The last time I posted was October 5, which was not only the day after our farm tour adventures, but also the anniversary of Jeff & my first date. The twelfth anniversary, to be exact.

Spending twelve years as someone's friend-girlfriend-fiance-wife teaches you two things: first, that you get to know a person you see or talk to daily for twelve years pretty well, and second, that no matter how well you think you know a person, you can always discover something new.

One of the more challenging parts of marriage in my opinion is learning to share your life and your home with someone who was raised in a different family. (That sentence sounds like I'm advocating incest...not my intention). And keep in mind that Jeff and I come from relatively similar backgrounds (families with similar values, Midwestern, Dutch ancestry, etc.). Despite the similarities in our upbringings, we are in many ways very different. We do things in different ways, because our families did them in different ways. In my family, dirty dishes that you plan on hand-washing go into the sink, in the side unoccupied by the dish rack. In Jeff's family, they go on the counter next to the sink. For the longest time, it drove me crazy that Jeff would leave his dirty dishes on the counter, particularly in our first apartment which had literally no counter space. I just thought he was being inconsiderate, because every knows that dirty dishes go in the sink. Then I started paying attention to the way things were done at Jeff's house, and I figured it out. This is also how I solved the Mystery of the Rubber Bands on the Doorknob. In Jeff's home, when they would get their newspaper, they'd remove the rubber band from around the paper and hang it in the nearest and most convenient place: around the closet doorknob. For Jeff, this translated to: rubber bands are stored on doorknobs. I couldn't figure out why on earth Jeff was taking rubber bands out of the desk and hanging them randomly on doorknobs around the house. Then I went to get something out of the closet at Jeff's parents' house and felt rubber bands...the rest is history.

When Jeff and I were first married, I had already given him the nickname Captain Distracto. This aspect of his personality manifested itself in many different ways. One good example is what would happen when Jeff got home from work. When I got home from work, I would: kick off my shoes, set my briefcase (back in ye olde days of an office job) by the coat rack, hang up my coat, hang up my car keys, and go to change my clothes. Every day, same thing, same order. Five minutes, tops.

When Jeff got home from work, it was as though he were a man suffering from amnesia who had forgotten what one needs to do to shuffle off the coil of the working day. Frequently, I would find him a half-hour after he got home, still standing by the door, holding his briefcase and car keys, still wearing his shoes and his coat. Other times he would manage to kick off his shoes, but would be wearing his coat or carrying around his keys in his hand hours later. On the occasions he managed to shed all the work-day items, they would rarely end up in the same place twice. We had a key rack, but he'd often forget to hang his keys up there, tossing them into his coat pocket or on top of the radiator instead. His coats would accumulate in a pile on top of an armchair, mere feet from the coat rack.

The evenings with Captain Distracto were funny, but the mornings after were stressful. "Where's my wallet?" he'd ask, worriedly. "Have you seen my keys?" Inevitably, he was running late, and the daily scavenger hunt for his items rarely helped matters.

A couple of days ago, I was reading through a magazine. I came across an article about focusing and concentration. As a student, this is a hot topic for me. The article analyzed several ways in which people lose focus, and offered ways to combat these. It also included a handy little quiz. You were to rate your relation to the questions on a scale of 0-3. As I began reading the questions, I started to apply them not just to me but to Jeff. And since he was sitting right there, I decided to rope him into responding for himself.

The quiz included statements like these: I wander from one task to the next without completing them. It seems much harder for me compared with others to take care of daily tasks. My home and office are cluttered and messy. I tend to run late.

Check, check, check, aaaand check.

The one that made me pause was this statement: I have difficulty developing routines for me or my family.

This is one of those things about Jeff that I've only really learned about lately. Specifically, since Charlotte was born. Because before Jeff took on the role of stay-at-home parent, I really was the partner who developed and tried to keep routines for us, such as they were. I love a routine. I like to go to bed at around the same time every night and get up at about the same time every morning. I like meals to be at specific hours. I like to know where things are going to be.

Jeff, on the other hand, is a routine-breaker. Bedtime one night is midnight. The next it's two a.m. Then he'll to to bed at 9 p.m. the next night. He'll make a sandwich at four in the afternoon because he skipped lunch, and then won't have room to eat dinner at six.

In the six years we were married before Charlotte was born, I learned to deal with this routine-less existence of Jeff's. If I was making something special for dinner, I'd inform him well ahead of time and remind him through the day so I wouldn't be disappointed that he had no appetite. I'd try not to be bothered by the fact that we rarely went to bed at the same time, and, in fact, learned to fall asleep better without Jeff trying to do the same just a foot away.

But after Charlotte came along, I started to realize how this lack of routine might be detrimental. When I went back to school when Charlotte was a couple months old, I was terrified that Jeff would forget to feed her, forget she needed a nap, a diaper change. I made charts, very specific charts with feeding times and nap times and how much to eat and how long to sleep, etc. I would get home and check how much milk was left in her bottle and quiz Jeff about how long she had slept.

My fears might have been a bit overboard, but they were not entirely unfounded. There were times I came home and found Charlotte hadn't eaten anything while I was gone, or that Jeff had forgotten to give her a nap. But for the most part I was only gone for a couple of hours, not nearly enough time to starve her or scar her for life. And usually when I walked in the door, I found them happy and playing, usually surrounded by more toys and child-related detritus than I even realized we had.

Still I would preach the gospel of the routine, of schedule. "Children need routine and order," I said time and time again. "They crave it. It tells them there is order in the world. It's comforting, familiar."

And in many ways, I was (and am) right. When Charlotte's routine is normal, when she gets to bed at 7:30 p.m. and rises on her own at 8 a.m., when she has the same options for breakfast and lunch and knows she can snack at the normal times, she seems happier and better behaved.

But I have to admit that I love coming home from school these days to find Charlotte wearing some bizarre ensemble, surrounded by random snack foods and playing a crazy, creative game with her equally strangely clad father. Jeff rarely thinks to comb her hair, to match her socks to her shirt, to wipe the breakfast oatmeal off her face. He often forgets that it's lunchtime, only realizing after she asks for yet another graham cracker that she's probably hungry. But he never, ever forgets to find some way to make their everyday existence fun and adventurous. Which in the end is more valuable to me than routine.

Here's the link to the article about focus, and the quiz.

This weekend, Jeff, Charlotte and I went on the Kaw Valley Farm Tour. The two-day tour offers people a chance to drive around to different area farms and check out the operations. Most of the farms offer special events and activities, some specifically geared toward kids. Many offer free samples of their products (the summer sausage at the Lone Star Bison Ranch and the various goat cheese at Landaria Farm [no link, sorry] were definite stand-outs). Charlotte loved all the animals, and not just the bison, alpaca, goats, chickens and turkeys, either--even the standard farm cat was Charlotte approved (and petted).

I'm posting a few more photos at Flickr (see link, right). Check them out to see the fun we had this weekend!

But even more exciting than all the farm animals and free samples is the fact that this was a diaper-free and accident-free weekend. Despite the fact that we were on the road most of the day Saturday and a good part of this afternoon, Charlotte did not once have an accident. She wore her big girl unders the whole weekend (except at night, of course) and told us every time she had to go. That led to some interesting scenarios, such as using the 1940s-era WPA outhouse at Zimmerman's Kill Creek Farm, and the situation pictured below:

Behold, this year's Christmas card photo.

But Charlotte rolled with the punches, learning there are all different kinds of bathrooms and places to go pee. She also discovered that "animals go potty on the ground." Very exciting, and educational. "Sometimes I go potty on the ground," she also confided. "Um, no," I responded.

Kaw Valley Farm Tour=highly recommended.

Things Charlotte said while "cuddling with the baby" (hugging my belly) this morning:

"Oh, he's all squishy in there! He's making popcorn!"
"Baby boy...grow big and strong...you will be precious!"
"He's bouncing around in there! I think he has a lollipop in there!"
(Whispering) "Soon you will come out and we will play and I will feed you yogurt, baby." (Pauses, thinks.) "I will eat some, too."

It appears the baby is growing big and strong, as Charlotte has requested. When I went to the doctor the day after I returned from California, I had managed to gain ten pounds since my last appointment--four weeks previous. Uh, okay! My friends had commented that it seemed like I grew more pregnant while I was out in San Diego. I guess they were right. I think lots and lots of delicious Mexican food probably contributed to the growth spurt.

This officially puts me (at 26 weeks pregnant) at the same weight I was at 35 weeks pregnant with Charlotte. :) However, my doctors in Athens were always concerned that I wasn't gaining enough, so this is a better situation. Perhaps not a great situation for my maternity wardrobe, though. I remember getting desperate for clothes that still fit in the last few weeks of my pregnancy last time. This time, I'm already outgrowing stuff.

