Updates & Defining Perfection

Maybe it's because I slept for 12 hours straight last night that I feel like I have the time to post a quick note on our blog. Ed & I have silently given up on our blog, much like a diet that you start in quiet, but don't tell anyone about because you know in three days you're going to make a batch of brownies and eat half the pan in half an hour. Since there's two of us, we've only barely poked at the guilt of not-posting. I'd give you a long list of excuses, but as I'm discovering with my students, it's just easier to delete written excuses and read the actions of doing (or not doing) the work.

Not that our blog is work- of course! It started as therapy to get through our move to Boston and then became a way to maintain some kind of community, even if it was a a kind of imaginary cyberspace community. Now that we're overwhelmed with day-to-day life and work, we're realizing just how crucial it is to maintain and create community beyond our little family triangle- imaginary or not (though real would be nice).

So, hello. Again. Here's the update: Ed's working and his schedule is crazy impossible. Jack is recovering from his first croup- it's why I slept 12 hours last night. And, no, it wasn't because I took 6 tylenol PM so I would pass out and avoid all the barking (just because I think it doesn't mean I'm a bad parent- like I said before, it's all about action). It was because the night before we were in the ER until 3AM because Jack woke up at midnight gasping for air. As I grabbed Ed's hand in the steam-filled bathroom, we both silently realized that our weekly worries and stresses were absolutely nothin'. He's fine now, and slept like, well, a baby with his new cool-air vaporizer. Me, too. Ed, not so much - I guess four hours sleep and way too much on your plate isn't the best combination for a good night's sleep. My job is good in that I have a job and like to teach. The school itself is, well, toxic, so I try hard to balance furthering my career while not encountering more than the majority of other instructors who, well, have perfected the art of petty bitterness. What else, oh, yes! We got our first snow. Ed's been chomping at the bit, convinced that the snow purposely alludes him. It wasn't a snow storm by anymeans, but the ground is still white and it's still cold, so at least it looks and feels like winter (finally).

Bottom line, I miss the Northwest and want to be there, but am very aware that imgained reality is a far cry from the real thing. This "real thing" is quite good, which is probably why I want it to be perfect in setting as well. I can see perfection because we're forced to rely on one another more than anything else. And, not to sound too gushy, but waking up with the first thought of just how much your family means to you is as close to perfection as it gets.

To be so content

We had a wonderfully uneventful Thanksgiving. Well, Ed did cook our first full-size turkey and it was fabulous. Of course, the 9 pounds of uneaten turkey may or may never be defrosted before next Thanksgiving- it's a lesson to us that 12 pounds is a particularly hideous side effect of conspicuous consumption (that, and the fact that I don't seem to know how to spell conspicuous).

The best part of our Thursday was when Ed, after tasting his stuffing and declaring it a success (because it was the closest in taste and texture to his mom's) encouraged Jack to try some.

Ed: "Jack, try the stuffing."

Jack: "No."

Ed: "Trust me, it'll change your life."

Jack: "I don't wanna change my life."

Okay, then. More stuffing for us. (Even though most of it ended up with the bulk of the turkey - we really are used to eating with more people).

Why are there still radio commercials for upcoming TV shows? You know, those annoying 30-second spots about tonight's very important episode that somehow distinguishes this episode from every other week. I heard one today at the gym.

Tonight, on a very important Grey's Anatomy....there's a lot on the line professionally and personally...

Hold on here - tonight's Grey's Anatomy is very important?! No one warned me of this. My God man, usually there's a lot on the line personally, but professionally and personally?? I'm watching.

Spent most of today on campus. Stopped by the men's soccer office - the coach had asked me to stop by - he wasn't in. Went by the assistant's office - we haven't talked since they lost two weeks ago in a shootout. He asked if I'm working with them next year - good sign. I'll gladly be sport psychology consultant for BU Soccer for one more year.

I only have one class on Thursday. Academic Inquiry from 4pm to 7pm.

It. Is. Painfully. Slow.

