made it home and resigned myself to another night of Law and Order and discomfort.

I took the next day off work (the last day before spring break, unfortunately) and went to the doctor. I felt much worse the day after this time. Not still sick, but worn out. You're body can't go through that kind of thing over and over. I went to urgent care, where I was diagnosed with giardia and prescribed medication.

But the thing is, even though the doctor was okay with me taking the medication without a lab test, he still wanted me to do a lab test so we could notify the day care. (Giardia is usually spread by drinking contaminated water, but is also spread around day cares.) This meant I couldn't start taking the drugs until I had acquired a *ahem* sample. You know, if I killed the parasite before getting a sample, then what was the point.

Except that after being so sick it's not as if everything just goes back to normal. I was watching the clock wondering if I would be able to start taking the medication in time to prevent another episode. Of course, if I did get ill again, the sample would be no problem...

I'll spare you the details of collecting, but suffice it to say I was able to begin the drugs without the passage of too much time and I did not get sick again.

I couldn't drink alcohol while on the medication and it gave me headaches and decreased my appetite (yeah, I'm pretty much wasting away here), so I'm just now starting to really be back to normal.

The moral is if you can avoid getting giardia - do.

Horatio is Two!

That tiny guy with his Zoolander lips and olive-slice eyes has grown in to this mischievous toddler.

Newborn Horatio loved long hours snuggled in Momma's arms.

Two-year-old Horatio loves throwing balls and rolling cars.

He is stingy with his kisses, but that somehow makes them more magical.

Although he has a toddler bed, he prefers to sleep on the floor. He has claimed the ladybug pillow-pet as his pillow, but that's okay because it perfectly matches the blanket I finally finished crocheting sometime in the last year.

His favorite foods are bananas and bunny grahams.

When he is tired, hungry, or otherwise grumpy he turns in to Baby Hulk. Baby Hulk can be temporarily delayed but he can not be stopped. (For example, if you buy compliance with bunnies, then when the bunnies are gone and you don't want to give him more because it will ruin his dinner, the tantrum happens anyway.)

He has started listening to longer and longer books. His favorites are books that have songs in them. And he is developing a healthy appreciation for Dr. Seuss.

Horatio has just started saying short sentences, like, "Where car go?" My favorite things to hear him say, though, are other people's names. He calls his sister "Yaya," and we have just had some success recently getting him to say his own name. It comes out as "Rashe...oh." He has said, "Momma," for a while, but it still melts my heart when he yells, "Momma!" in his husky little voice while running towards me when I come home from work.

I love this boy!

North Carolina Bound

Back when I defended my project for the Specialist degree I got from UGA, one of my professors said, "If only you had a PhD..."

That was during my first year at a job I felt very lucky to have, so I tucked the compliment away and didn't give it much further thought.

Last year, back in Athens for a conference, I started talking to my friends at UGA again, and started thinking a little more seriously about a PhD.

First I "just" studied to take the GRE again because my first GRE score had expired. Then I just applied to a few library PhD programs to see what would happen.

As I awaited the results of these applications (which was a long wait, because I applied as early as possible) I suffered some angst over leaving Georgia (all the programs were out of state) and over leaving my job. But I would like to think that even before actually hearing back I had started to gain a sense of peace about the whole thing.

This is something I need to do.

I am doing too many things right now. Working, volunteering for various storytelling organizations, doing a little actual storytelling, being a momma... Being a librarian is important to me, but storytelling is, too. And I need storytelling to be more a part of my professional life so that I'm not working so hard to do both. My research is going to be in storytelling. There will be significant overlap.

And this storytelling research, this is something I feel drawn to do. It is something I would probably end up doing, PhD or no. But it sure would be nice to get a little more training in scholarly research before trying to do it.

And, I need to be myself. I was so very honest in my statement of purpose about what I want to do. I knew that my research was maybe a little weird. But I knew it was that or nothing. Take me as I am, or leave me. I haven't been able to be myself recently, which is as much my fault for not taking a chance on being myself as anything else. I'm not doing that anymore.