In other baby news, I'm feeling a near-constant barrage of punching, kicking and rolling around from Kid #2, particularly between the hours of 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. When I (attempt) sleep, baby parties. These movements are as strong as I remember Charlotte's being--strong enough to startle me in the middle of class, for example. Strong enough that the poor guy sitting next to me in my afternoon class recoiled at the sight of my roiling belly. Ha!

Looking for more information about what we're eating? I'm sure you are! Check out our new food blog, Tig Eats.

I managed to capture Charlotte singing a couple of her favorites at the dinner table the other night. Here's the footage for your enjoyment:

Charlotte Sings!

Two conversations:

Jeff (while helping Charlotte put on her nighttime diaper): Charlotte, your rash is gone!
Charlotte: Where did it go?
J: It went away.
C: It is in the woods with the mama and little baby rashes.

Charlotte (while nuzzling my baby belly): This is my little brother! He will eat corn on the cob!
Jana: Oh, you think so? Eventually he will.
C: There will be a party, and he will eat corn on the cob. And special popsicles. And Dada will be there. And lots of friends, holding hands.
J: Sounds like some party!

So, in about five hours I'll be wingin' my way to the coast, California-bound. This weekend-long reunion with my college roommates has been in the works for some time now. Despite the fact that we are, indeed, all actually going and will be there tonight, I have a hard time believing it's really happening.

Posting will be nil until I return next week.

Today is our eighth wedding anniversary. I'm spending the day in the romantic confines of the Watson Library stacks.

The traditional gift for the eighth anniversary is bronze. Jeff, I hope you like your present:

I'm sure this guy (Turkish wrestler Nazmi Avluca) won't mind sharing his medal with you.

I dunno...I just don't feel much like writing lately. It's so much pressure! I'm writing for school! Whine, whine. So here are a few Charlotte updates.

1. Charlotte and sleeping. I promised a big post about Charlotte's sleeping habits a while back, but here's the (slightly) abbreviated version: Up until mid-July, Charlotte could only fall asleep while being rocked and sung to by one of her parents, all while sucking on one of our pinkie fingers. She never took a pacifier and wouldn't think about using her own thumb (gross! What were we thinking? seemed to be her reaction). Unfortunately, the finger sucking had gone from relatively peaceful to a bit more violent and toothy. Jeff and I had scars on our pinkies from Charlotte's chewy sucking. Ugh, I'm grossing myself out just describing this.

Suddenly, in July, Jeff couldn't take it anymore. He was putting C down for naps while I did bedtimes. While I thought we should wait until after our big move to try any new sleep training ideas, it became obvious that Jeff was about to crack. So I told him to do whatever he wanted. A few days later, I followed suit (my finger hurt!). We quit the finger cold-turkey. It was a rough couple of days, but surprisingly, she eventually adapted.

We were still rocking her to sleep, though, and then setting her in her crib. This began to take a long time. A long, long time. And after we moved to Lawrence, she began to only go to sleep for me, crying herself into hysterics when Jeff or anyone else would try. Fun!

The solution, surprisingly, was her big girl bed. The first night we had her bed all set up, she climbed up into bed all by herself, settled in under the covers, and fell asleep, all without any physical contact from me. I sat in the rocking chair across the room and sang my normal repertoire of songs (quite an eclectic mix, I must say, featuring show tunes, pop hits, and spirtual hymns). She fell asleep, I stood up and walked out of the room. And then the heavens opened up and angels flew down carrying fuzzy kittens and barbeque potato chips and cream soda for me. This has been the pattern every night since then (except for the giftbearing angels, sadly). She crawls into bed, settles in (sometimes this takes a while and requires some reminders from me or Jeff that it's time to sit still), and we sing until she falls asleep. I mean, not both of us. We're not in there duetting or anything. Although that reminds me...

TANGENT: Today when we were all sitting the dining table eating lunch, Charlotte started singing Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" (one of her bedtime songs). Jeff chimed in, and then Charlotte wanted me to sing along, too. Then she requested that we all hold hands. I think that was one of the weirdest but also most special experiences of my life, to be sitting around the table holding hands with my husband and my two-year-old while singing "Back to the howlin' old owl in the woods / huntin' the horny-back toad..."

2. Charlotte and diapers. Charlotte is potty-training. Like many parents, we have resorted to bribery. For every successful potty on the toilet, she puts a sticker on the chart. At the end of the day, we count the stickers and that's the number of M&Ms she gets. Today was a nearly accident-free day, including a few public excursions wherein she used the public restroom. I have said the words "potty," "pee-pee," and "big girl underpants" more times in the last two weeks than I think in my entire life up to that point.

On the phone last week, Charlotte asked Uncle Awesome (my brother, Scott), if he wore big girl underpants. I didn't hear his answer.

3. Charlotte and growth. At the doctor today, we found out that Charlotte weights just over 27 pounds and is just over 33 inches tall. That's the 30th percentile for height and the 45th for weight. She's kind of a munchkin. She's still wearing 24 months pants and a few 2t things. But the doctor could not believe how well she spoke. At one point Charlotte came up to her and said "I want to play with the toys beneath the table. Can I play with them, please?" The doctor looked at her, blinked, and then laughed a little. I think it was the "beneath" that got her.

Sometimes I get stressed out about Charlotte's eating habits. She's a little picky, and some days hardly seems to eat at all. But the next day she'll do something surprising, like commandeer and eat Jeff's entire bowl of leftover spaghetti, and then move on to half a brick of cheese or something. Whatever, she's a toddler. What's the point of getting stressed out over her eating habits? I should be worrying more about whether I'm getting enough nutrients from the bottomless bags of barbeque chips I'm eating to help this baby boy develop well.

I posted some pictures on flickr of our new place. For some reason, flickr loads them all backward, so scroll through until you get to the picture of the front door, and start there. The flickr link is to the right. Or, click here to be taken to the first pic.

On my walk home from the bus stop yesterday, I was imagining the two potential scenarios that might unfold during my ultrasound the next day. I closed my eyes (briefly, because I have enough difficulty walking and not tripping with my eyes open) and pictured the ultrasound technician saying either "it's a boy," or "it's a girl." And I pictured the reaction I would have to each. Both involved tears, naturally, but the emotions were slightly different. And I felt a little guilty about that.

I think Julie of A Little Pregnant summed up my feelings about gender really well in her post last March, when she found out that she, her husband Paul, and their son Charlie would be welcoming another little boy in August. Before her ultrasound reveal, people would ask her if she wanted a boy or a girl. Her response:

"Even being sure I'd asked it myself at some point, I had no idea until recently how common the question was. I was asked it an awful lot when we recently went south, by relatives I hadn't seen in years. The assumption seemed to be that we wanted a girl, since we already have a boy. That the experience of raising a girl would be qualitatively different, and something I'd not want to miss out on.

"That may be true; I wouldn't know. It's hard to imagine, because I don't think of Charlie as a boy, if that makes any sense. I don't identify his fundamental personhood as belonging to one gender or another...That he is occasionally bouncy and loud I chalk up to the fact that his body needs regular exercise and a venue where noisemaking is not only allowed but encouraged. His love for helping in the kitchen and doing housework is not a sign of any gender affiliation; rather it's the mark of a three-year-old's eagerness to do what his parents are doing. He is a boy, but I see his sex as incidental to the person he's becoming, rather than utterly essential. I seem him as simply — simply! — Charlie.

"Ultimately, I can't fathom a girl being any different. I know many people feel that girls are intrinsically different from boys, that biology implies destiny to a certain degree. I know there are forces beyond my control that influence how our children grow up and what roles they eventually assume...I don't feel that's sufficient reason to formulate a preference in that direction."

Julie has summed up here basically what I feel about who Charlotte is as a person, and the relationship of Charlotte the person to one aspect of her identity: her gender. And I know that a lot of people disagree with me (and Julie) about this, but I maintain that many of the so-called "genetic" differences between boys and girls are actually more a result of nurture, not nature. Not all of them, of course, but many. So I don't see Charlotte's love of cuddling and feeding her baby doll as any more "natural" or indicative of her true identity than her devotion to chucking projectiles, balls and otherwise, across the room.

So I felt guilty when I found myself feeling a little bit sadder when the ultrasound tech in my imagined scenario said "it's a girl!" As I explained to Jeff last night, it's not that I wouldn't be happy with a little girl. I mean, Charlotte's a girl, and look how rad she is! It's more that I'd be a little wistful, wondering "what if?" What would things be like with a boy and a girl? What would it feel like to have a son and a daughter?

