Reading the Christmas story
Crafts!
Christmas cookies!
Shepherd's Stew on Christmas Eve
Giving a portion to people who have less
Funky Christmas, A Charlie Brown Christmas, and American Folk Songs for Christmas
Obtaining and hanging mistletoe (MOM!)
Reading the Best Christmas Pageant Ever, a chapter per night, leading up to Christmas
Elf and It's a Wonderful Life.
"Mother of God" by Yeats, first introduced to me in this post by a friend to whom I am indebted for drawing it to my attention...and for so many more things than I can ever name!
Calling family on Christmas
Lighting candles
Gazing at the Christmas tree
Watching the kids bounce from overwhelmed joy to thankfulness on Christmas morning
The annual family Christmas photo that never makes it out until Christmas Eve or after
On an unrelated note, my friend Kristin Conradi shared with me an old Norwegian saying that I will share with you:
There's no bad weather; only bad sweaters.
Thank you, dear Norway. I love you vicariously through loving my dear Norwegian friend.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Saturday / The Anatomical Shut-Down
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| Playing "Playmobopoly": Monopoly plus Playmobil = BIG FUN. The big piles of money and deeds didn't make it into the photo this time. |
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| Watching a train roll by on Saturday |
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| Looks innocent: a mere bowl atop some books |
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| On closer inspection: R Tracks. Three...maybe four days old. Yes, those are Cheetos. |
Above is a selection of recent family goings-on. I love finding R Tracks.
I don't normally get involved in online conversations, unless my amazing and talented friends have shared something of their own (See: poem by Sarah Park, "Resolution").
Friday, January 25, 2013
The English Patient
I usually don't write about the guilty pleasure of reading a novel, snatched between necessary activities, but this book is exceptional. Like poetry, this book makes me hungry for it between-times. Here:
"They talk, the slight singsong of his voice within the canvas smell of their tent, which has been his all through the Italian campaign, which he reaches up to touch with his slight fingers as if it too belonged to his body, a khaki wing he folds over himself during the night."
And: "But I never imagine Herodotus this way. I see him more as one of those spare men of the desert who travel from oasis to oasis, trading legends as if it is the exchange of seeds, consuming everything without suspicion, placing together a mirage."
"She sniffs the stone, the cool moth smell of it."
In the Sistine Chapel: "They were under the huge vault. The sergeant lit a flare, and the sapper lay on the floor and looked up through the rifle's telescope, looked at the ochre faces as if he were searching for a brother in the crowd. The cross hairs shook along the biblical figures, the light dousing the coloured vestments and flesh darkened by hundreds of years of oil and candle smoke."
Now, pictures:
"They talk, the slight singsong of his voice within the canvas smell of their tent, which has been his all through the Italian campaign, which he reaches up to touch with his slight fingers as if it too belonged to his body, a khaki wing he folds over himself during the night."
And: "But I never imagine Herodotus this way. I see him more as one of those spare men of the desert who travel from oasis to oasis, trading legends as if it is the exchange of seeds, consuming everything without suspicion, placing together a mirage."
"She sniffs the stone, the cool moth smell of it."
In the Sistine Chapel: "They were under the huge vault. The sergeant lit a flare, and the sapper lay on the floor and looked up through the rifle's telescope, looked at the ochre faces as if he were searching for a brother in the crowd. The cross hairs shook along the biblical figures, the light dousing the coloured vestments and flesh darkened by hundreds of years of oil and candle smoke."
Now, pictures:
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| Getting ready for school |
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| Biking KidM: candid |
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| "EYE." |
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| KidV's reading nest |
Giving Thanks
For Grandma Polly, who told me: do not be afraid of tears. And who took me on a bike ride every day at a really important time. Who told me about getting counseling when Jack died, and how much it helped her. Who bobbed her foot up and down as she held a stemless wine glass and laughed with friends. Who kept a funny book. Who told the same story better every time. "Now, JUMP, Mama!"
For Dr. Schwartz, who wears shorts when he gets home. Who loves the physical exam. Who was the first person besides me to communicate with my daughters by email.
For Susan, whose inexorable logic and staunch acceptance of reality-as-it-is has been my brain for me so often that she's almost taught me how to do it myself. Who gives goats their AM and PM meds. My good friend, Spotted Face.
For Mazie, who sings along with the Seeger Family. Who laughs at embarrassment. Who makes me laugh so hard first thing in the morning: "Mama, I'm a tickle-neck!"
For Vivian, who loves to pull her pants up high and dance around. Who finds reasons to hug. Who nests. Who wept last night over not getting to read The Hobbit.
