i've caused my sweet 4-year-old to lose her cool

First day of school

We had a sunny summer of bliss, Lilly and I, me taking time off from work to regain some perspective, and she growing ever more confident and amazingly competent at the pool and at the beach. There was no hurry. There was only savoring.

Then comes fall. "Fall of excitement, here I come!" I posted on Facebook while packing up for my first trip abroad to promote my book. Preschool resumed while I was gone; missing first day of that is in itself a faux pas.

I've never missed any of her big milestones. In fact, I've only been gone from her a single night before on two different occasions and that was both three years ago. Then towards the end of this summer, Leighton and I had our first couple's only vacation, leaving her with grandparents she doesn't see that often for three whole nights.

And then I go over seas for ten days. In turn she starts extended days in preschool so Leighton can get his work done.

Seeing her again at the airport last Tuesday was pure bliss. She was so happy to see me! So excited! And the feeling was completely mutual.

But then came the nights with my exasperation at her crawling all over my body. And a house full of stress with both Leighton and I having more than our share on our plate this fall. As they say; when it rains, it pours.

free to be you and me

What my first couple's only vacation since becoming a parent gave me was the opportunity to simply be free to be you and me. "We're off on our 'first romantic getaway,'" I wrote a couple of weeks ago, but that really didn't put the right spin on things at all. There's something so awfully 1950s about the term. Like she dresses up for him and he courts her, and they live happily ever after.

Our experience was nothing like that at all. What I found was the chance to drop our roles as both parents and husband-wife and simply have a lot of honest, sexy fun together. We both went giddy wild consignment shopping together for a whole afternoon, after which we drenched our thirst with local beer at one of the many brewery pubs in Fort Collins. We dressed up and dined at all the recommended restaurants I'd tracked down in Denver, but our conversations weren't dressed up. They were the kinds of conversation shared by best friends and lovers, fellow travel through life companions and soul mates. Lounging on roof top decks and court yard patios, surrounded by the nighttime fireworks of thunder and lightning, we not so much gazed lovingly at each other as we gave ourselves and took each other in completely with our words and eyes.

french parenting is not for me

Pamela Druckerman: wannabe French

I got interested in Pamela Druckerman's memoir Bringing up Bébé: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting based on a couple of reviews that suggested I had some things in common with French moms. As it turns out, we got just about nothing in common. Nor do I care much for their approach to parenting.

Druckerman, on the other hand, does. Druckerman is practically drooling in awe over French moms' approach to parenting, from how they get their kids to sleep, eat, and behave so well, to their attention to adult time and sassy looks.

Of course, all these things sound great. But then take a minute to pause as Druckerman learns to do the French way with her children and consider this: practicing the pause in terms of (not) checking on their babies when they are learning to "do their nights" when only a few days or weeks old (and at least by three months) is the same as Ferberizing or even crying it out at a very young age. It only has a different name and since "everyone" in France practices it, nobody worries about it either.

i'm pregnant, but not in the typical way

I Am Not a Goner

This post is about giving birth. To a book. The two things I've been hoping the most for lately are a baby and a book. So, we've been having more sex (not a bad thing), and I've been working longer hours at night (yes; yet again). Now, listen to this: I submitted a query for my now soon-to-be-published book to the publisher (that has since offered me a contract) on the day I had penned down in my planner that I was probably ovulating. When I early one morning after that received a response telling me they were interested, and I jumped into bed to wake Leighton to tell him, his response was that it was just like when I jumped into bed years back to tell him my pregnancy test was positive.

And it felt the same way.

I really would like to be pregnant with a baby again too. I really would like another child in our little family.

But I really also want to give birth to a book. Recently, I've found myself intensely missing more of my professional self. I miss conferences and giving talks. Teaching college students. Having more patient students to teach. Engaging in more complex conversations.

the other side of the holiday card

If you received our holiday card and think everything's swell over here, let me clarify:

Lilly went to summer school and nature camp and music camp over the summer. So she was prepared and very eager to start at her Montessori preschool. Every day she looks forward to school. We are proud of her and have heard many telling reports about how happy she is there, very social but also concentrated on her work.

This is all true, but fails to mention that Lilly has been sick with one cold after another all fall long, ending on a big note with an eye infection on the first day of the holiday break, after which followed strep throat symptoms. She remains under the weather.