It's a class that's supposed to get you started on dissertation planning and writing. So for that purpose, it's useful. We're at that point in the semester where everyone presents their proposals to the rest of the class and then everyone gives you feedback on what you just said.

Fun.

I went last week - I belong to the Get-It-Over-With-Quickly-Camp. I practically skipped to class this afternoon (mocha in hand) knowing I could sit there sipping my beverage and occasionally asking, "how does factor analysis help with your construct validity?" My go-to question - just kidding.

Gotta run - tonight's Grey's Anatomy is must-see.

Just so we can't say "We Haven't Blogged for TWO WHOLE months.."

No, we're not dead. And, no, we aren't giving up our blog. I won't bore you with a list of updates.

The only interesting update worth noting at this moment (besides Jack's ability to point out where we live AND where Uncle Steve lives on a map) is this: last week I was driving home, irritated beyond belief that I had still had about 90 essays to grade and Ed had to prepare for a (paid!) talk to Wheaton College's syncronized swimmers (yes, they need mental toughness, too). I wasn't annoyed so much that I had to grade essays, but that I knew I didn't have the time to devote the kind of work I wanted: feedback that was useful and helpful. I came home to Ed equally frustrated that he only had 30 minutes to gather his thoughts together.

Then, it hit me. Ed & I are ANNOYED that we can't give our work all that we want to. OH! Wait, this is why we have been uprooting our lives nearly every year: to be so involved and interested in what we do that we can't get enough of it. God, what a BURDEN. It's almost as if the IRS came to our house and told us they owed us $50,000, but we had to take time out of our lives to fill out a few forms to get our money back. I suck at analogies. Here's another: realizing that you are frustrated NOT because you want to be done with work, but because there's not enough hours in the day to do the kind of work you imagine is like being told you'll never gain weight and you need to sample every kind of luxurious dark chocolate in the world in less than a week. Yeah, that's more like it.

I drive home from my community college office and realize more and more that we are actually realizing what we barely imagined five years ago. I tell you, that's something.

If they were giving grades for blogging, we'd get a big, fat C- (nobody gives F's anymore, grade inflation - besides our parents would call and complain; a failing grade would damage our self-esteem...)

We know we suck. You gotta make blogging a part of your daily routine again. Otherwise, you end up thinking of things to put in your blog but never actually get around to sitting down and typing it.

So here's to fresh starts.

Has it been 5 years since 9/11? A common thing you hear from people is, "the world changed..."

But did it? I mean, did it really change us? I could type something about this, but James Lileks seems to sum up my answer to the question.

Half a decade later the changes seem small, and perhaps that’s a blessing. If 9/11 had been followed by 10/17, 11/02, 12/24, the Smallpox Epidemic of ’02, the EMP blackouts of ’03, and so much promiscuous anthrax distribution that mailmen tottered around in Hazmat suits on the hottest day of July, America would look quite different. But the other shoe didn’t drop — or rather, Richard Reid was KO’d before he could light it — and consequently we don’t look at the paper for news about the latest attack. We look at the ads in the paper for news about plasma-TV sales.If 9/11 had really changed us, there’d be a 150-story building on the site of the World Trade Center today. It would have a classical memorial in the plaza with allegorical figures representing Sorrow and Resolve, and a fountain watched over by stern stone eagles. Instead there’s a pit, and arguments over the usual muted dolorous abstraction approved by the National Association of Grief Counselors. The Empire State Building took 18 months to build. During the Depression. We could do that again, but we don’t. And we don’t seem interested in asking why.The good news? We returned to our norm: cheerful industrious self-directed Americans who think in terms of fiscal quarters, not ancient grievances, and trust in Coke and Mickey to spread our message of tolerance and prosperity. The bad news? Same as the good. Or perhaps it’s the other way around.
------------------
See you tomorrow.

Family Vacation #2 East Coast Style

It's been nearly a week since our return from our three-day trip to Portland, Maine and I'm only now getting to downloading and posting pictures. I've been in one of those "I'm so lazy I'm exhausted moods." The kind that I like to justify by saying my body and soul are resting in preparation for the coming school year.