And, of course, there's the fact that that scenario replicates my own sibling situation. I grew up with a younger brother. That relationship informs all my thoughts about kids and siblings. I have to admit that I always envisioned a situation where we'd have a daughter and son. Especially after we had Charlotte first...of course the next one would be a boy! Isn't that how it works?

But then I'd look at sisters I know (my cousins Angie & Monica, Amy & Laura for example) and remember how I'd feel slightly envious of their relationship when I was growing up. Maybe Charlotte would get to experience something I never did.

The truth is, no matter what we ended up having, Charlotte would be experiencing something I didn't. Even with a younger brother, there's no guarantee her relationship with him would be the same as mine with Scott. And Charlotte isn't a carbon copy of me (thank goodness); her relationship with any sibling would be a new creation, not a mirror imitation of someone else's relationship with someone else.

I knew all that, but I still went into the ultrasound with a shaky stomach and shallow breaths. I was nervous, or anxious, or...something. Jeff and Charlotte sat by, watching the baby on the "scream" (as Charlotte put it) in the darkened room. But as the tech took all the measurements, pointing out the three-vessel cord, the four-chambered heart, the head and stomach and kidneys and thigh bone all of proper length, my nervousness faded. I found myself focusing on the baby, the little person-to-be in there, and that baby's health. Everything looked good. The baby spazzed out just like Charlotte had during her big scan, kicking and punching and rolling around randomly. I could feel the movements and see them correspond on the screen.

So when the tech finished all her important work (including playing the galloping heartbeat not once, but twice, at Charlotte's request) and zoomed the little wand down to the baby's southern hemisphere, I had almost forgotten about that part of the scan. Almost, but not quite. I caught my breath again as I thought I caught sight of something on the screen.

"Charlotte," the tech said, locking in on something on the screen. "How'd you like a baby brother?"

And just like I predicted, I cried.

Boy or girl?

Stay tuned to find out later today!

This past weekend, Jeff, Charlotte and I traveled to Kansas City to take in a Royals/Tigers game.

The weather was beautiful, perfect for an early evening game. Jeff speculated on our way there that we'd have no trouble getting tickets at the gate. "I'm pretty sure the Royals never sell out," he said.

We were both surprised to see crowds of people and long lines at the ticket windows. It turns out there was a concert following the game; many people only bought tickets to the game because it was bundled into the deal with the concert. We were lucky enough to get two seats in the upper deck. We made it to our seats in time for the first batter.



Charlotte held up remarkably well, lasting all nine innings with the aid of peanuts and a hot dog. She sang along to "Take Me out to the Ball Game" and cheered "Yay, Tigers!" when appropriate.

All in all, a very fun experience.

Somehow the last week and a half have been full and busy, yet when I look back I have a hard time remembering any specific thing we've done. The days run together into a blur of quick shopping trips to Iowa Street (the main business drag) for the various small things one needs when one moves, such as extra wastebaskets, a curtain set, extension cords, etc., unpacking random boxes (speaking of which, we're still missing a box of kitchen goods somewhere. I keep needing random things, like my garlic press, and discovering that thing is in the mystery box), going for quick walks around our new 'hood, and just getting settled in. It fills the day, but doesn't make for very exciting prose.

I've been going through some changes in the last two weeks, too...namely physically. Suddenly there are clothes in my closet that are off-limits: too-tight pants or too-short shirts. I actually wore a maternity shirt (one that isn't very maternity-y, but still) the other day. I distinctly remember when I began showing like this with Charlotte, and it was about a month later in my pregnancy than I'm showing this time. I wanted to be more diligent about chronicling my growth in pictures this time, so I guess it's time to bust out the Nikon. I'm 19 weeks along, if you're counting.

I'm also feeling a lot (a LOT) of movement out of this baby already. Today while I was reading on the couch I actually saw several kicks/punches through my abdomen, a phenomenon I recall happening later with Charlotte, too. It was very cool, if again a bit reminiscent of certain scenes from Alien (or Spaceballs, if you prefer). Charlotte likes to feel the baby kick, although I don't think she's patient enough to really feel anything. The bigger movements later on will no doubt impress her.

Some funny recent Charlotte quotes:

While Jeff was attempting to put Charlotte down for a nap:
Charlotte: You make ME so mad. You make me SO mad. You make me so MAD. You make me so mad, okay? You make me so mad all day. You make me so very mad. (All said in a very pleasant tone of voice).

Still trying to nap:
Jeff: You can suck your thumb.
Charlotte: No, I can't do that. I'm too worried about it.
J: Why?
C: I can't suck it. Cuz I'm worried about the thing. It's occupied (ed. note: here I think she meant ocky-pied as in "ocky"). It doesn't taste very good.

While Jeff and Charlotte are outside coloring with chalk, Charlotte asks Jeff to draw a baseball. He complies. She proceeds to surround it with wobbly lines.
Charlotte: I'm doing the miracle.
Jeff: The miracle? What? Why? How is that the miracle?
Charlotte: I'm drawing the spinning, the round and round and round.

This morning when I asked Charlotte what she'd like for breakfast:
Charlotte: I think some string.
Jana: Some string? String cheese?
C: NO! No string cheese! Some STRING!
J: I don't know what you mean, then.
C, sighing: Oh, mama. Just get it.
J: Well, I can't get it if I don't know what you mean.
C: Yes, I think you can.

While Charlotte was coloring and I was on the couch, reading:
Charlotte: Mama! I found a color for you! It is your favorite.
Jana: Oh, thank you!
C: Now you will color with it.
J: Oh, I will, will I?
C: Yes. You will get off the couch, and say "thank you Charlotte," and we will color.
J: Sounds like a plan.
C: Get off the couch NOW, mama!
J: moving slowly
C: BUNS ON THE GROUND!

That last one had me laughing for some time. It's what we say to her in the bathtub when she needs to sit down. I had no idea she'd appropriate it in such a situation, but it worked.

I'm sitting in a bookstore overlooking "Mount" Oread (I'm sorry, I have to include the quotes. It's a hill, people!) on the campus of the University of Kansas. The last week has been a whirlwind of unpacking, acclimating to our new home, and exploring our new city. The week before that was an even bigger whirlwind, perhaps even a cyclone, of tying up loose ends in Athens, throwing everything we own (save three suitcases) into a moving truck, and driving 775 miles (over three days) to Kansas.

Looking back, I'm really glad we decided to spread the trip out over several days. It gave us a nice buffer between the loading and the unloading, and it limited the hours we spent trapped in a car with a two-year-old who would only interrupt her medley of songs to ask rhetorically, "What do I want, mama?" in a tone that can only be described as petulant. Or perhaps whiny. What she wanted was a mystery. It was typically some food item we didn't have on hand.

Overall, Charlotte did very, very well, and has continued to do well. She loved staying in hotels, swimming in the pools, sleeping in the little cribs. And she loves our new house, and is adjusting well to her "new" bed, which is really just her crib mattress on the floor. We hope to transition to a toddler bed or a twin soon.

Jeff and I feel the same way about our new house: it's fantastic. The space, people. THE SPACE! It's so huge compared to what we were used to, and even what we were expecting. Our living room alone is about the size of our former first floor. And the kitchen...well, we had three people in there at the same time the other day, and none of us felt crowded! I couldn't be alone in our old kitchen without feeling claustrophobic. We're still getting a few things unpacked and put away, but my mom (a.k.a. Hurricane Kathy) descended upon the boxes and lo, there was much unpacking and organization. It was wonderful.

Today is our first day in our house with just the three of us (plus the baby in utero, I guess). It feels a bit quiet. Charlotte misses having a grandparent around to command to read to her, feed her, hug her, etc. But it also feels like this really is our home...not just a strange, temporary place we were filling with our stuff.

We're here! And so is our stuff!

We'll be spending the next couple of days getting moved in, but I'll try to post a bit if and when I can.

And...we're off!

The truck has picked up the trailer, and as soon as we take one last walk-through, we're outta here.

Kansas, here we come!

Okay, I fixed the link to the movie below. Enjoy!

I'm taking a break from packing (speaking of which, why do we have so many books? WHY?!?) to post a couple things. I've been pretty sporadic with posting lately, what with all the traveling and scrambling to find a place to live and moving and being pregnant and tired and needing to make a sandwich and maybe eat this whole bag of Doritos, etc. But so much has been happening that I really need to bring this blog up to date. I'll start by posting a video with a few highlights of our trip to Michigan this past week:

Charlotte's Week in Michigan

Here are a few posts I'll try to write in the next few days before we move: The Long History of (Giving Charlotte) the Finger, The Amusing Anecdote of Charlotte the Flower-Girl, The Tale of Feeling the Baby Move and Realizing I'm Actually Pregnant, and The Jeff Tig Story, or Why Do We Have So Many Stinking Books: An Autobiography of a Bibliophile and a Pack-Rat.