For Ira L, who raises the bar.
For Adeolu, who makes beauty with her hands - quickly, on the mark. Who sings "Sweet Lamb" and dances along. Who sparkles with her eyes. Who drives a race car every day, somehow. Who tells it like it is.
For Miss LJ, who brings beauty, sweetness, and love with her wherever she goes. Who sings like a strong, strong angel. Who dances like nobody's watching. Who loves a man who loves to find things. Who puzzles through a human.
For Pete, who works on Saturdays and walks two small dogs every day and analyzes plot lines while learning new chords. Who works the grill in 105F weather without complaining even one time. Who first taught me about being cool. And then gave me a really hard time about how cool I came to be. Who helped me grow up with Vince Guaraldi, Steely Dan, Miles Davis, Led Zeppelin and Sade in the background.
For Richie, who finds just the right type of monkey to draw. Who bakes turkey and shares it. Who gets up and feeds a dog he can't stand right now. Who loves the dog anyway.
For Grandpa Jan, who adores waterfalls as well as Irish Wolfhounds. Who has a conductor's wand just to add veracity to his shadow-conducting. Who loves a good after-dinner Brandy. Who taught me chess and craps.
For my Pop-pop. Pop-pop who taught me fishing, weather, birds, fiddler crabs, math, making dill pickles and peach preserves. He taught me not being in the picture, taking the picture with your mind. Whose quiet ways preceded his loud voice. Whose boot-clad form I saw every morning at 6 a.m. spreading birdseed in the back yard.
For Kristin, who works and plays in equal measure. Springsteen in her heart and work on her hands, she wears it all gracefully. Singing Happy Birthday in Norwegian. Miss Karate!
For Sarah, strength and grace incarnate. Humbler than humble. Pleads with me for my own sake. Who pets a parakeet's nose feathers out of the way because he likes it.
For mom, who sends poodle skirts our way and helps out at Baby Pantry and dresses as a zombie clown. Nothing scarier or cuter. In the whole world. Mom, who popped me out like a little guppie. Who embarrassed the hell out of me in the mall. My small, strong, sailor-mouthed mommy, who will ever be warm and tan in my mind's eye. But who needs to stay the hell away from the tanning booth, dammit.
For Dr. Schwartz, who wears shorts when he gets home. Who loves the physical exam. Who was the first person besides me to communicate with my daughters by email.
For Susan, whose inexorable logic and staunch acceptance of reality-as-it-is has been my brain for me so often that she's almost taught me how to do it myself. Who gives goats their AM and PM meds. My good friend, Spotted Face.
For Mazie, who sings along with the Seeger Family. Who laughs at embarrassment. Who makes me laugh so hard first thing in the morning: "Mama, I'm a tickle-neck!"
For Vivian, who loves to pull her pants up high and dance around. Who finds reasons to hug. Who nests. Who wept last night over not getting to read The Hobbit.
For Ira L, who raises the bar.
For Adeolu, who makes beauty with her hands - quickly, on the mark. Who sings "Sweet Lamb" and dances along. Who sparkles with her eyes. Who drives a race car every day, somehow. Who tells it like it is.
For Miss LJ, who brings beauty, sweetness, and love with her wherever she goes. Who sings like a strong, strong angel. Who dances like nobody's watching. Who loves a man who loves to find things. Who puzzles through a human.
For Pete, who works on Saturdays and walks two small dogs every day and analyzes plot lines while learning new chords. Who works the grill in 105F weather without complaining even one time. Who first taught me about being cool. And then gave me a really hard time about how cool I came to be. Who helped me grow up with Vince Guaraldi, Steely Dan, Miles Davis, Led Zeppelin and Sade in the background.
For Richie, who finds just the right type of monkey to draw. Who bakes turkey and shares it. Who gets up and feeds a dog he can't stand right now. Who loves the dog anyway.
For Grandpa Jan, who adores waterfalls as well as Irish Wolfhounds. Who has a conductor's wand just to add veracity to his shadow-conducting. Who loves a good after-dinner Brandy. Who taught me chess and craps.
For my Pop-pop. Pop-pop who taught me fishing, weather, birds, fiddler crabs, math, making dill pickles and peach preserves. He taught me not being in the picture, taking the picture with your mind. Whose quiet ways preceded his loud voice. Whose boot-clad form I saw every morning at 6 a.m. spreading birdseed in the back yard.
For Kristin, who works and plays in equal measure. Springsteen in her heart and work on her hands, she wears it all gracefully. Singing Happy Birthday in Norwegian. Miss Karate!