I just spent about too long trying to download pictures to this post. For whatever reason, it isn't working. So, for now, you'll have to invoke your mind's eye. We spent three days in Portland, Maine, walking around old port and eating at restaurants. We visited the Children's Museum and bought tickets from a stranger to a sold-out Portland SeaDogs baseball game, of which we were able to watch all of about three innings. Other than that, we hung out in the hotel where Jack slept in one of the double beds while Ed & I slept in the other. We haven't slept in a double bed since our first year of marriage. The first night we fell asleep facing one another, but when I woke up in the middle of the night, I noticed that there was a gaping space between us, our butts hanging off of each of our sides of the bed - apparently, we were both subconsciously worried about crowding the other person. It sounds like we are courteous, but it's more likely that we are hyper aware of Jack's AMAZING ability to crowd a bed,--yes even a double bed--and didn't want to mimic the same behavior. Each night I lay down next to Jack (he went to bed early; we went to bed late at 9:30/10:00) until he fell asleep. The kid moves around (violently) for about an hour before settling in. Somehow, I manage to fall asleep in the midst of his pre-sleep wrestling routine, only to wake up on the edge of the bed with Jack's feet kicking my stomach (as he's completely perpendicular to me).

Anyway, Ed & I both realized that vacationing with child is like life with child. Ninety percent of the time, it's all about the kid and that's just how it is. Lovely, unpredictable, fun, and always just a little bit exhausting.

Where Did Summer Go?

I can't believe it's less than 3 weeks to the start of another school year. This summer has flown by at a speed, I'm afraid, that's slightly quicker than last summer, moderately quicker than recent summer's past, and infinately faster than the days when summer seemed to stretch ahead forever.

It's felt quick.

The unhealthy hot weather of late July/early August has given way to something more comfortable for late summer - sunny and low 80s. Nice. Laura and I came out of a movie theater last night (Little Miss Sunshine - 2 thumbs up) and into this awesome crisp night air, aaaaahhhhh.....

The Division I soccer season started last week. I'm back as the "sports psych guy" for the men's soccer team. My job this year is made a little easier by the fact that half the team knows who I am and what I'm about. Sport psychologist Ken Ravizza likes to tell the story of a baseball coach who once introduced him to the team with "...and if you're fucked up, go see Ken..." I can imagine I would've just stood there, slackjawed, had I been Ken. I've always liked his comeback, "the line forms behind Coach!" Luckily I don't have to think of quick comebacks. BU's coach is very supportive (coaches can sink or swim your work with a team, by the way.) I showed up to practice this morning, asked the Coach, "hey, can I take 5-10 minutes at the start of practice, talk to the guys about having a purpose for coming out to practice?" Coach said, "sure", and I was on.

It is easier this time 'round. The returning coaches trust me (the new coaches don't really know what to make of me). The veterans on the team can let the new guys know that I'm not going to psychoanalyze anyone - or as Jarryd (a senior) told me today [in thick Jersey accent] "hey Ed, I let the new kids know....you're alright."

Word of mouth in sport psychology is gold I tell ya, like gold!

Laura, Jack, and I are leaving for Portland, Maine tomorrow afternoon - our get-away-before-the-school-year-starts-and-things-get-crazy vacation. Everyone we've talked to has had good stuff to say about the town. One of the other TA's said it's the one town in the Northeast that reminds him of the most of the Northwest. So we're looking to do some fun family stuff, find some nice restaurants, and relax as much as possible. Jack's looking forward to it too. We told him today that tomorrow we'd be "going on a trip". He couldn't wait - all evening, "I wanna go on a trip..." "Dada go on trip?" "Momma go on trip?" "Blank (blankie) go on trip?" This was just the start of the questions - "Bus go on trip?" "trains go trip?" "soc ball go on trip?" We might be taking Jack's entire room with us...

We'll have pictures for you when we get back.

Boston To-Do List

1. Find a second, reliable car that doesn't break the bank.

DONE.


