I'm a book mutt

Today, I was asked what kinds of books I read.  Every once in a while, I get this question in some form; it's pretty much a given in a job interview any more.  What do you like to read? also basically equals What have you read lately? as well as What are you reading right now?  I've been thinking about it a little bit tonight because I don't feel that I have a concrete answer to give, something definite by which to define my reading preferences.  And I decided that I'm essentially a book mutt (or a Heinz 57 reader, take your pick) who dabbles in a little of everything and effectively defies labels.  Rage against the pigeonholing machine!  I jest...I'm down for labels because they're ever so nice and tidy.  I'm just too all over the map for that, I guess.

Here's the skinny on my book life: I'm a decided philanderer, blatantly unable to commit to a monogamous relationship with any grouping for very long. 

Here's the embarrassing skinny on my book life: People think I read more than I do.  People (I'm nodding at you, Aunt Janet) think I'm an inveterate bookworm.  Yet in the ranking of my current hobbies, "reading" is probably about 3rd or maybe even an alarming 4th on my list.  One syllable reason: kids.  They're so malleable, you can blame 'em for everything.  (Thunder thighs?  Kids!  High blood pressure?  Kids!  Ugly stain on the front of your shirt?  Me Kids!)  However, in this case, it's really true.  I can bake and pick tomatoes while the girls are awake and engaging in their crazy, but I can't read.  It's delegated to a few stolen moments here and there, usually bookends on my day.  BY THE WAY, what in the world has happened to me?  Over the summer when little bean would politely ask for some mama love around, say, 5 AM, I started to just stay up and read after finishing my little 20-minute routine with her.  Big A knows that she can't get up "until there's a 6 on the left" (firm rule), so I started to create a few minutes for me, myself, and my cats in the morning (they can be pretty demanding for some mama love, too).  One cup of bitter, dark coffee (I've come to adore this stuff at this time of morning, and not just for the caffeine), a book, a favorite blanket, maybe some toast, a recliner, a purring soundtrack...my way to start a morning.  And even when I find myself falling asleep tired, I'm still making some reading in bed part of my wind-down routine, and that's just super, too. 

Now I've typed and typed and still haven't really addressed the issue at stake.  I like a little bit of everything.  I've been drawn to non-fiction more and more recently, perhaps in the last couple of years especially.  I'm pretty much always down for some tame romance (Nicholas Sparks has a place in my to-read list upon occasion--you know what you're going to get every time).  I definitely still revel in the classics once in a while, but I have to be in the right frame of mind and I have to have the right "busyness" plateau in order to read these; if I only get to read for 10-15 minutes at a stretch, intermittently, then I know I'm doing myself a disservice in reading David Copperfield.  So to that extent, picking a book from this group is like choosing a special dessert--you don't do it every day and revel in it when you do.  (Reading as dessert?  What's in my Kool-aid?  Well, reading Edith Wharton is seductive.  French pastry seductive.  Perfectly brewed cup of tea in delicate, fine china seductive.  Her work is dessert.)  Perhaps it would be easier to say what I don't read, and really, if there's a catchy cover, I get sucked in with the best of 'em.  I don't read sci-fi--tried it once for the boy in high school and politely abstain.  I don't read horror--again, I'll pass.  I don't read Amish lit.--actually, this is one of the biggest growing markets in romance literature.  And...that's about it that I can think of.

This is a list of what I've read recently (since the beginning of the summer, or so) including the two audio-books that listened to in my teaching commutes.  I've been around the block a little in different genres, so it seems like a concise little snapshot here.
*Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
*Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kealing
*Out of the Easy by Ruta Sepetys
*Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver
*Confessions of a Shopaholic & Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella (which I also just checked out Wedding Night by Kinsella while at the library today...clearly, I have this new thing for her writing though I didn't even realize until right this minute that I have/will have gone through 3 of her books since June)
*The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach
*Dinner: A Love Story by Jenny Rosenstrach
*Maya's Notebook by Isabel Allende (gush, gush, gush)

A little pop lit, a little non-fiction, a little chick lit, a little YA (though I pretty heartily disagree that Out of the Easy should/would ever be classified as YA), a little bit of whatever.  I often choose what to read based on either recommendations from friends or else what has the sweet cover on the NEW bookshelf in the library.  It's fairly haphazard and sometimes accidental, like when I find myself stuck with nothing to read at 9:30 on a weekday and have to actually (gasp) raid my own bookshelf.  Unfortunately, my bookshelf is half populated with the boy's sci-fi blah and complete sets of textbooks (which for an English major = novels) from classes like Native American literature and Chaucer.  I've been known to pick up my Complete Works of Shakespeare and find a play that I hadn't read before in a pinch.  It's been a while, but I've done it.  AND ENJOYED IT.  There's a time and a place for everything, and I enjoy me some Bard once in a while.

