Playmates

A few times when Sam was younger I took him to a drop-in childcare center up the street. He liked the teacher and the toys but cried whenever other children came near him. A few months ago he became really curious about other children and would stare obsessively at them in public and say, "Baby. Baby."

Now he's at an age where he wants all of the "babies" (ranging from 0 to approximately 7) to play with him. He lets me know this by pointing at a swing or slide or sandbox and saying "Baby. That. Baby. That." Meaning that I should grab that baby and put him/her on that swing so they can play together. Sam doesn't understand why I can't just move the other babies around for his convenience. And it's kind of sad when he gets frustrated about it and starts to whimper, "Baaby. Baaby."

So it had to be done. I signed us up for an ECFE class this fall. My rotating schedule didn't allow for it last year, and part of me was glad for that because, while the increased socialization would be great for Sam, the prospect of it for me felt daunting. Basically, the idea of sitting in a circle of parents talking about parenting makes me uneasy. I'm not totally sure why, but I do worry that I might start to feel inadequate or, worse, smug about my parenting choices.

Probably what will happen is that I'll learn a ton and make some friends in the process. And Sam will too.

But if things should go the other way, I'll blog about my parenting inadequacies and home runs right here.

We Can't Go On Like This

My computer is dying a slow death. Every day there's some new problem with it. Today it took a couple of hours to actually do anything other than start up. Dave is going to try a few things with it tonight. He's pretty smart that way. But I made an appointment with the geniuses for later in the week just in case.

Meow

I'm trying out this new thing called Written? Kitten! It's a website that shows you an adorable photo of a kitten once you've written 100, 200, 500, or 1000 words. It works for me, and I'm astounded by that because a) I'm an adult who shouldn't need motivation like that and b) I don't like cats. But if I've learned anything from this dissertation writing process it's that there are no rules except to do whatever it takes to get words on the page.

Top Tier

I had a health assessment for our insurance plan this morning. I was pretty nervous about it because I'm simply not in good shape. Does this post-baby belly jiggle ever go away? Or do you have to, like, exercise or something? Anyway, I filled out the questionnaires, stood for the height and weight calculations, gave blood, and held onto this weird machine with wands that read my body fat. My body fat numbers were generally in the normal range except for the area called my "trunk," which was a little over. I'm guessing that trunk means torso in this case and not ass, but either way, the result was alarming. Now I have to wait for my health mentor (guide? guru?) to give me a call to talk over the results and make a plan. I'm going to explain to him/her that it was probably just my D-cup breasts on my 5'1" frame that put me over on the "trunk"reading. Unless "trunk" actually does mean ass, in which case I'll probably have to exercise. 

The Space

After spraying the raccoon poop from the back steps, I hopped on my bike and headed over to my new study space at the St. Thomas Library. I suppose this place is packed during the school year, but for now I'm the only one here. I like it. It smells like the Carleton Library (where I spent four years of my life) but there are a greater number of Catholic shapes and icons around. I could use a little help from a higher power on this dissertation, so that's a plus. I also like the view out the window onto the campus mall. The green space is inspiring. And space is really important to the writing task at hand, I've found. I think I'll be able to get a couple months of good writing out of this one.

3am Visitors

We had more intruders in the back yard last night. These, luckily, were of the furry variety.

Four adolescent raccoons sniffed and crawled around our rooftop tomato plants and woke me when one knocked over a watering can. Dave and I stuck our heads out the bedroom window hoping to scare them off, but the eight eyes level with ours seemed generally nonplussed by our presence. Evidence this morning suggests the creatures were most interested in Sam's squishy ball, which was torn to bits. Things could have been worse.

Still, the case for getting a dog is more compelling every day.

Let the Wild Rumpus Begin

I made a calendar to keep me on track as I move toward this January dissertation deadline. In doing so, it occurred to me that I could have been done with this thing already if I had applied myself as much as I'm going to have to apply myself in the weeks to come. But that kind of thinking doesn't help at this point, does it? So, positive thinking and progress from here on out.