2. Find a full-time teaching job at a local community college that meets my salary requirements.

DONE.


3. Breath out just a bit.

Ahhh ... hhh....

Personally, I think Jack pulls the look off better...

Other than the blankie in the mouth, of course.

Serenity Now!

Somehow, according to the comments, my family members have the belief that I'm worried and fearful about what may or may not happen. Which, actually, couldn't be further from the truth. As any responsible parent, I do tend to get anxious about paying our bills since neither Ed nor I have consistent, regular income, but considering THAT (which, trust me, is a lot to consider), I'm fairly confident that things will work out, if not for any other reason than the fact that they have worked out for an ENTIRE year despite daily uncertainty. If I do get the job, great- it's security in the form of I know that I get a paycheck every month (even if it's not very big). If I don't get the job, great - I won't know when or where the money will come from every month, but I do know I have jobs lined up that will most likely lead to more jobs. Besides, when it all gets too much, I have Ed, wine (as necessary), plus, photos or moments like this one of Jack to give perspective.

I will tell you what makes me anxious more than anything at the moment: heat. Or rather, the impending heat. By Wednesday, the weather is going to kick our butt; the heat index is supposed to be around 110 degrees (as if 1 or 2 degrees in either direction will make a difference). The weather folks just say this: it's going to be "hot, humid, and hazy." We don't even get blue sky with the heat; just the constant, oppressive inability to breath too deeply. We bought another air conditioner for Jack's room (we were going to get him a toddler bed, but the money went to keeping him from heat exhaustion; I'm thinking he can wait a while for the bed). My sister has it worse in Kansas. She's got a few days in the 100s-- making Boston's current temp (a cozy 85) sweater weather. I look to the west and imagine the low 70s and wonder, how could I ever have appreciated the seasons without the extreme heat and cold?

I saw a leaf fall from a tree this morning and wondered if this week of heat will be the last before a distinct change comes around in the wind and air. And, it got me thinking not about mourning summer, like I usually do, but rather, about what Jack could be for Halloween (ideas are welcome!). I used to mourn summer in the Northwest - I think because we never really got enough of it; I want to be knocked down by summer, beaten up enough to prioritize weekly trips to the beaches or lakes; lathered in so much sunscreen that I crave long-sleeve shirts and cool evening walks. If nothing else, this last year in Boston has forced us to actually live moment to moment - sometimes it's terrifying, but more and more, it's liberating. Not that I would recommend picking up and moving across the country with a one-year old and no financial security, but hey, security is overrated. And I knew that, I just didn't live it long enough to really know it. And, really, we have more security than most in the world, so what the hell? Time to live it up: crack open the orange juice, Jack--he usually drinks apple--; leave the vaccuum in the basement Laura; and Ed, save those emails for later. Sweat, BBQ and be merry, for tomorrow we bundle up.

Son of a . . .

This is our new favorite wine. It's so nice to have a new favorite wine. Having a new favorite wine means two things: 1) we have a few extra bucks to spend on the wine; and 2) we have the time to not only search out new wine, but to drink it. Bitch is a wonderful grenache blend from Australia. It's amazing. So amazing that when I called Ed last night to pick some up after grading papers he foundthe wine was sold out of the place we originally found it and needed to be ordered. He did come home with another granache blend, bless his heart.

Normally, I don't imbibe on the weekdays (at least not before Wednesday), but I had my 'finalist' interview with the president and provost of MassBay community college yesterday afternoon, and like all of my job interviews lately, I leave feeling exhuasted and certain I fucked up. Of course, I did as fine as I could, but when imagining the two other rock star teachers I'm up against, my 'fine' doesn't seem to stand up. And, of course, I pump myself up for four days before the interview with positive thoughts, research, and confidence (it helps to have a performance consultant in the house) -- so much so that as soon as the interview is over, my low-self-esteem demons seize their chance to invade my thoughts, reeking havoc on my well-won and well-deserved confidence by shoving endless second-guesses about what I should have said or could have said better. By the time Jack was in bed last night, I was going to finish either a bottle of wine or the cookie dough batter in the fridge that Jack helped us make this weekend. Tanins are better for you than butter.