For Sarah, strength and grace incarnate. Humbler than humble. Pleads with me for my own sake. Who pets a parakeet's nose feathers out of the way because he likes it.
For mom, who sends poodle skirts our way and helps out at Baby Pantry and dresses as a zombie clown. Nothing scarier or cuter. In the whole world. Mom, who popped me out like a little guppie. Who embarrassed the hell out of me in the mall. My small, strong, sailor-mouthed mommy, who will ever be warm and tan in my mind's eye. But who needs to stay the hell away from the tanning booth, dammit.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Chronically underestimating the time it takes...
It's Thursday. I am home. The girls went out the door this morning with a huge kiss on the cheek and a poster. Each bore a different sort of school project poster that the girl, Richie, and I had *successfully* collaborated on without any tears from anyone. Vivian's project is "100 Days of School: One Hundred Leaves" and Mazie's is a visual report of Five Children and It.
Yesterday I did about half of what I meant to do. I wasn't idle; each thing took twice as long as I had budgeted for it. I cleaned the girls' room, getting rid of about four cubic feet of knick-knacks as I went. I busted several of Vivian's hordes of tiny things - so cute...and asked her to consolidate them into one (Vivian reacts poorly to unauthorized disturbances of her tiny things). Vivian's personal specialty is to encase things in other things. She's on the committee. Mazie is more about abandoned knitwork projects and hording books behind her futon.
I also cleaned the kitchen in a way I had forgotten could be done. Observe our shining stovetop, our spotless - and crudless - cabinet interiors, and our greaseless oven. Later today, you'll be able to observe our clean fridge and shining rice cooker. Oh, to make new again. So I guess I've been renovating in a very small way.
But the reason I'm writing about this is that my getting done approximately half of what I meant to is related to something much larger about this med school journey. I have chronically underestimated how much time and effort any one thing would take. Interviews were no different. I managed to believe that a one- or two-night stay in an unfamiliar hotel / city meant that all the time that I was not actually interviewing would be work time. Same for any airport down-time, flight time, in-between travel turnaround time. When I have never traveled like that before. At the holidays. With a family at home, at the holidays. In reality, each interview was a flurry of timeliness struggles, business transactions, physical hardship (baggage without rolling wheels - walking with overstuffed duffel), and navigation mishaps. I would arrive home, having had a sum total of about 45 minutes of actual "down time" on my interview, which I would have invariably used to check the weather and try the different HVAC settings available to me. NO WORK GOT DONE. So in this case, my overestimation was infinite. My ratio is something like this:
Planned work: actual work done = Something:0
Something/0 = infinity
Infinite overestimation
This equation (or my frank folly) forced me to jam my research paper into about a week and a half, which meant for a very busy week and a half and a rushed research paper that would have benefited from more trades between my advisor and me.
Here's the thing: I look at a challenge and say, "Nyeh. I can do that." And then I get to the thing and it's really hard. Not just that, it also takes a long time. So I just go and go and go and then it gets done. And I am all unshowered and I haven't exercised in weeks, and my reaction time is slow, and one eye is a lot droopier than the other because this is what happens to me when I am really tired.
And then...I forget that it unfolded that way just in time to underestimate time and effort when the next challenge arises. The key is, part of forging (get it? Forget / forge) ahead with this doctor thing in the first place is not knowing / quickly forgetting how much it demands. And then I am almost always glad and proud on the back end of whatever challenge happened, as long as nothing fell apart in the meanwhile (sometimes we are not so lucky). And I always remember that I am far from the only one who's sacrificing - there are many others.
Moral: the next best thing to being a medical knowledge / research acumen / super mom savant is having a poor memory for hardship and a resilient family:
Yesterday I did about half of what I meant to do. I wasn't idle; each thing took twice as long as I had budgeted for it. I cleaned the girls' room, getting rid of about four cubic feet of knick-knacks as I went. I busted several of Vivian's hordes of tiny things - so cute...and asked her to consolidate them into one (Vivian reacts poorly to unauthorized disturbances of her tiny things). Vivian's personal specialty is to encase things in other things. She's on the committee. Mazie is more about abandoned knitwork projects and hording books behind her futon.
I also cleaned the kitchen in a way I had forgotten could be done. Observe our shining stovetop, our spotless - and crudless - cabinet interiors, and our greaseless oven. Later today, you'll be able to observe our clean fridge and shining rice cooker. Oh, to make new again. So I guess I've been renovating in a very small way.