According to chicklitbooks.com (how's that for a professional source?), "chick lit" is "smart, fun fiction for and/or about women of all ages. Story lines often revolve around jobs, children, motherhood, romance, fame, living in the ‘big city’, friendship, dieting and much more, usually with a touch of humor thrown in. Many of these books are written from a first-person viewpoint, making them a bit more personal and realistic. The plots can range from being very light and fast-paced to being extraordinarily deep, thought-provoking and/or moving."

Finding a definition for "pop lit" proves to be a little more difficult (in that it's not in the first handful of hits when I threw it into a search engine).  Goodreads offers the "best"  definition in a manner of speaking in providing a list of some examples: The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo series, Memoirs of a Geisha, Angels & Demons, and Water for Elephants are all on that list.  While these are all well stories, I'm sure, I have no doubt that they will ever enter the ephemeral, illusive canon of literature...the "IT" crowd used on high school and college syllabi everywhere.  

And that, my friends (especially you, friend who asked me, if you've made it this far!), is the reading saga of a book mutt.

Audio Book Candy

This title kind of strikes me as a name for a band.  If I were in the band, there would be a bassoon featured prominently (hey, did you know that I used to moonlight as the 2nd chair bassoonist in the orchestra at my college?). 

I'm sacrificing achy wrists to write this tonight.  I feel that strongly about blogging.  (Tear.)  Not really.  Instead, I wanted to throw this down and get it out of my head, and I wanted to do something else for a few minutes other than the grading that I had been working on.  AND, I have Pandora on, and sometimes when I get groovy with that, I don't want to stop.  Imagine me grooving with achy wrists. 

I just completed my first 5-week session as an adjunct with a new university.  For this session, I've been driving about 2 hours each way, which is pretty ludicrous for a couple of reasons. 
***There's a satellite campus literally 2 miles from my house. 
***I told "them" during the interview process that I wouldn't drive farther than 45 minutes from my house. 
***the class runs from 6-10 at night, which puts me home a few ticks shy  of midnight and it requires the boy to rush home as soon as he can so that we can high five in the entryway as I leave immediately. 

But there were also some compelling reasons to agree to teach this course. 
***The boy wasn't back at school yet/didn't have students yet for the first 3 weeks of this course, which seemed easier somehow.
***The boy encouraged me to do it.  And, you know, I'm a sucker for him and his wheedling ways.
***I get compensated for mileage & meals.  This literally added an additional $300+ to what I am getting paid once you take what I am getting reimbursed for gas - the measly 20 gallons of gas it (Whoa...sorry...I lost my train of thought.  A good song came on & I started jamming.)  took for me to make the roundtrip 5 times.  Hybrids rock.  Like, a lot.  Irony: we actually bought this particular car with the mindset that the boy was going to begin his grad studies and was going to have to drive an hour each way because of program availability and that we were going to make the money back pretty quickly with that factored in.  We did the math.  Instead, it's always been my car since we bought it (again, we did the math and figured who drives the most...curses, mommy chauffeuring duties), and I'm the one who's using it to drive extensive amounts. 

Alllll of this is to say that I have been driving a lot lately.  And that has led me to explore the audio book section of the library, a place I only hit up once before, pre kids, when we did something as foolish as take a vacation.  Then, Harry Potter helped us cross the interminable Ohio/Pennsylvannia wilderness.  Now, I hit up a saucy little chic lit action, which literally took me 1 1/2 trips to complete.  It was shorter than I realized it would be.  And I'm glad that I listened to that one by myself.  It wouldn't have been a problem to watch it as a movie with the boy, but the descriptive passages can be much more direct than a visual passage and blush worthy.  Still it was quick and made the time FLY. 