Anyway, I find out in a few days whether or not this next year will provide secure steady income, insurance, and an unbelievably grueling teaching schedule (five classes a semseter plus committee work); or if the year will provide the unstable, if not familiar scramble to teach a handful of courses at various community colleges and drum up freelance work. Like anything, all I hope for is the grace to deal with whatever life brings.

For instance, Jack has been bringing a special blend of grumpiness. He seems to go in these boughts of sheer unhappiness, as if the world is against him (wonder where he gets that...). He has been crying more than usual when I leave him at daycare and by the end of the day, when he's home, nothing makes him happy, regardless if he was with me all day or not. In the morning, he looks up at me from his crib and softly says, "I wanna stay home." It takes every fiber of my being to get him up and prepare him for the reality of his day at daycare (which he does enjoy, but must not remember that until five minutes after I leave). The thing is, if we don't keep him going, it will be that much harder in the fall when he as to go more often. Right? Right? I'm not working this week (other than cleaning out the basement) because the freelance project I'm working on is back to the client until September. I'm beginning to think that life is partially about learning to live as if you are breathing steadily, even if you are holding your breath. Anyway, I have a hunch that Jack has realized that the good life: nana visits, being home with momma and daddy, and trips to the beach are by far preferable to day care and seeing momma and daddy only a few hours a day. Duh.

Ed finishes up one of the classes he's teaching next week, and the other the week after that. We'll have about two weeks to devote to Jack (and the beach). That should make us all good and ready to tackle another year.

Cheers.

So I've yet to meet a casual Red Sox fan. You know, the type of fan who knows it's baseball season and that's about it. Seattle and the Northwest are full of casual M's fans - the type that root on the M's if and when a playoff run comes, but until then probably wonder, "does that Ichiro-guy still play for them?"

There's nobody like that here. Everyone knows where the Sox are playing throughout the season, who's pitching, and everyone, at all times, knows exactly how many games away we are from the Yankees.

We went out to dinner with Adam and Elizabeth last night.

"We killed you guys yesterday. Five home runs... didn't you love it?" teased Elizabeth.

I did know the M's were hosting the Red Sox - but that was about it. Between the World Cup, school, and everything, baseball has been on the back, back burner. All I could muster was some lame comment about Jamie Moyer still in the starting rotation at age 55.

So we watched the last half of the M's-Red Sox game this afternoon. Jack even got into it, putting on his baseball cap backwards and wanting to "play base-baaaaaalll!" Safeco Field looked great in the sun. Of course it did. What's the saying, "the infield grass always looks greener...."?

M's won on a walk-off homerun. Take that Red Sox Nation.

July Rocks

Why is that when I finally have some time and energy to devote to blogging, there's really nothing interesting going on... and when it was all interesting, I had no time to write about it? The trick is to set aside blogging time (don't you love the notion of "setting aside" time, as if it's this piece of dark chocolate that you'll savor on the couch tonight at 11:00 even though what you really want to do is crash in your bed and sleep like the dead?). Anyway, since Ed's last written, it's been a great July. I've visited friends in Pittsburgh (first city that I've been to that Ed hasn't since we've been married), and my mom flew the red eye from the Northwest to spend a few days with us. (Do you know that until I was 21, my mom NEVER flew on a plane? And the only reason she faced her phobia was because I was lying in a Nevada hospital after a nasty car wreck - and now, she's flying all over - I say all this because we were and are SOOO thrilled to have family visit. Mom, if you run into any other family members or friends, please tell them how comfortable your stay was an how the humidity really wasn't that bad. Then, send them to the jetblue.com link to buy tickets.)

