EmilyPie recently blogged (albeit very esoterically) about a tragedy that happened in our little, suddenly crime-ridden town of Reno...the disappearance and death of a beautiful girl named Brianna Denison, the victim of an evil serial rapist who, as far as I'm concerned, should be caught and tortured. Like most of us around here, I haven't been able to forget about Brianna for a minute since this has happened. Campus just doesn't feel like as safe a place (I weigh far too much to fit the bad guy's victim profile but I see so many young, slight, long-haired girls walking around campus, and I'm sad for them and for all of us who have to watch our every step) and I think so much about her family and especially her mother...now that I have a daughter myself, I can't imagine losing my child in such a horrible way. I am pretty agnostic but when something like this happens I hope there is a heaven, and if there is, I hope that Brianna is there. And I also hope that karma exists, and that what goes around comes around, and that someone who could do something so depraved will get punished, somehow, somewhere.
Anyway, Reno is really a small town in so many ways. Everyone knows someone who knows someone. Not for the first time, today I heard some "insider info" about a potential suspect, and it has dominated my day. It is kind of crazy how information gets around, and considering how this kind of thing brings out a penchant for vigilante justice, one feels kind of sorry for anyone who fits the profile of the killer but ISN'T him--probably a fair number of men in the area. Because I'm sure lots of people in this town, whether they knew and loved her or just felt some kind of connection to Brianna after she disappeared, are envisioning very bad things for this criminal.
I am just hoping, for the sake of EVERYONE, that the bad guy is caught soon.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Bummer of Being a "Yes Man"
When we lived in China and taught at XiKeDa (Southwest University of Science and Technology), I was always unbelievably busy, and I was always complaining about it. We were supposed to be living the glamourous expat life but it was far from that; I could barely squeeze in time for a grocery trip, and while we managed to get some great traveling in on the long semester breaks, the weekend trips to local places that we envisioned never materialized. In fact, in a year and a half of living in Mianyang, we took one long weekend trip to Xi'an and...well...that was pretty much it. Countless times I stayed up into the wee hours reading papers, feeling that hopeless stress of knowing that there is NO WAT everything is going to get done in time. Not for the first time in my life, I felt beleaguered, bereft of personal time; my schedule, between teaching classes and prep work and grading homework and reading papers and showing up at additional events that were often requested of me. The job, and the duties associated with it, claimed my life.
As I said, I loved to complain about the state of affairs. And then one day, the husband of my friend EmilyPie pointed something out to me: I had a fairly awful habit of saying a certain word. And our department knew it. They gave me extra classes, requested me to pick up side jobs tutoring sons of friends of friends, and invited me to be the token foreign face at various events I really didn't have time for for one reason: because I said "YES." All. The. Time. I had the choice, B pointed out, to exorcise my right to negation. But I never did.
He also pointed out that this is really an inevitable part of my personality, and that as much as I may complain about being busy, the truth is that a) I do it to myself and b) on some level, I secretly like it being inconceivably busy.
Which officially makes me a masochist, by the way.
And guess what, I'm doing it again. When will I ever learn? Not a year ago I was taking three graduate seminars (the maximum number of credits, and considered a VERY full load in my department), teaching two sections of freshman English, trying to prepare my comps portfolio and defense in order to graduate my master's, working at the campus Writing Center, and secretly (because outside work is a big no-no, despite the fact that our stipends are not enough to support a houseplant) working a full-time job in mortgage. Oh, and don't forget trying to conceive with the help of fertility drugs. And SWEARING that I would NEVER do it to myself again.
So what am I doing? Taking three seminars AGAIN, as well as an internship, working at the Writing Center, applying for multiple conferences, participating on a publication project for one of my professors, and acting as a co-president for the graduate association. This, by the way, would be enough to sink anyone WITHOUT having a five-week old infant. Who, as far as I'm concerned, could easily be three people's full-time jobs. Strike that--three people's full time LIVES. Luckily due to the scholarship I received this year I have the year free of teaching, because I'd either have to die or dropout.
What is wrong with me? I endlessly regret the choices I make when I overload myself. I put so much pressure on myself to live up to what I perceive are the expectations on me that I do things like, for example, return to school full time when my baby is SIX DAYS old.
This condition is by no means rare among academics. One of my professors, who is basically an up and coming rock star in my field AND has twin babies, put it best when he said that when we spread ourselves so thin, we don't feel good at anything: we feel like bad parents, bad spouses, bad students, bad teachers (add bad bloggers to that list).
