warm woolen mittens

March has never been the easiest month around here. And this winter has been particularly hard. We've been slogging through, overwhelmed by ridiculous administrative work, preschool decisions, job interviews, and defense scheduling.

It's times like these that you need to focus on the simple things and breathe.

Sewing draft blockers

Roasting vegetables

Eating lots of "jolly soup" (i.e. homemade vegetable soup)

Newspaper wrapping

Coloring

Heavy whipping cream in coffee (accidentally)

Keep sweeping,

Martha

Watching The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt

but a whimper

I wish I could say I ended 2014 with some excitement, but the energy level around here lately hasn't been conducive to merriment. I'm feeling positive about 2015, though, making resolutions at Bridget Jones's breakneck speed. Though my time - right now - would be better served working on my reappointment materials (which are almost - miraculously - done), I am going to follow in the footsteps of my truly inspirational undergraduates this semester and binge watch Vanderpump Rules. Forgive me.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Belzhar by Meg Wolitzer and Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham. Watched Gone Girl (!!!) and Girls: Season Three.

yup. it's been that kind of month.

All you can do is keep sweeping, Martha

psa

The title of this post should really be "Awkward."

You see, lately, I've been having some trouble with people mispronouncing my name. When I dialed my voicemail late last week and heard the electronic notice "Messages for Caro-LINE Smith," it was the last straw. I've got to correct this problem, I thought. And fast.

To be honest, I haven't always had an issue with people mispronouncing my name. But, as Mr. Beeton noted when I complained to him of the problem, today, people more directly associate me with my written name; email, Facebook, and Instagram all mark me with a LINE instead of a LYNNE as my parents did. This "misspelling" didn't used to be a problem because when people first interacted with me I introduced myself as Caro-LYNNE, and since they were hearing me and others pronounce it more frequently than they had to read it, it never became a significant problem.

Whenever someone mispronounces my name, I cringe, but I usually let it go. More often than not, when I correct someone, they retaliate with, "Are you sure? But it's spelled Caro-LINE." I mean. What do you say to that? I usually flippantly respond, "Yup. My parents didn't know how to spell." Believe me, no matter how you spell it, it's Caro-LYNNE. At least, that's what it has been since I was born.

I had a whole snarky post written about how there are lots of "Caro-LINES" who are actually "Caro-LYNNES" - Caroline Kennedy and Caroline Ingalls. But, then I found these...





Okay. So maybe not all Caro-LINES are Caro-LYNNES. But this one is.

Keep sweeping, Martha

* My worst Caro-LINE moment came at my wedding when the minister presiding over the ceremony said Caro-LINE (an honest mistake on his part, again the spelling versus hearing thing). Mr. Beeton panicked, though, worried that we weren't officially married since my correct name hadn't been said.

blackout

Remember last summer? The summer of leaning back? Well, suffice it to say that the Summer of 2014 is a far cry from that.* It's been a bit of a grind. This administrative position, which I am so ill-suited for, has been stealing away the tranquil moments of last summer, the bubble blowing and popsicle eating. It's tough. And I'm not happy with it. But, I'm trudging onward.

It's times like these when you just want to curl up on your bed and draw the shades.

When we moved Boy Beeton to the guest room, we had reservations. The move made sense because the room was bigger, and it didn't have a shared wall with our neighbors. But, it's also in the back of the house and gets a lot of sun. In the winter, it sometimes feels like a greenhouse in there, all steamy and warm.

I knew, if we were to see past 6:30 am, we needed some serious blackout curtains. I looked online and found this tutorial. I had bought white fabric ages ago in the hopes of making curtains for our guest room, which looked like this:

But, I never got around to it. Instead, I used the white fabric as the base for Boy Beeton's curtains, and I edged them in this orange fabric, which looks curiously like a pair of shorts I own (channeling my inner Maria, I guess):

I ordered blackout fabric and cut it to size. I dug out some old curtain clips that we had bought on clearance when West Elm downtown closed and hung everything together. You wouldn't believe how well they work. The sun tries its best to sneak through, but these curtains are unstoppable.

