Today, I am saying goodbye to this blog...and moving over here:
http://soccermomphd.blogspot.com
This blog has chronicled the happiest time in my life, my pregnancy and the birth of my son. But this blog just doesn't fit me anymore. It's time to move on. I will leave this blog up until I get it all put together and printed for Isaac to have one day. If you are still following me, please come on over to the new space.
:)
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Who the Hell Am I, Anyway?!
The past few months, I have struggled writing here. Sure, I'm pressed for time, given that I am PhD student writing her first publication and studying for her Prelims, a mother to a 4 year old fireball, a wife, a friend....but it's more than that.
I am doing exactly what I want with my life. But I have no idea who I am and what I want to say. I could write about school. I could write about being a mom. I could write about the 5K that I have been training for since September. I just.....don't.
It's not for lack of want. I want to maintain this record of my life, of my experiences and those had by Isaac and my family.
I'm not always funny or profound. I have said that many times. I'm not a fancy or gifted photographer or cook. I'm really just me. I can be honest.
So that is what I am going to try to do. Not just here, but everywhere in my life. I want to get over myself and my hangups and stop trying to be something that I am just not. I'm me.
That's what I am going to do.
I am doing exactly what I want with my life. But I have no idea who I am and what I want to say. I could write about school. I could write about being a mom. I could write about the 5K that I have been training for since September. I just.....don't.
It's not for lack of want. I want to maintain this record of my life, of my experiences and those had by Isaac and my family.
I'm not always funny or profound. I have said that many times. I'm not a fancy or gifted photographer or cook. I'm really just me. I can be honest.
So that is what I am going to try to do. Not just here, but everywhere in my life. I want to get over myself and my hangups and stop trying to be something that I am just not. I'm me.
That's what I am going to do.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Robbed
Last Friday...I have no words. I cried. I held my baby and cried. I didn't tell him "no" once that weekend. I cried so may times this past weekend. My heart broke for so many families who had something so precious taken from them.
My husband turned my alarm off on Saturday morning, and I woke up late...very late for what I had planned. But I woke up to my beautiful little boy's face, and I was so grateful that I, unlike 20 other sets of parents, saw my baby's face on a new morning.
I'm heartbroken for those families.
This morning, something happened to me that hasn't happened before. Like many other mothers that I know, I hesitated when I dropped my son off at preschool. I hugged him extra tight and gave him more kisses than he wanted causing him to say "Mommy...I want to go play!" I let him go and sat in my car and cried.
I cried because now I had an irrational fear that my baby was in danger.
I cried because that monster took something from every single mother and father in this country. He took the feeling of safety that I had knowing that my son was safe at his school. I have never been afraid to drop my son off anywhere, fearing that he wasn't safe.
I know that he is safe. I believe he is at safe at his school. But I am sure those parents also believed that very same thing.
I cried because last night, my husband and I had to talk to my not even 4 year old about what he should do in an emergency.
"If someone is trying to hurt you, you run and hide. You hide and don't come out until someone you know comes to get you. If you get scared, you hide. Promise me you will hide"
"If your teachers tell you that something is an emergency, you do what she says. You stay quiet and you do what she tells you."
I'm mad. I'm beyond mad.
As mothers, parents...we have enough to worry about in regards to our children's safety. Sending them to school shouldn't be one of them. Ever.
My husband turned my alarm off on Saturday morning, and I woke up late...very late for what I had planned. But I woke up to my beautiful little boy's face, and I was so grateful that I, unlike 20 other sets of parents, saw my baby's face on a new morning.
I'm heartbroken for those families.
This morning, something happened to me that hasn't happened before. Like many other mothers that I know, I hesitated when I dropped my son off at preschool. I hugged him extra tight and gave him more kisses than he wanted causing him to say "Mommy...I want to go play!" I let him go and sat in my car and cried.
I cried because now I had an irrational fear that my baby was in danger.
I cried because that monster took something from every single mother and father in this country. He took the feeling of safety that I had knowing that my son was safe at his school. I have never been afraid to drop my son off anywhere, fearing that he wasn't safe.
I know that he is safe. I believe he is at safe at his school. But I am sure those parents also believed that very same thing.
I cried because last night, my husband and I had to talk to my not even 4 year old about what he should do in an emergency.
"If someone is trying to hurt you, you run and hide. You hide and don't come out until someone you know comes to get you. If you get scared, you hide. Promise me you will hide"
"If your teachers tell you that something is an emergency, you do what she says. You stay quiet and you do what she tells you."
I'm mad. I'm beyond mad.
As mothers, parents...we have enough to worry about in regards to our children's safety. Sending them to school shouldn't be one of them. Ever.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Answers
Yesterday, on the way back into the lab after crayfishing, we saw a police car in front of one of the dorms. Naturally, we assume it is a pot smoker or something small.
A student had killed himself in his dorm. This weekend. They had just found him.
We received an email from the president of the University with the vague details that were just enough to piece it together. Your heart breaks for the family, the friends.
All of a sudden, I was taken back to 2001. When it was me. It was me who had to deal with the aftermath of suicide.
All you ever want is answers, answers that you will never get. I remember being the one that people looked to for those answers. I was the one who was closest to him. I should know the answers.
I had none.
That made me angry. And that made me feel guilty. Here were all these people, hurting, grieving, grasping for peace and solace. I had nothing to give them.
So not only did I feel guilty for the fact that someone had taken their life and I didn't see it coming, not only did I feel guilty that they said it was basically because of me....I had nothing to comfort these people. Family. Friends. Everyone.
Now, there is a fresh wave of people who have to get through the same thing.
I wish I had answers for them, but I don't.
The hurt, the guilt, the anger....it never goes away. Somewhere along the line, you stop looking for answers, you stop trying to fix what is broken, and you just learn to live in it. You learn to cope and this horrible terrible time becomes a part of who you are. You walk with it every day, carrying it. Sometimes it's heavy. Sometimes it's not. There are good days. The good days start to outweigh the bad, and it just becomes....there. It's just there.
And then there are those days, when you hear about it happening to someone else and your heart breaks all over again. You know. You know that there are people out there that are thrown into this private hell that has no map to get out. You just have to start walking and grasping.
You get no answers. You get no absolution. Suicide is different than other deaths. It's different in that you know that person was obviously hurting and unhappy. No one should die like that. It's different than losing someone to disease or to an accident. Those situations are demons of their own, but those people, you can see the happiness. For suicides, your last impression of this person is that pain. That anger. That hurt.
You get nothing to erase it. Everything becomes tainted.
Right after suicide wrecked my life for the second time, I became paranoid. I didn't want to make new friends. I didn't want the old ones, but I needed them. All I saw was this darkness and everyone had the potential to hurt me.
Now, as a mother, I am terrified. What if it becomes my son that is unhappy? It's extremely paranoid, I know. It's insane. It's something to be dealt with. But how can I be sure I raise a son that won't do that? That won't put that kind of pain on someone else? On me? On his loved ones?
You can't. You can't ever know. You never get answers.
A student had killed himself in his dorm. This weekend. They had just found him.
We received an email from the president of the University with the vague details that were just enough to piece it together. Your heart breaks for the family, the friends.
All of a sudden, I was taken back to 2001. When it was me. It was me who had to deal with the aftermath of suicide.
All you ever want is answers, answers that you will never get. I remember being the one that people looked to for those answers. I was the one who was closest to him. I should know the answers.
I had none.
That made me angry. And that made me feel guilty. Here were all these people, hurting, grieving, grasping for peace and solace. I had nothing to give them.