Anne has more time to write, now that Lilly is at school every morning. She completed translating a manuscript into English, and is shopping it around at publishers. She has had very encouraging feedback from an agent and even a request for a proposal for her second book. All the time and effort she has put into creating her online platform—including three of her own websites—is starting to pay off, as she is now being sought out in both the US and Norway.

teaching preschoolers about the pagan roots of yule

I taught college students for years, but when I joined Lilly's Montessori preschool this week to introduce the children to some of my native Yule traditions and customs, I felt myself a bit jittery. It's almost embarrassing to confess how much time I spent mulling over my "lesson plan." Thinking about how I would go about doing it all, teaching the children a little about the pagan roots of jul (from the old Norse jól) while keeping their attention and having them interact with me. My goal was also to semi-teach (I didn't expect them to learn all the Norwegian words!) a julesang (Yule song) with its dance around the tree.

I really wanted the children to experience that sense of joy and magic, which I imagine once experiencing as a child celebrating jul at my grandma's. But you can't force or fake that sentiment; it has to be true.

So, I began by asking the children if they celebrate Christmas, and that of course got everyone animated, talking excitedly on top of one another. About Rudolph and presents, and the Grinch (and how did he steel Christmas again?). One boy pointed out that Christmas is a celebration of Jesus' birthday. Many talked about having a tree, and I asked if any of them would dance around it. No one did. Then I told them that where I come from, for more than a hundred years, people have brought a tree into the house, decorating it much like people do here. But unlike most people here, people dance and sing around the juletre (Yule tree) on julaften (Yule eve) and at several tree parties thereafter.

on the soothing powers of friendship and pumpkin patches

Thanks to MEA, I had a lovely day that gave me much reprieve from dealing with the age of spite. I know I was so looking forward to having Lilly in preschool for three hours each morning, giving me much craved time to write. But the thing is, it's not much time. And at 11:30, I get to pick up a very tired and hungry child (think that's fun?). Then there's the testing, testing, testing (of limits) before we finally read books. Then the pre-nap ordeals before a nap that never feels long enough. Before she's up again, yet again famished and groggy, still not quite awake. This is when I pop in a DVD for her to watch while I exhaustedly juggle serving her food and otherwise catering to her needs (and desperately still attempting to hold down those limits), as I also try to finish up some work on my laptop, tidy up the house, and make dinner.

By the time Leighton's home by six, I'm in shutdown mode.

See, mornings are for all the fun stuff (as well as those necessary errands that I now find myself cramming to get done). Mornings are for play-dates and hanging out with friends. Mornings are for the rock mamas who know how to make the best of each morning.

Afternoons are no fun. Afternoons are tired. From lunch through nap to dinner, the long afternoon hours have me sinking down into a murky swamp where I find myself barely holding on.

And afternoons are lonely. Tied to the house, settling in for nap or recovering from one, preparing, cleaning up or yet again preparing a meal, they are impossible for scheduled play-dates or other fun things.

should we deny little girls their princess pink?

Lisa Bloom, author of Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed Down World, recently wrote about how she squelched herself from squealing to the five-year-old daughter of some friends; "Maya, you're so cute! Look at you! Turn around and model that pretty ruffled gown, you gorgeous thing!" Explains Bloom:

"Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What's missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments."

Bloom continues with a description of how she instead chooses to talk to kids in a matter-of-fact way; in this case about books, seeing that Maya was carrying one around.

Bloom's article gives food for thought. -- We've done our best to protect Lilly from the gender stereotyping so common in our culture that begins with the little pink and blue baby onesies. Instead I got many in green and yellow for her at my baby shower, and then a lot of baby blue hand-me-down clothes from friends with sons after she was born.

As a result, strangers have for the longest assumed Lilly's a boy, even after her curly locks started to grow.

We were a little surprised this bugged us so much (we sort of like to identify ourselves with a growing movement of ending the obsession with gender and undoing gender stereotypes), but in the end we caved in and got her some pink clothes -- and she loved it. She loves the feel of dancing in a dress, and she loves to be told that she's so cute and pretty.

the power of the boob

One of the mamas I interviewed for my Sleep Question book used this term to describe the nursing relationship she had with her children. The power of the boob to comfort, nurture; to help bring to sleep.

I can definitely relate. Lilly will turn three this month, but the power of the boob holds strong. There have been periods when it's been driving me crazy, like at around the 18 months mark where she seemed to ask for it constantly throughout the night. When I had reached the point of oblivion to red stop signs and lights, a dear friend helped me find a strategy to reduce the nighttime nursings without feeling like I was weaning her (I've always wanted to let her self-wean).

