Three Happened

Three years ago I gave birth to my first daughter, Alyce Mary, named after my crazy wonderful maternal grandmother, Mary Alyce. Alyce was this tiny present we received for Hannukah and Matt and I were goofy with excitement to have her all for ourselves. All those Decembers ago, we returned to our apartment with our two-hour old baby girl and showed up for our first night as parents. While this might fall under the category of the annoyingly obvious, our lives changed forever that night.

Fast forward three years, and Alyce is running into our bedroom, having found the birthday crown I had made for her the night before, declaring that it is her birthday. Even the cats could taste the excitement in the air. Our little Alyce was now a preschooler. Not a tiny toddler, learning how to maneuver around the furniture or grasping at words she didn't yet understand. No, things had changed that morning. She was now a potty-using, self-dressing, dramatic monologue-giving preschooler. And she knew it. This was big.

Opening her new princess shoes, that both flash and sparkle. Oh yes. I said princess.

We've been building up to this day for a long time. I love birthdays and I'm certain that I've passed down my fondness for celebrations to Alyce. This time it started with my birthday in October, which was closely followed by my mum's birthday in November. And I can't forget my little brother and sister (seven and three, respectively), who also celebrated birthdays this fall. Alyce and I mailed many handmade birthday cards, tasted birthday cakes, and wrapped many presents. You see where I'm going with this: she was excited, and on that Saturday morning, she was asking for cake by seven. She knew was was due her and she wasn't ashamed to ask for it. I can respect that.

Cereal always tastes better in a crown, no?

What I love about birthdays is the chance to just get really excited and to enjoy the people I love. It doesn't matter whose birthday it is really, it's just the day I love. I enjoy spoiling people with good food and little things that make them smile. I also enjoying being on the receiving end, for sure. One year I woke up on my birthday and found that Matt had wrapped up the cats (not very well, but it made me smile all day to think of Pomegranate's sour face framed by some great polka dot paper). I love birthday breakfasts, lunches, and coffee dates. And some of my favourite memories are those great birthday dinners with friends, a tradition I was introduced to by my roommates at university, that I think I can say with some certainty, I have perfected as I've gotten older. Birthdays give you a chance for polishing your celebration skills since they happen every year.

Still waiting for that cake. It's coming any minute now.

So I want to begin these traditions for Alyce. I want to start small--she is only three after all, and there is no need to stress out the poor girl with a giant party with clowns (shudder). So this year it was about the little details: the birthday crown, the fairy garland hanging above the table, the chocolate cake, and a little party with her nana and a couple of grown-up friends (for our sake). It was a wonderful, wonderful day.


We took this picture of the three of us while we waited for our few guests to arrive. We aren't just the three of us anymore, but sometimes we need to take just a moment and celebrate just Alyce.

p.s. One week later, she's still singing happy birthday to herself at least once a day. Happy Birthday Alyce. Love, mama.

I think she has the excited part down.

Dinner Eggs

We pick up Alyce from preschool around 4:30, and so begins the evening madness. I fret about getting dinner together (I am the lone cook in this house, though Matt occasionally makes a delicious salmon), and Shira inevitably wants to nurse again, and I've usually become preoccupied with something earlier in the day and so forgot to clear my mess from the table, and you get the idea. But the chaos is all mine and I love it.

And I think he does too.

Last night we ended up having breakfast for dinner, which we end up doing a lot around here. Alyce is currently petitioning Michelle Obama to include maple syrup on the list of best foods for kids, and so we find ourselves having pumpkin pancakes or french toast more than we probably should. This time we feasted on dinner eggs, which look remarkably similar to breakfast eggs. But they were delicious. Alyce even helped to pour the orange juice, which I did not capture on film as I was too busy helping to clean up spills.

And just one of these days, Alyce will stay in her chair long enough to eat her dinner. Or, most likely, we'll find a glue strong enough. To be fair, though, Alyce was busy providing the evening entertainment: she can elicit belly laughs from Shira like no one else. Now if only she could do that from her own seat.

Still Waiting by the Email

A couple of weeks ago I posted about the anxiety of hitting the send button on an email to my dissertation adviser. It was a big email, wherein I explain that I am taking time away from my graduate program to explore some new opportunities. It was a difficult email to write, cowardly even. I realize that I should have called her, even if our relationship has always been email-only. Do you think that is why she has not responded? Not even a tiny bit?

That's right. I'm still waiting to hear back from her. Maybe she doesn't think my email was worth a reply. Maybe she read my note and thought to herself, "Well, finally. I knew she wasn't committed," and then forgot to reply. Or maybe she's annoyed that I've wasted her time.

Whatever the reason, I'd really like for her to acknowledge my decision. Perhaps I should call her? Probably not.

Recovering Grad Student Seeks New Forms of Torment

As a teacher. A high school teacher, that is.

So this is my big plan. Disappointed? Hoping I might have really thought outside the box and opted for a new career as a secret agent, or maybe a mad scientist? I don't have the wardrobe to pull off the secret agent job and I have no business being a science-y scientist (or, as it turns out, a social scientist. Moving on then.)

Nah, I think I'll make a great teacher instead. I have been teaching in universities for five years under the title of Adjunct Lecturer (and no, I don't know what that actually means). I have taught various classes in Religious Studies at two universities and it has been, hands down, the best part of being a graduate student. My first class was an intensive summer session course on world religions. It was a chaotic mess and I was utterly unprepared, but I enjoyed myself so much and I think many of the students did as well. Before I knew it was teaching regularly at a couple of different universities, in that grand old tradition of hiring graduate students instead of actually hiring (and giving benefits to) tenured professors. I can't say I minded, though--I loved getting the teaching experience and the extra money.