My second foray into audio books this month is Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behavior.  I don't classify myself as a Kingsolver groupie, by any stretch of the imagination.  I have friends who are, and I don't share their zeal for The Poisonwood Bible among her other works.  Perhaps its because I'm listening to this and the voices are "alive" to me that way (the author's reading the text as well...interesting), but I'm digging this one.  I'm also on the last CD, so I'm going to have to find another book to pop in the old car's sound system.  But bless the boy for suggesting I do this cause it has literally taken the 3 1/2 hour drive (I said it was a touch under 2 hours...I'm not driving like a maniac) from something of a chore (think Indy around the end of the work day) to a calm luxury.

Imagine this: reading a book for more than 20 minutes at a time with no kids.  I don't say this about much, but I'll take this over chocolate basically always.   

Oh that I could wear big, dangly earrings

I apologize for the incessant keening last week that may have been loud enough to reach your ears.  It took all my free time to feel like I could achieve any dent in my amount of prep work & grading for whatever reason.  Actually, "whatever reason" is named Audrey, and she's a mighty screechy bugger right now.  What, it's not like a huge molar gouging its way through your soft, pink gums would hurt or anything.  Suck it up, my child.  (I brought this up in passing a week ago with my class, which consists of five women, three of whom are mothers.  The youngest & avowedly unmarried/not-a-mother one immediately asked if I was giving sweet child anything to help out.  And then I felt like something of an unfeeling heel.  Well...no.  I'm not.  I have reasons.)  I've also been working my way through up to 3 baseball games at a time given our amount of "field trip"of late.  We've been logging some miles, lemmetellaya. 

I attended the mandatory start of school faculty meeting at Ivy Tech a week ago (standard--everyone has to go), and I had an epiphany.  Sometimes, I find myself in such moments where I'm staring at someone, analyzing their style, trying to glean some pointers.  But I'm staring.  And I try to stop that.  So then I surreptitiously steal covert glimpses and doodle notes to myself instead, while paying attention, of course. 

I'm co-teaching a class this fall where half of my students are also enrolled in a lower level class as a companion class to help ensure success in mine.  These are the students whose skills did not test up to certain levels and benefit greatly from extra help, attention, and time.  I'm all for it, and my co-instructor is easy to work with.  She's about my age, maybe a couple of years older.  She also has crazy, curly hair.  Think stereotypical-English-instructor-who's-slightly-crazy-and-probably-eats-hummus-and-rides-bikes hair.  After talking with her a few times, I don't think that she would fit this label so readily, but her hair does.  It's pretty much the hair that I would absolutely choose for myself if a) I had a choice and b) I was white.  (True fact: If I was black, I would choose Halle Barry hair.  And I understand that this is at first glance a limiting confession insofar as life is not made of 2 options--black and white--but I haven't contemplated Latina hair or Asian hair or anything else, for that matter.  Just those two.)  I'm trying to find a picture on Google to match my mental picture, but despite using such search terms as "curly hair, Bohemian academic" and "curly hair, white hippie woman," I'm not coming up with a match. 

My favorite things about this hair is a) how it looks with a scarf (who doesn't want to snuggle with some soft fabric up around their neck; it's like a neck lovey for adults), b) how it looks with some chunky, academic glasses, and c) how it looks with huge, dangly earrings.  I adore huge, dangly earrings, but have never felt the confidence to wear them myself.  Wait!  They draw too much attention to my face!!  Instead, I stay with my safe studs and small, silver hoops.  Heaven forbid I wear something with color or something that hangs more than an inch past my earlobe.  I'm drooling over these.  I would feel fabulous in these.  (I would rather not own these though I suppose they do qualify in my Google search for "huge dangly earrings.")

I think that you have to have some some amount of moxy to not only wear huge, dangly earrings but to wear them with panache.  I don't think I have it yet.  Maybe when I turn 40.  Okay, decision made.  I will wear a pair of huge, dangly earrings on my 40th birthday.  Count on it.  In the meantime, I have a decade to find some gumption.  I'm also thinking of totally, completely cutting my hair off in the sometime soon-ish future (chanelling Michelle Williams here...the white woman's version of Halle Barry, I might add).  Perhaps?

Do I Dare and do I dare?