Our solution was a combination of Dr. Sears' list of night weaning alternatives, in particular his "Just say no!," "Nummies go night-night," and "Let baby be the barometer." I would talk to her during the day and before bedtime about how the boobs have gotten so tired; how they need some rest and sleep at night now. Then I made up my mind as to how many of the nighttime nursings I wanted to end, and at what time she could have free rein to nurse on demand again. Finally, I told my husband to sleep in another room. We'd been enjoying our family bed up until then, but I had begun to feel crowded out in bed. I realized there might be some whining, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stay committed to my goal if I were to worry about my husband (who's as opposed to her crying as I am) as well as her.

The first night when she asked for the boob, and I said no, she did cry. Right away and almost before I had a chance to respond, knowing already the answer. And in an angry manner, not despondent or despairing. I used her daytime behavior to gauge how she was dealing with this new nighttime situation; and she seemed fine, just a bit more mama needy perhaps, and even more physical, with which I was fine.

with financial crisis, what's a good time for a second child?

I couldn't help feeling mixed when a close friend announced last summer that she was pregnant with number two. For about a year we'd been talking about how neat it'd be to conceive our second child around the same time, to go through pregnancy, child birth, and the parenting of an infant side by side. And when she shared her happy news with me, I was still sipping my red raspberry tea on a loyal daily basis, seeing as how it promised to support my female system.

(Baby belly number 1)

Well, I'm still sipping that tea and no ovulation in sight. You might think it'd be nice not to have had a period since August 2007, but frankly I miss it. I mean, it's always been an irregular visitor; so whenever it did show up I felt proud about my body and what it was capable of. Nursing gives me that sense too, of course, and I'm not feeling ready to wean just to see if that could help boost my female system in other areas.

Now that we're delving into the entrepreneurial line of work after our countless failed job searches, the grief around the unconceived second child has waned significantly. With barely any income, a second child just does not seem opportune at all. And feeling like I've found the kind of work I really want to do, more than anything, I want to devote any free (and not so free) moment to our LOVE, SEX, AND FAMILY resource center, not to see all my time consumed by taking care of a little baby.

There's already too little time to work, now that Leighton is so busy with some extra work hours, adding development training and an internship on top of that, pushing his thesis work to the side more and more. But I am claiming some time, and our LOVE, SEX, AND FAMILY site is steadily growing. And I am (not so) secretly looking forward to Lilly beginning Montessori preschool for three hours a day Monday through Friday this fall, and feel excited about the prospect of having her in Montessori''s summer program this June for three hours a day.

So then why, after a few days of feeling particularly lusty for my hubby--despite us all being sick around here; runny noses typically sapping my libido--do I find myself wondering with some anticipation: Could I be ovulating? Might we be joined by a Christmas baby?

Biological instinct? Psychological urge? Emotional sentimentality? It sure doesn't feel like it's rational reasoning in any case.

with separation from child: allow no cry, some cry, or let cry?

We had a rough one last night, Lilly whimpering, clinging to me all night. While I was lying there hugging and comforting her, I couldn't make up my mind if I'd rather it wasn't physical or emotional. Yesterday we had our second ECFE class of this semester with new kids in her class, several of whom will cry during separation. And that makes both me and my little Lilly sad. On top of it all, her best friend Anna took a spill head down the stairs from the little doll area.

All afternoon and evening yesterday, Lilly kept processing all of this. "Anna fell. Anna cried. Hug Anna." And then she'd talk about the other children who'd cried, the little snotty girl who kept coughing. The little boy. The other boy. And so on.

Well, this morning I asked why her night had been so rough; was she feeling sick? No. Sad? Yes. And then the same processing all over again.

Ahh, it makes me miss our fall class, no matter how much I kvetched about that. But none of the parents in that class would separate if their children cried. For a while a couple of the parents would stay with their children, but then when the kids were ready, they'd join us. 

I realize I may be in the minority here about not letting Lilly cry. For us, this has meant that I couldn't work out for months, because Lilly would cry if I left her in the gym's child watch area. Now she's happy there, that is except for whenever children there are sad, which aches me too.

The results are in from the poll on crying and children's sleep, and I'm clearly in the minority in that department: 12 % checked no cry, 31 % some cry, and 56 % let cry.

the rock mamas: doing it together

"I don't think I have what it takes," posted a fellow (and at the moment single) parent on facebook.

