1) I worry sometimes, in an overeducated-elite kind of way that my kid will not be smart. He's almost three! His grasp of numbers is still kind of shaky! ("How many are there? (5)" "Seven! Six! Thirteen! Sixteen!") He can't read yet! (I could read when I was 2.5. My mom was... maybe a little pushy about it.)
2) But I don't want to be pushy and destroy his love of books and learning. So I try not to force him to do things he doesn't want to do.
2a) And then I worry that he won't be smart.
3) He can identify all 26 letters, including lowercase.
4) In time-honored fashion, I have provided a concrete reward for number-learning. He has little dishes of treats- raisins, nuts, yogurt raisins, M&Ms- and however many he can correctly count from each dish, he can eat. So far, we've gotten to 7. Progress! Rat and lever! Yes!
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Misanthrope: In Which I Am A Snob, Or Maybe Just Lonely
To avoid going completely insane, I belong to a moms' group here. For the most part, it's nice. Bug has tot friends and playgroups and outings with other kids; I can talk to other adults; we swap kids and have dates with our spouses and toddler-free doctor's appointments.
However! (There's always a however.) The great majority of these other women are not really My People. They don't read, which I find entirely incomprehensible.* They don't make things. They don't save spare screws out of dead appliances. (Okay, that one's a bit excessive.) They don't think XCXD is funny, and when I proposed using a Google Docs spreadsheet as a sign up it was a surprising, new idea. They don't have any scientific background, and they decide suddenly that they're allergic to wheat because they feel tired. (Was a quantity of jam involved, I wonder?) Their kid has a rash for one day, and they go to the doctor!** And then delay vaccination because some idiot pseudo-babble book told them to.
But they are kind, decent people. They live near me. Their children are of similar ages to mine, and they play nicely together. They don't have the kind of random intellectual curiosity or drive to create that I cherish in my friends, but they are what I have right now.
Maybe I want too much.
* Our library recently installed a new catalog, which you can tell to track your check-outs (useful for "who wrote that mystery... with... the trees...). I looked up my history since May. I read two hundred and fifty-three books from May to December. Plus all the ones I already owned, and re-read. And yes, I actually, truly read every single one. Plus Bug got another 250 read to him, about ten times each. I am not exaggerating.
** Without fever, dehydration, or lethargy, you know. Just a RASH. In a healthy 2-year-old. I took Bug to the doctor this week for a rash- which he's had for six months. (Eczema, which is High Billable for "a rash".)
However! (There's always a however.) The great majority of these other women are not really My People. They don't read, which I find entirely incomprehensible.* They don't make things. They don't save spare screws out of dead appliances. (Okay, that one's a bit excessive.) They don't think XCXD is funny, and when I proposed using a Google Docs spreadsheet as a sign up it was a surprising, new idea. They don't have any scientific background, and they decide suddenly that they're allergic to wheat because they feel tired. (Was a quantity of jam involved, I wonder?) Their kid has a rash for one day, and they go to the doctor!** And then delay vaccination because some idiot pseudo-babble book told them to.
But they are kind, decent people. They live near me. Their children are of similar ages to mine, and they play nicely together. They don't have the kind of random intellectual curiosity or drive to create that I cherish in my friends, but they are what I have right now.
Maybe I want too much.
* Our library recently installed a new catalog, which you can tell to track your check-outs (useful for "who wrote that mystery... with... the trees...). I looked up my history since May. I read two hundred and fifty-three books from May to December. Plus all the ones I already owned, and re-read. And yes, I actually, truly read every single one. Plus Bug got another 250 read to him, about ten times each. I am not exaggerating.
** Without fever, dehydration, or lethargy, you know. Just a RASH. In a healthy 2-year-old. I took Bug to the doctor this week for a rash- which he's had for six months. (Eczema, which is High Billable for "a rash".)
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Five Minute Blogging: Housewifery Amid Scientists
I went to a Christmas party at the house of a postdoc Dr. S knows. Not only was I the only house-spouse there, we brought the only kids. (Who were delightfully well behaved; Bug was kind to the dog, and neither made a mess nor broke any ornaments.) Bug ate salad and told people all about dinosaurs, and Tater mostly slept, and a good time was had by all.
It was weird. Less weird than when I met Dr. S's very-Asperger's coworker who totally condescended to me until I not-so-subtly mentioned that I'd had a PhD for 3 years LONGER than her. But it's weird. And what do you do? I make peanut butter sandwiches and change diapers and wash a lot of laundry, and oh, in my spare time I read science papers and do editing and teach my kid to read. And you?