So not only did I feel guilty for the fact that someone had taken their life and I didn't see it coming, not only did I feel guilty that they said it was basically because of me....I had nothing to comfort these people. Family. Friends. Everyone.
Now, there is a fresh wave of people who have to get through the same thing.
I wish I had answers for them, but I don't.
The hurt, the guilt, the anger....it never goes away. Somewhere along the line, you stop looking for answers, you stop trying to fix what is broken, and you just learn to live in it. You learn to cope and this horrible terrible time becomes a part of who you are. You walk with it every day, carrying it. Sometimes it's heavy. Sometimes it's not. There are good days. The good days start to outweigh the bad, and it just becomes....there. It's just there.
And then there are those days, when you hear about it happening to someone else and your heart breaks all over again. You know. You know that there are people out there that are thrown into this private hell that has no map to get out. You just have to start walking and grasping.
You get no answers. You get no absolution. Suicide is different than other deaths. It's different in that you know that person was obviously hurting and unhappy. No one should die like that. It's different than losing someone to disease or to an accident. Those situations are demons of their own, but those people, you can see the happiness. For suicides, your last impression of this person is that pain. That anger. That hurt.
You get nothing to erase it. Everything becomes tainted.
Right after suicide wrecked my life for the second time, I became paranoid. I didn't want to make new friends. I didn't want the old ones, but I needed them. All I saw was this darkness and everyone had the potential to hurt me.
Now, as a mother, I am terrified. What if it becomes my son that is unhappy? It's extremely paranoid, I know. It's insane. It's something to be dealt with. But how can I be sure I raise a son that won't do that? That won't put that kind of pain on someone else? On me? On his loved ones?
You can't. You can't ever know. You never get answers.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Compassion
Recently on Facebook, I saw a post about Amanda Todd, the teenage girl who committed suicide, provoked by bullying. Most of the comments were sympathetic and supportive. However, there were a few that lashed out, not at the bullies, but at the teen's parents, asking where they were through all this, while their daughter was hurting The story in itself is heartbreaking. But to attack parents in their time of grief and heartache, in my opinion makes them a monster of a special kind. MONSTERS.
I remember being a teenager. It was hard. And let's be honest, it sucked. You are going through a major growing phase of your life, physically, emotionally, and mentally. If that's not hard enough, you are crammed into a school with others going through the same changes. Throw in a small town and it's worse. I remember that everyone knew everything about everyone in my school. Rumors flew left and right. Throw social media into the mix, and there goes your escape at home.
You know what else I remember being about a teenager? Your parents are the enemy. You think they don't understand. I was a happy teenager, and I still holed myself up in my room to avoid parental contact. My parents probably still don't know half the stuff I did.
So how were the parents of this poor girl to prevent this from happening? Did they do a lesser job of parenting, then oh...say, the parents of the bullies?
I'm teaching this upcoming generation, what is it now, Z? This generation relies too heavily on this sense of entitlement and lack of accountability. "You didn't email me to remind me that the paper was due". No, but it was on the printed syllabus you took in your hand.
They hide behind this shield of false anonymity that comes with email, facebook, and twitter. They are growing up in a world that basically discourages face to face communication and makes them think they are invincible. If I spoke to teachers or other adults the way some of these kids do, my mom would have smacked me silly. And if Isaac spoke that way, I would do the same. You know who else hides behind that anonymity? Trolls on the internet who say parents should know when their children are hurting. What do you think the parents of those trolls would think of that? Would they be proud? Doubtful.
I don't condone suicide. I don't ever believe it is the answer. Ultimately, it is the decision of one person only and that person is the responsible one. No one else is to blame for that. Do I believe that other people can influence that decision? Yes, because I have been that person. I have been the person that hurts someone. Did I know that I was hurting them? Yes Did I know that they were suicidal? No. No I didn't. And to this day, I still don't see the signs that everyone says you should see.
Suicide has hit my life too hard, twice. I don't wish it upon anyone to deal with it. Death, especially of a child, is hard enough to deal with. Death of your child knowing that they were in such unimaginable pain that they saw no other escape...I can't even fathom. I love my son so much it literally hurts sometimes. I hate it when he falls down and hurts himself. I hate it when he cries. How could I deal with knowing he was in that kind of pain? I couldn't. When suicide hit my life, all I needed was compassion. If anyone thought that the person killed themself because of me, they kept it to themselves. You're looking for a reason, but you don't want it to be you. You want answers, but ultimately you don't get one better than the person was unhappy and in pain.
Monsters. They are monsters. No matter how it happens, death needs to be grieved. Those parents are in a kind of hell that no one should ever have to be in. Those parents need compassion, support, and love. No matter how their child died, they need compassion. It's not normal or right for a parent to bury a child. It goes against nature and sequence.
They probably also want to smash things. I suggest the fingers of those saying they should have known what was happening.
I remember being a teenager. It was hard. And let's be honest, it sucked. You are going through a major growing phase of your life, physically, emotionally, and mentally. If that's not hard enough, you are crammed into a school with others going through the same changes. Throw in a small town and it's worse. I remember that everyone knew everything about everyone in my school. Rumors flew left and right. Throw social media into the mix, and there goes your escape at home.
You know what else I remember being about a teenager? Your parents are the enemy. You think they don't understand. I was a happy teenager, and I still holed myself up in my room to avoid parental contact. My parents probably still don't know half the stuff I did.
So how were the parents of this poor girl to prevent this from happening? Did they do a lesser job of parenting, then oh...say, the parents of the bullies?
I'm teaching this upcoming generation, what is it now, Z? This generation relies too heavily on this sense of entitlement and lack of accountability. "You didn't email me to remind me that the paper was due". No, but it was on the printed syllabus you took in your hand.
They hide behind this shield of false anonymity that comes with email, facebook, and twitter. They are growing up in a world that basically discourages face to face communication and makes them think they are invincible. If I spoke to teachers or other adults the way some of these kids do, my mom would have smacked me silly. And if Isaac spoke that way, I would do the same. You know who else hides behind that anonymity? Trolls on the internet who say parents should know when their children are hurting. What do you think the parents of those trolls would think of that? Would they be proud? Doubtful.
I don't condone suicide. I don't ever believe it is the answer. Ultimately, it is the decision of one person only and that person is the responsible one. No one else is to blame for that. Do I believe that other people can influence that decision? Yes, because I have been that person. I have been the person that hurts someone. Did I know that I was hurting them? Yes Did I know that they were suicidal? No. No I didn't. And to this day, I still don't see the signs that everyone says you should see.
Suicide has hit my life too hard, twice. I don't wish it upon anyone to deal with it. Death, especially of a child, is hard enough to deal with. Death of your child knowing that they were in such unimaginable pain that they saw no other escape...I can't even fathom. I love my son so much it literally hurts sometimes. I hate it when he falls down and hurts himself. I hate it when he cries. How could I deal with knowing he was in that kind of pain? I couldn't. When suicide hit my life, all I needed was compassion. If anyone thought that the person killed themself because of me, they kept it to themselves. You're looking for a reason, but you don't want it to be you. You want answers, but ultimately you don't get one better than the person was unhappy and in pain.
Monsters. They are monsters. No matter how it happens, death needs to be grieved. Those parents are in a kind of hell that no one should ever have to be in. Those parents need compassion, support, and love. No matter how their child died, they need compassion. It's not normal or right for a parent to bury a child. It goes against nature and sequence.
They probably also want to smash things. I suggest the fingers of those saying they should have known what was happening.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Double Dose of Goodness: Crock Pot Chicken Sandwiches and Homemade Chewy Granola Bars
Last week flew by, and before I knew it, I owed D two new recipes. So here they are.