Twice in the past week, I have sucked up some gumption and talked to people in awkward situations on purpose and both times it has been magically okay.  These big girl shoes are feelin' fine right now.  Tonight's bit of bravery wasn't anything special, so I'll just forgo that one in order to talk about the one that was really cheeky.  (The next time someone asks me how I'm doing, I just might use that term.  I like it a lot.) 

This past Saturday, my #1 4-year old squeeze and I were erranding about town, and on the homeward bound part, I made an impromptu drive through a neighboring neighborhood (hardy har har--word play of sorts) to scope out the garage sales (don'tcha love 'em when they're all bunched together and it's not necessarily so conspicuous when you do a drive-by and then keep on keeping on if there's only 1 card table of clothes and a couple of gaudily framed pictures?).  This neighborhood happens to be one that we walk in a lot with the girls because of convenience as it's literally across the street from our own 'hood.  Well, there's a house in this neighborhood...

We've been alternately in & out by only the thinnest of measures of the housing market in this county for about 4 years now.  If you ask me, I've been scoping out the possibilities for our next house about 6 months after we moved into this one, which was 7 years ago now.  I've written about it before, but this little ranch was never supposed to be more than a temporary stop, 3 years or so...maybe 4 depending on my grad school & job prospects.  Do the math.  We've landed and landed hard, it appears.  However, a major part of our housing woes boils down simply to two things.  1.)  It is a little anxiety-inducing to contemplate the possibility of a fresh mortgage on our current, reduced income.  I'm merely stating that as a fact, not at all whining about what we make.  It is what it is and it's not like we didn't know what it would be when we made the choices that we did.  2.)  THERE AREN'T ANY HOUSES IN THIS DANG COUNTY THAT ARE ABLE TO MEET A FEW BASIC CRITERIA...LIKE NOT BEING JUNK IN OUR PRICE RANGE!  I am whining about that one, just a touch (for your perspective).  But like I mentioned, there's a house in the neighborhood just across the street...

But that house isn't for sale.  It never has been for sale in the 7 years that we have lived in our house.  That has not (unfortunately?) prevented me from house stalking it a little.  Did you know that you can look up property value/information on any piece of property that you want to?  You can (such a handy thing, the internet).  It reveals a wealth of information, like purchase dates, tax information, major improvements, lot size, names of owners, and more!  Taking the house stalking to the world wide web level, I have discovered some good information: the couple that owns the house has owned it for quite a while (read: they're elderly!), it's assessed value is in our 2 income price range should it be put on the market for that (read: cha-ching!), and it has 5 bedrooms (read: be still my beating heart!).  When I house stalk, I don't just walk slowly by the place, surreptitiously checking it out behind my sunglasses, which I absolutely do.  No, no.  I go nutsy cause this house has a lot of good things happening--location, bedrooms, lot size, and definitely location.

Back to the neighborhood garage sale thing and me cruising innocuously through with kid in tow.  THE COUPLE AT THIS HOUSE WAS HAVING A GARAGE SALE, TOO!  What would any normal person do?  Why, she (emphasis on normal, here) would slowly idle by once (and as her car is one of them there quiet cars that doesn't make a car sound when it's idling, it's really, REALLY stealthy snooping), scope out the rest of the neighborhood while she argues internally about whether or not she has the sheer guts to go cold call these lovely people about their house (admittedly, not really part of the garage sale) while also trying to answer enough of her lovely's questions so as not to arouse suspicions (children are unnervingly perceptive when you really just want to THINK!). 

And I/she did it--turned around and coasted to a stop in front of their driveway.  Child came with (for the sympathy factor?) and I/she approached this darling couple with something to the effect of "Hi!  This is a weird thing to say to you right now, but I really adore your house.  Really.  Here is my contact information; please call me if you ever decide to sell it!"  Twenty minutes and ONE COMPLETE HOUSE TOUR (!!!) later, I/she left with the little one and a huge, free, stuffed teddy bear. 

Then I had to talk to the boy and tell him what I had done.  Luckily, he's a sporty chap who finds my antics generally amusing.  Bless him.

