First Day of School

Monday marked my first day of school. My 18th first day of school, and my first in seven years. Sam took this picture to commemorate the occasion, and after taking it, he said "I think you'll like this one." In actuality, it's not my favorite. I think I look really tired, but maybe that means it's a good picture because it's accurate.

The report on school is that I have one graduate level class that meets once a week, and I think it's going to be ok. I have to do field work (observing in a school) and a group presentation, but I should be able to finish both before the baby comes. There are also four papers, which my teacher said I can hand in early, and tons of reading. Basically, I think I'll have a busy two months before this baby comes, and then I can just wing it, hopefully missing very few classes. The point is, I'm so excited to be doing this, and my professor seemed rather helpful in making sure I succeed this semester.

The other interesting thing is the shift in responsibilities occurring in our family as I take on this new role of student. Because I was required to take 4.5 credits to receive financial aid, I decided to take two one-credit classes rather than committing to another graduate level class. I'm taking a yoga class and a meditation class, which I am so happy about, but it means that my schedule worked out for me to be on campus five days a week. Add to that the multiple doctors appointments I've been having (seeing the midwives every two weeks now, acupuncture, and multiple trips to the lab), and I feel like I've been away from home a ton lately. I have always been vehemently opposed to referring to Sam as a "babysitter" when I'm away, but the truth of the matter is that I have been Bria's primary caregiver for the last 1,950 days. Sam works really hard, and lately he has been working weekends and double shifts to bank some time to take off when the baby comes, and here I am waltzing off to school, which twice a week will just mean meditation. I am experiencing some guilt. Sam assures me it is completely irrational to feel that way, but right now it is my truth. I have to imagine this will get worse as I eventually take more classes and then as I choose to work full-time rather than stay home full-time. This guilt and conflict about wanting to nourish my soul but feeling this cultural pressure to be with my children constantly has plagued me since before I even felt the flutters of Bria's first kicks.

On Monday Sam and Bria accompanied me up to campus to get a quick look around before I went to class. We sat in the student center eating a late lunch, and Sam just gushed about how excited he is for me. It almost felt anticlimactic at that point. For years I wanted to find a path to follow (I considered so many different ones), and I finally, finally, committed to one. Then I applied and cried and stressed about creating the best application and worrying what I would do if I didn't get it. But ever since I was accepted, I have been so consumed in preparing for this little boy, there has been hardly any room for excitement. But here I am starting grad school. It's real. It's happening.

Here we go.

Logistics: part one of a billion

It's good I'm starting to think about at least writing about starting school. Because it made me realize that there are probably some things I need to figure out. Like financial aid, and my immunization record, and I don't know-- stuff, etc.
Here are a couple things I have done in preparation.

1) The very first thing I did when I was accepted was contact the school and explain my situation. I asked if there was any possibility of taking time off from the program, and luckily, they have been very accommodating. I have five years to complete the program, so I can pace myself however I need. My current plan is to take one class this fall, take the spring semester off, then resume next summer or fall. In April I'll evaluate when I want to head back.

2) We moved from Alexandria to Fairfax. Since Sam works in Maryland, we figured at least one person in our family should live by where they go all the time. His commute stayed the same, and I now live 5 minutes from school instead of 40. There is also a city bus I can take to campus so I don't have to worry about a parking pass. And on ambitious days, I'll walk. And when I'm not hugely pregnant, I'll ride a bike! (Note to self: buy a bike.)

3) All of the classes in my program are night classes. That would be convenient if Sam didn't work nights. The one class I am taking meets only once a week, so the current plan is for Sam to go into work late on that one night so we don't need to hire a babysitter. I feel really lucky that this is the case, and I know we might not always be so lucky as I start taking more classes in the future. Also, part of my program will include student teaching, which means this baby boy is going to need full-time care at some point (unless Sam is still working nights). Clearly, there are a lot of variables, so I'm trying to not worry that far down the road.

4) The big question is what will happen when the baby comes. I am due November 7th, the last day of classes is December 7th, and my final exam is scheduled for December 16th. Luckily we've got Thanksgiving in there too. It's in the works for either my mom or one of my three sisters to be here from the time I have the baby until the semester ends. Some of the specific details will need to get worked out once I have an idea of what the class will be like. I'm hoping this baby arrives late like his sister. (Can I put in a request for the 19th?)