CROCK POT CHICKEN SANDWICHES
What you need:
4-5 Boneless, skinless chicken breasts cut up into chunks.
1 can cream of chicken soup (I use the heart healthy version from Campbells)
Garlic powder
Onion powder
Pepper
bread crumbs
Burger buns (I use whole wheat)
Optional: Lettuce, cheese, tomato...any sandwich toppings.
What you do:
Put chicken breast into crock pot. Add cream soup, and season to taste with garlic and onion powders and pepper. Cook on high for 2 hours, until chicken is cooked through. Shred chicken using two forks or whatever method works best for you. Add bread crumbs to thicken mixture, usually about 1/2 to 1 cup depending on preference. Then all you do is build the sandwich!
The next recipe I made for lab meeting this week. It's super easy and versatile.
CHEWY GRANOLA BARS
What you need:
1 stick of butter, melted
1 cup of old fashioned oats
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
12 oz of fruit jam or jelly (I like raspberry)
What you do:
Combine flour, baking soda, and butter in a large bowl until coarse crumbs form. Mix in oats. Grease an 8x8 pan (I've also used a round cake pan). Press mixture onto bottom of pan, reserving about 1 1/ cups. Spread jelly over oat mixture. Top with remaining oat mixture, pressing down slightly. Bake at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes until top is golden brown.
I have combined the jelly with melted chocolate chips. Someone in my lab is trying it with white chocolate chips and strawberry jelly. Another labmate is using nutella (SWOON) and raspberry jam. You can create your own flavors. :)
CROCK POT CHICKEN SANDWICHES
What you need:
4-5 Boneless, skinless chicken breasts cut up into chunks.
1 can cream of chicken soup (I use the heart healthy version from Campbells)
Garlic powder
Onion powder
Pepper
bread crumbs
Burger buns (I use whole wheat)
Optional: Lettuce, cheese, tomato...any sandwich toppings.
What you do:
Put chicken breast into crock pot. Add cream soup, and season to taste with garlic and onion powders and pepper. Cook on high for 2 hours, until chicken is cooked through. Shred chicken using two forks or whatever method works best for you. Add bread crumbs to thicken mixture, usually about 1/2 to 1 cup depending on preference. Then all you do is build the sandwich!
The next recipe I made for lab meeting this week. It's super easy and versatile.
CHEWY GRANOLA BARS
What you need:
1 stick of butter, melted
1 cup of old fashioned oats
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
12 oz of fruit jam or jelly (I like raspberry)
What you do:
Combine flour, baking soda, and butter in a large bowl until coarse crumbs form. Mix in oats. Grease an 8x8 pan (I've also used a round cake pan). Press mixture onto bottom of pan, reserving about 1 1/ cups. Spread jelly over oat mixture. Top with remaining oat mixture, pressing down slightly. Bake at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes until top is golden brown.
I have combined the jelly with melted chocolate chips. Someone in my lab is trying it with white chocolate chips and strawberry jelly. Another labmate is using nutella (SWOON) and raspberry jam. You can create your own flavors. :)
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Misunderstood
You always hear those stories about campers or hikers or whoever that get mauled by bears because they were touching or near a cub. And then you hear how the bear that mauled this not too bright person was hunted and destroyed.
I'm here to speak for the bear.
As a mother, if I saw someone, anyone harassing my child or scaring him, the situation would not end well. I probably would NOT maul them, but that truly depends on the gravity of the situation.
It's instinct.
Like when the nurse was holding down my newborn baby's legs and shooting him full of vaccines with scary needles, my first instinct was to pummel her. I knew fully well she was not actually hurting him, but something in his scared cries triggered a strong reaction in me.
If I had been a bear, the situation would not have ended well.
As a mother, you have that divine instinct to protect your babies at all cost. It doesn't matter the situation, or even who is right or wrong. That scared cry, the cry of pain....it awakens the mama bear in you. You become the angry 8 foot bear with huge claws and before you know it, you hear yourself roar.
And that my friends, is not a reason to shoot a bear.
I'm here to speak for the bear.
As a mother, if I saw someone, anyone harassing my child or scaring him, the situation would not end well. I probably would NOT maul them, but that truly depends on the gravity of the situation.
It's instinct.
Like when the nurse was holding down my newborn baby's legs and shooting him full of vaccines with scary needles, my first instinct was to pummel her. I knew fully well she was not actually hurting him, but something in his scared cries triggered a strong reaction in me.
If I had been a bear, the situation would not have ended well.
As a mother, you have that divine instinct to protect your babies at all cost. It doesn't matter the situation, or even who is right or wrong. That scared cry, the cry of pain....it awakens the mama bear in you. You become the angry 8 foot bear with huge claws and before you know it, you hear yourself roar.
And that my friends, is not a reason to shoot a bear.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Couch to 5K
If you have read my blog before, or know anything about me, you read that title and thought I was losing my mind because SARA DOESN'T RUN.
Except...now...I kind of do.
My labmate and bestie Miss S and I somehow decided that we wanted to run a 5K sometime. We have chosen to run it in the spring, giving us plenty of training time. Oh wait, it gets better. After we run a 5k in the spring of 2013, we want to run the Disney Princess Half Marathon in 2014. I know it's a ways off, but trust me...I need it.
We've been at the training program, which is a variation of the Couch to 5K regimen, for about 5 weeks now.
My knees are killing me, my shins are screaming profanities, my ankles are all pissed off, and my lungs are trying to flee my body...but you know what? IT FEELS AMAZING. I am RUNNING!!!
My little brother (who is a super runner...seriously, he's like 7th in the nation for college running or something absolutely ridiculous like that) has been giving me tidbits of help along the way, explaining what muscles are changing and such. For example, I said to him "Hey, Little C, I started running and my legs are absolutely killing me. Why is that?" His response: "Um, yeah....you haven't run since like, 1999. It's gonna hurt." He is so wise.
Regardless of the pain, and the fact that the increasing muscle mass is altering the numbers on the scale in such a way that makes me want to vomit, I am really proud of myself and Miss S. After 2 weeks, I treated myself to a boatload of new music on iTunes. I owe myself another prize I feel, for completely another 2 weeks. Putting prize milestones, keeps me on track and keeps me going.
That, and my husband bet me $1000 that I would not run the half marathon.
I hope he is saving his change from lunch and such.
Except...now...I kind of do.
My labmate and bestie Miss S and I somehow decided that we wanted to run a 5K sometime. We have chosen to run it in the spring, giving us plenty of training time. Oh wait, it gets better. After we run a 5k in the spring of 2013, we want to run the Disney Princess Half Marathon in 2014. I know it's a ways off, but trust me...I need it.
We've been at the training program, which is a variation of the Couch to 5K regimen, for about 5 weeks now.
My knees are killing me, my shins are screaming profanities, my ankles are all pissed off, and my lungs are trying to flee my body...but you know what? IT FEELS AMAZING. I am RUNNING!!!
My little brother (who is a super runner...seriously, he's like 7th in the nation for college running or something absolutely ridiculous like that) has been giving me tidbits of help along the way, explaining what muscles are changing and such. For example, I said to him "Hey, Little C, I started running and my legs are absolutely killing me. Why is that?" His response: "Um, yeah....you haven't run since like, 1999. It's gonna hurt." He is so wise.
Regardless of the pain, and the fact that the increasing muscle mass is altering the numbers on the scale in such a way that makes me want to vomit, I am really proud of myself and Miss S. After 2 weeks, I treated myself to a boatload of new music on iTunes. I owe myself another prize I feel, for completely another 2 weeks. Putting prize milestones, keeps me on track and keeps me going.