Just a sneak peek:

This is just to say: We got a place to live in Lawrence.

I guess my dream of a beautiful hobo palace built of moving boxes is over. Not that I'm sad. No, no, no.

WE GOT A PLACE!!!

I'm fourteen weeks into this pregnancy, and the dreams are back.

I've always been a vivid dreamer. At night, I'm whisked away to a magical land where I take part in elaborate, complex plots that unfold with just a dash of my real life in them to make them weirdly familiar. I almost always remember my dreams, often down to details of setting, time of day, colors in my surroundings, differences in the people I know (you were there, but you had a moustache! A long, Yosemite-Sam stache.). In the morning, I often have to lay in bed for a few minutes...not to fully wake up, but to process the drama of last night's dreamland offering.

Pregnancy seems to turn this feature of my non-waking life up a notch. My memories of my dreams are even more vivid. Often the real turns surreal (And then your moustache started singing to us!). I'm frequently traveling to places I've been, and everything is different. Last night, I dreamed I was back in Oxford, and all the streets had been renamed and repaved in rainbow-colored bricks. I only had one day to navigate the city, and by the time I figured out which street was which (oh, okay...Walton is now called St. Cunningham's, and all the bricks are pink) it was time to catch my bus back to London. I didn't have time to visit any of my old favorite spots.

I like my crazy dreams. I love waking up in the morning with what seems like a novel's-worth of strange new material in my brain. I even love boring people with the details of my weird dreams (sorry!). I know no one cares what I dreamed about, but I can't resist sharing.

Strangely, I haven't had any delivery-room dreams yet. They were pretty common when I was pregnant with Charlotte. Perhaps this reflects my lower level of anxiety about the delivery of baby #2.

I hope to put together a video of Charlotte sometime this week. Watch for it here!

In brief:

Today, according to my pregnancy calendar, I have reached the 14th week of pregnancy. This is the first day I've gone without my anti-nausea meds, and...I feel good. Almost normal. Hooray!

And this from Jeff:

Charlotte: I LOVE SANDWICHES!
Jeff: You like sandwiches. You love me. And mama and Baby Jesus and the baby in mama’s tummy and –
C: and baseball games!
J: Well…right. And baseball games.
C: And the sky! And strollers.

So, I haven't written here in some time. Several times I've opened up the new post screen in blogger, typed that exact sentence, and then sat, waiting for the muse to descend. Usually, instead, Charlotte came to me begging for another reading from one of her new "monkey George" books, or for some chocolate (whispered in hushed, reverent tones), or just to demonstrate inarguably that she is, indeed, two now by crying and collapsing into a heap.

Seriously, that last one happens all the time. Is this common two-year-old behavior? I can understand the collapsing weepies in response to someone cruelly thwarting her demands, but often she turns into a quivering heap of snot and tears over absolutely nothing. I remember feeling that way as a teenager. Is two the new teen?

I've begun coming up with creative ways to deal with her little "spells." A couple days ago I took a picture of her every time she started crying. This would either cause her to cry harder ("No, don't take a picture, mama!") or stop her ("I see the picture, mama?"). I got some good shots. I might make these her new wallet photos, as they seem like the most accurate representation of Charlotte as a two-year-old.

It's becoming more real to me that we'll be adding another kid into the mix here sometime mid-January. I mean, I've had several weeks to come to grips with this news, but it was the ultrasound last week that finally flipped the "a-ha" switch. I don't know what I was expecting when I went into the ultrasound. "Oh, looks like you're not pregnant after all...it's just sea monkeys!" You'd think the crippling nausea for the last two months would have been indication enough. But seeing the little alien-headed sprog pop up there on the screen, kicking away and grabbing the umbilical cord, was apparently all I needed to really, truly realize I'm going to be a mother of two.

So I've started thinking less of Charlotte as the center-of-the-universe, one-and-only-child that she's been around here, and started imagining how she'll be with a sibling to deflect some of her glory. One big thing I wonder is how Kid 2.0 will differ from Charlotte. Will he/she be a big baby like Charlotte was? Will this one sleep (please, God)? Will the second child be as bizarrely verbal as Charlotte is?

See, we tend to think of Charlotte as just the way kids are, since she's our only model at this point. Then we get together with other parents of kids of similar age and realize: Oh, Charlotte's not quite as adventurous as some other kids. Whoa, none of these other kids speak in complex, full sentences. Wait, your two-year-old falls asleep ON HIS OWN? (Cue tears [mine]).

Speaking of complex sentences: I continue to struggle with insomnia. I'm trying to get to bed, lights out, earlier, but most nights find me tossing and turning, cursing my crazy-legs, until the wee hours of the morning. Last night I was in bed incredibly early for me, but right as I was drifting off, Miss C woke up. After I got her back to sleep, it took me a couple hours to get there myself.

So then this morning Jeff got up with Charlotte when she woke up so I could get a little more sleep. She wasn't terribly happy about this arrangement, but she snuck into my room to wish me well, anyway. "Hello, mama! Have a good morning! Have some nice dreams!" Jeff and I looked at each other like, what did she say? Belatedly, I called after her, "Thanks, honey!"

I'll try to be better about posting here, but we've got some crazy weeks coming up soon, so it might still be sporadic. No promises!

Okay, who flipped the two switch?

Some Charlottisms from the last week:

While eating pancakes: Ripping off her bib, she shouts, "NO! I don't want any!" A minute later, she says, sotto voce, "Okay Char-char! What do you want now?" Nice try, kid.

Prompting us with what she thinks should be our lines is a big thing overall. She'll sidle up to me and say, "What do you want?" I'll respond with, "Okay, baby. What do you want?" Her inevitable response is "Huh?" That means she wants chocolate, a word to sacred to be uttered aloud. Besides, she knows we'll say no. But perhaps by repetitively responding with "Huh" she'll drive us crazy enough that we just give in! (Hasn't worked yet).

Cruising through the grocery store yesterday, she was in full-blown two-year-old mode. "Ooh, look at that! I want it. I NEED it!" That last one made me laugh. No way she really needs Fruity Pebbles, taco shells, or a colorful pack of adult diapers. Marketing, I tell you.

Arguing against logic is another big thing. At her bedtime, I tell her it's time to get ready for bed. "It's starting to get dark, baby. Let's get ready for bed now." Her response: "No, mama! It is NOT getting dark now. It is NOT night."

She's having lots of imaginary conversations with her stuffed animals. "Oh, hello Bear! How are you today? I am fine, thank you! Oh, you are very naughty!" Ultimately, every one of her toys is very naughty.

Big congratulations to my cousin Amy, husband John, and daughter Joclyn who welcomed Jack Myers Tracy into the world at 3:48 this morning. He is a nice, chubby baby in the Terlouw tradition. I also understand that Amy may have beat my 3 hours of pushing time by a few minutes. My sympathies! We'll have to compare notes soon.

Welcome to the world, baby Jack. Your cousin Charlotte is already eager to read you some books.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte!

We had a fun, low-key birthday today. There were cupcakes.

There were presents.

And, of course, there was corn on the cob.

And this little girl turned two.

Happy birthday, sweet girl. I'm so glad you're here.

Right off the bat, I felt like this time was different from the last time. Sure, I had morning sickness (misnomer: all day sickness, really) with Charlotte. But this felt like...more. I thought I might just not be remembering clearly. But some of the symptoms just seemed unfamiliar.

I felt tired and weak all the time, even long before any weight loss and appetite loss should have made me feel that way. Walking up the hill from the parking lot to my office had me completely winded. My heart would pound and race for fifteen minutes after I unlocked my office door. Walking up the stairs required a break. I started taking the elevator up the two flights to the copy room. I still couldn't catch my breath.

Then the insomnia struck. I would be completely, utterly exhausted, and yet I couldn't fall asleep. My legs would twitch, my joints would ache, and I would toss and turn until 2, 3, 4 a.m. And then I would want to sleep all day. If I let myself, I could sleep 12 hours every night. And then go back for a nap a couple hours later.

When my doctor today told my that my blood work indicated I had hyperthyroidism, I was surprised. But when he started to list the symptoms (including feeling nervous, moody, weak, or tired; having hand tremors, or have a fast or irregular heartbeat, or have trouble breathing even when you are resting; and losing weight even though you are eating normally) something clicked.

We did some more blood work today just to check my levels, but I'm going to start taking some medicine to help regulate my thyroid. The meds can pose some risk to the baby (although that is rare), but not taking the meds is apparently worse.