Boy Beeton's room is now the ultimate place to curl up and shut out the rest of the world. That's probably why - when I'm laying in there at night as Boy Beeton falls asleep - that I fall asleep too. I'm blaming the curtains.

Keep sweeping, Martha

* Borrowing R's asterisk technique. Don't worry about me too much. We did manage to get to the pop shop, and we have blown our share of bubbles. Our friends from Savannah came to visit, and we also snuck in quick trips to Deep Creek Lake, Raleigh, and Annapolis. And, last night was glorious - dinner and a movie with a dear friend.

Watched Boyhood.

100 happy (or at least 5)

It was raining today. Hard. And it's the end of the semester. Also hard. So, just a few things that have been making me smile lately.

upper left: my younghouselove octopus; upper right: my teal lamp from Target; lower left: my jade plant; lower right: my display of necklaces

Also, pic stitch (Thank you, babysitter!)

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri.

the cruelest month

Things have not been going very smoothly over here at the Beeton household. Right now, we have this tally... Bridget Jones' style.

1 new car, 1 new car sideswiped

1 experiment completed, 1 cold room heat-up, resulting in the combustion of said experiment

1 stressed out toddler who "Doesn't want to go to the nanny share!!!!"

1 momma who is trying to juggle teaching her class, being a competent administrator, and writing an academic analysis of Betty Draper's parenting practices for a conference next week

And it's snowing. Again.

That's why - no matter what - on the only nice day in a while, you just have to head to Brookside Gardens. A little green makes everyone better.

Even if it was followed by projectile vomitting in the backseat of the new car on the way home.

Keep shoveling.

Martha

a little self-shaming never hurt anyone

It's been a rough week here at the Beeton household. I've been transitioning to a new position at work. Mr. Beeton just got his spring class schedule and found out that he's teaching at exactly the time I am teaching on Tuesdays. We've been scrambling to find childcare for that afternoon. It's just been bleck.

Not to mention this...

What is that, you ask? Well, it's a certified mess. A few weeks ago we decided to transition Baby Beeton into the guest room and move our guest room into Baby Beeton's nursery. We were full of good intentions, but life got in the way. I feel like I need a shot of motivation to get this project going again, but I'm not sure how to do it.

And then I remembered people like Yuka. When I taught a course entitled "The Personal Is Political: Writing About Women's Autobiographies," I did a segment on documentaries. We watched Yuka's Fat Chance - a really delightful and thoughtful chronicle of her struggle to lose weight. At one point, she addresses the fact that it's a little nutty to document what she sees as shameful - her extra body weight. But, she laughs, a little self-shaming never hurt. My post here is in that spirit. Maybe sharing this photo with all of you will kickstart something here on Quackenbos Street.

Of course, right before I sat down to write this post, I went through the mail and found this:

Talk about adding insult to injury?! Now I have to go to the thrift store and look for an old card catalog to refurbish into a toy chest.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched Lost in Translation. Watching Dexter: The Final Season. Finished Homeland: Season Two.

peg plus cat

If you know her catch phrase, you'll know what this week has been like.

It's only Monday, by the way.

later's better than never

Sheryl Sandberg would not be happy with me.

If she had walked by my house on Wednesday, she would have seen me literally leaning back in my plastic adirondack chair, my feet soaking in a kiddie pool, blowing bubbles like it was my job. Which it kind of is. At least for now.

I'm not sure I care, though.

(By the way, if you work with me, you might want to skip this post. I don't want you to think less of me for leaning back instead of leaning in.)