That, and my husband bet me $1000 that I would not run the half marathon.
I hope he is saving his change from lunch and such.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Snake Bite Pasta
We here in the Lahman family love spicy. We love pasta. Therefore, we love spicy pasta. In a massive haste of a hectic evening, I threw a bunch of things that sounded good into my slow cooker, set the timer, and walked away. A little over an hour later, I came back to what turned into Snake Bite Pasta.
What you need:
1 tub Kraft Santa Fe cooking creme
1/2 jar of Pace Picante sauce (we use hot, but use whatever your taste buds can handle)
1/2 tub of sour cream (I use low fat, but use whatever)
1 small yellow onion chopped
1 can of petite diced tomatoes with jalapenos
1 green bell pepper
4 chicken breasts
1 can whole kernel corn (I use no salt added)
1 box pasta (I use whole wheat rotini...something with texture holds the sauce better)
Cumin
black pepper
Green onions
What you do:
Put the cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Put into the cooker with the cooking cream, onions, tomatoes, and pepper. Season to taste with cumin and pepper. Cook on high for about an hour, until chicken is cooked through. Mix in sour cream, corn, and Picante sauce. And cook additional 10-15 minutes. Cook pasta according to package directions. Mix sauce and pasta in large bowl, garnish with green onions (I usually just cut them up with kitchen shears).
What I love about this is that you can make it as hot as you like. You could also use beans instead of chicken for a vegetarian option. I have also garnished with a sharp cheddar or pepper jack cheese, if I have it handy.
ENJOY!
PS. One day I will figure out how to take decent food pictures with my camera.
What you need:
1 tub Kraft Santa Fe cooking creme
1/2 jar of Pace Picante sauce (we use hot, but use whatever your taste buds can handle)
1/2 tub of sour cream (I use low fat, but use whatever)
1 small yellow onion chopped
1 can of petite diced tomatoes with jalapenos
1 green bell pepper
4 chicken breasts
1 can whole kernel corn (I use no salt added)
1 box pasta (I use whole wheat rotini...something with texture holds the sauce better)
Cumin
black pepper
Green onions
What you do:
Put the cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Put into the cooker with the cooking cream, onions, tomatoes, and pepper. Season to taste with cumin and pepper. Cook on high for about an hour, until chicken is cooked through. Mix in sour cream, corn, and Picante sauce. And cook additional 10-15 minutes. Cook pasta according to package directions. Mix sauce and pasta in large bowl, garnish with green onions (I usually just cut them up with kitchen shears).
What I love about this is that you can make it as hot as you like. You could also use beans instead of chicken for a vegetarian option. I have also garnished with a sharp cheddar or pepper jack cheese, if I have it handy.
ENJOY!
PS. One day I will figure out how to take decent food pictures with my camera.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
The PhD bracelet
In my lab, we have a tradition. Whenever a member achieves something noteworthy, my adviser purchases a bottle of champagne. The person with the accomplishment paints the cork a certain color, depending on what they have done, and fires it at the ceiling. Then, they sign the tile next to the cork mark, and the lab drinks happily in celebration. Our ceiling is amazing.
But...
I can't take the ceiling with me when I graduate.
I wanted something to mark each milestone, each accomplishment, of my own.
I give you: The Pandora PhD bracelet!
It started with 2 charms, one for acceptance into the PhD program and one for getting an assistantship that covers my tuition and gives me a stipend. The third charm is for presenting at the Animal Behavior Conference in Bloomington, Indiana this past spring. Whenever I publish, pass a milestone (prelims, proposal defense, etc.), receive an award or grant, or present research, I will get a new charm. When I graduate, if all goes as planned, I will have one amazing bracelet to remind me of all the hard work I put in over 4 years and what I have achieved.
But...
I can't take the ceiling with me when I graduate.
I wanted something to mark each milestone, each accomplishment, of my own.
I give you: The Pandora PhD bracelet!
It started with 2 charms, one for acceptance into the PhD program and one for getting an assistantship that covers my tuition and gives me a stipend. The third charm is for presenting at the Animal Behavior Conference in Bloomington, Indiana this past spring. Whenever I publish, pass a milestone (prelims, proposal defense, etc.), receive an award or grant, or present research, I will get a new charm. When I graduate, if all goes as planned, I will have one amazing bracelet to remind me of all the hard work I put in over 4 years and what I have achieved.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Good Eats for D
One of my best friends, D, from California is quite possibly busier than I am. She has three boys, two of whom are twins. She has a dog. A husband. A house and a mortgage. And she is an awesome family person. Oh, and she runs marathons. FOR FUN.
So yeah, she's super busy and I have crazy amounts of respect for her. We have never really lived in close enough proximity so I can help her as much as I want to. She taught me so much about being a first time mother, giving me all kinds of tricks and tips, without being pushy. I in turn, taught her some cooking tips, like how to make gravy from scratch and how to barbeque chicken. I just got to talk to her for the first time in a long time the other day, other than random texts and facebook snippets here and there. It was wonderful. Hearing about her life and her boys made me feel like I was back in California. It was like a breath of fresh air.
I know that she likes to feed her boys good, homemade food whenever possible. I promised her that I would send her some recipes, and I thought that I would share them with the blogosphere. Therefore :)...I am starting a new section to blog, called Good Eats for D. All the recipes that I will put here will be simple and easy to prepare, as well as easily affordable. I get my recipes from all over, and if by chance you stumble upon one that I don't credit you for, please please PLEASE let me know. I will be more than happy to correct myself.
Anyhoo...here goes the first one! Sausage Crescent Pie (as made for me by Miss Sarah Jane). Note: I use low fat and reduced fat whenever possible. It's not necessary to do so, but I like to :)
What you will need:
2 tubes of crescent rolls
2 bars of cream cheese, softened
1 lb of turkey sausage (or any sausage you like)
What you need to do:
Preheat the oven to crescent roll specifications (most likely it's 375).
Brown the sausage in a pan over medium heat, drain.
Unroll one package of crescent rolls and press them flat so they cover the bottom of a 9x13 casserole pan.
Spread one package of cream cheese on top of the rolls.
Now comes the fun and creative part. Add the sausage. Then you can add pretty much whatever you want. I have added mushroom pieces, spinach, onions...sometimes asparagus or tomatoes. Or you can just leave it as the sausage cause it's uber delicious that way.
Spread the last package of cream cheese over the sausage layer.
Unroll the last package of rolls over the top.
Bake according to crescent roll package directions (usually about 20 works)
So yeah, she's super busy and I have crazy amounts of respect for her. We have never really lived in close enough proximity so I can help her as much as I want to. She taught me so much about being a first time mother, giving me all kinds of tricks and tips, without being pushy. I in turn, taught her some cooking tips, like how to make gravy from scratch and how to barbeque chicken. I just got to talk to her for the first time in a long time the other day, other than random texts and facebook snippets here and there. It was wonderful. Hearing about her life and her boys made me feel like I was back in California. It was like a breath of fresh air.
I know that she likes to feed her boys good, homemade food whenever possible. I promised her that I would send her some recipes, and I thought that I would share them with the blogosphere. Therefore :)...I am starting a new section to blog, called Good Eats for D. All the recipes that I will put here will be simple and easy to prepare, as well as easily affordable. I get my recipes from all over, and if by chance you stumble upon one that I don't credit you for, please please PLEASE let me know. I will be more than happy to correct myself.