What I'm curious about is whether many of my nausea symptoms are actually related to or caused by my thyroid.

Interestingly, my dad had hyperthyroidism when he was in high school. I talked to him on the phone today and we compared symptoms. Perhaps concerned that I was going to inherit all his medical maladies, he asked how my blood sugar is. So far, so good...

For some more information on hyperthyroidism and pregnancy, here's a website I found particularly helpful.

Some scenes from teaching

September 2005--It is my first day of graduate school, and my first day of teaching. My class, an English 151 Composition course, starts at 9 a.m. I am awake and ready before 7, the butterflies in my stomach flying laps around my breakfast. I spend hours preparing for this first class, which will essentially be introductions and reading through the syllabus. Nonetheless, I do everything up to writing out a script for what I will say. I have never been so terrified of 20 18-year-olds before.

November 2005--I have been teaching for weeks now, and feel a relative ease in front of my students. I still spend far too much time prepping for each class, but since it's my first time in the professor's seat, it's not too surprising. But something else has come up--I'm several weeks pregnant, having some spotting, and am ordered to take a week of bedrest. I teach every day. Fortunately, one of my friends is available to teach my class, and I learn for the first time the glory of a well-chosen movie. She stretches the movie out over three days. It's a snap.

December 2005--I finished filing my grades weeks ago, so I check in on my teaching evaluations from my first quarter of teaching. They are surprisingly good. I am relieved. This scene will repeat itself every quarter, except for:

December 2006--My first quarter back teaching after Charlotte was born was a minor disaster. This will go down as my biggest teaching disappointment. I had the opportunity to teach a 200-level literature course for the first time. A combination of not enough time to prepare (infants take up all your time, I found), an unclear idea of the goals of the class, and a group of underprepared and underwhelmed students led to my worst teaching experience ever. I dread reading my evaluations. They are not uniformly bad, but almost each one is critical of the course, the materials, and (gulp) me. I go into winter break determined to make my next class a success.

June 2007--My last two quarters of teaching were the most fun I've had as a professor. Each quarter I taught one section of junior composition focused on the theme of women and nature. My students were bright, articulate, and JUNIORS! I cement my love for 21-year-old students as opposed to 18-year-old newbies. They know what a thesis statement is! They understand the difference between paraphrasing and quoting! I love them!

July 2007--Ugh. I hate juniors. Teaching a summer course in junior comp was a huge mistake. My students have jobs and other obligations, and don't understand that they're required to do as much work in five weeks as they normally would in ten. I never have perfect attendance. Several students stop coming at all. For the first time, I give multiple students an "F." Why do I feel like the failure?

April 2008--I receive an email from the graduate director at KU offering me a first year fellowship. That means one year without teaching, only taking graduate courses and doing my own academic work. But...I love teaching! Do I really want a year off? Uh, yes please.

June 17, 2008--I head to the office to finish up grading for the quarter. Most of the papers are already graded. I have some extra credit to calculate, some revisions to read, and then I just plug it all in to Blackboard to calculate. It takes less than fifteen minutes to finalize all 60 of my students' grades. Then, with the push of a button, I'm done. I'm done! I'm all alone in the office, so I take a moment to do a happy dance.

So now my teaching cap is off until fall 2009. I hardly know what to do with myself!

Happy Father's Day!

Wait...fathers'? Fatherses?

Anyway. Thanks to all you dad-types out there.

Catching Up

In case my last post was too cryptic, I'm happy to say that last week I picked up my anti-nausea meds. Hallelujah. The judicious use of said meds kept me human this past weekend, during which we were busy with this:

That's Miss Charlotte, cutting a rug with Uncle Steve and her new Aunt Katy. Holy cow, did Charlotte have a great time this past weekend. She was surrounded by doting grandparents, uncles, and soon-to-be aunts (and honorary aunts, a.k.a. Mindi) who wanted nothing more than to color funny man after funny man with her, read her endless stories, and listen to her sing her own slightly fractured versions of lullabies. And to top it all off, on Saturday she got to put on a pretty dress, go to a wedding and a party, and dance her fool head off.

She was very reluctant to leave the wedding reception, and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night, if not the rest of her life, rockin' out on the dance floor with her various willing relatives. But finally Aunt Mindi, the evening's designated babysitter, tore her away from the festivities around 9:30 p.m., only to have her car stall out after driving through standing water less than a half-mile away. Yikes. Mindi, I salute you. (They made it home safely after waiting out the torrential downpour in a nearby parking lot).

We had been talking up this wedding and reception for a while to get Charlotte ready. I don't think she actually got the concept (she maintained that "we all getting married" and I didn't have the heart to tell her that Calvinists don't condone group marriage) but she sure got into the spirit. My favorite memories of the night: her ridiculous fake laughter during Jeff's best man toast; saying "I listen to Uncle Mark talking" during Mark's best man toast; her confidence on the dance floor (she walked right out onto the floor as soon as she saw other people dancing and started her bizarre head-bobbing, shoulder-shrugging jive that is her signature dance move--if only I had video!).

For a few more of the photos I took at the wedding, click on the Flickr link at right. I'll be posting more this week.

Ode to Zofran and Phenergan
(with apologies to Wm. Shakespeare)

Shall I compare thee to a normal day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough heaves did shake my stomach all of May,
And naptime’s lease had all too short a date:
Sometime too strong the stench of husband shines,
And often is his nuk’d dinner rank;
His willingness to tolerate declines,
As day by day my soul grows weak and lank;
But my eternal relief shall not fade
Nor lose possession of my stomach’s cache;
Nor shall Death brag I wander'st in his shade,
When I no longer to the toilet dash.
So long as I can eat, your eyes can see
So long live I since you gave life to me.

I think Charlotte got the memo that she's going to be a big sister, and therefore a big girl, around these parts, because she's suddenly acting like such an imaginative toddler instead of a baby.

She just walked up to me holding a little bag over her arm, and said, "Okay, I go bye-bye now!"

"Where are you going?" I responded.

"Mmm...the grocery store," she said.

"What will you get at the store?"

"Some groceries!" (Duh.)

Then a minute later I heard her murmer to herself, "Don't forget the grocery list!" She grabbed a crayon and some paper and began to "write" down her list. "Some oranges...some bananas...some yogurt." Then she put the paper in her bag and repeated the first part of our conversation.

So, how am I feeling?

Does it answer your question to know I've been googling hyperemesis gravidarum?

Yeah, not so good.

This is going to be rough.

Those of you who knew me when I was pregnant with Charlotte know I had a rough go of it the first couple of months. Severe nausea and exhaustion plagued me from week seven until at least week fourteen. I remember not being completely nausea-free until mid-January, about week sixteen.

On Friday, I was fit as a fiddle. No real pregnancy symptoms except sore boobs (sorry, guys) and a voracious appetite. Saturday morning I woke up with that distinct sensation: weird, dryish mouth, unsettled stomach, shaky all over.

Each day since then has gotten progressively worse. It's not even been a week and I'm already wishing there was some way I could bypass eating for a couple of months. Just hook me up to a feeding tube or something. Wake me up in August.

Monday, I could walk down Court Street past all the restaurants without much fear of the cooking scents making me ill. Today, the faint whiff of stir-fry from neighboring apartment sent me running for the bathroom.

And the whole world stinks. Yes, even you. Smells I never noticed before, like the overwhelmingly putrid odor of the refridgerator, are suddenly my cues to begin deep breathing and walking slowly toward the toilet. Poor Jeff eats a slice of onion for lunch, and I can't get within a yard of him later that night.

When I was pregnant with Charlotte and the nausea first set in, I had only a couple weeks of school left before the winter break. I spent almost the entire break from mid-November until mid-December lounging in bed. I had a bell to ring to summon Jeff when I felt well enough to take sustenance. He would bring me oatmeal, or popcorn, or grapefruit procured at midnight from Wal-Mart. The world was our oyster.

I remember wondering at the time how on earth I would ever manage the second time around. How would I deal with the crippling nausea and debilitating exhaustion when I had a toddler to chase around?

Well, the answer is: not well.

Jeff deserves a lot of praise already for stepping up to the extra duties required when caring for a toddler and a sick pregnant wife. Normally, he's on Charlotte duty until I get home from school. But this whole week, I've dragged myself over the threshold and made a beeline for the bed. "I just need to rest a little," I explain each time. My normal school day, which is typically pretty tiring, is now completely draining. To his credit, he hasn't complained at all. He also hasn't gotten many breaks. That might work for a week, maybe two. But eight? Or (gulp) even more, if my nausea lasts longer this time?

I haven't had my first prenatal appointment yet. I have different medical coverage this time, so I'm hoping this time I can afford to get some kind of anti-nausea miracle pill. We'll see.