I first heard about Sandberg and her book from one of my students - an ambitious young woman with a internship in the office of a prominent Congresswoman. When the student enthusiastically explained the premise (her mother had given it to her as a gift), I internally raised my eyebrows. It sounded incredibly problematic for a number of reasons. Sitting there, facing this eager, young undergrad, I suddenly felt very old. I could see my past self in this student, voraciously consuming Sandberg's words as I carefully planned out my post-graduation future. But realistically, from my current perspective as a new mother, trying to balance going back to work with child care, Sandberg's manifesto seemed a bit oversimplified. Perfect for a wide-eyed co-ed. Not so applicable to a thirty-nine year old, first-time mother.

Admittedly, I still haven't read the book (though it is on my "To Read" list), so I could be totally wrong about Sandberg and her advice to young women. But, I have read the criticism, and it resonantes strongly. Elsa Walsh's response in The Washington Post was particularly insightful. At fifty-five, she thinks back on her children's early years and acknowledges while it seems all consuming at the time it's really just a small, wonderful blip on the screen - one that she wouldn't have wanted to miss, leaning in at work. Allison Stevens, who writes for We News, has a similar response to Sandberg; she notes that until domestic work is shared equally amongst partners in a household there's no sense in trying to do it all. You'll just end up more tired, more angry, and more disappointed in yourself.

In her column, Stevens notes that she's "leaning back" - a philosophy which I am readily embracing this summer, even though I have a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that it might be career self-sabatoge. I still have a book to finish. But, I'm wondering now if turning two chapters into two articles would be more realistic. It would give me a lot more time for blowing bubbles, that's for sure.

In any case, I have to make peace with my career decisions this summer and into the future. Every time I think about exchanging an afternoon at the playground with an afternoon in the library, however, the playground always wins.

I keep reminding myself there are so many reasons not to feel guilty about being fully present with Baby Beeton this summer. As Walsh reminds, childhood is fleeting. And, if Baby Beeton ends up being an only, then I'll only have this one summer with a two-year old who finds such pleasure in butterflies, birdies, ice cream, and dancing to "Gangnam Style." Leaning back, in that case, sounds pretty darn good.

Some shots from our summer of leaning back.

A new favorite pastime - washing dishes (i.e. splashing, splashing, splashing!)

Hoops!

Matching shoes

A game of "whack it" - also knows as golf

One lump or two, teddy?

Keep sweeping, Martha 

lunch is the new dinner

Dearest, dearest readers. I don't know what kind of voodoo magic you all have been doing on our behalf but whatever it is I thank you for it. Following that last post, we entered a divine week of really, really good sleep. And, as a result, I had been feeling like a million bucks. Of course, minor disruptions have set in again, but the memory of that week keeps me going.

I think another mood booster has been our commencement of "Date Fridays." Fridays originally began as a day devoted to work. It's the day when our babysitter C (who's so wonderful!) spends the afternoon with Baby Beeton, and it was our intention to spend the four hours that she's here working on whatever it is that we need to do (thinning plants, writing grants, revising chapters, assembling promotion materials - yikes!). But, after the first few weeks, we realized that all this work could be done outside of our home, that we could actually leave and return when her shift was done. So, we began going out to lunch and then heading somewhere to do work. This past Friday, we went to Busboys and Poets, and in weeks past, we've gone to Takoma Bistro, Adega, and Wasabi. And, we've found ourselves typing away in the Silver Spring Whole Foods, the Stamp Student Union, and the McKeldin Library. It's been the best way to end the work week and begin the weekend.

We even managed to sneak in a dinner date. We had intended to use a gift certificate we received for Christmas from two years ago (thanks K & B) to Marvin in the U. Street Corridor a few weeks ago. But instead, we spent the evening in the veterinary hospital with Ella who was attacked by a nasty, nasty dog on the Sligo Creek Trail (I'd love to track down the dog's owner who walked away rather quickly after the vicious attack and who most likely lives in one of those mansions lining the parkway... it would give me great satisfaction to present him with the $2000 bill!). Once Ella - and we - recovered, we decided to try again, and thanks to Grammy and Papa who came to sit with Henry, we were able to not only have a terrific meal but also join our friend E for her 30th birthday. I can't say that I've ever had a cocktail as delicious as the one I had that night (even if it cost $12 and took me 20 minutes to get). Unfortunately, I can't remember the name and googling "champagne" and "marvin" has produced ridiculous results.