Anyhoo...here goes the first one! Sausage Crescent Pie (as made for me by Miss Sarah Jane). Note: I use low fat and reduced fat whenever possible. It's not necessary to do so, but I like to :)
What you will need:
2 tubes of crescent rolls
2 bars of cream cheese, softened
1 lb of turkey sausage (or any sausage you like)
What you need to do:
Preheat the oven to crescent roll specifications (most likely it's 375).
Brown the sausage in a pan over medium heat, drain.
Unroll one package of crescent rolls and press them flat so they cover the bottom of a 9x13 casserole pan.
Spread one package of cream cheese on top of the rolls.
Now comes the fun and creative part. Add the sausage. Then you can add pretty much whatever you want. I have added mushroom pieces, spinach, onions...sometimes asparagus or tomatoes. Or you can just leave it as the sausage cause it's uber delicious that way.
Spread the last package of cream cheese over the sausage layer.
Unroll the last package of rolls over the top.
Bake according to crescent roll package directions (usually about 20 works)
Saturday, September 15, 2012
As the leaves begin to change color
"Can you set the DVR to record the Ohio State games?" my husband asks of me.
"What are you talking about? They don't start for a while yet." I reply.
"Um, they start on Saturday..."
This was a conversation that took place between my husband and I just a few weeks ago. Now here I sit, three weeks into college football season, knee deep in the semester, as the weather cools down and I try to figure where summer...or the whole year for that matter, has flown off to. It seems like only yesterday that I was packing to head up to Michigan for field research. It has been so busy, I have barely had time to take a shower, let alone blog about everything I want to. So here's a quick recap so I can shirk the guilt and move on.
I finished my first dissertation research data set. It's as beautiful as data can be, and holds a mountain of possibilities. Now comes the analysis and writing. I'm presenting it at the SICB conference in January...in San Francisco! I'm so excited. :) I am starting trials for my second project, just hammering out kinks in protocol. My formal courses are completed, so this year is filled with reading and studying for my prelims, seminar hours, and writing my proposal. I taught the second summer session of Gen Bio lab, and all of a sudden, 6 weeks had raced by. It was a lot of fun, and I loved the material more than the other courses I have taught. However; I'm not teaching this semester. I landed the prep TA spot and I'm holding onto it as long as possible.
Isaac started preschool! He is adjusting really well, although he claims it is too hard. Oh buddy, it will only get harder. Ben started a new job, working as a service adviser for a local VW dealer. He loves it. He's home more, and the money is better. The new house is finally unpacked. Just looking for a few things to make it home. This proves quite a challenge as we have no extra cash. This summer drained us.
Isaac met Thomas, met Dora, and went to the zoo countless times. He visited museums, went to fairs and festivals, and rode an elephant. I can't even count how many times he went swimming and fishing. We've hosted cookouts and parties.
Even though the summer went so fast, I'm super excited to what this fall holds for us. Apple butter, pumpkin picking, football games, trick or treating, more holidays and birthdays with our family.
And before you know it, I will be sitting in this same chair, looking out my window at snow, wondering where the fall went.
"What are you talking about? They don't start for a while yet." I reply.
"Um, they start on Saturday..."
This was a conversation that took place between my husband and I just a few weeks ago. Now here I sit, three weeks into college football season, knee deep in the semester, as the weather cools down and I try to figure where summer...or the whole year for that matter, has flown off to. It seems like only yesterday that I was packing to head up to Michigan for field research. It has been so busy, I have barely had time to take a shower, let alone blog about everything I want to. So here's a quick recap so I can shirk the guilt and move on.
I finished my first dissertation research data set. It's as beautiful as data can be, and holds a mountain of possibilities. Now comes the analysis and writing. I'm presenting it at the SICB conference in January...in San Francisco! I'm so excited. :) I am starting trials for my second project, just hammering out kinks in protocol. My formal courses are completed, so this year is filled with reading and studying for my prelims, seminar hours, and writing my proposal. I taught the second summer session of Gen Bio lab, and all of a sudden, 6 weeks had raced by. It was a lot of fun, and I loved the material more than the other courses I have taught. However; I'm not teaching this semester. I landed the prep TA spot and I'm holding onto it as long as possible.
Isaac started preschool! He is adjusting really well, although he claims it is too hard. Oh buddy, it will only get harder. Ben started a new job, working as a service adviser for a local VW dealer. He loves it. He's home more, and the money is better. The new house is finally unpacked. Just looking for a few things to make it home. This proves quite a challenge as we have no extra cash. This summer drained us.
Isaac met Thomas, met Dora, and went to the zoo countless times. He visited museums, went to fairs and festivals, and rode an elephant. I can't even count how many times he went swimming and fishing. We've hosted cookouts and parties.
Even though the summer went so fast, I'm super excited to what this fall holds for us. Apple butter, pumpkin picking, football games, trick or treating, more holidays and birthdays with our family.
And before you know it, I will be sitting in this same chair, looking out my window at snow, wondering where the fall went.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Letting Go
This past weekend, we took a big step and bought Isaac a twin bed. I say we, but it was really just a big step for me. Although I could see that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his toddler bed, since he's a TALL little boy, I was dragging my feet in purchasing him a big boy bed. Why? Because it was the last element that made him a baby.
He's potty trained, so no diapers.
He drinks out of a regular cup and eats with regular silverware, so no more sippy cups or plastic dinnerware.
His umbrella stroller is too small, the same stroller that he couldn't use for the first 6 months because he was too small. For that matter, we are almost completely passed the stroller phase and he really needs a wagon.
He wears a 4T. 4. And he dresses himself.
He is starting preschool next week. And he brought home a permission slip for field trips and a list of school supplies he needs. I'm not sending blankets and diapers to daycare in a diaper bag anymore. I am sending crayons and pencils in a backpack.
Isaac is the light of my world. And like most mothers will say about their children, this little boy will always be my baby. But he's not my baby anymore and that becomes glaringly more obvious every passing day. I am so very proud of him, but my heart aches as it swells. Maybe it is because so many of my friends are pregnant or have just had a baby. Maybe because I have no idea when I will have another baby, if I ever do. If another child is not in the cards for us, Isaac will have given us enough love and joy as he has grown up.
I'm just having a hard time letting go of him being a baby. It is so very bittersweet.
With that said, anyone want to buy a toddler bed? Or trade for a wagon?
He's potty trained, so no diapers.
He drinks out of a regular cup and eats with regular silverware, so no more sippy cups or plastic dinnerware.
His umbrella stroller is too small, the same stroller that he couldn't use for the first 6 months because he was too small. For that matter, we are almost completely passed the stroller phase and he really needs a wagon.
He wears a 4T. 4. And he dresses himself.
He is starting preschool next week. And he brought home a permission slip for field trips and a list of school supplies he needs. I'm not sending blankets and diapers to daycare in a diaper bag anymore. I am sending crayons and pencils in a backpack.
Isaac is the light of my world. And like most mothers will say about their children, this little boy will always be my baby. But he's not my baby anymore and that becomes glaringly more obvious every passing day. I am so very proud of him, but my heart aches as it swells. Maybe it is because so many of my friends are pregnant or have just had a baby. Maybe because I have no idea when I will have another baby, if I ever do. If another child is not in the cards for us, Isaac will have given us enough love and joy as he has grown up.
I'm just having a hard time letting go of him being a baby. It is so very bittersweet.
With that said, anyone want to buy a toddler bed? Or trade for a wagon?