My Life is a Science Experiment

When you don't blog for five months, you should have an excuse, though I am often a terrible blogger with no reason. I guess I could say I have had stuff going on because there is finally going to be a tiny baby joining our family in November, and those first three months were an absolute hell of nausea and migraines. Also, we just moved this weekend, which almost killed me. Moving is so much work. But the real reason I haven't really blogged is because I haven't known how I wanted blogging to function for me. When I applied to grad school (oh yes, and I also got in to grad school! What can I say? I don't like to make only one major life change at once.) I tried to find blogs or articles or anything online about young moms going to grad school, having a baby in grad school, and what that entailed to avoid complete and utter failure. I had a really hard time finding anything-- except maybe someone saying they did that in retrospect-- so I decided I might start blogging about how I'm figuring all of that out. Not because I think I am going to be some expert, but just because I think the information should be out there. I feel like this is a major experiment, and it's a good idea to record my findings.

So, starting in September I will have a daughter in Kindergarten, I will be starting grad school, and I will be seven months pregnant. Here we go!

colors on our water hearts

(Some days you just need to write, you know?) I left the house this morning at 9:00 to drop off B at school then head directly to drop off the last of my application to grad school (!), then to another campus for the class I'm taking, then off to pick up B from school, drop her at home, over to a friend's house to help her plan for an extended hospital stay, pick up B from home and eat lunch (even though it was 3:45), off to a park to meet a different friend, and straight off to meet another friend-in-need for pizza and girl talk while our daughters play. Home late, rush B off to bed, and now just a moment to breathe.
If I look back to three years ago when we had just lived here a few months, I would be astounded at how full my life looked today. I was so overwhelmingly lonely back then and wondered if I would ever make any lasting friendships. (I'm nothing if not dramatic.) A few months ago I realized this was the first time in my adult life I could say I wasn't lonely, but I've realized that it takes a lot of energy to maintain friendships, and I am happy to expend it. I wanted my life to be full of people, and it's starting to be that way.
The point of this whole long introduction, though, is to say when you open your heart to relationships, it can be sad, because people you love experience pain. I have someone very close to me who has shut her heart off because she doesn't want to feel sad when those close to her experience pain. I think that is a very sad way to live (and it has caused me a great deal of pain trying to be close to this person). Today I had heavy boots thinking of all the people in my life who are suffering in some way. Today alone I spoke with three very dear friends about very traumatic things happening in their lives. It makes my heart hurt. But I really think that's what life is: forging these personal bonds where we care for and love each other, feeling each other's pain and finding ways to provide strength and comfort. There is so much-- too much-- sadness and pain in this world. The least we can do is link our hearts and feel it together. Does the pain act like food coloring dropped into hearts made of water? The more hearts we can add to feel the pain together, the more the pain is diluted?

Off to a Good Start

We have a little hand-written sign on our front door that says "No Waiting!" It was written over a year ago to remind me and Sam to take control and create the lives we wanted. No more waiting around for stuff to fall in our laps. People often ask about that little sign, and I always forget it's still there, so I chuckle, give the brief explanation, and then think about taking it down. After last year I felt like life was laughing a bit at us: "you think you can try to make things go your way? mua ha ha." So maybe I was a bit jaded. But, actually, the truth is 2012 was just life. It was awful, but it wasn't insane or unfair. Sure, I started wondering if I was cursed, but, if I'm honest, I know there will be years in my future that rival and probably beat 2012 in levels of horribleness. And I need to be ok with that so I can handle it a little better than I handled 2012.

Anyway.

I am going to re-embrace that little mantra. No waiting! I still think it's a good one. And one of the first things I did this year was enroll in a class at the community college. It's a world literature course, and I'm a little excited. Nervous to be back in the classroom (what if I forget how to be a student?). Worried because I never felt like I had the best study skills to begin with. Happy because I'm taking a step on a path.

The next, most important thing I need to do is find a study group, right? 

maybe it just sags

Today I said something to Sam I never thought I would say:

"I hate cooking."