In any case, that's a brief update from here. I realize that I'm long overdue for a post about Baby Beeton, but in order to do that, I need some photographs so that you can see our growing boy in all his glory (maybe today... we're headed to the pumpkin patch). Let me just say that lately, I feel a lot like I live in a zoo - "minou, minou, quack, quack, woof, woof."

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched What to Expect When You're Expecting and Conception. (I realize that there's a theme here, but don't worry, dear readers, it means nothing. Believe me.)

i went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair

Oh my. Things have been rough at the Beeton household as of late.

Have you ever read this book?

Lately, I feel as though I've been living it. Terrible. Horrible. No good. Very Bad.

If sleeplessness were as compelling a topic for everyone else as it is for me, I'd be on my way to writing my very own saga - think Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey without the vampires or sadomasochism lite. But, unfortunately, tales of 4:45 am awakenings - complete with smiles and the practicing of new words - does not make for riveting drama, beyond the walls of our home, of course.

When Baby Beeton started walking, people told me to relax. Now would be the time that he'd really sleep like a log. He'd be so tired from racing around the house that he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open come bedtime.

Well, I'm sorry "experienced" mothers. That's not the case at our house. Instead, we've got a wide-eyed baby boy come 1 am, 2 am, even 3 am, awake and ready to start practicing his steps.

It seems as though we have come to a crossroads. Up until this point, we've resisted any kind of sleep training, but it looks like Baby Beeton might need a little coaching in the falling-back-to-sleep-on-your-own department. Both Mr. Beeton and I agree that we want to minimize the crying - for our sake and his - so we'll be trying the go in, soothe, go out method. But we are going to try to stop rocking him until he falls asleep again. It's not doing any of us any good, I'm afraid.

Of course, all this sleeplessness colors each and every day. Forgetting your umbrella, jamming the copier, being completely ill-prepared for class - these all seem so much more catastrophic when you're operating on less than the ideal amount of sleep. (What's ideal you ask? For me, nine hours. Yup. That's how many hours I slept straight each and every night before Baby Beeton arrived. Maybe that's why this has been so tough.) It's hard to take a deep breath sometimes and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation (having to borrow an umbrella of a student to run across the quad and make copies on the copier that you hopelessly jammed earlier for all your colleagues and which hopefully by now is fixed or you don't have a lesson plan).

Thank goodness for caramel lattes, crazy splashing in the bathtub, the public library, and Ella's pouches. It's the little things that make the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad a little bit better.

That and at least nine hours. Cross your fingers for me.

Keep sweeping, Martha

return to

Who in their right mind would want to go back to work when you could play peek-a-boo all day?

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.

abbondanza

I'm re-reading Plenty today in preparation for a paper that I'll be giving at the Mid-Atlantic Popular/American Culture Association conference in Alexandria, Virginia this weekend. The book, which chronicles the local eating adventures of J.B. MacKinnon and Alisa Smith in Vancouver, far surpasses Barbara Kingsolver's local eating manifesto. Don't get me wrong. I love me some Kingsolver, but this co-written memoir is more deftly written, in my opinion, and much more compelling on a number of levels.

We've been in a rut here on Quackenbos. In part because it's that time of the semester when students seem a little less patient (and sometimes even less kind), when the work just piles up (preliminary exams, grants, grading, applications for sabbatical), and when the air starts to get a bit colder promising that winter is on its way. To add insult to injury, we've been feeling a bit under the weather, our appetites not what they used to be. What we needed was a little reminder of the plenty that still surrounds us in fall.