It was weird. Less weird than when I met Dr. S's very-Asperger's coworker who totally condescended to me until I not-so-subtly mentioned that I'd had a PhD for 3 years LONGER than her. But it's weird. And what do you do? I make peanut butter sandwiches and change diapers and wash a lot of laundry, and oh, in my spare time I read science papers and do editing and teach my kid to read. And you?
Friday, January 20, 2012
Pseudonymous
Little Bit has a new blog name! In fact, he has a new nickname. Dr. S has taken to calling him Nater Potater. So here: Tater. Bug and Tater. Clearly, if ever, IY"H, there should be a third one, he (inevitably, he, statistics be damned) will be Potato Bug.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Favorite Sayings, 2
Thank you all for your delightful sayings. I adore regionalisms, and I don't care what region.
My parents are (GASP!) Yankees, and my dad's family uses a lot of expressions which I've never thought of as particularly Southern: "Couldn't find his behind in the dark with both hands and a flashlight", for example. "Slower than molasses in January." "Tough row to hoe."
Dr. S (who is from rural southwest Ohio) once said, in lab meeting, to his very famous boss, "Well, Titania, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and again."
But, actually from the South: "All a' y'all" has always been one of my favorites. This is a peculiarly Southern thing. Where I grew up, "Y'all are welcome to come to the party" was a particularly non-pressing invitation given out of courtesy, but "All a' y'all should come by on Saturday night, we're having a party" meant "I really truly want each and every one of you to show up."
I have heard, but never used "Lower than a snake's belly", and I adore "Doesn't have the sense God gave a chigger." (Chiggers are revolting little bugs, found in high grass in high summer, which burrow into your legs and then die. No, I don't know why.)
Y'all come back, now!
My parents are (GASP!) Yankees, and my dad's family uses a lot of expressions which I've never thought of as particularly Southern: "Couldn't find his behind in the dark with both hands and a flashlight", for example. "Slower than molasses in January." "Tough row to hoe."
Dr. S (who is from rural southwest Ohio) once said, in lab meeting, to his very famous boss, "Well, Titania, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and again."
But, actually from the South: "All a' y'all" has always been one of my favorites. This is a peculiarly Southern thing. Where I grew up, "Y'all are welcome to come to the party" was a particularly non-pressing invitation given out of courtesy, but "All a' y'all should come by on Saturday night, we're having a party" meant "I really truly want each and every one of you to show up."
I have heard, but never used "Lower than a snake's belly", and I adore "Doesn't have the sense God gave a chigger." (Chiggers are revolting little bugs, found in high grass in high summer, which burrow into your legs and then die. No, I don't know why.)
Y'all come back, now!
Monday, January 16, 2012
Dys-what?
I have mentioned it... apparently once before: I have a mild dyslexia where I switch digits, and cannot see the difference. (I think it's not dyscalculia because it's mainly a morbid fear of dealing with investments, and an inability to correctly write down phone numbers.) It's worst with four-digit numbers.
The weirdest part? I didn't notice until I was twenty-five and sharing accounts with my spouse. Before that, I thought I was just worse than the average bear at balancing checkbooks.
(This is prescheduled. My computer still ails.)
The weirdest part? I didn't notice until I was twenty-five and sharing accounts with my spouse. Before that, I thought I was just worse than the average bear at balancing checkbooks.
(This is prescheduled. My computer still ails.)
Friday, January 13, 2012
This Wasn't A Good Week To Stop My Antidepressants
Oh, dear readers. My children both have a plague (symptoms: uncontrollable screaming, crankiness, coughing), and so do I (symptoms: fever, chills, desire for a stiff drink at 9:00 in the morning). It is snowing. Aaaaaaannnnnnd.....
....my computer is ill with a virus and some Java ailment and I-don't-know-what in the registry, and possibly a fatal lesion in its hippocampus.
Fortunately, I backed up all 3 GB (!) of child-videos, science-y figures and manuscripts, and knitting patterns. You know, the important things in life. Now I must replace the programs filched from my old lab, because after fifteen hours trying to fix it, it would be easier to buy a new computer.
Alas, I have no money.
Back after I either fix it, or type FORMAT C: ("Do you really mean it?" "YES.")
....my computer is ill with a virus and some Java ailment and I-don't-know-what in the registry, and possibly a fatal lesion in its hippocampus.
Fortunately, I backed up all 3 GB (!) of child-videos, science-y figures and manuscripts, and knitting patterns. You know, the important things in life. Now I must replace the programs filched from my old lab, because after fifteen hours trying to fix it, it would be easier to buy a new computer.
Alas, I have no money.
Back after I either fix it, or type FORMAT C: ("Do you really mean it?" "YES.")
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Why?
I still keep in touch with a couple friends from high school, including my slowly-cooling relationship with C, who you may remember. C is expecting her third child; her spouse is still in grad school (he STILL!!!! has not finished those papers!) and they are still all four-and-a-fetus living on a humanities grad student's salary, roughly $25,000, in Big East Coast City.