When friends get married

I have a list of things to do today, and blogging isn't on it.  But the kids are both busy (passed out and zoned out, respectively), so I'm going to revel in a few minutes of aaahhhh-time.  Today is the first day of the school year for the boy, so it's also our first day officially out of summer break.  I was actually somewhat apprehensive at the end of last school year, anxious that this summer was going to bite the big one with lots of too-many-people-in-too-close-of-quarters tension every day.  But, I kid you not, this was by far my favorite summer that we have had in 8 years of being married.  It was busy but purposefully so with day trips and a to-do list that kept us focused.  We are going to enter every summer with a to-do list from now on.  And there won't be any newborn summers anymore (we've done 2 and lived to tell the tale), so that's a plus.  Add that stress to the aforementioned too-close-of-quarters aspect: YIKES at times.

Here's the deal: My BF from high school and one of my bridesmaids is getting married, kind of.  Literally, she is getting married.  But, she's also already gotten married.  Right now, I'm in this state of limbo where I think she's married but also not married.  Makes sense, right?

It's really a pretty blah story.  White girl from NE Indiana goes to Harvard after getting her undergrad degree and becomes a lawyer.  That happens all of the time.  Then while out in the Boston area, lawyer girl meets MIT engineer boy, and they, you know...fall in love.  Boring story so far?  Engineer boy also happens to be Indian from a traditional Indian family.  You've heard all of this before, I'm sure. 

Fast forward a few years where lawyer girl used to work for the Department of Labor in Dallas and now lives in Chicago so that she can live in the same zip code as her engineer boy who's starting his grad work at Northwestern.  Now there's a wedding in the works, and it's on Michigan Avenue (which is, of course, the Miracle Mile).  Except that there was also a wedding over the weekend.  In India.  And it was pretty cool to watch.

Watch?  What?  Did I travel to India?  Not so much.  Did I use my computer to watch it live while also trying to grade papers?  Yes, so much. 

Also over the weekend, we made our hotel reservation at the same posh spot where the Americanized wedding will be in a few weeks.  Thank our lucky stars for the wedding "discount" on the rooms cause otherwise we'd have to sell both children to pay for that one-night stay.  As it is, we only have to sell one.  (I'll get back with you later about which one draws the short straw.)  This wedding will be an experience.  Another this-isn't-like-any-other-wedding-you've-gone-to moment: the invites express black tie/formal dress preferred.  I haven't gone into my closet yet to decide which gown I should wear.  (The black one that I wore to the Oscars last year?  What about the red one from the last Presidential Inauguration?  Decisions, decisions.) 

Cost, dress, inconvenience aside, we're pretty excited to be asked to join this event.  I imagine that it's going to be something of a surreal experience to watch my friend get married in this glorious venue.  Whenever I think about it, I have flashback moments to things like high school band, her junky car, and coffee shops.  This is exactly the kind of life that she always wanted, and I'm thrilled with how it's all coming together for her.  बधाइयाँ!

Weaning bit by bit

I'm not feeling funny tonight.  No, tonight isn't the time for that because I'm going to ramble about weaning, and I will type this in all honesty--I am struggling.  Little A is going to be 14 months in a week, which is many, many months past the national average and even longer past the local average of breastfeeding from birth.  But what the heck do I care about national or local averages?  I care, deeply, about the soft, snuggly head that nestles into my elbow and the peaceful moments with a warm little body.  I'm not ever (ever, ever) going to do this again, and I have pretty much loved it from first attempt.  Even when it hurt (whoa...teething, what in the world?) and was beyond frustrating.  It's quiet time for both of us and is a perfect little moment in the day to just be.

I've probably written it before (I know that I've said it many a time): I am so very much hoping that this bean actually likes me.  Hyperbole, yes.  But it's a bit twinge-worthy when, as a mother, your child overtly prefers to be comforted by your spouse.  It's awesome and yet it's a little melancholy.  I've joked about it, but I also deeply want one child that prefers me when she's hurt or upset or what have you.  I'm sure that this is a big reason why I'm clinging to breastfeeding as I am.  Is it working?  I don't know (but preliminary signs look to be positive that I have my own little snuggle bug...hallelujah!).  You won't convince me that a bottle with milk are the same; it's not.  She simply does not snuggle down and relax the same when drinking milk from a cup, even when she's on your lap.  I'm losing this perfect little cuddle time with her, and it makes me feel a little weepy.