"You DO have what it takes, of course you do!" was one of the immediate comments.

"But they say it takes a village. I have something more like a hut, perhaps a yurt," was the response.

 (My village, in the Arb)

I am all for the village thing when it comes to parenting. I've relied on play dates for my sanity long before Lilly was able to play with other children. She was about 6 weeks when we left for Norway to spend a year in my native country. I immediately signed up for a new mom and baby group (barselgruppe) that met on a weekly basis that first year. And then we had baby swimming one day, mommy and baby aerobics on another day, always a coffee date some day and Friday was open.

After we returned to the US when Lilly was one, we found new routines and things to do with fellow parents. Age-appropriate read, sing and play classes at the library were a lifesaver that first year, in addition to the various play dates. Now we've branched out, incorporating "school" (ECFE) one morning, yoga another (a friend and I child swap for yoga and then often end up vising over coffee till lunch), and, perhaps my favorite, an outdoors group play date in our amazing local Arboretum. It started out on a casual basis this summer and then firmed up as a "thing" we'd all commit to doing this fall.

We call ourselves The Rock Mamas. It was the rock memorial garden where we first used to meet for play and picnic that inspired the name, but honestly, I think we all feel like we rock while we're there.  Because it doesn't get much better when you're hanging out with kids. The kids are happy playing, running around in the fields, up and down little hills, climbing and jumping off rocks, snacking on picnic treats. And the moms get to talk, often in complete sentences, which, as all parents of young children know, can be a challenge during play dates.

We'd vowed to stick to our weekly outdoors playdate throughout the thick of winter. So we felt pretty good about ourselves when we got together in the Arb this week, all bundled up after the first snow fell this past weekend. (We did make an exception the week of the extremely cold and blustery storm, described as "stronger than most hurricanes, more intense than the Armistice Day Blizzard, the 1991 Halloween Superstorm, and even the wild storm that sank the Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior in 1975." That week we headed over to "Wiggles & Giggles" at the YMCA instead.)

homeschooling for a year

I just finished reading Laura Brodie's Love in a Time of Homeschooling (2010), which chronicles her one year of homeschooling her eldest daughter. Witnessing her ten-year-old daughter suffer within a highly regimented public school system, though reluctant to give up her own career, Brodie--an English professor who can appreciate the value of a sabbatical to rejuvenate one's love of learning--decided to teach her daughter at home through fifth grade. It's an honest and thought provoking account about homeschooling, parenting, and the public school system.

I like the idea of giving kids in school this kind of sabbatical. Any of you ever done or considered doing something like this?

semester start anxiety abated

Turns out my semester start anxiety was fueled not just by my separation anxiety, but by my fear of going back to my feminist porn manuscript which I had vowed to return to after Labor Day. Fortunately it wasn't dreadful and it only took me a good week to finish up revising it in order to submit to my editor, so now I'm back with Lilly all day. I was holding on to summer at the end there, but now I'm finding refuge in fall routines, knowing what's going to happen every morning (class at "school" Monday, take care of a friend's baby Tuesday, class at the library Wednesday, child swap for yoga Thursday, have Lilly at a friend's house Friday so I get some time to write on my sleep question book).

Lilly in the parking lot in front of "school"

The other thing I was dreading, except returning to the above said manuscript, was Lilly (and I, as it turns out), taking a class at "school;" otherwise known as the Early Childhood Family Education Program (ECFE) offered by the public schools in town. From this post, you may remember me being critical about this program and so wonder why I chose to enroll us in it. Well, firstly I wanted to find out for myself how good or bad it could be. Secondly, a lot of my friends with their kids are in this class, though these very friends are among my sources for my skepticism towards this program. I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity of spending more time with my friends, and Lilly with her friends, playing and learning. I knew this class would include separation time, which I know it's time for (though I'm not liking it). Seeing we constitute about half of the class, my friends and I thought we might have a chance at changing the format a bit and, finally, they all thought I'd be a good candidate to step up and speak out, if that were to be needed.

This was the part I was not happy about. I mean, who likes conflict anyways. But I know I would do it, it's just the kind of person I am. And I was just anxious I'd make more of a scene than need be.