When I would return to my own research and writing after a semester of teaching, I would realize quickly that I missed the classroom. I'd miss the chance to talk and listen, to engage with an actual human rather than another online journal. I had landed in academia because I like ideas; I was now learning that I enjoyed ideas most when they were alive in a classroom discussion. I found myself more and more weary from the isolation of research. What I'm saying is that this seed was planted a long time ago.

And then I had kids. Isn't this how so many stories begin?

My daughters have changed me in so many ways. For one, I'm really tired now. I don't ever remember feeling so tired. In fact, it's just after eight and I'm having to prop myself up in front of my laptop. In my head I'm negotiating between an eight-thirty and a nine o'clock bedtime as I write this. Second, I can carry a lot of things at once. I can remember myself complaining about having to lug a bag of books home from the library, on the subway no less, every week. Now I can carry my two children, my bag, fourteen toys, and a bag of groceries in from the car. And I usually only drop one of those things, and it isn't usually a child.

But mostly having my girls has changed the way I want to live in the world. I'm feeling charged to work practically in the lives of kids (and not just my own). Academics can be a lot of things, but in my chosen discipline, practical was not one of them. For many people this is a great thing, and I salute their ability to stay the course and analyze/translate/critique/argue. Of course I could have become a teacher with my PhD, but that would have required that I finish and defend a dissertation I did not want to write. I would have had to analyze/translate/critique/argue, and my heart is just not there. But that charge I feel leading a classroom, of working each day with kids who are learning to explore the world, this, I think, is where my heart is.

Perhaps I am romanticizing the daily life of a teacher. Perhaps. But I've been close with many teachers and I see how hard they work. I've seen the emotional ups and downs of becoming invested in the lives of their students, and how they so often struggle against that large brick wall of educational bureaucracy. No, I don't think being a teacher easy. Nevertheless, here I go.

Because we don't know where we will be living next year, it is difficult for me to dive right into this new path of mine. I can't start an education program or look for work until we, say, pick a state. Or a country. But I can still move forward this year in preparation of these bigger steps. Since I have a few (cough) years of secondary education I am able to cobble together the pieces of an almost-English major, so I am enrolled in a few more English courses next semester to fill in some holes. I'm peeking around at jobs, testing the waters for when I'm ready to actually begin. I'll use the rest of this stolen time to work on my writing. Not a bad way to spend some time, don't you think?

This post is far too long. Night everyone.

I Thought You Would Never Ask

Anyone interested in Shira's birth story? An essay I wrote about her birth has just been published on Kveller, a Jewish parenting site. So if you are dying to know about Shira's water birth (as you most surely are), you can find the essay here. Shira was born at The Birth Center, in Wilmington, Delaware, on May 11, 2010.

Thanks, Kveller!

It's Been a Big Week

Mostly, it's been a birthday week. My mum is leaving tomorrow and I'll be back with some details about her visit. But let me just be clear: Alyce likes her birthday.

Can't write. Must clean.

So my mum arrives tomorrow and we're all very excited. Alyce's little head might just pop off with excitement: Hanukah+birthday+Nana? You get the idea.

You can also probably imagine what I am doing today, right up until I need to leave to pick up mum at the airport. You got it: cleaning the house like a madwoman. My mum always tells me that I don't need to clean up for her. You know what I say to that? Don't Even. Of course I do. As a kid I remember finding her singing to herself while she windexed her washer and dryer. And then there is her mother, who does about fourteen loads of laundry a day. That last part might be an exaggeration, but trust me, she does a lot of laundry.

Speaking of laundry: There are four people in our house and I might need to secure some extra employment in order to cover our laundry-induced utility bills. I know we have small (messy) children and we use cloth diapers, but even still I am floored by the ever-expanding laundry piles. On a regular day we are always at least one load, but then you throw in just one child with a stomach flu (I'm looking at you, Shira Clementine) and a visit from my mother and all of a sudden I'm doing seven loads of wash in one day. Oh, but wait--those seven loads were done before I picked up Alyce from preschool. I almost forgot about the eighth load I had to do when we got home after Alyce dropped her new stuffed unicorn in the mud. Naturally he needed washing before bedtime.

OK, I'm done with that now.

Back to general cleaning. I'm not actually stressed about it in that stereotypical "mymother'scomingandshe'sgoingtojudgethedustontheblinds" kind of way. My mum only really cares about her house. If I don't have my mother's verve for all things spotless, I do like a clean house, even if it will only remain clean for thirty minutes after her arrival. I've at least cleaned the bathroom. Oh, and have I mentioned the laundry?

And finally, Happy Hanukkah everyone! We lit the first candle tonight and enjoyed a wonderful evening together. Alyce enjoyed her new fairy paper dolls and Shira fell asleep. The first night of Hanukah is very special to us because three years ago Alyce was born about twenty minutes before the first candle lighting. We were home two hours later, lighting our candles with our new daughter. We have a photo of the two of us standing next to our hanukkiyah (menorah), holding Alyce, with the biggest, goofiest, most tired grins on our faces. After two days of labour, my eyes are almost closed and I look like I had just pushed a baby out. We are both deliriously happy. Fortunately for you, I can't find that photo right now. You'll just have to trust me.