But the reason I'm writing about this is that my getting done approximately half of what I meant to is related to something much larger about this med school journey. I have chronically underestimated how much time and effort any one thing would take. Interviews were no different. I managed to believe that a one- or two-night stay in an unfamiliar hotel / city meant that all the time that I was not actually interviewing would be work time. Same for any airport down-time, flight time, in-between travel turnaround time. When I have never traveled like that before. At the holidays. With a family at home, at the holidays. In reality, each interview was a flurry of timeliness struggles, business transactions, physical hardship (baggage without rolling wheels - walking with overstuffed duffel), and navigation mishaps. I would arrive home, having had a sum total of about 45 minutes of actual "down time" on my interview, which I would have invariably used to check the weather and try the different HVAC settings available to me. NO WORK GOT DONE. So in this case, my overestimation was infinite. My ratio is something like this:
Planned work: actual work done = Something:0
Something/0 = infinity
Infinite overestimation
This equation (or my frank folly) forced me to jam my research paper into about a week and a half, which meant for a very busy week and a half and a rushed research paper that would have benefited from more trades between my advisor and me.
Here's the thing: I look at a challenge and say, "Nyeh. I can do that." And then I get to the thing and it's really hard. Not just that, it also takes a long time. So I just go and go and go and then it gets done. And I am all unshowered and I haven't exercised in weeks, and my reaction time is slow, and one eye is a lot droopier than the other because this is what happens to me when I am really tired.
And then...I forget that it unfolded that way just in time to underestimate time and effort when the next challenge arises. The key is, part of forging (get it? Forget / forge) ahead with this doctor thing in the first place is not knowing / quickly forgetting how much it demands. And then I am almost always glad and proud on the back end of whatever challenge happened, as long as nothing fell apart in the meanwhile (sometimes we are not so lucky). And I always remember that I am far from the only one who's sacrificing - there are many others.
Moral: the next best thing to being a medical knowledge / research acumen / super mom savant is having a poor memory for hardship and a resilient family:
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| Researching the elusive parking lot sago palm |
Friday, January 4, 2013
Kitty School
The premise of Kitty School is basically the same idea as a homeschool co-op. Both of the girls were Kitty teachers, and they each had several kitty children. They took turns teaching subjects that ranged from extremely academic (kitty math) to purely physical (walking on your hind legs). I overheard Vivian say to one of her kitties, "Now it's time to practice walking quietly." Mazie was even teaching her kitties some theatrical skills: "Here's how you do a demanding Meow: MOWW. MOWW."
Here is some further transcript:
M: I teach the basic skills and you...no, wait, you...
V: I teach the "Better at Being a Cat" group. (time passes in silence for a bit)
V: Now let's practice being quiet...while walking on FOUR feet. Wait. Levanika's old enough that she doesn't have to go to school.
M: You get to go outside.
V: No. Recess is basically were everyone decides to sleep or eat.
M: All mine sleep (giggles). Wait- first I teach Snips and Tabs The Basics, and then you can teach them how to be Better at Being a Cat.
M: And you each get a child-
V: No, you don't. I'm your assistant teacher. That's why all my children HAVE to come. Levanika really wants to ride on your back.
M: Okay! Here, IN, not ON! (stuffing stuffed cats into her clothes). Mama! (to me) Look! The Twins are in my stomach fur! Levanika is on my back! And Vivian's other kids are in my tail! I stuck the kids in my fur so they wouldn't get lost.
V: (laughing hysterically)
V: Cindy is absent today. (Cindy is our real live cat)
M: -snickers- Yeah, she didn't want to stay.
M: We need a bowl.
V: Why?
M:(silence)
V: Why?
M:(silence)
Me: Mazie, why do you need a bowl? Please tell Vivian. If you don't answer your sister, it may incline her to fuss. That's frustrating.
M: Oh, Mama. It's lunch time.
I got one really interesting picture of Vivian (dressed as a "Tuxedo" cat in a boy's vest):
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Art and friends
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| Vivian grabbed the camera...yes, she is running out of teeth. |
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| Mazie taking in an exhibit in all its marvelous complexity |
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| Dinner with friends. |
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| Exhibit that enthralled our whole family |
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| Lovely friends with their dearie son |
You can see the sweet baby in the last picture. He visits our house with his mom and dad several times a week, and is a most welcome visitor. He is king of the house for the bit that he is here. Vivian and Mazie attend to his every need, make sure he doesn't hurt himself, give him magnets and blocks to play with. It's dear, he's dear, and we are so thankful for him. Dear boy!
The dinner photo is from a delicious dinner during which we talked with friends and Miss LJ gave our family a little impromptu warm-up concert...complete with stretching lessons. Her voice is absolutely thrilling. As she geared up, you could practically feel her insides rattling with the force of the sound...utterly on-key and vibrant. Her magnificent voice gave us all goosebumps and brought tears to Vivian's eyes - absolutely thrilling!