It's not been easy. The teachers are overly sweet and teacherly, to kids and moms, and the token dad. So from being greeted and instructed on how to fill out the name tag, it's been a patience trial for me. The space for the kids is great though with lots of stations for them to explore different activities in. From 8:30 till 9 they roam and play freely. Then it's circle time where we sing, the teacher leads some sort of activity and then reads a book for them. At 9:15 the kids line up to wash their hands and the moms and dad are instructed to leave the class room for our (!) class while the children have a snack and then their play of choice before we return for a final goodbye song.

It's "our" (!!!) class that gets me the most. It's listed on the day's schedule as our "discussion time," but oh no, they insist on letting it be known to us that this is our class time because now it's time to ensure we're parenting the right way. Our "teacher" is a grandma who's so nervous she can barely listen, asking didactic questions like, what kind of parenting style do we not approve of, or superficial questions like, did anyone have a particularly memorable moment of parenting this summer.

Ahh. First day I looked around and saw my best friend just about bursting in her seat. Second time I threw out something challenging to talk about. Like separating from our children, which we're all dealing with as we speak, and many of us--I know at least my friends and I--struggling with. It caused a heated discussion about letting children cry-it-out or not, and I was thanked by my friends after class (during our debrief bitching at the local coffee shop) for bringing this topic up. So I guess this "class" can turn out for the better, but it's going to take work, and that's just not as uplifting to me as when you don't have to fight for a good discussion of sharing challenges and strategies in a safe forum of fellow commiseration and peer boosting.

semester start anxiety

There's anticipation and anxiety in the air as we're plunging into another academic semester tomorrow. My best friend's son is starting Kindergarten, my ex's daughter will be a first year student in college, and my toddling Lilly will be introduced to "separation time" in the ECFE class (Early Childhood Family Education offered by the public schools in town) that she'll be in this fall.

To be honest, I'm dreading it all. But I think it'll be good for us all. Perhaps primarily for me.

"Nationwide, campuses are helping this generation of highly connected families manage the transition by teaching the adults how to let their children go," reported the Start Tribune yesterday on its front page.

Frankly, I'm a little surprised to find myself this attached. I grew up in a country that values independence, in children as well as adults. At eighteen years old, I finished high school, and, as most of my friends, enrolled in university (in Oslo, Norway), left my parents' home (which was in a small city outside of Oslo), and got an apartment of my own. We were legal, could vote, get a driver's license, and buy alcohol in the liquor store. Most of us were done with binge drinking by the end of middle school and considered ourselves quite adult and sophisticated.

When I taught as a college professor here in the US, I was taken aback by how connected students were to their parents. The frequent phone calls I'd overhear between students and their parents while walking across campus from class to class. How much (and how fondly) they'd refer to their parents and conversations with them.

I maintained my high expectations from my American students while I met them halfway, providing more guidance and hand-holding than I really thought necessary. But I did it, and I grew quite close to many of my students. I did not, however, ever get over my exasperation with American students' seemingly uncut umbilical cords.

So why am I so anxious now, what with my Lilly growing up and taking off? I think a lot of it is personal. I grew up in a home that did not feel so safe, and I dreaded first day of school. Alas, it turned out that learning became my sanctuary (though not necessarily school per se: a tiny little girl with glasses, who soon became the class nerd, well, you can see how I became an easy object of teasing and harassment). Yet I liked school. And so when my husband at one point suggested home schooling, even before Lilly was born, I balked. But then the other day, I was the one who threw it out there.

But, ok, so if I take a pause and reflect here now: our Lilly has a completely different foundation from me. We're providing her with a much more nurturing, safe home basis from which she's gleefully adventuring off. She's very confident in herself around others. She loves to learn and she loves people. I think she will love school, and for healthier reasons than mine. She'll be fine. Right???

diapers

Did you know that the newest frontier in giving is diapers? As I found out this past weekend while reading the paper, a suburban mom named Kristen Grode is herself surprised to see that the nonprofit she launched this spring to build Minnesota's first diaper bank, collecting diapers from the public and then delivering them to agencies that help struggling parents, coincides with the burgeoning of a national movement on diaper rights. Yale University held its first "diaper colloquium" earlier this year; the first national study on "diaper needs" was recently released; and a national campaign to improve access to diapers has been launched in Connecticut. "The humble diaper, it seems, is becoming a new frontier of social policy. Advocates argue they are an essential need for children and parents, much like infant formula and food stamps, which are available through the government."

(Kristen Grode. Elizabeth Flores, Star Tribune)

Truly; I am in favor of the government helping. And I have great respect for the work of nonprofit organizations. And am awed by the willingness of this nation's public--friends, neighbors, local communities--to reach out and help each other.