One year ago I was mourning my decision to not attend culinary school. During fall 2011, Sam and I took a trip to NYC to visit culinary schools-- the French Culinary Institute and the Institute of Culinary Education, specifically. These two seemed like the best options, and I even got to sit in on a five hour class at FCI. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I observed (and helped a little!) as the classes made duck confit, macedoine salad, salade nicoise, tartes aux pommes, pear frangipan, gravlax . . . truly amazing and beautiful dishes. (I ate so much that night!) When I stood in those kitchens, I could see a very clear vision of myself there. The pieces of my heart snapped into place like a puzzle. The rest of the weekend Sam and I talked and talked and talked about how we could make it work: living in New York City, having more kids, paying for school, etc. Figuring out logistics isn't my strong suit, but I really felt like we could make it work. With my writing background, I was hoping to enter into a career in food media when I finished school, and I felt like I was taking the first step to living my dream.

Within just a few weeks of returning home, Sam's career took a huge jump when he was offered a position as head editor on a new show. This was everything he had been working for since we moved to DC, and we knew we couldn't jump ship right when things were on the upswing for him. So we decided to stay. I thought maybe this meant I would just put culinary school off for another two or three years. It would be fun. We'd have another baby, I would find ways to gain culinary experience without school-- the plan was still in motion. And it continued for a while. Sam started his show, I got pregnant, and then there were a couple bumps.

I don't know what happened, but somehow, after miscarrying, I stopped caring about food. I kept telling myself it was part of the grieving process that I just didn't feel up for cooking dinner. But it dragged on for weeks and then months. I'd convince myself to dive back in and I would buy lots of groceries with new recipes in hand, but the food would always go bad before I could bring myself to use it. There was one night a few months ago I was having a rough day, but I knew we couldn't stand another night of pizza or quesadillas, so I made a real, home-cooked dinner. And it was amazing. It wasn't complicated or fancy (I think it was stir fry), but it felt so good to get back in the kitchen-- chopping, sauteing, stirring. I thought I was back. But it was a one-time thing. And it leads up to today. When I finally said the words out loud. I hate cooking.

Okay. But I don't really think I hate cooking. I mean I certainly still love food so much. But here's the thing: 2012 was a year of disillusionment. I know this is a dramatic thing to say, but my dreams got a little crushed. And while I'm not writing Sam's story, I can say that his soul got a little crushed at work. We've had a lot of long talks about dreams, careers, and combining the two-- whether that's wise or not. I still haven't made up my mind, probably because I think it just depends on the person and depends on the dream. But I can say cooking will always be a hobby for me-- except that it just stirs at painful memories right now. I've developed a different plan for my life that has nothing to do with food, and I'm hoping that by removing the pressure I'll be able to find myself in the kitchen again.

Good Riddance

I still haven't decided what to do about blog pictures, which is why I haven't written anything lately. Clearly I think too much about everything. But it's the last of this wretched year, so let's kick it out the door, okay? I don't want to dwell on negativity, but I am so, so ready to say good bye to this year.
This year brought us a miscarriage, 3 car accidents, Sam quitting his job, cockroaches!, and lots of other drama. 2012 kicked. my. trash. I usually have a laundry list of resolutions each January: exercise every day! make my bed every day! visit a new museum every week! never complain! start volunteering! This year, I am keeping things simple. I am going to get back to work. I've felt so worn down to the core by everything going on this year, that I've noticed I let a lot of things slip. I want to work harder at life and live more deliberately. Fight back at whatever life continues to throw at me.

Even still, with all that junk 2012 gave me, there was tons of good too. I visited family in Texas and Utah. I visited friends in Wisconsin. I ran a half marathon! I made a lot of new, great friends. I feel so lucky to have my little family of three. I feel lucky to be a mom at all, and I think I have become a kinder and more patient mom.

I'm not going to lie, it makes me really nervous to say I am excited for 2013 (because look where that got me last year!!), but I will say I am ready. So let's (finally!!) look at this picture of my holding a spatchcocked turkey spine. I think this picture is a pretty good descriptor of how I feel about the coming year. Cautiously optimistic/excited about what could be horrific but also maybe awesome?