I called her this week, because I wanted to offer to make something for this child. I did for the other two, after all. I asked C if she needed anything, or wanted a less worn/ugly exemplar of something. And she said "Oh... I think some crib sheets would be good, but knit ones because the other kind are kind of cold on their skin, and not flannel because I wouldn't want to use them in winter and I don't have enough storage space, and red, but not too red, or maybe green, but not kelly green or forest green. Perhaps polka dots, but only if they match the red valence that I have, and the ruffle has ladybugs on it but I don't want to do ladybugs* if it's a boy** and... " then I tuned it out.
All I could think was what. the. !@$%****
* WHY NOT? They're so CUTE!!
** Because clearly then he would grow up to be gay.*** Or something.
*** Bug has an eyelet lace dust ruffle on his crib, which I made. It's cute. He doesn't care. If he wants lacy pillowcases when he's 15, I'll make them too. Or cars. Or bugs. Or unicorns. I don't care.
**** After our wedding I wrote a whole series of mendacious thank-you notes for things I returned ("Thank you for the hideous green sheets and well-meant but completely useless tool set;, we already have four hammers." [Not really; I wrote "Thank you for your thoughtful gift" etc.]) because I was taught that one should be GRACIOUS.
I called her this week, because I wanted to offer to make something for this child. I did for the other two, after all. I asked C if she needed anything, or wanted a less worn/ugly exemplar of something. And she said "Oh... I think some crib sheets would be good, but knit ones because the other kind are kind of cold on their skin, and not flannel because I wouldn't want to use them in winter and I don't have enough storage space, and red, but not too red, or maybe green, but not kelly green or forest green. Perhaps polka dots, but only if they match the red valence that I have, and the ruffle has ladybugs on it but I don't want to do ladybugs* if it's a boy** and... " then I tuned it out.
All I could think was what. the. !@$%****
* WHY NOT? They're so CUTE!!
** Because clearly then he would grow up to be gay.*** Or something.
*** Bug has an eyelet lace dust ruffle on his crib, which I made. It's cute. He doesn't care. If he wants lacy pillowcases when he's 15, I'll make them too. Or cars. Or bugs. Or unicorns. I don't care.
**** After our wedding I wrote a whole series of mendacious thank-you notes for things I returned ("Thank you for the hideous green sheets and well-meant but completely useless tool set;, we already have four hammers." [Not really; I wrote "Thank you for your thoughtful gift" etc.]) because I was taught that one should be GRACIOUS.
Saturday, January 07, 2012
Toddler Foods, And Recipe: Optionally Vegan Carrot Cookies
Bug will no longer eat dinner.
For breakfast and lunch, he can choose his meal: typically oat-e-os and soymilk and then, invariably, PB&J for lunch. For dinner, he can have what's on the table, or nothing. (Unless it's super-spicy, or fish.) This is the child who begs for goat cheese, who- one week- started eating whole sweet peppers, out of the bag, at the grocery; but offer him homemade lasagna and he throws a fit.
I refuse to make food an Issue, so I repeat to myself, "I put healthy food in front of him and he can choose to eat or not." He's eating double lunch to make up for it; afternoon snack has been abolished. He weighs 35 pounds (that's a hearty 2.5 year old), so I wouldn't care except he's hungry and insane for two full hours every single night.
Oh well. Someday he'll grow out of it, right? In the meanwhile he and I have embarked on a microgreen-growing project. Likely he will eat two bites and then turn up his pert little nose. And we bake healthy, protein-y veggie-hiding things together, on the theory that if he helps cook, he might eat it.
Here is a toddler-friendly, low-sugar, high-protein, carrot-containing cookie recipe. Don't expect carrot cake; this is more like the whole-grain breakfast muffin your co-op makes.
Vegan-or-not Carrot Cookies (adapted from Farm Journal Country Cookbook)
For breakfast and lunch, he can choose his meal: typically oat-e-os and soymilk and then, invariably, PB&J for lunch. For dinner, he can have what's on the table, or nothing. (Unless it's super-spicy, or fish.) This is the child who begs for goat cheese, who- one week- started eating whole sweet peppers, out of the bag, at the grocery; but offer him homemade lasagna and he throws a fit.
I refuse to make food an Issue, so I repeat to myself, "I put healthy food in front of him and he can choose to eat or not." He's eating double lunch to make up for it; afternoon snack has been abolished. He weighs 35 pounds (that's a hearty 2.5 year old), so I wouldn't care except he's hungry and insane for two full hours every single night.