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The War of the Pets: How My Cat Tried to Kill My Dog
Guiliani, our black cat, was my first pet. My first real pet that I had living on my own, that is. He was my baby for 2 years, until we got Layla, our little Siamese. Their personalities are opposite, but after Isaac was born, they finally began to tolerate each other to the point of kitty friendship. Layla is very skittish, very afraid of strangers, but very very sweet. Guiliani is fearless, very friendly, and has a load of attitude. When we moved across the country, Layla claimed the basement and was barely coming upstairs. Guiliani was fine.
And then we got Luna Lu.
The cats hate her. She tries in vain to play with them with no avail. They HATE her. Layla refuses to even look at her, and when Luna manages to get close to her...it isn't pretty. Layla arches her backs or hunkers down and hisses. Growls. Guiliani is more tolerant, until Luna tries to play. Sometimes he indulges her, but most times he acts pissed. And swats. And hisses. At the old house we used to have a baby gate up in our bedroom door so Luna couldn't get in. The cats would sleep up there. Layla ran from the basement to the bedroom, never really figuring out there was a whole front half to the house. Guiliani went where he wanted. When we moved, we opted not to put up the baby gate. Partly because it was broken and I didn't want to buy a new one. And partly because it seemed like it was a good time to let Luna into the bedroom. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed.
Guiliani doesn't approve. He likes to sleep on the bed, preferably on my head. Having Luna in the bedroom, even on the floor, cramps his style (Layla is once again a basement kitty and we hope to see her upstairs sometime in the next year). He sits atop the bedside dresser, watching and scowling as Luna sleeps.
Every night before we go to sleep my husband sets out his prescription painkillers for the next morning. Three of them. This morning he woke me up. There was only one on the edge of the dresser, balancing precariously.
I'm pretty sure Guiliani knocked them onto the floor and Luna ate them. Because LUNA EATS EVERYTHING.
What do signs of narcotic overdose look like in a 75lb Siberian Husky?
We aren't sure when said acts happened. Isaac came into my room about 4am and I got up to take him back to bed. At that time Guiliani jumped off the bed and Luna chased him out of the room. Nine times out of ten, I don't put my glasses on to stumble the 10 feet to Isaac's bedroom from my own. So I don't know if the pills were on the dresser then. However, Luna came back up to the bedroom after a quick jaunt into the yard and wolfing down some food (munchies?!). Guiliani did not. Why return to the seen of the crime?
Luna seems fine. I called the vet, and they assured me that a dog of her size could handle a few pills. I watched for any signs of strange behavior, but for Luna that would mean behaving and being calm. None such behavior was seen today.
And I am pretty sure that upon seeing Luna reenter the house this morning, Guiliani gave her a look that cleary said "What are you still doing here?!"
Tonight the pills will not be on the dresser. Just in case Guiliani takes another stab at offing Luna. .
And then we got Luna Lu.
The cats hate her. She tries in vain to play with them with no avail. They HATE her. Layla refuses to even look at her, and when Luna manages to get close to her...it isn't pretty. Layla arches her backs or hunkers down and hisses. Growls. Guiliani is more tolerant, until Luna tries to play. Sometimes he indulges her, but most times he acts pissed. And swats. And hisses. At the old house we used to have a baby gate up in our bedroom door so Luna couldn't get in. The cats would sleep up there. Layla ran from the basement to the bedroom, never really figuring out there was a whole front half to the house. Guiliani went where he wanted. When we moved, we opted not to put up the baby gate. Partly because it was broken and I didn't want to buy a new one. And partly because it seemed like it was a good time to let Luna into the bedroom. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed.
Guiliani doesn't approve. He likes to sleep on the bed, preferably on my head. Having Luna in the bedroom, even on the floor, cramps his style (Layla is once again a basement kitty and we hope to see her upstairs sometime in the next year). He sits atop the bedside dresser, watching and scowling as Luna sleeps.
Every night before we go to sleep my husband sets out his prescription painkillers for the next morning. Three of them. This morning he woke me up. There was only one on the edge of the dresser, balancing precariously.
I'm pretty sure Guiliani knocked them onto the floor and Luna ate them. Because LUNA EATS EVERYTHING.
What do signs of narcotic overdose look like in a 75lb Siberian Husky?
We aren't sure when said acts happened. Isaac came into my room about 4am and I got up to take him back to bed. At that time Guiliani jumped off the bed and Luna chased him out of the room. Nine times out of ten, I don't put my glasses on to stumble the 10 feet to Isaac's bedroom from my own. So I don't know if the pills were on the dresser then. However, Luna came back up to the bedroom after a quick jaunt into the yard and wolfing down some food (munchies?!). Guiliani did not. Why return to the seen of the crime?
Luna seems fine. I called the vet, and they assured me that a dog of her size could handle a few pills. I watched for any signs of strange behavior, but for Luna that would mean behaving and being calm. None such behavior was seen today.
And I am pretty sure that upon seeing Luna reenter the house this morning, Guiliani gave her a look that cleary said "What are you still doing here?!"
Tonight the pills will not be on the dresser. Just in case Guiliani takes another stab at offing Luna. .
Friday, July 27, 2012
Hoop Jumping
When I finished my Masters Degree from USF, one of the reasons I chose not to go into a PhD program right away was the administrative bull crap that comes along with any degree. It was not the work, it wasn't the research. It was the hoop jumping that was required.
I'm pretty organized. I learn my degree requirements and make sure I understand the program, what's expected, and when it is due to the proper officials. I can handle that. What starts to drive me batty is when requirements for the College and for the Department don't line up and NO ONE CAN EXPLAIN WHY OR HOW TO FIX IT.
Being a PhD student, I belong to a bunch of different people (to simplify things, I'm calling them people). I belong to the Graduate College, who have fairly generalized requirements and don't understand a lick of what goes into scientific research but seem to like forms and paper. I belong to the College of Arts and Sciences, who start to understand science and somewhat know the requirements of the Grad College. Finally, I belong to the Department of Biological Sciences. I am not really sure what they understand, to be perfectly honest.
I don't pay to come to school here. I have an assistantship that covers my tuition and gives me a teaching stipend. It's awesome and I am very grateful for this. It was smooth sailing for the first year. I applied for in state residency to save the Department money on out of state fees. I do my registration on time. I get my forms in early. I have an awesome adviser who rocks at science and research and getting his students out on time. We sat down at the beginning of last fall, made a time line and check in to make sure we are there every so often. Well, not all the grad students are like me or have adviser who even know what the degree requirements are. Degree programs are being stretched to their limit, and the Department only has so much money to give. That means they have to cut and set limits.
Recently, the Department decided they are only going to pay for 6 credit hours per fall and spring semester per grad student and 1 hour in the summer, unless there are unique circumstances. Students can still get out on time (I can't really say this with a straight face because apparently this is a problem in our Department). HOWEVER, the Grad College stipulates full time graduate student enrollment is 8 credit hours during the fall and spring, 4 during the summer. Here come all the hoops.
I have spent more time on the phone and sending emails this summer than I care to spend. I am enrolled for 2 credit hours this summer. Two does not equal four. So I am not full time. This bumped my student discounts on insurance. One of my student loans from undergrad threatened to fall out of deferment. Isaac's and my health insurance was dropped since I am under the university policy and they can only cover FULL TIME STUDENTS. The State retirement fund (I technically work for the State of Ohio) takes 10% of your paycheck automatically if you aren't a full time student. That makes no sense at all to me, and my summer stipend was already lower than a minimum wage job at McDonalds. It was literally one thing after another.