Let it be known that if you are our friend (there's so much more for future posts), we love you and we value you immensely. You bring richness to our lives - all our lives. My kids rely on your perspective, on your kindness, on your talents, to help them learn about the world. And Richie and I just love you!
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Emotions running High on Christmas Eve
This is a pun. We took advantage of free day at the High Museum of Art on Christmas Eve. It was awesome. Here are the girls depicting Ellsworth Kelly's variously colored curves:
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| Black = sad |
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| No agreement here. Mazie: white = neutral. Vivian: white = ebullient? |
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| Green = wacky |
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| Red = aggresion / fear |
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Small Hans
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| Blurry because Richie's brandishing Small Hans. It's really hard to get an in-focus picture of Small Hans. |
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| "Mazie, show me what Small Hans looks like" |
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| Mazie Running from me - now I have Small Hans. |
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| Ha ha, getting Richie with Small Hans! |
Friday, December 14, 2012
Home again
According to Willie Nelson, travel is sooo easy.
I respect Willie's perspective, yet I challenge Willie to carry my duffel bag around without getting a crick in his weatherbeaten neck. And perhaps Willie Nelson has no awesome family doing awesome family things without him.
Of course, I overpacked. I thought I was being minimal. Within an hour of departure, I cursed those shirt options I couldn't live without, cursed my inability to settle on just sneakers for running AND for walking through the airport, cursed my need to bring both face AND hand lotion.
But how sweet it is to return home to my own rabbit warren. Bedraggled, with a crick, but with a touch more experience and renewed resolve to pack then take half out. Tonight we read The Hobbit - where the dwarves all get out of the barrels - under the Christmas Tree.
I respect Willie's perspective, yet I challenge Willie to carry my duffel bag around without getting a crick in his weatherbeaten neck. And perhaps Willie Nelson has no awesome family doing awesome family things without him.
Of course, I overpacked. I thought I was being minimal. Within an hour of departure, I cursed those shirt options I couldn't live without, cursed my inability to settle on just sneakers for running AND for walking through the airport, cursed my need to bring both face AND hand lotion.
But how sweet it is to return home to my own rabbit warren. Bedraggled, with a crick, but with a touch more experience and renewed resolve to pack then take half out. Tonight we read The Hobbit - where the dwarves all get out of the barrels - under the Christmas Tree.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Last Saturday
On winter Saturdays, we stay in. That's a time for the girls to have uninterrupted play time and to enjoy each others' company until they no longer enjoy each others' company. That point usually comes between 9 and 11 a.m.
Richie and I clean up and strategize. Breakfast is usually more elaborate than usual and late. Saturdays are great.
This Saturday, The girls played with their Playmobil setups for over an hour. They had a long plot-line involving an interrupting bird:
Then they played Bananagrams for a bit. I don't think they played by the instructions.
Richie and I clean up and strategize. Breakfast is usually more elaborate than usual and late. Saturdays are great.
This Saturday, The girls played with their Playmobil setups for over an hour. They had a long plot-line involving an interrupting bird:
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| Nota Bene the Interrupting Bird |
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| Another Interrupting Bird - this was Mazie's setup. Vivian's intrusion into the photo made Mazie a little angry. |
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| Bananagrams |
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| Bananagrams: potty words edition |
| It's cute. I don't know if this next picture makes it more or less cute. I'm thinking less cute, but they were giggling so much - mostly over the word, "Toooet." It was still pretty cute. No matter what, I really enjoy watching them enjoy each others' company. When I got pregnant with Vivian, I immediately had several days of buyer's remorse. I went on a walk with a good friend who has four kids. She told me: You are going to give Mazie her best friend in the whole world. It'll be hard for a bit, but you will never ever regret having two kids. This couldn't be more true. (The formatting is messed up so I hope this post is not too hard to read.) |
Monday, December 10, 2012
Maine-ho!
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| The rain in Maine falls mainly on...everythang. |
I'm in Maine.
I have an interview here.
Today was a big day. It started on Marta. I tried to work on my laptop all day - planes, trains, and automobiles day - with mixed success. I concede that a lot of refreshing ideas regarding things I'd forgotten about my project since September popped up and reworked themselves into my new post-data-analysis schema. But I digress.
