At Least, I Was Happy

Six happy years! Today, as it has turned suddenly cold, my dear spouse marked the occasion of our anniversary (well, one day late) by celebrating the first of the two seasons here: Road Repair.

I celebrated by baking two apple pies, collapsing in exhaustion, and taking a three-hour nap. 

And he married me anyways!

[Best conversation this week:
Me: I didn't peel the apples.  I hope you don't mind.
Dr. S: You know, when we were first married, I didn't really like apple pies with the peels on.
Me: You could have told me!
Dr. S: I got used to it.  Besides, what would you have done?
Me: Stopped baking you apple pies.
Dr. S: Exactly.]

Away

Dr. S recently spent the weekend away, at a friend's wedding.  (I told him to go, so I don't really get to complain - much -  about the utter misery of a rainy weekend, an angry toddler, and a truly epic headache.)  It was all lovely except for the following:

When he got to the city in question, the hotel clerk said, "Um... yeah.  so we have your reservation here.  For tonight.  But we... don't have any rooms."

"You can see how I would think that's your problem," Dr. S said.

(They found him a room at a very fancy hotel and charged $ rather than $$$.  All was well.)

I Didn't Kill The Damn Albatross, So Take It Back Now

This paper hanging around my neck:

It's not so much that I mind revising it (though I do), or that I don't care (though I don't). It's not even really the principle of the thing, though if you'd quit working for a company 11 months ago, would you still be working for them? (No. No, you would not.)

It's what it makes me remember.

It takes me right back to 6.5 very difficult years. Being told in public that I was incompetent. Knowing that, if ever I let my guard down, my colleagues and co-workers would jump on me like jackals. Sitting alone in lab, late at night, crying over an impossible experiment that I had to do to graduate. Knowing that whatever I did, my advisor's response would be, 'You need to work harder.'

Standing in a parking lot at 1 AM waiting for a bus that never came.

Walking home at night, alone, terrified that I would be set on by people with guns.

Laying in bed on a cold winter morning, too sick and too depressed to even get up.

Coming home every day for three years, and sitting on the couch and crying, unsure if I could do it for one more day.

Being done doesn't erase the memories. And so I want to never think of it again. That's what I mind.

Yearly Departure For The Homeland

Tomorrow morning, we are off to the Scientist Parental Homeland. We will come bearing cheese, sausage, and representations of Surprisingly Popular Ugly State Mascot. I will attempt to not starve to death among the carnivores. With luck, I will not try to escape to my aunt's house before Christmas.

With equal luck, I will get some sleep. Although I am reliably informed that one's baby cannot kick too much, I begin to wonder.

May all of your holidays be filled with the tasty food items of your choice, and may all your relatives (including the by-marriage ones of whom one is tempted to say, "Well, she's no relation of mine!!") be pleasant company.

Friday Photos (a little early): The Boring Life of a Housewife

[Dear readers: please tell me what I want for Christmas. From my sweet husband. Sparkly things? A new teapot? Help.]


We went to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. I bring back photographic evidence of how spoiled the dog is:

Spoiled rotten, but very, very happy.

Upon returning to Cold Utopia, we resolved that, because my ever-expanding waistline, here at 24w:

makes it increasingly difficult to put on my beautiful, waterproof, insulated Red Wings,

I have replaced them:

with this gorgeous pair of boots.

Likewise, pursuant to the fact that it will continue to look like this:

out my window until May or further notice, whichever comes first,

I have felted and recycled a sweater into this stylish yet warm hat:


and invested in yet another kind of foot gear.

My shoes may not be as sparkly as Dr. Isis's Naughty Monkeys, but Naughty Monkeys don't come in wide sizes.

On a totally unrelated note, as I am shortly to be employed, I have been furiously sewing baby gear:

such as this very frou-frou changing pad. (Vinyl laminates if you iron it on a very hot setting!).

On an equally unrelated note, these horrible nasty buggy things:

are infesting my citrus tree and I must kill them all dead. What on earth ARE THEY??? (Updated: They are citrus mealybugs. DIE DIE DIE.)

Weekends

My mother: 'All babies kick about the same amount within a fairly narrow window. The mother's tolerance, on the other hand...'
Me: 'Four more months?!?!'