While my mom was here, we celebrated Jack's 2nd birthday. I imagined that since we were on the other side of the country, that we'd have relatively few presents for him. FALSE ASSUMPTION. Starting five days before his birthday, the packages started coming, one after another. And even though the presents were awesome, all of which Jack loves, just having so many return addressess of various family members made it feel like papa, grandpa, nana, pop pop, aunt Lisa, uncle Steve, Elijah, aunt Bev, Uncle Paul, Conor, Ryan, aunt April, uncle Frank, Lily, Daisy, and Uncle Bryan were that much closer to us. That's the real present. I think if everyone were actually here, gaging Jack's overwhelming exuberance around my mom, he'd pass out from excitement. We received so many presents that I decided to stager the gifts throughout the day in order to avoid overwhelming Jack. My dad bought and sent us a new digital camera (after Jack dropped our other one too many times), so we took a ton of pictures lately (some of which are posted). Our cups overfloweth.

I realized, after a soggy fourth of July, that July is going to be the best month EVER. Not only is July 4th my absolutely favorite holiday, I won't even have time to be sad about the fireworks being over before we are getting ready to celebrate Jack's birthday. The idea that I can get so genuinely thrilled about my kid's birthday is one of those things that trumps all the other inconvenient exhaustions that come with parenting.

Oh, the pictures (thanks, again, Dad). The first one is of Jack in Boston Commons, trying run away from George Washington; the second is the us on the bridge above the Swan Boats (yes, Ed has lost weight; and, yes, he looks great); the third is Jack hugging my mom at Hull Beach where we spent the morning of Jack's birthday(wait... emotional stablization in process... miss you, mom); the fourth is Jack the morning of his birthday, in p.j.'s and in the new coat nana & pop pop sent that we had to bribe Jack out of despite the 80 degree/80% humidity temperature ( at 9:00 am, mind you); and the last picture is, well obvious. What isn't so obvious is the five toddler-size index finger holes on the other side of the "2" candle.

For those of you who love maps, politics, and polls, I give you this. Enjoy.

File this under "Tomorrow is Promised to No One." Jack and I just drove through that tunnel a few days ago to pick up Laura from the airport. It's really quite amazing when you think they took a freeway that once went around downtown and over the harbor - and buried the whole thing underground. I just don't want to be driving in it the next time a 12-ton slab of concrete comes crashing down. [shudder]

Jack's lastest "thing" - to "scare" us by pretending to be a dinosaur, then come up to us, put his arms around us, and say, "ok, dada, ok, Jack dino-saur..."

I'm convinced that one day they'll find a gene that causes parents to believe their child is the sweetest, smartest, cutest thing on the planet.

Jack was ready for the 4th of July this year....

Summer's in full swing here - I guess typical summer weather in Boston are the 3-H's (hot, humid, & hazy).

I'm TA'ing for 2 classes this summer - both are grad classes. I go to high school during the mornings, in a town just outside Boston, to supervise the grad students completing their pre-practicum placements at the summer school there. It's a relief to be back in a high school - familiar territory. I never got used to being in an elementary school this past year - little chairs, little desks, all that art on the walls - just seemed unnatural. But a high school [exhale] the rows of lockers, the blank walls, the apathetic young adults wandering the halls....now that's the school setting I know.

It's not a bad gig. I stay out of the summer school teachers' hair - hang out in the library - grade their papers - and from time to time give them my 2-cents about teaching history or literature to 16 year-olds who don't want to be there. Oh, I lead a discussion section on Fridays (talking education theory with a bunch of grad students who don't want to be there, but that's no sweat. It's a little scary that I would have even the slightest of impact in the beginning of anyone's teaching career - don't do what I did, just do as I say...

The other class is a research class. I don't have much a role, apart from grading papers - which is fine. Actually, I'm kind of like Ed McMahon - Dr. N. (who's a really nice guy) will be lecturing, then say something like, "Ed would agree with that, right?"

"you are cor-RECT sir, yes!"

It's been just Jack and I this weekend, since Laura flew to Pittsburgh to spend the weekend with some friends. To be honest, I think I owe her another weekend like this since I flew to Vegas last year and back to Seattle for a couple days last March.