This morning, I took care of what I hope to be the final issue for this year. When I filled out my financial aid forms in the early spring semester, I put that I was enrolled full time. This was before the Department changed what they would pay for. That means, I was awarded the maximum amount of federal aid allowable to a full time student. Until, I wasn't a full time student anymore. All of sudden my award disbursement was suspended and I had no idea why. I took care of everything as it was popping up. I need that money. Isaac needs that money. WE NEED THAT MONEY. I finally figured out this morning, after a length call to the financial office, that my award status does not meet my enrollment status. I had to change it to match, or my aid would be severely delayed, if not cancelled for the Fall semester.
This is not a hoop. This is a flaming hoop like the ones the circus wants animals to jump through. It's a pain in the rear, to put it delicately.
I have enough going on in my life without the hassle of dealing with these types of things that arise since other students can't get their act together to graduate on time. I understand extenuating circumstances. But when the average length of the programs is getting longer and longer because people fail to get their requirements done on time and I am being stifled because of it? That I don't understand.
Fingers crossed there are no more issues. I have a dissertation to complete.
I'm pretty organized. I learn my degree requirements and make sure I understand the program, what's expected, and when it is due to the proper officials. I can handle that. What starts to drive me batty is when requirements for the College and for the Department don't line up and NO ONE CAN EXPLAIN WHY OR HOW TO FIX IT.
Being a PhD student, I belong to a bunch of different people (to simplify things, I'm calling them people). I belong to the Graduate College, who have fairly generalized requirements and don't understand a lick of what goes into scientific research but seem to like forms and paper. I belong to the College of Arts and Sciences, who start to understand science and somewhat know the requirements of the Grad College. Finally, I belong to the Department of Biological Sciences. I am not really sure what they understand, to be perfectly honest.
I don't pay to come to school here. I have an assistantship that covers my tuition and gives me a teaching stipend. It's awesome and I am very grateful for this. It was smooth sailing for the first year. I applied for in state residency to save the Department money on out of state fees. I do my registration on time. I get my forms in early. I have an awesome adviser who rocks at science and research and getting his students out on time. We sat down at the beginning of last fall, made a time line and check in to make sure we are there every so often. Well, not all the grad students are like me or have adviser who even know what the degree requirements are. Degree programs are being stretched to their limit, and the Department only has so much money to give. That means they have to cut and set limits.
Recently, the Department decided they are only going to pay for 6 credit hours per fall and spring semester per grad student and 1 hour in the summer, unless there are unique circumstances. Students can still get out on time (I can't really say this with a straight face because apparently this is a problem in our Department). HOWEVER, the Grad College stipulates full time graduate student enrollment is 8 credit hours during the fall and spring, 4 during the summer. Here come all the hoops.
I have spent more time on the phone and sending emails this summer than I care to spend. I am enrolled for 2 credit hours this summer. Two does not equal four. So I am not full time. This bumped my student discounts on insurance. One of my student loans from undergrad threatened to fall out of deferment. Isaac's and my health insurance was dropped since I am under the university policy and they can only cover FULL TIME STUDENTS. The State retirement fund (I technically work for the State of Ohio) takes 10% of your paycheck automatically if you aren't a full time student. That makes no sense at all to me, and my summer stipend was already lower than a minimum wage job at McDonalds. It was literally one thing after another.
This morning, I took care of what I hope to be the final issue for this year. When I filled out my financial aid forms in the early spring semester, I put that I was enrolled full time. This was before the Department changed what they would pay for. That means, I was awarded the maximum amount of federal aid allowable to a full time student. Until, I wasn't a full time student anymore. All of sudden my award disbursement was suspended and I had no idea why. I took care of everything as it was popping up. I need that money. Isaac needs that money. WE NEED THAT MONEY. I finally figured out this morning, after a length call to the financial office, that my award status does not meet my enrollment status. I had to change it to match, or my aid would be severely delayed, if not cancelled for the Fall semester.
This is not a hoop. This is a flaming hoop like the ones the circus wants animals to jump through. It's a pain in the rear, to put it delicately.
I have enough going on in my life without the hassle of dealing with these types of things that arise since other students can't get their act together to graduate on time. I understand extenuating circumstances. But when the average length of the programs is getting longer and longer because people fail to get their requirements done on time and I am being stifled because of it? That I don't understand.
Fingers crossed there are no more issues. I have a dissertation to complete.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The R Word
Coming back into Ohio, as well as into the academic setting after so long in the workplace and in California was a huge adjustment that I have talked about many times (and probably more to come). I have learned a great deal about myself, my husband, in addition to valuable lessons on trust, integrity, and commitment. One of the most important lessons, however; has been running through my mind frequently over the past two summer months. This is one on a word we all know: RESPECT.
Everyone wants it. Everyone thinks they deserve it. But a very small handful seem to understand that they have to earn it.
I attended this university as an undergrad, and took courses from many of the professors who are still here today. Some are in the same positions, others are not. Perhaps it is the time I spent away from academia, or this university, or this State in general. Perhaps it's that I am older and been in different environments. Or perhaps it's always been this way, and I did not see it.
I can't respect people who throw out racist comments that visibly make others uncomfortable. I just can't. Especially when this comes from someone who should know better. There are a million excuses, but the bottom line is this: with great power comes great responsibility. And that responsibility involves being aware of comments you make in reference to race. Period. I know that I can't respect that.
But what if that person is in a position that deserves respect?
I can respect your position and your authority, as long as I am in a position below you. But I can't respect you as a person. And as one continues down this path, it becomes increasingly difficult to respect you in your position. Know your place. And adapt your behavior to it appropriately. Then I will respect you.
In addition to being a student, I am a teacher. I have taught a diverse group of students over the past 2 semesters and summer session. I have had amazing students in all my labs, both majors and non majors. And not so amazing ones.
Let's set the record straight. I respect your position as a student. I realize that entering the world of higher learning as a freshman is difficult and everyone comes from different cultural, social, and academic backgrounds. I understand that my class is not your only class, but please don't expect me to hand out pity because you "can't get out of bed on time".
I was an undergrad once. I know it's hard. I know it's overwhelming. I know you are dealing with a mountain of changes in your life. I respect that. I also know how hard it is to have a family and be a student. I respect your position in being a parent first. I understand the importance of that role. What I do not respect is all your excuses for not coming to class. You know what? I respect honesty. You know what I don't respect? A sense of entitlement. You could be a genius. You could go on to make brilliant scientific discoveries like curing cancer. Until then, please remember, you are a student, my student. And I am going to give you all due respect. And I do mean all DUE respect. Truth be told, I am pretty lenient and laid back. I let you make work up if you attempt to show you have respect for me, my time, and the course. If you acknowledge you are in the wrong and try to modify your behavior. I'm clear on my expectations from the start.
Early in the last semester a student was mouthy with a professor of the class I sit in on The professor called him out on it, and rightly so. Later that afternoon, I got a call from the Department Chair wanting to know what had happened and what I thought of the situation. A student had complained. I told the truth. The student was out of line, big time and deserved to be called out. I didn't think the fully tenured, experienced professor who had taught me many years ago was wrong. This professor was clear on his personality and methods and expectations from the beginning. I came to find out that the student that complained about the professor being offensive was not even the student called out in class. That particular actually apologized for his behavior after class. And all of a sudden the Chair starts showing up in class to monitor the professor, not telling him of his intentions. W.T.F.
The lack of respect in that situation made me sick to my stomach.
These situations got me thinking about how my son will behave in class. How he will learn respect. I can tell you this much. If my son spoke to a professor in that manner, I would be appalled and angry. And embarrassed because that is a reflection on me. If my son made racist comments in a public setting and wasn't an elderly man from the deep South (not that that makes racism ok, but makes it understandable that he thought that type of remark was ok. The person that made this comment was not those things), I would feel the same.