I went to my first big hockey game: over 10,000 attendees. College hockey. Why yes, we do live near a big state school! It's an experience. Particularly the 3000-student section dancing in unison. And the guy with the school-mascot-holding-hockey stick hat. Despite playing a team from Even Colder U, Sausage U won by an embarrassingly large margin.

We have purchased... snowshoes! Seeing as it snows practically every day here (no, really), and I needed exercise. Also, ow. I didn't even know I had a muscle there.

Mysteries of the universe: why do stores never carry a) decent maternity clothes or b) shoes in an 8.5 wide???

Thinking about the Work I Must Do To Graduate makes me really, really depressed. Snooty U, I hate you and I never want to go back. Sigh.

Election, Plus: Six Random Things

Election!!! My home state has finally voted Democratic for the first time since your grandma was a kid. I credit Arlington's huge population growth; hate the condos, love the voters.

(Also, the county I now live in went 75% for Obama. Go hippie liberals!)

Now aren't we all glad that's over?

******

Acmegirl has tagged me! Well...

1. I cannot stand cooked cabbage except in two forms: beef-stuffed cabbage rolls, and this one soup that the spouse makes.

2. Although I was a vegetarian for many, many years, I don't like most vegetables very much.

3. My sisters and I have Gilbert's Syndrome. We were all very yellow babies. (Mine will probably be yellow too.)

4. I used to have a passionate love of scientific research. Now, it's more like how one feels about one's unfaithful former lover.

5. Of all the people I've ever dated, I only told my friends about three of them. (N>>3.)

6. I have an unnatural love of sour flavors. If something tastes sour to me, everyone else will usually find it completely inedible. Except my dad. Nature or nurture?

In Which I Apologize For Being Boring

Dear, faithful, readers (all five of you): I make a very dull housewife.

Today I must go on an exciting expedition to find:

1) an alarm clock, as currently we have a lab timer, and there is nothing so disconcerting as waking out of a sound sleep to the feeling of 'My reaction!! AAAAAA!!'; and

2) a pair of yoga pants that are not green, as this is the only garment that doesn't touch my belly, and also as my dear spouse, who has the fashion sense of, well, a male Midwesterner, and who is to boot somewhat colorblind, nonetheless refuses to go out of the house with me in Kermit-colored trousers. Because I embarrass him.

3) groceries.

On a slightly more interesting note, I have a phone interview next week. In preparation, the company wanted me to fill out the World's Most Inane Personality Survey ('Are you more: easily irritated by others; comfortable in large groups; efficient at boring tasks.' Gee. I wonder what the right answer is.)

Dr. S has started work in his new lab, which is funded by That Crazy Frozen Dead Guy (you can guess who). He gets there, on average, 2.5 hours before anyone else, because he has a compulsion to work. They all leave promptly at 5 to pick up the kids. It's like living in an alternate universe, compared to both our old labs.

We now have a variety of bizarre but nice benefits, including dental insurance, because they provide a medical-insurance allowance every month which makes it like getting it all for free. They specifically cover both birthing centers and contraception. It's very.... civilized.

Lucky

Our house would quickly be over-run with dust bunnies if I did not have such a patient and hard-working partner. This morning, we went through our standard household chore negotiation. "I'll vacuum, and mop the bathroom and kitchen, and then I'll do dishes. Is there anything else you'd like me to do?" he asked.
"Clean the toilet maybe?" I said. "It smells a little funny."
"Of course."
"I'll... do the laundry. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow."
"But it's my turn."
"Tell you what, you sweep, I'll do laundry. Hey, I never sweep anyways."
"Sounds good to me. I hate laundry."
"It's a deal."

He also takes out the trash and recycling and deals with anything that smells (just since I'm knocked up though). Every so often, I turn on the dishwasher. He cooks things that, half the time, I won't eat more than once (blame the pregnancy!). I... make pancakes once a week. He deals with tech support and obstinate financial institutions on the phone (I get angry and threaten and yell; he waits patiently until the problem is solved). I buy him socks, and go to the grocery maybe 5/8 of the time (he also hates shopping). Really, he's a much better traditional housewife than I am.