Today started promptly at 7am - not by Jack mind you, but by my neighbor from upstairs asking if he could move my car. Oh, he didn't phone - he just poked his head in my bedroom window,

[in thick Boston accent] "Ed, let me use yawr keys to move yawr cahr, will ya?"

I'm all for breaking down the isolation of modern living, but this is ridiculous - he could've waited another hour. Still, he's putting in a patio in the backyard, must've been on a schedule. As it was, Jack was up soon enough. He's now old enough to call for us,

"Dad." "Daaaaaaad...." "Daaaaaaaad!"

Sir Jack now likes to have his milk in his crib for a bit before getting up. It's actually nice - gives me a chance to put some tea on and get his breakfast started. Picked him up from his crib,

"Wet Dad, I'm wet. Change jamee's." He'd spilled some milk on his pants. He wanted new pajamas - we compromised on put on some new bottoms. Maybe I'm not very sharp before 8am, but negotiating with a 2-year old is not as easy as it sounds.

"Momma plane." "Come home."

We had told Jack Laura was "on a plane". Apparently, he must think that's what she's doing this weekend, just flying around for 48 consectutive hours before coming home.

Our big adventure before lunch is to drive to BU and throw pinecones. Don't knock it - on the side of the School of Management are dozens of the best pinecones around (if you wanted to have a good pinecone fight). Jack's a little young for that, but he loves to pick them out, throw them all out of the sidewalk, pick them all up, put them in a pile, and throw them all back below the trees. Then the cycle repeats itself.

"Train dada, big train!"

The T runs down the length of Comm Ave at BU. So every 5 minutes Jack would stop what he was doing to point out another train. For lunch, we went had pizza at Bertucci's (which I think is Bostonian, for "Olive Garden") Our waiter must've thought he was the greatest waitor ever since Jack loved it everytime he brought us something -

"Juice!"

"Bread!"

"Peetz!" (which is Jack-speak for "pizza")

We drove home after lunch. Jack went down for his nap with his blankie.

"Momma come home."

"Yes, Jack, Mommy's coming home tomorrow."

Duck.

Most researchers in learning and behavior would tell you we all tend to seek pleasurable activities and avoid those things that cause us pain.

So what explains why I sit down and put myself through another World Cup loss?

I'm not going to be mad at the boys for not being able to get it done in penalty kicks tonight - I'm not going to pretend I know what it feels like to run for 120 minutes and then stop, place the ball on the penalty spot with everyone watching and score (granted, the ball is only 13 yards from the goal) but - I'm not going to judge.

I'm pissed. And by pissed I don't mean, "drunk", although that wouldn't be such a bad thing right about now. I mean I'd like to lean out the nearest window and scream the cuss word that sounds an awful lot like "duck", being careful to linger on each letter of the word, you know, "FFFFFFFFFFFFF- " Well, you understand.

I'd also like to say duck-you to the Argentinian ref who sent Wayne Rooney off in the second half.

To anyone who likes to remind me soccer is boring and will never really take off in this country - duck off.

To our waitress at lunch today, you don't really deserve to be told to duck-off, but you do suck at waitressing and we waited forever for our food.

To you condesending ducks that like to say outloud that perhaps it's better that Ghana, or Brazil, or Costa Rica win these games, "because that's really all they have..." Duck. You.

Oh, and a giant duck-you to every ducking person who openly root against the U.S. or England - without really supporting a team of your own - as if our loss, against anybody, it doesn't matter, is a small victory for.... who really? Duck off.

Well, that's it really. Can't say that I'm even mildly interested in watching a World Cup Final between Germany and Brazil, or Italy and France, or any combination of the four.

I apologize if this blog comes across as, well - bitter. But I feel better. Thanks for listening.

I'm German, but not necessarily a freelancer

And that's why I cheered when they beat Argentina in penalty kicks.

But now, in news that really affects me and the family.

