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?

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. .

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.

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.

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. 

Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

So you know that poem that tells you that little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice? And then it goes on to say that boys are made of snakes (snips, whatever) and snails and puppy dog tails, which I was always kind irked by, especially when I found out I was carrying a boy. Who wants to write that on a shower invitation?! Well, then I realized that it's true. BOYS ARE GROSS.

Isaac is three and a half and all boy. I love him to death, but he's gross. There is no way around it. He's a gross little boy that likes to be gross.

He picks his nose and wipes it on me. He also chases me with boogers and eye boogers, laughing hysterically.

He farts and laughs about it. ALL THE TIME.

He peed on Luna. Yep, you read that right. He pulled down his pants and peed on our dog. I am blaming  this one on my husband who taught Isaac to go pee outside when there are no bathrooms available. Typical boy thing.

He explained to me that there are two types of poop. There is firework poop and there is snake poop. Nuff said.

He tells me that he wants to tell me a secret, pulls my ear toward him and then blows a raspberry on my cheek. Or licks it.

He spits on the table or some surface and then drives his toy cars through it.

I know that these things are typical of most little boys. And probably most kids for that matter (except the peeing on the dog. GROSS). I just don't know many little girls that are Isaac's age that do such. He does have wonderful manners (most times) and is super polite. When he is not around me, that is. Mommy gets the gross. I'm pretty sure that is in the job description.

Wordless Wednesday

He's fearless...and gives me heart attacks on a daily basis. :)