I flew into Boston, rented a car, took a wrong turn immediately out of the car rental exit, went down a toll tunnel for which I had no toll...and saw the Tea Party Ship Museum! My recovery strategy was to get out of the car and make no sudden moves. In addition to a tea party ship museum, I found that there is also a post office in downtown Boston, so I mailed a package. I mailed the package so I could get cash back. I needed cash back so if I got stuck on a tunnel-bound toll road, I could pay my way. I don't know why I got stuck on a tunnel-bound toll road.
Then I had the privilege of driving through New Hampshire - a petite and proper state with good drivers. I could tell immediately by its decorum that it is neighbors with Maine. It was evening by the time I left Boston, so I saw very little of New Hampshire that didn't happen to be reflective or neon...which is very little of already-tiny New Hampshire.
Some things about Maine I can tell even in the dark. For one, there is lots of history - as advertised on signs. Maine is (also as advertised on a sign) both "The way life should be," and "Open for business." Gorham, Deering, Falmouth, Kennebunk...its towns have a distinct hundreds-of-years-old Anglo-Native flavor. Next, the people are friendly. Their accent is not dissimilar to mine. Maine is full of trees. The license plate reflects the tree-filled nature of the state. The state enjoys a pun, although I noticed that "Main Street" lacked the punny extra "e."
I drove to my destination without further incident. Once in my hotel room, I got all my things settled, being careful not to touch my clothing or my bag to the floor or bed. I made the rounds through the building and discovered an exercise room (!!!). Then I called Richie.
I told Richie I was unduly worked up over my travel to a brand-new place. I didn't sleep last night, and I am not tired at the usual time tonight. He told me to turn around three times and go to sleep (because that's what dogs do).
So what did I do? What was my human equivalent of turning around three times? I went to the Maine Mall. I got Converse sneakers half-off for Mazie (Vivian's size was not represented there).
I find it embarrassing that the activity I do for comfort and settling down when I get to a new beautiful cold city in the damp dark is...shop. Because DSW in Portland, Maine is almost identical to DSW in Atlanta, Georgia. Because the smell of new shoes is practically universal. I can attest that the smell of new shoes is consistent along selected samples of the Eastern Seaboard.
As my final move in settling down, I did a g-chat with my friend Elizabeth in the Midwest and then with my friend Joelle in Kenya. AMAZING TECHNOLOGY that I will never take for granted - that ability to communicate across continents is nothing short of miraculous.
Now I feel sleepy. Sufficiently far away from whatever's going on in the parking lot to ignore it. And I miss my family as I always do when I'm away from them.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
The Queen Mother
Of all bad words...
Kept coming up in conversation yesterday. It was as if the universe fated us to have that discussion with our girls.
Here's what I mean:
The girls piled out of the bus yesterday and made their way up the leaf-strewn hill of our shared yard toward home. They do this every day, sometimes looking at the ground, sometimes charging straight ahead. Sometimes telegraphing kid messages to other bus kids. If I am able, I pop out and greet them. Yesterday something else was going on, so Vivian popped into the house first, slamming open (kid skill) the door and immediately shedding all vestiges of the school world right there in our galley kitchen.
"Mama, a fifth grader on the bus was telling me to put my middle finger out like this." And she demonstrated - not an actual bird, just a clumsily extended middle finger.
"Oh. Who told you to do that?"
Mazie bursts in, progressing as far as the threshold between kitchen and dining room before shucking her school stuff onto the floor. She picks up where Vivi left off: "Mama. It's a fifth grader who always gets in trouble and Miss Lewis is always having to move around on the bus. I told her not to do it."
Vivian: "I didn't do it that much."
Me: "Okay, that's a hand signal that's very insulting in our culture. You shouldn't do it unless you want to make someone very very angry. For your purposes, that means NEVER. Do you have any homework? Oh, yeah, FRIDAY!"
Mazie: "What does it mean, Mama?"
Me: "Let's talk about it a little later."
LATER:
We went on a woods ramble with some family friends and their three second graders. Here we are playing in the stream:
Isn't it idyllic?
Then we went to the tree swing.
Isn't it sweet? Doesn't that tree say "95 XMAS"? Well that's sweet and all but our precocious little people read the entirety of both trees, and if you look extremely closely just below the hole in the second tree, you may be able to make out the word "YOU" and possibly even discern a more colorful word just before the "YOU." Yes, the tree told our kids to F YOU.
The kid in the stripes noticed it first. He got this really impish naughty look on his face (he's good at those) and said, "Umm...that tree has the F word on it." We tried to move on, but soon everyone noticed. The other dad said, "Oh, yeah, that's not a cuss word. It's actually an abbreviation for a song." Then he says in singsong voice, "If you see, Kaye, tell her I love her so..."
Hey, that's a good one!