I just got a call from the community college I interviewed with. The ones that actually never called me on Thursday, thus solidifying my conviction that I was not going to be hired there- and if I was, only part-time. And, therefore, allowing me to move on and start making plans. Plans that included developing my clients in the freelance editing world. And while the inconsistent feast-or-famon lifestyle that freelancing brings has been *so* thrilling, I am both shocked and excited about the fact that I've been chosen as a finalist for the full-time job. Not *merely* a semi-finalist like Germany, but a real finalist - I'll be interviewing with the provost and president in mid-July.

So, back to the butterflies and holding breaths. Ed says to focus on the process. I will begin that focus by going to get my haircut this afternoon.

For Trish

Because reading about the World Cup and my career ups and downs really isn't as exciting as this. We think he looks like Paul in the picture on the right. I think he looks a lot like "Jack" in the other. Notice that in both pictures, he's wearing pajamas. And most likely, both pictures were taken well into early afternoon. The kid loves his p.j.s; if we let him, he stay in them all day: A sloth quality worth appreciating.

Why would it be waiting if you already know what's going to happen?

It's 9:30 a.m., humid and cloudy (Boston has had record rainfall in the past few months. I'm soooo sick of rain). I just walked Jack to daycare, and came home to change into the coolest clothes I own. And by cool, I don't mean hip or stylish; in fact, they represent the other side of the spectrum- an old peach tank top that has shrunk and gray cotton shorts that are proportionally too long for my too-short tank top. Ed bought these shorts for me many years ago from the now-gone Champion outlet in Oregon. On the left thigh it reads "Ithaca College" in marroon lettering. One of the great mysteries of Ed (and his brother Steve) includes an near-obsession with obscure clothing from random high schools and colleges. So, if you ever find a sweatshirt from Ballinger Prep in Greensboro, North Carolina, let me know. I'll pay way too much for it.

I have an obscene amount of editing waiting for me on the kitchen table. I'm home working until Ed gets back this afternoon from T.A.ing for a graduate Ed course. He's been leaving the house at 6:30 every morning, coming home around lunch so that I can race the car into Mazer and work on this kindergarten math curriculum that is allowing us to live financially worry-free for a few months, maybe more. He then walks to pick up Jack, hoping like I do in the morning, that the nearest thunder and rainstorm holds off just long enough for us to get the kid home dry. Jack proceeds to ask "mama home?" and I swear I can hear it in Roxbury, hating that I won't be home until well after his dinner. Last night I got home a bit early- around 6:00-- Jack called out to me from the kitchen window as I parked the car, "MOM! HOME! Pawk the Cah!" We still can't tell if he's developing a Boston accent or just hasn't figured out how to say his r's. We're working on those r's.

I have roughly 175 pages of editing due Friday by 10am. Because Jack doesn't go to daycare on Fridays and Ed has his class, this means that I pretty much have today only to get the work done. So, yes, it makes perfect sense that I'm blogging. I am ready to dive in, really. One thing holding me back is that I'm waiting to hear back from Mass Bay about whether or not they want to hire me full time. I called the secretary the other day and she says I should hear by today. Even though I have completely made peace with the fact that I won't be offered the job--in part because I haven't published enough, and in part because it's incredibly more likely that they'll hire an adjunct that has worked for them for years and who they know well--I need to hear it from the Dean's voice. Because, as any of us who have been on interviews knows, until we hear the, "thanks, but we've gone with someone else," there's that tiny sliver of hope that fate stepped in, tapped the hiring committee on the shoulder and said, 'take a chance with her- she's great." That's my Disney upbringing talking. And, Working Girl. I just want to get the call, deal with the reality that I know is coming, and move on to my somewhat lucrative, if somewhat boring, freelance work (and thank God for that).

Speaking of freelance work, it's 10am now and time to get cracking. Maybe the call will come just as the humidy breaks for a moment- with thunder and lightening and a wicked downpour. Then, I can step outside for my second shower of the day, and let the rain wash away all my hopes and expectations for this job. You know, just like a movie. The symbolic washing away. I could use it as a launching place for figuring out the next step. Which, is something I should be doing regardless. It would just be nice to have a clear-cut scene ender, you know?