We joke that maybe I should get a high-paying industry job and he should stay home with the baby. He's certainly better suited.

This country should really have longer paternity leaves, too.

In Which I Have the Attention Span of a Fly

• I should have said, write the rest of my thesis, consisting of one (1) manuscript and five (5) pages of BS conclusions. And yet.
• Focus! Focus! Ooooh, shiny. Should we go to the DMV now? No! FOCUS!!!
  
• Unearthing data is painful. When one has not seen it in three weeks, it is more painful. When it is in a proprietary format for which one does not have the software...
  
• I plan to wander around Dr. S's new work building until I find said software. I look like a scientist, right? Right?
  
• The downstairs neighbors! They may have drunken conversations at 2 AM, but they do not encrypt their wireless signal! O, joy.
• Somebody, please tell me my stomach/ stomach muscles/ innards/ digestive bits will stop hurting one of these days. Or at least will hurt less? Anyone?
• Have bought first pair of maternity pants. Who the hell designs these? Even a stretchy waistband makes me want to rip it off and scream IT'S TOUCHING ME IT'S TOUCHING ME GET IT OOOOFFFFFFFF. New career idea: Design wearable maternity clothing. Revolutionary, I know.
  

Baaaaaa (Now With Food)

Moving. Five separate people came today and wandered off with furniture. Still have a rug, coffee table, and dresser to get rid of; however, the Curbside Recycling Plan (Sign: FREE!) is amazingly effective. I once set out 78 pieces of a computer desk, without directions, and it was gone in 20 minutes. Good luck, buddy, was all I could say.

****
Here I am in need of inspiration- and dinner- and along comes a meme. Well, here I go over the cliff. I should add: I keep kosher now (so no shellfish and so on) but I didn't used to (which is why I have, in fact, eaten wild boar.) Also I'm deathly allergic to cow milk. Can I cross off all the milk things? No fair.

Rules: bold are things I've eaten, italics I have attempted and nearly retched on, and strike are things I would never put in my mouth. Here we go!

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros Mmmm. Dinner. Oh, wait, we're out of eggs. Damn.
4. Steak tartare.
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue I miss cheese. A lot.
8. Carp Makes an excellent homemade gefilte fish roll, thank you.
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush Maybe it's time for a grocery trip...
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich Are you kidding? I have never met an American who'd never tried PB&J.
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses I think so. When I was in France I lived in the Jura. We ate lots of weird cheese. (The dairy allergy met up with the terrible depression and lost, that year.)
17. Black truffle I think? I ate a LOT of stuff in France.
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes I'm from the South, people. Of course.
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream In my youth.
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries Every summer.
23. Foie gras On toast. Mmm, saturated fat.
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava Dr. S works with a bunch of Turks, and they bring me baklava all the time. It's lovely.
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. --Salted lassi-- Sweet and salty should not mix. Except in gravlax.
34. --Sauerkraut-- We hates it, precious. Naturally, Dr. S loves it.
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat No, but if I find kosher goat in Chicago, I am totally making some.
42. --Whole insects-- Treif. So treif.
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme How I love thee. Now I want a doughnut.
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi We do not approve.
53. Abalone
54. Paneer By accident, a few weeks ago.
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal Maybe? A very long time ago.
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini I miss alcohol. Not that I'm opposed to having a drink every now and again while pregnant- not at all!- but it upsets my already-iffy stomach.
58. Beer above 8% ABV.
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips Not allowed chocolate as a child. Developed a strange fondness for carob.
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads Again, I think so; I got fed lots of things in France.
63. Kaolin
64. --Currywurst--
65. --Durian--
66. Frogs’ legs Didn't really taste like chicken.
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. --Louche absinthe--
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum Weeeeelll... a kosherified version without shrimp. Still tasty!
82. Eggs Benedict Okay, now I want this for dinner.
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse I certainly hope not.
90. Criollo chocolate
91. --Spam--
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta Especially fried. With syrup.
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

60! And snake, thank you, is very treif.

In Which I Try Not To Scream

Cherish has put up the August Scientiae! A lot of us are, apparently, in transition.