I still haven't heard back from all the schools I applied to. Graduate deadlines are later than undergrad. But I have heard back from my first choice: UNC. I will be starting this fall, weird research interest and all.

John and the kids gave me "congratulations" cards when I found out. I should be giving them cards for going along with this. They are ever patient and supportive and I couldn't do what I do without them. Of course, I do hope that my having a PhD will eventually be beneficial to my whole family, but we're not there yet.

Many family and friends have expressed mixed happiness and sadness about our impending move to North Carolina. We feel it, too. But listen, we'll be back.

And then what? Well, I'll be a professor. And I'll teach classes on the digital, written, and spoken word.

Or something like that.

My Daughter Thinks I'm Beautiful

And I let her.

Last weekend I tried on a bunch of my fancy dresses (before choosing a few to donate) and Virginia took pictures.

Senior Homecoming

Barrister's Ball

Senior Prom

Amanda's

Amanda's

Junior Prom

Mom's Renaissance dress plus a vest by Jess

Snow Daze

Snowmegadon (Yeah, I meant to spell it that way. John pronounces it like snow-MEGA-don.) has struck the Atlanta area and the Nelsons are surviving.

My school closed early on Tuesday as the snow began to fall. I made the wise decision to get gas before getting on the interstate and proceeded to sit in traffic for three hours. Right before I left school a mom had dropped off lunches from a cancelled meeting. I grabbed a curry chicken salad, not really thinking I needed it. But I ended up eating it in the car when time for my afternoon snack rolled around. John picked up the kids before the day care closed a little early. They were all waiting for me when I got home.

School was cancelled again Wednesday and today (Thursday) and I've gotten the word it is cancelled tomorrow, too. A lot of the snow and ice has melted today, but may refreeze tonight. Also, some teachers and families have iced roads near them, and/or haven't retrieved their cars.

Tuesday night I had a google+ meeting with a storytelling buddy since our usual Atlanta storytelling events were cancelled.

Wednesday I bundled the kids like they were going on a sleigh ride and we walked to Grandmommy's house.

They also had a blanket across their laps once we got started. It is about a mile to Grandmommy's and there was plenty of snow and ice, so we took it slow. Once we got there I jogged on the treadmill while the kids played in the basement. Then we had lunch and played outside.

The snow was too powdery to make snow balls or a snow man and Horatio refused to walk on it.

After a while we came home.

After breakfast this morning, I took the kids out in our backyard. I thought Virginia might like to drive in her little car, but the one-wheel drive couldn't cope with the conditions. Horatio ended up sitting in the stationary car since he still didn't want to walk in the snow.

Socrates came out briefly, but he wasn't a fan of getting wet paws. 

Then Virginia figured out that the snow in the sun was sticky enough for snowballs. First we made a snowman.

Then Virginia asked to have a snowball fight. It was more like a snowball duel, because she insisted that we both form a ball, then face each other, and fire at the same time. Horatio loved watching this and we started throwing balls at the car and a nearby tree so he could watch them explode. This game was the biggest hit of the morning and cleared a lot of snow out of our yard!

Who knows what entertainment we will come up with for tomorrow.

I am so thankful that we are all together safe at home during what has been a very difficult time for so many. I'm glad that we have been able to enjoy each other and the snow.

Peach State Festival and NSN Board Meeting

I feel like sometimes I write more about things that I'm thinking than things that I'm doing, so here is the busy weekend I just had:

Last Thursday night, the Peach State Storytelling Festival began with Stories on the Edge of Night, which I attended and thoroughly enjoyed. John watched the kids and I got home late.

On Friday, I went straight from work to the festival where we had our Bard's Feast / Southern Order of Storytellers membership meeting. As a member of the board I gave a presentation on membership, then I volunteered at the ticket table until the evening concert.