Until then, if you need me, I'll be hunched over the toilet.

Man, what a week. First there were the 60 papers to grade. And lessons to plan. Essays to read. Oh, and then we're in the middle of looking for a place to live in Kansas. Ugh, what a nightmare. And Charlotte hasn't been sleeping that well. And there was something else, too...what was it? Oh, yeah:

In case you don't know what you're looking at here, this is my fridge. There's my spring schedule, up at the top. There's a cute little magnet with a martini glass on it. Oh, and there's my doctor's confirmation of my pregnancy.

Here's a close-up:

So, yep. Busy week.

By the way, what are you doing on or around January 11, 2009? Maybe...coming to my house in Kansas to do some of my laundry?

More prayers

Charlotte: Thank you for the day. Thank you for the tree. Thank you for hiding unda the tree. Thank you for having a picnic. Thank you for chocolate.

A bit later....

Charlotte: Thank you for the day. Thank you for orange juice. Thank you for beans. Thank you for Charlotte's business. Thank you for dada bald head.

Happy Mother's Day!

What better way to celebrate Mother's Day than with matching mother-daughter Hawaiian dresses?

I don't know whose brilliant idea it was that I should teach three classes this quarter, but whoever it is needs some sort of psychiatric evaluation. Oh, that's right...it was me. I clearly remember ASKING for a third class right before spring break. "The extra money will be nice," I mused. "If I teach two sections of the same course, the only extra work will be grading! No problem!"


I got my third course, another 308j (junior comp). And right now is that horrible vortex time in my syllabus that I couldn't avoid when I was putting the schedule together. I have papers from all of my classes. All 60 of my students. Forty papers on the American Dream. Twenty on consumer culture. And I need to grade all of them in the next five days.

This is depressing. How about a picture?



Ahhh, that's better. Charlotte with the poppies. Ooh, and how about a story?

Two years ago, when I was starting to become enormously pregnant, and I had a new digital camera that I wanted to take for a test drive before using it to take pictures of my newborn, I noticed a gorgeous row of poppies against a weathered fence a few blocks away. I waddled over with my camera and took a bunch of pictures, the first I took with my Nikon D70s.


Two years later, I am much more adept with my camera, and the poppies are back. I forced Charlotte to once again pose with flowers ("More tulips," she sighed, resigned). The above picture is my favorite from the set.

Prayer

Charlotte: "Thank you for mamas and dadas. Thank you for shopping things. Thank you for apples. Thank you for Berenstain Bears. Amen."

Tulip Time

Last weekend we traveled to Iowa (via Kansas City and Lawrence) to celebrate Tulip Time. This was Charlotte's first, as we were unable to travel out last year. But being almost two, this year Charlotte was really able to appreciate all the bands and "floaps" and tulips.

On Thursday, we marched in the baby parade. I was decked out in my Aunt Sylvia's old costume with my grandma's old hat (mixing provinces! For shame!). Charlotte was wearing my cousin Amy's old costume. At one time my mom and I had similar costumes in blue, but they've gone missing, apparently.

Jeff also got into the spirit, wearing a costume complete with klompen and marching along.

We had a great time visiting my family. I noticed their moods were in general perky and optimistic...perhaps related to the fact that in a few months we'll be moving just a few hours' drive away from them. :)

Transcript

10:06 PM
Scott: so, this is our first 'internet' chat big step for us
me: Is it appropriate to talk about poop? Because Charlotte took a HUGE crap in her diaper tonight.
Scott: in our family? It is a necessity
me: And we were on a walk and I didn't have an extra.
Scott: how huge?
me: Small grapefruit.
Scott: like that round? ??? Like a grapefruit?
me: Once it was compressed in her little diap, it was rotund. Globular.
Scott: dear lord
me: I had to scoop it out with paper towels and then bathe her buns in the bathroom sink. Then while I was washing my hands, she peed on the floor.
Scott: awesome
me: Then a student walked in (this was in the student center in town).
Scott: that is just awesome
me: There was a dirty diaper on the counter, a puddle of urine on the floor, and a half-clothed baby running around. Not to mention a fog of fecal smell in the bathroom so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Scott: MOTHER OF THE YEAR!
me: Speaking of which, did I tell you about how I put her in a tree to take her picture and then she fell while I was snapping away?
Scott: how could you?!?!?!
me: I managed to scoop her up and evade child protective services that time. They've been tracking me. The branch was only about a foot and a half off the ground, but seriously
Scott: that girl needs balance
me: what kind of idiotic person puts a baby in a tree and walks away? I kind of leaned her back against the trunk, and thought, "That should do it!" Next thing I know, baby on the ground.
Scott: did you tell her to sit still?
me: Yep. She's disobedient.
Scott: and did she cry?
me: Yeah, a lot. She was unscathed, but scared.
Scott: thats what she gets for disobeying. and did you give her chocolate?
me: We had no chocolate, only hot dogs.
Scott: chocolate hot dogs?
me: Now when she tells the story, she's like, "Mama and Dada eat hot dogs by the river! Charlotte fell outta da tree, BOOM!" It makes it sound like we were having a private picnic while we left our baby in the tree, precariously perched and starving for some hot dogs.
Scott: You didn't?
me: Well, I gave her a chunk of hot dog to eat while in the tree. So not exactly.

The picture above is from this past weekend, which we spent with Papa and Nana Tig. We had a great weekend, with beautiful weather despite the rain forecasted. Let's hope the same will happen during our visit to Iowa this coming week.

I hope to post more about our weekend soon, but as I have 40 student essays to grade, you might have to wait. For now, this photo of Charlotte blowing "fuzzy dandelions" with Nana will have to suffice.

Karma Chameleon

We went to an eighties party this Saturday night. At first I was worried. Where would I find a crinoline and bustle at this late hour? Then I realized they meant the 1980s, not the 1880s. No problem.

First, we got Charlotte ready.

As you can see, her ensemble is an homage to Rainbow Brite. I started off with just the hot pink leggings (barely visible here) and the tank top. But then I just started adding more and more. "Legwarmers on the arms? WHY NOT!" I bellowed. I was clearly drunk off the power of eighties fashion. What you can't see in this picture is her side ponytail. She didn't have quite enough hair to pull it off, so it's more like an off-center pony.

Then it was time for me to get ready. I pulled my cut-off jean skirt out of the bucket of bleach in which it had been soaking all day, donned my legwarmers, and then got out the most powerful weapon in my arsenal: my aerosol hairspray:

That's me on the left, with my friend Heather. What you can't see are Heather's totally awesome Bon Jovi and Warrant pins. And I'm proud to say that's all my own hair. I also do my own stunts, like dancing to HammerTime (not pictured).

Things were going really well at the party until this really creepy Astros fan showed up. We were all uncomfortable and just tried to avoid looking at him:

What's a little scary is that I had to buy things for my costume. Jeff already owned everything he's wearing above. Other parts of the wardrobe required slight modification:

That's right: Jeff has lines shaved into his hair. I'm the luckiest woman alive.

Ph.D. Fight Recap

Four doctoral programs and two alternates showed up to the ring this season. The contenders were varied, ranging from the slightly strange Salukis to the decidedly un-picturable Cornhuskers (huh?). What began as an almost certain victory for Sam, the breeches-clad Minuteman, turned into a brutal battle between the jaunty Jayhawk and bowlegged Bulldog.

Round 1: Salukis vs. Jayhawks

The first contenders in the ring were the bizzare, greyhound-like canine from Southern Illinois and the brightly hued avian fighter from Kansas. While early reports favored the Saluki for obvious reasons (he has teeth, for one), in the end the Jayhawk won out, stomping on the pooch's permed ear before finishing him off with a series of well-aimed pecks. But it was the audience's amused hooting that finally sent the bedraggled mutt from the ring in shame. Who can blame them? That's one weird-looking dog. Result: Kansas Jayhawk

Round 2: Minutemen vs. Bulldogs

While Sam the Minuteman was widely believed to be the top contender in the doctoral division, it became obvious early in the second round that the Massachusetts patriot would have more of a fight on his hands than he had anticipated. The first blow to the buckle-shoed biped was the removal of his weaponry--no guns in the ring, house rules. Without his trusty musket, Sam was left with only his fists to protect him, and those puny defenses proved less than worthy against the snarling, salivating "Dawg" from Georgia. Result: Georgia Bulldog

On the Sidelines: Cornhuskers vs. Boilermakers

It's worth mentioning our two alternates before moving on to the final round. Though neither fighter made it into actual competition due to lack of funding, both the Nebraska seedcorn farmer and the Purdue mixed drink/steel craftsman warranted serious attention. Though many would likely weigh the match in favor of the steel-wielding, muscle-bound worker from Indiana, analysts felt the strapping, corn-fed Husker would prove a difficult opponent. Sadly, we'll never know the result of this match-up. Result: Unknown

Round 3: Bulldogs vs. Jayhawks

Not many foresaw these two fighters facing off in the final round here at Tig Arena. Certainly the stocky southern Dawg, a late addition to the tournament, and the cartoonish Hawk weren't favored early on, but their constant efforts to train for the match demonstrated their commitment to the cause. The fight was down to the wire, the Dawg occasionally gaining ground before being bested once again by the blue bird's brilliant beak. At times it was difficult to see what was going on, let alone predict an outcome: the ring was a mess of blue and red feathers, scraps of crimson t-shirt and bits of buff fur. But as the air cleared, the Dawg lay exhausted, panting and henpecked. The Kansas Jayhawk was lightly chewed but victorious. Result: Kansas Jayhawk

April 15

April 15 is not just tax day--it's also decision day for Ph.D. applicants.

