Because when they win the World Series this will be funny

Right now the Cubs are playing Cincinnatti Reds. If the Cubs win tonight, it's going to be nearly impossible for the Brewers to catch them. So, it would be nice to watch them. But right now we are watching a little kids ballet recital on local cable access. Why? Because Felicity keeps saying, "More! More Ballerinas." Such is life.

No more secrets

MY STUDENTS NOW HAVE ACCESS TO THIS BLOG. In a moment of weakness pedagogical brilliance, I decided to let my rhetoric students see my blog. After all, they are enabling me to peek into their lives. So, it's only fair. The way I see it, this will either endear me to them or make them think I'm a complete idiot. If all else fails, reading about the trials and tribulations of raising a two year old might be good birth control. So, worst case scenario, I have done my Malthusian duty.

Although I have been at this whole teaching thing for nearly ten years, the whole teacher/parent thing has been relatively newer. And it's kind of funny to me how I get to maintain two identities. Take last night for example. As Chris and I drove Felicity out to dinner we had to pass through middle campus and we saw a slew of students going to eat at the caf for dinner. From the outside I am sure that we appeared to be a normal family. A few even waved to us. But on the inside of the car existed a different world. We (o.k. I ) was singing a song about poop at the top of my lungs. You see, amidst grading papers and planning lessons, I also have a high level of anxiety about whether Felicity, who has a constant case of constipation, has pooped. And, well, somewhere in between goals to publish my book and become proficient in ancient Greek, is my goal to make pooping a less scary experience for Felicity. My latest solution: making up songs about why pooping is fun.

I also have songs about getting rid of boogers and brushing teeth. But I don't think I'll put them on my C.V.

In Memoriam

JAMES AIDAN MULVEY
You will be missed.

Sending love and support to the Witt and Mulvey families.

Giving Birth...well, without the epidural.

And so it is that as of this afternoon, Chris has completed his dissertation.
It is sent.
His committee has it.
And he even found time to do laundry.

Guilty By Association

Every now and then I get a sneak peak into the mind of a two-year old. For example, if I say, "Felicity, you look tired." She opens her eyes wide and states strongly, "I'm AWAKE!" It occurs to me that her hearing me say, "You look tired," translates into her head as, "Let's go take a nap," which, of course, is met with much resistance.

But I think Felicity's ability to build connections is improving and, in turn, has been met with a need to alter our statements. A case in point: Whenever I am sleeping in (til 6:45 a.m., mind you!) Chris tells Felicity, "Mommy's at work." And whenever Chris is out at Starbuck's writing I tell her, "Daddy's at work." (Side note: we often go pick Chris up at Starbuck's after daycare.)

So, this morning, I dropped Felicity at daycare and went through our long good-bye transition that involves some tears, and a lot of clinging. I squatted down next to her and told her that she was going to have a good day and that Mommy was going to work. She looked at me puzzled and tilted her head. She grinned big and said, "No work! Mommy's AWAKE!"

And with that, it all began to make sense. Every time I have told her that I am going to work, I think she thought that I was going home to climb into bed. Adding insult to injury, I did my own mental connecting and deduced that Chris getting his Ph.D. meant that he now (literally) worked at Starbuck's.

As an aside, I now know just how my Mom felt when I was in First Grade and she went to a parent-teacher conference. There was a wall of drawings from the first graders called something like "What My Parents Do." And, amidst drawings of Daddy-doctors and Mommy-lawyers, stood my own gleaming rendition of how my Mom spent her day....I had drawn her lying on the couch. She was mortified. :)

I keep getting older, and they keep getting younger

I'm not so sure why it is that every year I am astonished by just how YOUNG the freshmen are. But I am. Perhaps it's because I began officially teaching college when I was just 22 years old. Back then I was still cool. I, too, went to the bar. I, too, listened to knew about hip music. I, too, knew the slang. But nine years later, I am finding, I am definitely not cool. And, worse than that, I am old. When this year's freshmen were lying in their cribs, I was strutting my stirrup pants and crimped hair, and listening to the Footloose soundtrack. On tape. This year's freshmen officially MISSED the eighties.

I remember taking a class in college that was taught by this very old history professor who talked a lot about growing up listening to the radio. We all thought it was "sooo weird" that he didn't have t.v. and how strange would it be to not watch 90210 the news! And I am beginning to feel the same way again. But it's the reverse. Students in my classes cannot understand how we didn't have the internet--or worse, FACEBOOK. Back when we were in college the best way to see your classmates was through perusing the "Freshmen Look Book" (which, by the way, was more affectionately known with "look" substituted by an alternate four letter word.) No Freshmen Look Books here, though. Just a lot of cell phones, ipods, iphones, and FACEBOOK.

I have done what I can, though, to remain current with the times. I don't wear "mom jeans." I carry a cell phone. I don't "text" but I do know how :) And I even created a FACEBOOK page. But the sad thing is that these things, instead of making me feel younger, serve as constant reminders that I am 31, not 19. And, for this year's freshmen, 31 might as well be 81.

C'est la vie.