I feel like a bad everything. I half-ass my homework, and my time with Squidge is half-assed because I'm usually worrying about how I half-assed my homework.
And I'm SO unbelievably TIRED.
Okay, enough of this depressing stuff. Five weeks down, eleven more to go in the semester. I can do it, right? I'm going to keep thinking so until life proves otherwise.
As I said, I loved to complain about the state of affairs. And then one day, the husband of my friend EmilyPie pointed something out to me: I had a fairly awful habit of saying a certain word. And our department knew it. They gave me extra classes, requested me to pick up side jobs tutoring sons of friends of friends, and invited me to be the token foreign face at various events I really didn't have time for for one reason: because I said "YES." All. The. Time. I had the choice, B pointed out, to exorcise my right to negation. But I never did.
He also pointed out that this is really an inevitable part of my personality, and that as much as I may complain about being busy, the truth is that a) I do it to myself and b) on some level, I secretly like it being inconceivably busy.
Which officially makes me a masochist, by the way.
And guess what, I'm doing it again. When will I ever learn? Not a year ago I was taking three graduate seminars (the maximum number of credits, and considered a VERY full load in my department), teaching two sections of freshman English, trying to prepare my comps portfolio and defense in order to graduate my master's, working at the campus Writing Center, and secretly (because outside work is a big no-no, despite the fact that our stipends are not enough to support a houseplant) working a full-time job in mortgage. Oh, and don't forget trying to conceive with the help of fertility drugs. And SWEARING that I would NEVER do it to myself again.
So what am I doing? Taking three seminars AGAIN, as well as an internship, working at the Writing Center, applying for multiple conferences, participating on a publication project for one of my professors, and acting as a co-president for the graduate association. This, by the way, would be enough to sink anyone WITHOUT having a five-week old infant. Who, as far as I'm concerned, could easily be three people's full-time jobs. Strike that--three people's full time LIVES. Luckily due to the scholarship I received this year I have the year free of teaching, because I'd either have to die or dropout.
What is wrong with me? I endlessly regret the choices I make when I overload myself. I put so much pressure on myself to live up to what I perceive are the expectations on me that I do things like, for example, return to school full time when my baby is SIX DAYS old.
This condition is by no means rare among academics. One of my professors, who is basically an up and coming rock star in my field AND has twin babies, put it best when he said that when we spread ourselves so thin, we don't feel good at anything: we feel like bad parents, bad spouses, bad students, bad teachers (add bad bloggers to that list).
I feel like a bad everything. I half-ass my homework, and my time with Squidge is half-assed because I'm usually worrying about how I half-assed my homework.
And I'm SO unbelievably TIRED.
Okay, enough of this depressing stuff. Five weeks down, eleven more to go in the semester. I can do it, right? I'm going to keep thinking so until life proves otherwise.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Ode to the Best Idea We Ever Had...
And no, I'm not talking about having kids...the jury's still out on that one. Ha ha, just kidding!
I'm talking about a decision my sister Amber and I made a couple of years ago. We were living in an apartment--well, Mario and I were living in an apartment, and because a short term can-I-stay-with-you-for-just-a-little-while-to-save-money thing had somehow turned into a permanent situation, Amber was inhabiting what we had once fleetingly hoped would be a guest bedroom. As crazy as my sister and I have always made each other, it is incomprehensible that we managed it in that apartment for a year. I'm not quite sure how it came to be that when we each decided it was time to buy a house, those houses would be next door to each other. I guess somehow making that GIANT PURCHASE together made it less scary, and somehow the circumstances just worked out...we found new construction we both liked, in a convenient neighborhood, for (what seemed at the time) a good price, and because we were the first to buy on our street, we were able to pick our (identical, but flipped) floor plans on the adjoining lots of our choice.
Cheesey, I know. But wow, is it great. This week I was reminded of how great it was. The other morning Mario went out, as he normally does, to walk the puppies on the large expanse of BLM land that we live next to. Squidge was being fussy, fussy, fussy, and it seemed like it was taking Mario forever to get back. The longer he was gone, the more pissy I got, really wanting him to come home and take the fussbudget off of my hands for a few minutes before he went to work. After awhile though, as the time he normally would have returned came and went, my annoyance turned into worry. As I sat rocking Squidge and worrying, all of a sudden at the front door I heard a little peeping noise. When I threw the door open, there was Xiao Gou...alone...without a leash...just sitting there looking pathetic.