At the end of the night I went home late again, where John and the kids were already asleep, and my sister was settling in to our playroom/guest room.

Saturday morning my sister and I were both up early. She was off to a 5K in Atlanta (the reason she stayed the night) and I was just off to run. Horatio had ended up in her bed that night after John and I had both failed to hear him and she couldn't get him back to sleep. I chose not to increase my milage on my long run this week because of all the other stuff going on, so I did just over 6 1/2 miles again.

I got back home to Virginia saying "I don't want to go to storytelling!" But I talked her into it and took her to the festival with me, getting breakfast on the way. She went to the first family-friendly session of stories with Sugar and Mikey, and Aunt 'Manda back from her race, while I took another volunteer shift.

After that we ate lunch and then John met me in the parking lot to pick up Virginia. He also wanted to give me a chance to squeeze Horatio, but he asked for Amanda instead. I guess that's what happens after you spend the night cuddling.

I got to see my mom perform and then I led my oral immersion workshop, ate dinner, and performed. I got home late again, when everyone else was asleep.

On Sunday morning I got up at 3:30. My mom met me at 4 and accompanied me to Jonesboro, TN where I caught the tail end of the National Storytelling Network board meeting. I've just been appointed to the board and really didn't want to miss the entire first meeting. We spent the night in Tennessee and drove home Monday.

John and I picked up the kids from daycare together Monday afternoon and took the car through a carwash to get all the road salt off. Virginia thought it was awesome, but Horatio kept saying, "Done!" I asked if he was worried and he said, "Worry!"

It was a long and exhausting few days during which I didn't see my kids nearly enough. But the storytelling lifestyle is not always so intense. And it is always worthwhile. I love everyone I meet through storytelling. They are my people and this is my world.

An Introvert Parent

I identify as an introvert although the reality may be somewhere closer to the middle of the spectrum. Nevertheless, the things that get to me, as an introvert, really get to me. I hate small talk but love deep conversation. I need to have time alone to recharge. Socializing can be exhausting for me.

Virginia seems to be an extrovert (jury is still out on Horatio - but starting to suspect introvert), which sometimes drags me into situations that are uncomfortable for me. Like when she talks to random people we meet in public and I'm forced into an awkward conversation.

But I'm realizing that having children, no mater what their 'version, leads to special challenges for the introvert parent.

Even when my children don't strike up a conversation with strangers, I'm in more situations now requiring small talk: birthday parties, day care pick up and drop off, any place we play where there are other children and their parents.

And then there is the general noise of children.

I learned from reading Quiet a couple summers ago that the true difference between introverts and extroverts is that introverts are drained by socialization, whereas extroverts are energized by it. This may be an oversimplification, but it is the general idea.

Introverts can easily become overstimulated. So, at the end of the day, when I've been pleasant to my coworkers and students for over 8 hours, and I'm making dinner, and my kids are banging things, twirling around my feet, and giggling-singing-yelling and I start to think I'm going to lose my mind. It isn't my imagination. I've literally had too much and have no more energy left for interacting with people.

I deal with this by taking some time for myself. Sometimes I have time to run by myself (although I often exercise with little helpers). But even if the kids are with me (in the jogging stroller) we can't talk too much and Horatio doesn't pull Virginia's hair the whole time, so I can still kind of be quiet. I've been trying to meditate every day and I find this to be a very efficient way to rest my mind. Television and Internet are fun distractions, but they are still stimulating and so not actually that restful. I can get a big recharge from meditation.

I also now realize what is happening during those moments that are the most difficult for me. I know that the kids aren't being "bad." But for my own sanity I will need to find a way to get them to be quieter or get a little space from them.

Now as I keep hearing about how differently Horatio behaves at day care from at home, I've started wondering if his "even disposition" (yeah, right - the child turns over chairs for fun!) is an expression of introversion. I hope I can help him be true to himself, too.

Maybe John can teach Virginia how to be a good extrovert. (He's a social lightening rod. Very handy at parties.)