Circumstances being what they are, I'm scheduled to teach three nights a week this semester, which means that I would be missing three bedtime feedings a week.  That just doesn't make sense, so somewhat unwillingly, we have been transitioning to just a Good morning! feeding.  I'm not sure how long this one will last too, but it's all I have left of babydom.  (I've also been in the process of selling off all of our newborn-1 year baby things, which means that every time I sell one of my favorite baby dresses, sweaters, onesies, or pajamas, it just pummels my heart a little more.  How can you sell off those sweet baby things for $.50, one by one?  Oh, sweet babies.)

Tonight, I feel a little bruisey, and I'm just going to wallow in my melancholy for a little bit.  Someday soon, it will be more sweet than bitter.  But tonight, I took this picture, which isn't an award winning shot or anything, and it reminds me how absolutely thankful for the few, sweet cuddle moments that we have left. 

You can call me Gigi (in about 30 years)

Hear ye, hear ye and let it be known henceforth for the undetermined future: I'm back in the teaching mode, so my blogginess is probably going to chillax a little.  (I like to keep the words fresh even though I'm not working it high school style anymore.  Note: I'm on the lookout for someone new to be my fashion maven given that I won't have total access to teenage girls anymore to rescue and guide me.)  I'm adjuncting it up over here, which is still qu-ite a bit o' the gradin' despite a one-meeting-a-week schedule.  And, you know, my day job still likes attention.  A lot. 

Public service announcements over, here's the nuts leading  up to the bolts of this here post.  Nuts: I'm babysitting again.  Remember Maggie? 

(Oh look...those are also my kids.  And me.)

She's the giver of my Maggie squeezes and quite the peanut.  She's our favorite 2-year old friend who comes and hangs at our place for lunch, naps and playtime a few days a week.   I'm good with this arrangement, though admittedly a part of me doesn'twanttobeababysitterdangitandwhyohwhyamIdoingthisatthispointinmylife, you know?  But I volunteered to help some friends out, and the arrangement works.  Well, I have lots of teacher friends, it turns out.  And they're all kind of returning to work right around now, ironically (not really).  And some of them have their own child/ren (really...do tell).  And one of them is in a babysitting bind right now since her district started today (yup) and her sitter's school district is still 2 weeks away from starting (which is some semblance of normalcy).  Thus, a phone call and the question "Hey, could you watch..." and me saying "Yeah, sure..."  I'm done with this whole babysitting gig.  It not what I signed up for when I (exaggeration about to ensue cause we all know it wasn't me) was forking over $20,000+/year in tuition and room/board for a pricey private school.  

And now the bolts that stemmed from these nuts.  I'm totally cool with other people's young kids.  I dig 'em, usually-sometimes (depending on the day and maybe the hour of said day).  Don't be misrepresenting me here, cause I'm not saying that I don't like kids.  I do.  Within reason.  As in, I could never and will never be a full-time babysitter/daycare worker and MAY BLESSINGS RAIN UPON THEM THAT ARE AND ARE GOOD AT IT!  I also think that those who are truly devoted to this and enjoy it are supernatural beings of whom I cannot even begin to understand.  Case in point, my day today was spent with a very, very weepy (and otherwise non-communicative) almost 2-year old as well as my own little tod(dler).  I repeatedly wondered something along the lines of "Are there really people who do this for a living and enjoy it?"  A toddler whisperer, I am not.  (Frankly, look at my oldest and that should be pretty evident.  Oh, but she's a precocious little bugger sometimes.)

But I also think that I'm going to be one of those grandmammies who will be all into her own grandchildren (please, oh please let them all be girls because boys scare me to the very core of my being...I kid you not).  And I have already decided that I want to be Gigi when that day (in at least 30, hopefully 35 years) comes.  I'm not feeling "Grandma" or "Nana" and definitely not "Granny."  And for my tastes, "Nonna" feels too Italian, which I can't pass for even in shadows.  But I can be a "Gigi."  It's actually the title that Maggie's Great-Grandma has adopted for herself (get it...G. G. for Great-Grandma?  I admit, it took me a few hearings to figure this one out.)  The only foreseeable trouble is that I'll have to cross-stich that "Gigi's little angels" sweatshirt on my own, cause that one won't be found in stores.