Now, I knew he had probably somehow gotten away from Mario (he usually lets them off their leashes for awhile because there is never anyone around up there), but I couldn't hold back the fear that something had happened to my husband or our other dog Nika. Semi-panicking, I ran next door and plopped the baby into my sister's arms (she was thankfully willing to help even though she was about to be late for the class she teaches two days a week at UNR) and took off running up the hill calling for Mario. Thankfully, within a few minutes I could hear him across the canyon, frantically calling for Xiao Gou. It turned out that the pups had run off because they encountered a HUGE herd of deer on the hill...Mario counted at least 20!!!! A coyote was lurking around after the deer too. What normal dog could resist that kind of distraction? Xiao Gou had somehow gotten lost and instead had turned around and came home.
As Mario and Nika and I tramped home through the snow together (my burning lungs pointing out precisely how out of shape I am!), and as we retrieved Scarlett from my sister, I thought again about how convenient it is to have a close family member CLOSE, in so many situations. If she hadn't been there to help me, Mario would have been out searching forever, and I would have been completely panicked. There are a lot of things I have regretted about this house purhase. Buying at the height of the market...not standing up more to our jerk builder...certain upgrades...choosing a lot with the Great Rock Wall of Reno towering threateningly over us (we have a 30+ foot rock wall in our backyard)...but I have never regretted having my sister for a neighbor. Eventually, when I finish my PhD and go on the national job market, Mario and Squidge and I will have to move away and we will doubtlessly never have such an opportunity again. So in the meantime, I'm going to keep being grateful!
I'm talking about a decision my sister Amber and I made a couple of years ago. We were living in an apartment--well, Mario and I were living in an apartment, and because a short term can-I-stay-with-you-for-just-a-little-while-to-save-money thing had somehow turned into a permanent situation, Amber was inhabiting what we had once fleetingly hoped would be a guest bedroom. As crazy as my sister and I have always made each other, it is incomprehensible that we managed it in that apartment for a year. I'm not quite sure how it came to be that when we each decided it was time to buy a house, those houses would be next door to each other. I guess somehow making that GIANT PURCHASE together made it less scary, and somehow the circumstances just worked out...we found new construction we both liked, in a convenient neighborhood, for (what seemed at the time) a good price, and because we were the first to buy on our street, we were able to pick our (identical, but flipped) floor plans on the adjoining lots of our choice.
Cheesey, I know. But wow, is it great. This week I was reminded of how great it was. The other morning Mario went out, as he normally does, to walk the puppies on the large expanse of BLM land that we live next to. Squidge was being fussy, fussy, fussy, and it seemed like it was taking Mario forever to get back. The longer he was gone, the more pissy I got, really wanting him to come home and take the fussbudget off of my hands for a few minutes before he went to work. After awhile though, as the time he normally would have returned came and went, my annoyance turned into worry. As I sat rocking Squidge and worrying, all of a sudden at the front door I heard a little peeping noise. When I threw the door open, there was Xiao Gou...alone...without a leash...just sitting there looking pathetic.
Now, I knew he had probably somehow gotten away from Mario (he usually lets them off their leashes for awhile because there is never anyone around up there), but I couldn't hold back the fear that something had happened to my husband or our other dog Nika. Semi-panicking, I ran next door and plopped the baby into my sister's arms (she was thankfully willing to help even though she was about to be late for the class she teaches two days a week at UNR) and took off running up the hill calling for Mario. Thankfully, within a few minutes I could hear him across the canyon, frantically calling for Xiao Gou. It turned out that the pups had run off because they encountered a HUGE herd of deer on the hill...Mario counted at least 20!!!! A coyote was lurking around after the deer too. What normal dog could resist that kind of distraction? Xiao Gou had somehow gotten lost and instead had turned around and came home.
As Mario and Nika and I tramped home through the snow together (my burning lungs pointing out precisely how out of shape I am!), and as we retrieved Scarlett from my sister, I thought again about how convenient it is to have a close family member CLOSE, in so many situations. If she hadn't been there to help me, Mario would have been out searching forever, and I would have been completely panicked. There are a lot of things I have regretted about this house purhase. Buying at the height of the market...not standing up more to our jerk builder...certain upgrades...choosing a lot with the Great Rock Wall of Reno towering threateningly over us (we have a 30+ foot rock wall in our backyard)...but I have never regretted having my sister for a neighbor. Eventually, when I finish my PhD and go on the national job market, Mario and Squidge and I will have to move away and we will doubtlessly never have such an opportunity again. So in the meantime, I'm going to keep being grateful!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Back to Sleep? No Way.