But what ticks me off in this case, is all that's missed.

sharing?

Recently I've kept returning to an article titled "The 12 Building Blocks of Discipline" by Thelma Harms, Ph.D., coauthor of the public television series Raising America's Children and director of curriculum development at the Frank Porter Graham Child Development Center, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (more about her publications here). One of her building blocks is about sensible limits. The part about sharing is what strikes me the most:

"We have to be realistic about the behavior we can expect from children of different ages. Toddlers need a few simple safety rules and a rule against aggression. Most of all they need close supervision.

Preschoolers, whose world is more extensive and independent, need some rules about observing safety guidelines, treating others kindly, and respecting property. Sharing, taking turns, and not interrupting adults, are hard behaviors for preschoolers to learn. So it is best to try to limit situations in which preschoolers must constantly exercise these difficult skills."

This thing about sharing, though, isn't a challenge just for toddlers and preschoolers. For them the actual sharing is a challenge; for parents it might be finding the appropriate time and space to share the challenges of parenting.

what is the ideal mama?

When speaking with fellow mamas in our small rural college town, I've been struck by how different their ideals for mothering are from the ones held by moms in Norway.

One mama I interviewed, who majored in women's studies and has a Master's in social work, talked to me about how she wants her son to see her as a person of her own, not just a mama the way she grew up seeing her selfless stay-at-home mom. She is also a devout attachment parenter who wants to be present for her child, and so she was home with him for the most part till he was one and has only worked part time after that when either her spouse is home with their son, or when her mom can watch him. When he turned 2, he was in daycare a few hours a week, and when he turned 3, he started at the Montessori pre-school in town. This has opened up some more hours for her to work.

It seemed to me she had attained a perfect balance for herself, based on her feminist and attachment parenting deals. Yet at the end of our interview, she expressed guilt for not living up to the ideal mama; a mama who's always home and present, not sending her son to daycare or pre-school.

In Norway, on the other hand, the ideal mama is a mom who returns to work full time after her paid parental leave (which she can take a full year of or split with her husband). This is the norm for urban middle class moms who set the leading standard for everyone else. This means that most children in Norway are in daycare from they're one, and it's not really questioned.

fear and playfulness

I'm trying to incorporate some of my toddler's fearlessness in my yoga practice. I've always been afraid of falling on my face in asanas where that could be a possibility. Like in crow, crane, headstand or handstand.

This winter, after more than ten years of practice, I have finally been able to lift up into crow, if just for a little.

Then this past month, I've kicked up into handstand (with the support of my yoga instructor and next to the wall, but still).

And then today, for the first time, I did a free standing handstand (true, my yoga instructor was nearby spotting me, but even so).

It's so much fun! I feel so brave, and so strong.

In fact, I don't think it's just my daughter's fearlessness that inspires me to tackle these asanas; it's the desire to feel strong. I need to be, for her. And for me, but really, ultimately, for her.

It's harder to be fearless about the future. What do we do when the money we currently have runs out, and we're not getting more coming in based on our writing? Or enough?

When my daughter has turned three (which will not be till next summer, June 2011), I'd like her to start pre-school at the Montessori Children's House in town. That'll give me from 8:30 till 11:15, minus driving. What kind of employer would hire me for those hours?

Again it comes down to this society's lack of flexible work hours.

Fear isn't always disabling in an unhealthy way. Sometimes it protects us. And maybe sometimes it can help us strive for positive changes. That's what I'm trying for with this particular fear.

seeking home

Another thing I fret about is settling and where we as a family should do that. When I quit my job last year to focus on my own writing and family, the Dean responded to my letter of resignation with a stunned "Wow!" One simply does not leave a tenured and promoted position at a college just like that.

Well, guess what, I did. It's not like it's solved all of our problems or even many, aside from eliminating that one component in my life that was really stressing me out. Which was a rather substantial one at that, regularly amounting to about seventy hours a week, of teaching, grading, prepping, developing new courses, committee work, advising, endless meetings, and so on and so on, leaving barely any time for my own scholarship. Though this was supposed to be one of the three main components of my position. If I couldn't find time to write, how on earth would I find time to take care of a child?

Of course, it's not like being home with a child has opened up a vast space for my writing. Like my juggling academic friends with kids, I too find myself much like a clown at times, desperately trying to keep the different balls flowing, including words down on the paper or onto my laptop whenever I find the chance.