The bottom line is this. No matter what position you are in, respect needs to be earned. And respect needs to be given to those positions above you. You may not respect the person, but respect authority. And then set the example to change the behavior.
Everyone wants it. Everyone thinks they deserve it. But a very small handful seem to understand that they have to earn it.
I attended this university as an undergrad, and took courses from many of the professors who are still here today. Some are in the same positions, others are not. Perhaps it is the time I spent away from academia, or this university, or this State in general. Perhaps it's that I am older and been in different environments. Or perhaps it's always been this way, and I did not see it.
I can't respect people who throw out racist comments that visibly make others uncomfortable. I just can't. Especially when this comes from someone who should know better. There are a million excuses, but the bottom line is this: with great power comes great responsibility. And that responsibility involves being aware of comments you make in reference to race. Period. I know that I can't respect that.
But what if that person is in a position that deserves respect?
I can respect your position and your authority, as long as I am in a position below you. But I can't respect you as a person. And as one continues down this path, it becomes increasingly difficult to respect you in your position. Know your place. And adapt your behavior to it appropriately. Then I will respect you.
In addition to being a student, I am a teacher. I have taught a diverse group of students over the past 2 semesters and summer session. I have had amazing students in all my labs, both majors and non majors. And not so amazing ones.
Let's set the record straight. I respect your position as a student. I realize that entering the world of higher learning as a freshman is difficult and everyone comes from different cultural, social, and academic backgrounds. I understand that my class is not your only class, but please don't expect me to hand out pity because you "can't get out of bed on time".
I was an undergrad once. I know it's hard. I know it's overwhelming. I know you are dealing with a mountain of changes in your life. I respect that. I also know how hard it is to have a family and be a student. I respect your position in being a parent first. I understand the importance of that role. What I do not respect is all your excuses for not coming to class. You know what? I respect honesty. You know what I don't respect? A sense of entitlement. You could be a genius. You could go on to make brilliant scientific discoveries like curing cancer. Until then, please remember, you are a student, my student. And I am going to give you all due respect. And I do mean all DUE respect. Truth be told, I am pretty lenient and laid back. I let you make work up if you attempt to show you have respect for me, my time, and the course. If you acknowledge you are in the wrong and try to modify your behavior. I'm clear on my expectations from the start.
Early in the last semester a student was mouthy with a professor of the class I sit in on The professor called him out on it, and rightly so. Later that afternoon, I got a call from the Department Chair wanting to know what had happened and what I thought of the situation. A student had complained. I told the truth. The student was out of line, big time and deserved to be called out. I didn't think the fully tenured, experienced professor who had taught me many years ago was wrong. This professor was clear on his personality and methods and expectations from the beginning. I came to find out that the student that complained about the professor being offensive was not even the student called out in class. That particular actually apologized for his behavior after class. And all of a sudden the Chair starts showing up in class to monitor the professor, not telling him of his intentions. W.T.F.
The lack of respect in that situation made me sick to my stomach.
These situations got me thinking about how my son will behave in class. How he will learn respect. I can tell you this much. If my son spoke to a professor in that manner, I would be appalled and angry. And embarrassed because that is a reflection on me. If my son made racist comments in a public setting and wasn't an elderly man from the deep South (not that that makes racism ok, but makes it understandable that he thought that type of remark was ok. The person that made this comment was not those things), I would feel the same.
The bottom line is this. No matter what position you are in, respect needs to be earned. And respect needs to be given to those positions above you. You may not respect the person, but respect authority. And then set the example to change the behavior.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Mini-Vacations
This summer has been so incredibly busy. I like busy. I thrive on busy. However...I'm tired. And the busy won't be letting up anytime soon. I knew that going into a doctoral program would make my free time and me time vanish instantly. It has, and don't get me wrong. I love my program. I love what I am doing. But...I'm tired. PhD programs are busy. Being a mother is a busy job. I'm pretty sure the only people who do both at once are crazy type A people, like myself, who obviously are masochistic and thrive under pressure (Sidenote: what a wonderful way to describe myself! If anyone else said that to me I would rage on them with a stapler)
I don't know where May and June went. Or July for that matter. I remember the spring semester ending. Then I was making electrodes and pollution sources. I was reading articles and learning to use power tools. I was looking at new rental houses. Then I was in California for a the only vacation I will get during my 4 years (unless someone else gets married out of state. That always gets me a long weekend at least). I was home for 3 days and packing to go up to UMBS for my field work. Another 9 days passed. Next was packing and prepping to move. And teaching 3 labs and one recitation a week. We moved. Now, I had to unpack and decorate because apparently garbage bags, laundry baskets, and rubbermaid tubs are unsightly decor. Now here, I sit in the last part of July, as my summer session of teaching is drawing to a close, the house has finally started to look like it's lived in, and trying to remember the last time I slept.
My schedule since teaching started has been steady and consistent. Wake up, get ready, guzzle coffee, get Isaac up and out the door to be at school by 8:30 to set up lab. Teach for 3 hours. Take care of the crayfish system (which is leaking and has to be drained so it can be repaired.) and print outs. Answer emails. Head home around 1 to eat and let the dog out. Do laundry and dishes. Run errands. Grade papers to hand back the next day. Write the next day's lecture and go over the lab. Pick up Isaac. Make dinner. Give Isaac a bath. Work on dissertation proposal and data from the summer. Suddenly it's 11 pm. Weekends are spent unpacking and with family parties (seriously, did everyone have to be born in the summer?) and are gone before they start.
I'm exhausted. And burnt out.
To recharge, I have decided that every Wednesday, I am allowed to eat fast food for lunch and then take a nap. I ignore everything else until after I pick Isaac up from daycare. Wednesday nights aren't that much fun, but I need these mini-breaks or I would GO INSANE.
I know what I signed up for. I also know my limits. I have to have this one afternoon as my vacation, as meager as it may be.
I don't know where May and June went. Or July for that matter. I remember the spring semester ending. Then I was making electrodes and pollution sources. I was reading articles and learning to use power tools. I was looking at new rental houses. Then I was in California for a the only vacation I will get during my 4 years (unless someone else gets married out of state. That always gets me a long weekend at least). I was home for 3 days and packing to go up to UMBS for my field work. Another 9 days passed. Next was packing and prepping to move. And teaching 3 labs and one recitation a week. We moved. Now, I had to unpack and decorate because apparently garbage bags, laundry baskets, and rubbermaid tubs are unsightly decor. Now here, I sit in the last part of July, as my summer session of teaching is drawing to a close, the house has finally started to look like it's lived in, and trying to remember the last time I slept.
My schedule since teaching started has been steady and consistent. Wake up, get ready, guzzle coffee, get Isaac up and out the door to be at school by 8:30 to set up lab. Teach for 3 hours. Take care of the crayfish system (which is leaking and has to be drained so it can be repaired.) and print outs. Answer emails. Head home around 1 to eat and let the dog out. Do laundry and dishes. Run errands. Grade papers to hand back the next day. Write the next day's lecture and go over the lab. Pick up Isaac. Make dinner. Give Isaac a bath. Work on dissertation proposal and data from the summer. Suddenly it's 11 pm. Weekends are spent unpacking and with family parties (seriously, did everyone have to be born in the summer?) and are gone before they start.
I'm exhausted. And burnt out.
To recharge, I have decided that every Wednesday, I am allowed to eat fast food for lunch and then take a nap. I ignore everything else until after I pick Isaac up from daycare. Wednesday nights aren't that much fun, but I need these mini-breaks or I would GO INSANE.
I know what I signed up for. I also know my limits. I have to have this one afternoon as my vacation, as meager as it may be.
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