Whew, it is hard to find internet time! I have The Baby Who Will Not Be Put Down. I really do. Every time my family is around, all they can talk about is what a wonderful, calm, contented baby she is...and how much she sleeps! Which pisses me off because she does tend to save her really angsty fits for when no one else is around. But I finally realized that this is because when everyone is around, there is always someone to hold her, whereas when I am alone or just Mario and I are at home, there are times that we want to...I don't know...PEE. Or EAT. Or maybe, just maybe, internet for a minute. But no, Squidget will have none of that. We put her down at the risk of our eardrums.
This goes for nights too. Every day, my guilt grows about the sleeping thing. I KNOW I need to be trying to get her to sleep in the bassinet, and I KNOW she needs to be sleeping on her back. But how am I supposed to make that happen, when it seems like the only place she will ever rest for more than ten minutes is curled up on my chest? Literally, every night at bed time I have this total mental crisis of what to do tonight. If I try to sleep with her in the bedroom, she does not end up in the bassinet. She fusses and cries, and I am already so exhausted, that I have no fortitude to try to make her cry it out. Besides, she is so young I am not sure making her cry it out is even a good idea, as several of the books I've read say that for the first four months, babies have to be taught that they can trust you. Besides, when we stay in the bedroom with her, BOTH of us get no sleep.
The alternative, and usually what we end up doing, is for one of us to stay out in the living room, sleeping with her in the Lazy-Boy, where of course she sleeps on her stomach on my stomach. It just feels wrong to spend every night in a lazy-boy. I MISS my BED. Plus, she's sleeping on her stomach! Augh! When we try to lull her into sleep on her stomach...then ever-so-carefully transfer her to her back in the bassinet...yep that fails too. She has a sensor that tells her when she is not being doted on. And the sensor alarm sounds like this: WHHHHHAAAAAAAAA!
The other bummer is that I've recently realized that when Mario stays out with her at night, she actually goes four hours or even a little more sometimes between feedings, whereas when I do, it's every two hours still. Probably because she smells me and gets reminded of MILK. Now that I know this, it's like temptation, evil temptation to make Mario take ALL of the midnight duties...and he is such a great father and husband that he probably would! But I know that is wrong. Especially since he is the one who has to work all day, whereas I have some part-day obligations but get to spend a lot more time at home...rarely do I get to take a nap, but at least I don't have to be on my game, performing, productive.
R.I.P. Sleep. You've been reincarnated as Scarlett. I love Scarlett more. But Sleep, you will always hold a dear spot in my heart.
This goes for nights too. Every day, my guilt grows about the sleeping thing. I KNOW I need to be trying to get her to sleep in the bassinet, and I KNOW she needs to be sleeping on her back. But how am I supposed to make that happen, when it seems like the only place she will ever rest for more than ten minutes is curled up on my chest? Literally, every night at bed time I have this total mental crisis of what to do tonight. If I try to sleep with her in the bedroom, she does not end up in the bassinet. She fusses and cries, and I am already so exhausted, that I have no fortitude to try to make her cry it out. Besides, she is so young I am not sure making her cry it out is even a good idea, as several of the books I've read say that for the first four months, babies have to be taught that they can trust you. Besides, when we stay in the bedroom with her, BOTH of us get no sleep.
The alternative, and usually what we end up doing, is for one of us to stay out in the living room, sleeping with her in the Lazy-Boy, where of course she sleeps on her stomach on my stomach. It just feels wrong to spend every night in a lazy-boy. I MISS my BED. Plus, she's sleeping on her stomach! Augh! When we try to lull her into sleep on her stomach...then ever-so-carefully transfer her to her back in the bassinet...yep that fails too. She has a sensor that tells her when she is not being doted on. And the sensor alarm sounds like this: WHHHHHAAAAAAAAA!
The other bummer is that I've recently realized that when Mario stays out with her at night, she actually goes four hours or even a little more sometimes between feedings, whereas when I do, it's every two hours still. Probably because she smells me and gets reminded of MILK. Now that I know this, it's like temptation, evil temptation to make Mario take ALL of the midnight duties...and he is such a great father and husband that he probably would! But I know that is wrong. Especially since he is the one who has to work all day, whereas I have some part-day obligations but get to spend a lot more time at home...rarely do I get to take a nap, but at least I don't have to be on my game, performing, productive.
R.I.P. Sleep. You've been reincarnated as Scarlett. I love Scarlett more. But Sleep, you will always hold a dear spot in my heart.
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