So, wondering where I'll be going to grad school? Click here to find out.

More later.

Some recent Charlotte-isms:

While running around in her bedroom before bed:
"Charlotte is busy."
"Kitty lives in the office."
"Charlotte has a diaper...cover her business."
"Mama did a turtle yesterday...big, big turtle.*"
"Remember Meisha ate the cups? No, no, Meisha."

The recent trend for Charlotte is to add her favorite words to a sentence: anymore, already, all by myself (all by-self), tomorrow/pretty soon, yesterday. Sometimes these modifications won't make sense, as in "Tomorrow Charlotte saw a kitty already!" But other times she's right on, as in: "Charlotte go up-a stairs all by-self."

She has an amazing memory for certain things that have made a strong impression upon her (see the quote above re: Meisha and the cups). She'll bring up things from months ago (lately she's been asking to go see the dolphins at the aquarium, from our Chicago trip in early February), recalling a surprising amount of detail.

She knows our family members and friends by name from meetings with them, but also from another of her favorite activities: watching the slideshow screensaver on my computer. It can keep her occupied for several minutes, and she'll often run a commentary whilst watching. "Oh, there's baby Charlotte! There's Uncle Awesome! Papa read a book to Charlotte! There's mama and Charlotte! Ooh, funny Nana! Uncle Mark and Aunt Katie (whose engagement photos are among Charlotte's favorites)! Charlotte and Aunt Mindi watching dolphins! Uncle Steve and Charlotte in-a swing!"

She makes up little songs to describe her current or anticipated activities, as though living in a musical. In a little sing-songy voice, she'll sing "mama gett-a Charlotte in-a morning...go downstairs...eat-a breakfast." It's rather sweet.

Every night before bed we say a little prayer, and then I say "Now we'll cuddle and Mama will sing to you, and then Charlotte will fall asleep and sleep all night in her own bed, until the morning when mama comes to get you." This is as much a prayer (a hopeful, wishful prayer), but it's also become a kind of litany that she repeats to herself in a content little whisper.

Pictures coming soon. Spring has sprung and we were out enjoying it yesterday and today, with photographic evidence.

*Not true. It was a moderately sized turtle.

Dear New Neighbor,

Welcome! When our long-time neighbor moved out, a nice single man in his 60s, we wondered who would take his place. So when your UHaul showed up last week, backed up onto our lawn (oops! I'm sure that was an accident!) and you and your friends began unloading, I started spying. I did so under the premise that my baby wanted to look at the "huge truck," but in reality I was scoping you out. Hope you don't mind! Anyway, you have some nice stuff. I also noticed you have a kid, or at least the trappings of a child, maybe even two. Siderail for a kid's bed, various children's toys, etc. "How nice!" I thought. "Perhaps a new friend for Charlotte!"

So, anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. I just have a couple of questions:

1. Why so stompy? Are you sending us some sort of coded message? Are you spelling out "I need a babysitter" in morse code as you clomp up and down your stairs in what seems like an endless cycle of climb and descent? Or maybe, "Send me takeout?" Because I can tell you are frustrated with cooking, which leads me to

2. Why so slammy? I have a secret for you: the cabinet doors and drawers will stay closed even if you don't slam them shut. I KNOW! It takes some people years to find this out, but because I care about you, new neighbor, I wanted you to know right away. Also, pans will stay on the stove even if you don't bang them down onto the burners. It's called gravity!

3. Why is your child still up so late at night? I hear him, shrieking and carrying on at all hours. Perhaps, new neighbor, he's acting out because he's tired because he never sleeps! I especially enjoy hearing him clatter about in his bedroom as I'm trying to put our own daughter to bed at the relatively normal baby-sleeping time of 8 p.m. Fun, fun times! Thanks, new neighbor!

Well, just wanted to welcome you, and let you know how happy I am we're moving out this summer...I mean, how happy I am to have you next door! Really, really happy! WELCOME!

Hugs and kisses,

Your friend next door

This morning, when I went to get Charlotte out of her bed, she was repeating to herself, "No more mama in Columbus. No more mama on a plane anymore. No more mama in Columbus, etc." I think she's glad I'm home.

Me, too.

I used to love flying. Since I didn't take my first flight until I was in high school, it had, by that time, come to represent something exotic and elusive, some kind of fancy big-city thing that other people did, but not me. It says something about the amount of flying I've done since then that I can't remember exactly what my first flight was--it was either to Colorado with my family for vacation, or to San Diego for a church convention. What I do remember is the feeling that most of us have experienced: the slow, plodding movements of the airplane as it taxies to the runway, followed by that unbelievable, rattling, rushing burst of speed. And then the moment of lift-off, a sudden, nearly imperceptable lightness of being.

Following that first flight (whenever it was), I was hooked. I wanted to fly everywhere, whether I needed to be there or not. I even remember researching the role of an air courier, but nothing came of that. I was, alas, on a college student's budget, so my dreams of ceaseless flight were not to be. But I made up in distance what I lacked in frequency, flying to Honduras, the Philippines (oh, the agony of the trans-Pacific flight!), England (twice) and California (twice, too) during my college years. And after college I flew a few times as well--to Seattle, from San Francisco (days after September 11), to and from Ireland, New York City.

I remember details from flights. My first big trip, over to England to visit Jeff when he was studying in Oxford, had the drama of a passenger fainting mid-flight. The "whump" of his belly-flop onto the carpeted aisle woke me from an already troubled sleep. He was fine, but the wheeled out the O2 tanks, just in case. I didn't sleep after that.

The flight to the Philippines was epic. Chicago to San Francisco, then San Fran to Taipei, then finally to Manila. Over 20 hours total. At one point I bargained with my seatmates in the five-seat center-plane section to allow me to lay on the floor under our seats. "You can put your feet on me. I don't care. I just need to lay prone," I begged. It didn't help much, since I was just a little too tall. I could choose which portion of my anatomy would be whacked by the passing drinks cart: top of my head, or my feet.

I spent much of the return flight devouring an enormous package of dried mango I'd purchased in the airport in Manila, not really thinking about the effects such mass quantities of dried fruit would have on my digestive system. Fortunately, I wasn't bothered by the return of the mango until we landed.

The flight from San Francisco on September 17, 2001 was strange. We had originally been scheduled to fly out on the 14th; fortunately my cousin Lisa and her husband, who lived in the Bay Area, were kind enough to let us stay with them when our free trip accomodations ran out. When our flight was finally rescheduled, the line to get through security wrapped around the check-in area. But no one cared. Everyone was respectful, quiet, reverent. People made eye contact and smiled just a little. On the airplane, the captain made a brief announcement before taking off, encouraging us to turn to our seatmates and introduce ourselves. I felt like I was in church.

No matter the flight or the destination, I loved the whole experience. I loved checking my bags, scanning my carry-ons, buying airport coffee, walking through the terminals. I loved the little plastic cups for beverages, the in-flight movies, even the in-flight magazines. I especially loved when we touched down, knowing I had covered such distance and was now someplace new, where no one knew me. An adventure awaited.

But somewhere along the line, that changed. Really, it's not that vague--I know exactly when it changed.

The first flight I took after I found out I was going to be a mother was in March 2006, from Columbus to Des Moines to visit my family in Iowa. I was almost seven months pregnant, just large enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite big enough that people knew I was gestating. Something was different on that flight. All the ingredients were in place: the bustling terminal, the airport bookstores, the jostling acceleration of the plane. But something else was in place, too: Charlotte.