Oh well. Someday he'll grow out of it, right? In the meanwhile he and I have embarked on a microgreen-growing project. Likely he will eat two bites and then turn up his pert little nose. And we bake healthy, protein-y veggie-hiding things together, on the theory that if he helps cook, he might eat it.
Here is a toddler-friendly, low-sugar, high-protein, carrot-containing cookie recipe. Don't expect carrot cake; this is more like the whole-grain breakfast muffin your co-op makes.
Vegan-or-not Carrot Cookies (adapted from Farm Journal Country Cookbook)
Thursday, January 05, 2012
Sensitive Boy
Bug has always been a little sensitive, and very attached to Mama. When I was working I never left him for more than nine hours... and since I quit my job a year and a half ago, never more than three hours. (Yes, I do feel like I'm on one of those tethered leashes! Thank you for asking!) I've left him with a variety of responsible friends and relatives, but he would often sob quietly for an hour or two. He was a little afraid of the more aggressive kids, wouldn't talk around anyone but family, and had a fit every time I walked out the door; I joked that he was going to be the kid who cried every day after kindergarten.
Well, suddenly he's chattering nonstop, running around at top speed after his tot friends, and screaming "MINE! MINE!!! I NEED IT I WANT IT IT'S MINE!!!" I dropped him off at a friend's house today and he ran away without his goodbye kiss, never looking back.
Not worried any more.
Well, suddenly he's chattering nonstop, running around at top speed after his tot friends, and screaming "MINE! MINE!!! I NEED IT I WANT IT IT'S MINE!!!" I dropped him off at a friend's house today and he ran away without his goodbye kiss, never looking back.
Not worried any more.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Lab Accidents
In the wake of a tragic accident at UCLA, I was thinking about biology labs. (The particular situation in the UCLA accident is not under discussion here.)
(Note: these things are only funny because nobody got hurt. Otherwise it would be really, really sad.)
Now, I used to work in a synthetic organic lab. The two (fortunately, small, no injuries) lab fires that happened while I was there both involved lithium compounds: my boss set the base bath on fire. Twice. Yes, he did know better. He also had an imploded, melted round-bottom flask with molecular sieves embedded in it, fused into a torn-apart heating mantle, entitled "Dumbass Of The Year Award, 1992." (Lots of heat plus melted glass plus vacuum... you can imagine how that would end badly.) And there was that one time with the aqua regia... well, turns out you really, really should add the acetone slowly; picture a small, REALLY corrosive volcano emitting metal-rusting fumes. Let's just say, it's a good thing the fume hood clamped down. Anyhow.
Biologists, on the other hand... I've seen them do a lot of really stupid things. Strong bases stored in glass! (They etch glass.) Oxidizers and reducers stored together, right next to flammable solvents! (Because then, if they break and mix, it would go whoosh and KABOOM.) Our idiot tech touching unpolymerized acrylamide with her bare hands!!! (Neurotoxin.) Amanitin without gloves! (Death cap mushroom toxin!) Phenol everywhere! (Flammable, toxic, also causes burns, liver failure, and DEATH.) And don't even get me started on things that get put down the sink, to say nothing of the Ground Chicken Incident in my former lab. The plumbers probably burned effigies of us.
Seriously. If biology required more than microliters of most of this stuff, biologists would blow themselves up all the time.
(Note: these things are only funny because nobody got hurt. Otherwise it would be really, really sad.)
Now, I used to work in a synthetic organic lab. The two (fortunately, small, no injuries) lab fires that happened while I was there both involved lithium compounds: my boss set the base bath on fire. Twice. Yes, he did know better. He also had an imploded, melted round-bottom flask with molecular sieves embedded in it, fused into a torn-apart heating mantle, entitled "Dumbass Of The Year Award, 1992." (Lots of heat plus melted glass plus vacuum... you can imagine how that would end badly.) And there was that one time with the aqua regia... well, turns out you really, really should add the acetone slowly; picture a small, REALLY corrosive volcano emitting metal-rusting fumes. Let's just say, it's a good thing the fume hood clamped down. Anyhow.
Biologists, on the other hand... I've seen them do a lot of really stupid things. Strong bases stored in glass! (They etch glass.) Oxidizers and reducers stored together, right next to flammable solvents! (Because then, if they break and mix, it would go whoosh and KABOOM.) Our idiot tech touching unpolymerized acrylamide with her bare hands!!! (Neurotoxin.) Amanitin without gloves! (Death cap mushroom toxin!) Phenol everywhere! (Flammable, toxic, also causes burns, liver failure, and DEATH.) And don't even get me started on things that get put down the sink, to say nothing of the Ground Chicken Incident in my former lab. The plumbers probably burned effigies of us.
Seriously. If biology required more than microliters of most of this stuff, biologists would blow themselves up all the time.
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