Okay, so we moved on down the trail. The females of the bunch reached the road and the car first, so we were waiting around for the menfolk to catch up. We happened to be hanging around at roughly the same place as a couple of teenage guys with bikes. The teenagers took off on their bikes after a bit. One of the girls pipes up, "I just heard those boys say the F word. Did you hear it?" Same cute expression.
BWAH! It's not going away!
Then, guess what we watched for our Friday Christmas viewing? A Christmas Story. We made it to the scene where Ralphie loses the lugnuts, and Mazie paused the movie and asked me to skip it. She was actually afraid of hearing the slanderous word we'd always skipped in the past (what excellent, sheltering parents, you must be thinking) - even though Ralphie doesn't actually SAY it.
It's hard to know how to handle exposing your kids to the world. I realized we are at a place in life where this word is turning up so much that it's time to explain all about it. It's hard to know what parts to explain and how to do it. I tend to go with being as direct and honest as I can be.
I said, "Okay, girls. This word has come up several times today, hasn't it?" Yeah. "Well, would you like to know about it?" Yeah. "Okay. You know how there are a lot of words for bottom? You've got bottom, and butt, which is slightly more rude. Then there's even a cuss word for it - that's 'ass.'" At which point they discussed the contexts of "Ass" including Bible contexts versus everyday life.
"So. It's the same with the word F-!-@-K. It's the cuss word for 'mate'. There are lots of words for the same thing: Make love is my favorite because if you ever mate, you need to love the person and I love your daddy. Another one, that's more like 'butt' - commoner and less personal - is "Have sex." But the cuss word (like 'ass') for the same thing is 'F*&$'. That's why you never hear Daddy or I say it - it's a really bad word and people in our culture use it as the dirtiest word." I hope I did okay. They seemed satisfied with that explanation. They actually listened intently the whole time I was talking. They also did a lot of nervous nodding. So, who knows.
Just when I thought I'd gotten it all worked out, Mazie still wanted to skip the scene. I told her that Ralphie doesn't actually say the word. She still didn't want to watch it. I told her to just trust me, and stick with it.
She was delighted with how A Christmas Story handles the F-word. I've never seen someone so appreciative of the "-dge" sound. She laughed her relief and shot me a smile. My sweet modest child.
What of Vivian, you ask? Conjure that impish naughty look...that's Vivian. My other sweet modest child.
So, MERRY X-MAS 2012. Here we come!
Kept coming up in conversation yesterday. It was as if the universe fated us to have that discussion with our girls.
Here's what I mean:
The girls piled out of the bus yesterday and made their way up the leaf-strewn hill of our shared yard toward home. They do this every day, sometimes looking at the ground, sometimes charging straight ahead. Sometimes telegraphing kid messages to other bus kids. If I am able, I pop out and greet them. Yesterday something else was going on, so Vivian popped into the house first, slamming open (kid skill) the door and immediately shedding all vestiges of the school world right there in our galley kitchen.
"Mama, a fifth grader on the bus was telling me to put my middle finger out like this." And she demonstrated - not an actual bird, just a clumsily extended middle finger.
"Oh. Who told you to do that?"
Mazie bursts in, progressing as far as the threshold between kitchen and dining room before shucking her school stuff onto the floor. She picks up where Vivi left off: "Mama. It's a fifth grader who always gets in trouble and Miss Lewis is always having to move around on the bus. I told her not to do it."
Vivian: "I didn't do it that much."
Me: "Okay, that's a hand signal that's very insulting in our culture. You shouldn't do it unless you want to make someone very very angry. For your purposes, that means NEVER. Do you have any homework? Oh, yeah, FRIDAY!"
Mazie: "What does it mean, Mama?"
Me: "Let's talk about it a little later."
LATER:
We went on a woods ramble with some family friends and their three second graders. Here we are playing in the stream:
Then we went to the tree swing.
The kid in the stripes noticed it first. He got this really impish naughty look on his face (he's good at those) and said, "Umm...that tree has the F word on it." We tried to move on, but soon everyone noticed. The other dad said, "Oh, yeah, that's not a cuss word. It's actually an abbreviation for a song." Then he says in singsong voice, "If you see, Kaye, tell her I love her so..."
Hey, that's a good one!
Okay, so we moved on down the trail. The females of the bunch reached the road and the car first, so we were waiting around for the menfolk to catch up. We happened to be hanging around at roughly the same place as a couple of teenage guys with bikes. The teenagers took off on their bikes after a bit. One of the girls pipes up, "I just heard those boys say the F word. Did you hear it?" Same cute expression.
BWAH! It's not going away!