I headed up to the Takoma Park Farmers' Market this morning. Mr. Beeton was studying, but I needed some apples. Correction. I needed some apples, some cucumbers, the last of the garden fresh tomatoes, some sourdough bread, some sweet potatoes, and some string beans. $45 worth of fresh produce. Totally worth it. I toasted the sour dough bread and smothered it with tomatoes, garlic, basil from our garden, oregano, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. I mashed up the sweet potatoes, melted some butter on top, and sprinkled them with salt. I made applesauce according to Laurie Colwin's directions (another author I'll be talking about in my paper). And tonight, we'll make a modification of Rachel Ray's tomato soup accompanied with grilled cheese on sourdough bread (of course).

Slowly, the stresses of fall are fading away. We've got plenty of other things to occupy our time.

Keep sweeping, Martha

race around the track

When I finished up with graduate school, the number one question I got asked by people in academia was, "Did you get a tenure track job?" I didn't, and I didn't care. My job pretty much has all the perks of tenure. I can become an associate professor, if I like, and I can also become a full professor, if I work hard enough. I scoffed at the naysayers. After all, they were the ones who said I couldn't write a dissertation on chick lit. I'd show them. I'm always happiest at the margins.

Until yesterday... when my reappointment files were due. Since I don't have a tenure track job, I have to reapply for my job every three years, which means writing a teaching statement, a research statement, and a service statement as well as compiling an enormous pile of extraneous material including past syllabi, writing assignments, and student samples. Since I take my job seriously (and since March marked the start of Women's History Month and our "capstone" event for our program), I patiently waited until the start of Spring Break on Friday afternoon at 5 pm to begin compiling these documents. It took forever. Forever.

Only now am I emerging from this trauma. The sad thing is that I just wanted to get it all done so that I could have some time to grade. That's what spring break is for, right? Okay... I lie. My calendar is also filled with doctor's appointments, a haircut, and having my taxes done. I'm looking forward to a slight reprieve at the end of the week when we head to the sandy beaches of the Lehigh Valley.

P.S. - A big welcome to Baby B! So glad you could make it in time for St. Patrick's Day!

Watched The Informant. Re-watched half of The Talented Mr. Ripley. Still watching Weeds: Season 5.

march into the madness

Watched Three Coins in the Fountain. Watching Weeds: Season 5. Finished watching Big Love: Season 3.

surf's up

This semester has gotten off to a particularly rocky start.

I'm teaching three classes on two different themes this semester, which, in general, I'm very excited about. Two of the classes are themed around women and food, and the third class is about Mad Men. I'd envisioned a pretty enjoyable spring, reading Diana Abu-Jaber and contemplating Peggy and Peter's relationship.

But, due to a series of events outside of my control, I've had to rewrite the syllabus for all two of the classes that I am teaching this semester. Now, for most people, this wouldn't be a problem. But, in our program, we're required to have about ten pages of front matter. This, in combination with my own obsessive-compulsive desire to start every new semester off with a clear sense of my overall trajectory, makes for a fifteen-page syllabus when you add in my detailed calendar. Now, I'm in the process of reworking all my dates to accommodate the demands of "the Others."

When Friday hit, I needed to visit Surfside. This summer, when all was right with the world, we'd go there about once a week. They have all kinds of delicious food and even more delicious margaritas. And, the best part about it is that we can walk with Ella down to Wisconsin Avenue to pick it up. If we call on the way, it's ready when we get there. I ordered the Nevis; Mr. Beeton ordered the Andros. It felt like summer when we ate.

Perhaps all this beginning-of-the-semester stress is compounded by the fact that we began our house hunting yesterday. The most memorable house - the one with the creepy horror movie music coming from upstairs. The quote of the day - from our realtor who said, "I feel like I'm going to get shot," in the same house.

Keep sweeping - especially when you can't see through the dust, Martha

Watched 9 and The Proposal.