*****

Consider the city of Cold Utopia, where there are thousands of apartments. Of these, perhaps a few hundred meet conditions A-D. And of those, only fifty or so have pictures online, two-bedroom apartments (an even more necessary condition than before), and non-ghetto locations . If we are to buy a house, 3 years is the break-even point; therefore we need a 6-month lease, because postdoc fellowships are 3 years and Dr. S will know in about 6 months. We called all 50. Exactly TWO had apartments free and would give us a 6-month lease.

We send Apartment 1 an application two days after talking to them.

In between they rented the damn apartment.

Fine.

So we called Apartment 2. Wait for it... wait for it...

They want to meet us in person before renting. "There's just so much credit fraud now!" the woman said. "You never know. So we really just couldn't do it. Of course, if you come here..."

Right. I'm supposed to fly my pregnant, busy, stressed-out ass there on the off chance they'll maybe rent me an apartment. Or! Wait until we are physically there with a truck full of our worldly possessions. Because they are too moronic to a) run a credit check; b) call people we know here- or our bosses! or, hell, Payroll!- to verify that we are who we say we are and actually want to rent; c) accept pictures of us together, drivers' licenses, and a hefty check; or d) probably: use a computer. They can take a long jump off a short pier. I am not renting from crazy people who are apparently related to Ted Stevens.

On Monday Apartment 1 will tell us if they have another one available. If they don't, I guess we're not buying a house. Or something involving lease-breaking and unpleasantness. I cannot fucking believe this.

Also, I have 26 days to finish up One Last Experiment From Hell. Shoot me now.

Ladies' Night Out

Recently, three women joined my lab, more than doubling the female population. (Just in time for me to leave.) There was instant bonding, which I had only seen before among married postdocs or among single grad students. But it is lovely to have other women about. We go to lunch together; every couple weeks we all go out together for drinks or dinner. (Which I love, by the way.) Every so often one of the men comes along- we are outnumbered about 3:1- but mostly, not.

Dr. S argues that this is discriminatory of me. What if the poor dears fell left out? I felt left out for years, I said. That doesn't make it right, or nice, he said.

Well, no. But for one, It's so much easier to spend time with the women in lab. Social taboos? Herd pressures? Who knows. We certainly have faced many of the same challenges as women, and it's nice to not be judged for talking about pretty skirts or gossip. And for another, the men have made minimal efforts to include me. Do I care if they feel excluded? I do not. In an ideal world, everyone would get along and be socially fair and equitable. In the real world, I like some people better than others.

So, are we mean? Or are we apathetic? Or both.

In Which All Is Revealed

Good news:

Spoke to boss today; he thinks I can leave/ graduate with just the data I have now. I can leave! At the end of August! Even if all my experiments don't work! Praise the Lord and pass the vodka.



Better news:

Except not (with the vodka) because:


Or, why I was so hungry. To add insult to injury, I am hungry and nauseous! With falling-over-dizzy. 4w3d right now, and I'm telling the Internets because hey, after telling my boss, the PI on whose radiation license I work, Radiation Safety, the PI-with-radiation-license's badge person - most of these were not optional, by the way- my parents, my sister, my in-laws, and all the women in my lab (who were really wondering why I kept falling over into chairs) why not. :)

And yes, we are very, very happy. I wish a similar happiness to all of you who are trying to achieve it.

It Runs In The Family

Several weeks ago, as I took a trowel out of my car trunk and headed into the park*, I was reminded of my Nanna, may she rest in peace.

She and her sister Violet were a pair of terrors. Nanna was clever and witty and very funny. (Violet was famous in the family for making gigantic polyester crocheted afghans.) They were very thrifty, too.

Violet kept a folding Army shovel in the trunk of her car.

One day, Nanna and Violet were out driving in the countryside and they saw a lovely hydrangea bush. Behind the house, there was an auction going on. So they figured the hydrangea wasn't being taken care of properly.

So they dug it up and put it in the trunk.

When they got back Nanna planted it by her front door. Grandpa Fred, who was a man of few words, looked at it, and looked at Nanna. 'Needs pruned,' he said, and walked into the house.

I told Dad I'd inherited the plant-stealing tendencies. He laughed.


Lily of the valley. It grows in the park! (So I didn't have to steal it from someone's yard. Which I totally would have.)