Then, guess what we watched for our Friday Christmas viewing? A Christmas Story. We made it to the scene where Ralphie loses the lugnuts, and Mazie paused the movie and asked me to skip it. She was actually afraid of hearing the slanderous word we'd always skipped in the past (what excellent, sheltering parents, you must be thinking) - even though Ralphie doesn't actually SAY it.
It's hard to know how to handle exposing your kids to the world. I realized we are at a place in life where this word is turning up so much that it's time to explain all about it. It's hard to know what parts to explain and how to do it. I tend to go with being as direct and honest as I can be.
I said, "Okay, girls. This word has come up several times today, hasn't it?" Yeah. "Well, would you like to know about it?" Yeah. "Okay. You know how there are a lot of words for bottom? You've got bottom, and butt, which is slightly more rude. Then there's even a cuss word for it - that's 'ass.'" At which point they discussed the contexts of "Ass" including Bible contexts versus everyday life.
"So. It's the same with the word F-!-@-K. It's the cuss word for 'mate'. There are lots of words for the same thing: Make love is my favorite because if you ever mate, you need to love the person and I love your daddy. Another one, that's more like 'butt' - commoner and less personal - is "Have sex." But the cuss word (like 'ass') for the same thing is 'F*&$'. That's why you never hear Daddy or I say it - it's a really bad word and people in our culture use it as the dirtiest word." I hope I did okay. They seemed satisfied with that explanation. They actually listened intently the whole time I was talking. They also did a lot of nervous nodding. So, who knows.
Just when I thought I'd gotten it all worked out, Mazie still wanted to skip the scene. I told her that Ralphie doesn't actually say the word. She still didn't want to watch it. I told her to just trust me, and stick with it.
She was delighted with how A Christmas Story handles the F-word. I've never seen someone so appreciative of the "-dge" sound. She laughed her relief and shot me a smile. My sweet modest child.
What of Vivian, you ask? Conjure that impish naughty look...that's Vivian. My other sweet modest child.
So, MERRY X-MAS 2012. Here we come!
Friday, December 7, 2012
When the role is called up yonder
I thought I'd write a bit about the research I'm working on right now.
Things to know:
When the Role is Called up Yonder - Johnny Cash rendition - is what I'm listening to. It works for a day like today.
Things to know:
- We have to do research as part of our curriculum. It's called "Discovery Phase." If someone in my class says they're "On Discovery," it means their schedule is a bit more relaxed, but who knows where they are or what their day looks like. Some people do bench research in the lab, others travel the world, and still others are sifting through data. Lots have clinical components of their projects. It all depends.
- I am working with a research mentor with whom I am incredibly thankful to be working. He's - ahem - a research badass AND a nice person, the best combination of qualities to have in a mentor.
- Why's he so great? He does work I admire and that I'm interested in - the public health impacts of global climate change. He's an emergency doctor, so of the same clinical ilk. He is a skillful mentor in that he lets me struggle a bit but not so much that I run aground. He's available and supportive, and guides my activities at a reasonable level.
- There's a style point, too, which is that he's cognitively and creatively brilliant, which definitely comes in handy when problems need solving.
- I'm working on a survey-based research project exploring peoples' opinions (much-speculated-about but little-studied) regarding environmental sustainability in the context of healthcare.
- Questions: do people esteem env sust in the context of healthcare? If so, how does that esteem compare with other priorities?
- Do populations of stakeholders (consumers, practitioners, managers) have appreciably different opinions?
- Lots of other stuff...too much to catalog here.
- The numbers we aimed for were ambitious (thanks to Jeremy, who pushed the goals higher than I would've). But my results beat even Jeremy's ambitious goal. So that's cool.
- NOW I'M ANALYZING the data...trying to see whether our data supports or refutes our hypotheses.
- And it's hard. First, there are the vagaries of Excel and JMP, my programs of choice. How do you code for a missing value? How do you get JMP to recognize your numbers? Which analyses are appropriate for your data type and what you're trying to ask? Oh, man, it's complex
- And THAT is why this:
has given me so much trouble this week. See those little blue and green icons? Well, they make a huge difference. If you choose wrong, your analyses go all haywire. I fiddled in this program for a total of two weeks before Dr. Beau Bruce finally showed me why I didn't have access to the analyses I needed. I just kept fishing around in the stupid/smart program trying to find options it wouldn't show me because my nominal (red)/ordinal(green)/continuous(blue) choices were busted. - Humbling computer programs, humbling computer programs.
When the Role is Called up Yonder - Johnny Cash rendition - is what I'm listening to. It works for a day like today.
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