I suddenly became one of those sitcom characters who grip the armrests, close their eyes, and wish away the flop sweat. My heart began racing when the plane began taxiing, and didn't stop until I deplaned. Charlotte flipped and swirled and kicked in my belly, and I had Braxton-Hicks contractions more fierce and un-ignorable than before. On the flight back, I swear she rotated from head-up to -down. Something dramatic happened, anyway--and boy, was I uncomfortable.

Then there was the first flight after Charlotte made her out-of-womb debut, again from Columbus to Des Moines, this time for my cousin's wedding. Jeff and I were the classic fumbling new parents. Underestimating the time it would take us to get ourselves plus a suckling infant into the car, to the airport, parked, checked in, and through security, we managed to miss our plane. That caused us to miss our connection in Chicago, putting us in Des Moines hours after our original arrival time. Charlotte didn't care, and was fantastic the entire flight. She was more than happy to nurse on every take-off and landing ("What's this? A nipple? Again? Why, certainly!") to help pop her ears. But I was a mess. Every little bump and shift of the plane convinced me we were doomed. We landed safely, but I had a tension headache for days.

Just weeks after that flight, I came home from school and listened to a strange-sounding message on the answering machine from my mom. She wanted me to call her at work. Before I did that, I went upstairs to change clothes, telling Jeff how weird it was that my mom wanted me to call her at the library in the middle of the day. Jeff told me on the stairs: "Carrie called this morning. Leslie Van Hemert died last night."

When my friend Leslie Van Hemert O'Bannon died in a small plane crash in Indiana, she left behind her husband, John, and their baby daughter, Ellie. That horrible, tragic accident cemented my perhaps fears: flying was dangerous. And now that I had someone other than myself to live for, someone counting on me for so many reasons, I wasn't interested in any danger.

Tomorrow I fly to Kansas to visit the university--by myself. I have never slept a night without Charlotte within a fifteen-foot radius. The longest I have been apart from her is probably eight hours. It goes without saying that I am nervous and worried. When I put Charlotte to bed tonight, I spent several minutes just rocking her after she fell asleep. It still takes a while to persuade her to sleep, but when she finally drops off, you know. Her round little face smooshes up against my shoulder. Her hand holding the stuffed animal du jour relaxes. Her chubby legs stop fidgeting and just rest.

I think that's what I'll imagine if I get nervous on the flight: that compact, rounded form, those softly closed eyes and slightly open mouth, the sweet curling blonde hair. I think holding her is actually the closest I've gotten to flying.

New Charlotte Video

Lest you think things are always puppy dogs and rainbows in our house, here's video evidence of the anarchy that lurks just beneath the surface: Charlotte LOVES Chocolate.

So my dad "tagged" me to post six weird things about myself. Let's see...

1. I have to sleep with two pillows--one under my head, and one to grasp in a firm, yet not unaffectionate, embrace. In hotels with only a single pillow, I sometimes have to make do with a balled up sweater.

2. I have vivid dreams, and I almost always remember them, and remember most of the details about them. And then I bore my husband by telling him all about them.

3. I have an excellent memory for song lyrics. I only have to hear a song once or twice before I'll know most of the words. It appears Charlotte is inheriting this talent, as she is already able to sing many of her favorite songs verbatim (albeit in slightly adapted baby-talk).

4. I used to have only two foods/food groups I hated: melon (such as cantalope or honeydew) and bell peppers (any color). But after I had Charlotte, my aversion to these foods subsided. I have both cantalope and red bells in my fridge as I type.

5. I get into a zone when I read. If you try to talk to me while I'm reading, I probably won't hear you. This drives Jeff crazy.

6. I'm terrible at remembering names. I've tried all the tricks those books suggest, but inevitably I will forget your name within seconds of meeting you. Then I'll either figure it out later on my own, or go through life too embarrassed to admit that I can't remember your name. This makes introductions terrible. Usually, I'll just say, "This is my husband, Jeff," and hope you'll introduce yourself. So that I can forget your name again in thirty seconds.

Okay, Scott. Your turn. And how about you, Mark?

Happy Easter!

Um...

Tonight, when I was making dinner, Charlotte came up to me, expressing her hunger.

"Mama, soooo hung-ee," she repeated several times.

I reassured her that I was getting dinner ready. Then she looked at me seriously, and said,
"Charlotte hung-ee. Hung-ee in the BOOBS."

Wow, that's pretty hungry. Her hunger had surpassed her stomach and moved on to her chest.

I swear, I don't know where she gets half this stuff. Hungry in the boobs? I can guarantee that phrase has never passed through my lips, or Jeff's. Or anyone's for that matter. Who says that? Bizarre.

Charlotte is very generous. A few days ago, she was eating dried cherries when she spotted the moon in the sky. "Here ya go, moon," she said, extending her hand. "Wanna some cherries?"

And just now she offered the bouquet of flowers on the counter a bite of her oatmeal. Then she said, "Silly baby Charlotte give-a oatmeal to flowers!" At least she gets that it's silly to offer inanimate objects foodstuffs.

Things are slowly getting back to normal around here. I have now heard back from every school, so no more waiting and stalking the mailbox. After more than a week, I think I have finally kicked this terrible bug. And today Charlotte seems to feel much better, too. And yesterday I had exams for both of my classes, so now all I need to do is finish grading and file my grades, and I can wash the dust of the winter quarter off my boots. Ahhhh.

I hope you are all doing well, too.

Oh, man. The flu...it was bad. I think I might have been a little stressed out anyway, because it hit me like a ton of bricks. I started feeling a little squiffy on Saturday. By Sunday, it was in full force. And today (Friday) is the first day I've felt almost entirely okay. I still have a hacking cough, and my appetite's not quite what it was (voracious), but I feel like I woke up on this side of the grave, and that's an improvement.

Compare that to this: Jeff and Charlotte both got the bug, too. For them, it was a 24-hour flu. Time-table: Good morning, mama! I feel a bit fevered. Ooh, now it's mid-day, and I'm definitely sick. I think I'll take an extra-long nap. That's nice. Now I'm still a bit tetchy and fractious this evening, but nothing a dose of Tylenol won't cure. See you in the morning, when I'll be fresh as a daisy! And, the end. Flu over. What?! Totally unfair. I had lots of work to do this week, and no energy to do it. What did Charlotte have to do? Busy important coloring tasks and diaper-filling. Completely unjust!

Anyway, I'm back. I have lots of things to catch up on, including paper grading and planning my courses for next quarter. But today was the last day of classes for this quarter, so I have two weeks of class-free excitement to look forward to. What shall I do with my freedom? I think I'll deep-clean my filthy house.

We will also spend part of my spring break visiting Amherst, Massachusetts, a place I've never seen but might be living for the next four years. I don't want to leap into this blindly, so we're gonna check it out. And after that I go visit Lawrence, Kansas. Now, I just read an article about a woman in Kansas who hadn't left her bathroom in two years. Her skin grew over the toilet seat. (!!!) People, this kind of thing is not my cup of tea. Please make sure there will be no toilet-confined people about when I visit. Thank you.

I only have one school to hear back from: Iowa. What's up, Iowa? Get it in gear! Today I got an acceptance from Nebraska, via the website, so not very informative. Here's where I stand:

Yep: UMass, Georgia, Kansas, Southern Illinois, Nebraska, Purdue (with no funding)
Waitlisted: Ohio, Loyola
Nope: Minnesota, Indiana, Washington, Colorado
Still waiting: Iowa

Looking at that list, I have to say I feel very fortunate. I got into more schools than not, which is a pretty fabulous ratio at this level. Even though I was very, very disappointed about the top three rejections, I am so happy to have options. But having options means I have to make decisions. And having to make difficult decisions stresses me out. Did I mention I had the flu for a week? Yeah. I rest my case.

I'll be back soon with a little Charlotte TLC, plus an update on how she's turning into a whiny toddler and it's terrifying! TERRIFYING!

The Flu

I got it. The flu. Senor Influenza. Young Master Lethargy. Dominie Van Shivers. Etc.

Looks like Miss C and Jeff might be coming down with it, too.

Bleaaarrgh.

This has been a rough week. I got three rejections, from my top three programs: Minnesota, Washington U St. Louis, and Indiana. Monday, Tuesday, and five minutes ago.

I also got an acceptance to Purdue, but without funding. So, if we're using our wrestling ring metaphor, that's like a legless Boilermaker, I guess? In other words, no dice. Sorry, Boilermakers.

So it's down to this:

In: UMass-Amherst, Kansas, Georgia, Southern Illinois, Purdue (no $$)
Out: Minn, WashU, Indiana
Still Waiting: Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Loyola

Jana: Charlotte, time for bed! Go give dada a kiss!
Charlotte: NOOOOO!
Jana: Yep, give dada a kiss.
Charlotte: No! I kiss a-hug dada inna minute!