*This is not a wilderness-y park. In fact, it is paved over in much of it. And the lily-of-the-valley is there b/c it escaped from someone's yard. Should I not have dug it up? Of course not. But I did anyways. I'm a bad person, I know.

(P.S. Sometime I should tell you about all the crazy things I've seen in the park. Not the least entertaining was this short dude in overalls emerging from the brush with a sawed-off shotgun. WALK FASTER NOW.)

Bullets of Great Fatigue and Distraction

• Last week, I met the lovely and talented Janus Professor. Fun!
• Last weekend, Dr. Famous came to my house ate my salad. I did not fall over from anxiety.
  
• The whole house now smells like smoked meat. (We had a barbecue. Someone brought shrimp. Bless their heart.)
• I have been making fun and exciting radioactive bricks. Boring and harrowing at the same time!
• Among other things, we have nowhere to live in Cold Utopia.
• Dr. S has many talents, but finding apartments I don't hate... not among them.
• Surely anywhere with 30,000 apartments will have one I don't hate.
• Great personal and professional frustration afflict me.
• Seriously, can I shoot the next person who asks me when I'm defending? Please?
  

Frivolous

I want a ring as a PhD-finishing congratulations. Also a never-wearing-gloves-again present. I was planning to buy it myself because I am extraordinarily picky about jewelry. Dr. S has yet to buy me any, since generally I want practical things. However. I want something pretty and useless. Specifically, I covet this:


















Alas that two weeks ago, when it was $150, I thought 'No! I didn't finish yet!' Aargh. This one isn't bad either (I went and tried it on, even). Decisions, decisions, uncertainties. Will my blot ever work? Will I ever finish? Will the price on this ring ever go down again?

Catch More Flies

Mrs. Scientist-In-Law is a woman who appreciates holidays. In particular, she appreciates Mothers' Day. This year I thought it would be nice to send some flowers. The internet and I got together and had them delivered to her school (she's a teacher). The internet emailed me to say they'd been delivered.

She never got them.

I was a little upset. Maybe more than a little. I took a deep breath and called the school, where I explained to a very nice executive-secretary type the whole situation, and asked if it was possible to figure out what had happened to the flowers and how as they were for my mother-in-law and oh my goodness. She said she'd look into it.

Today I got an email that the custodian took them to the horticulture department by mistake, and they were so, so sorry, and would I tell them how the flowers had looked so the horticulture dept. could make a new one for my mother-in-law? Which they would take to her classroom this week? And they were very sorry. And they did: a huge, lovely bouquet of lilies.

Thus proving that a Southern upbringing is good for something after all.

In The Wrong Trade

The electrician has come, o glory glory! After two hours involving wires, screws, and a lot of breaker flipping, he figured out that [some 'leg' metal thingy] was bad and [something about an outlet] had a [something with a wire] and [something I didn't catch].

But we have power. Boy, is it nice to run the coffeemaker and the fan at the same time.

In my next life, I'm totally going to be an electrician. Or a plumber.

Parenting Choices

Especially here in Snooty-U-Land, Dr. S and I have met a remarkable number of people whose parents appear to have been entirely unqualified for the task. (An old Dilbert cartoon about a parenting test, which ends in leaving organs with the receptionist, comes to mind.) Some of these people have overcome their parents' suffocating tendencies and learned to think on their own. Some don't get along with their families, often for quite good reasons. The rest, well, you can imagine.

I was thinking about parenting in general, and how people often want to avoid their parent's mistakes with their own children (an admirable goal). And then I was thinking about my parents, mildly-tumultuously married for 35 years. I'm a lot like my parents; Dr. S is a lot like his.

I don't think there's really very much I'd want to do differently from my parents, and I don't mean they were perfect, but overall they took care of us while giving us room and opportunities to grow. The only big thing I would change, if I got a do-over, would be for Dad to be home more; he was gone for work at least half the time, for years. I talk to him more now than I did in highschool. And the only little thing I would change is less yelling. But you know? It didn't kill us.

Also, they could have skipped singing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" every time I couldn't get what I wanted.

What do or would you want to do/ have you done differently from your parents? Have you ever sung the Rolling Stones at anyone?