Welcome to the desert

So I totally did not mean to leave you all hanging after my last wordless post.

Well, in all reality, I'm sure that none of you actually felt left hanging. I mean, between a very traumatizing attack on the world's most famous marathon, and a crazy, seemingly never-ending manhunt, I'm sure we all had other things on our mind than DC's challenge to figure out the meaning behind her three pictures. And, well, even if this had been the most normal of normal weeks, I highly doubt whether anyone was sitting around thinking to themselves that O Em Gee, DC better get her act together.

Let's just say that I don't like to leave people hanging.

So, to respond to all the comments: Yes! We are getting a pool. And not just any old above-ground pool, no, a bona fide in-ground, concrete vinyl-lined Grecian shaped pool. Yes, it's crazy, and we are possibly completely insane, but there you have it. A pool.

Now when we sat down with the pool designers, we considered every option possible: how much deck, what kind of deck, what kind of lights, how many, a diving board or a jumping rock, what kind of coping, what color, and a whole host of other things I never even thought about when I first thought a pool would be a good idea. I mean, did you know there are three kinds of cleaning robots? And at least four types of pumps? And twenty types of liners? And you have to make decisions about every. Single. One. Of. Them.
Remind me to never build my own home.

Anyway, one thing we definitely did not consider was the incredible mess our yard would turn in to. Obviously, we realized building a pool would involve digging, but somehow, we imagined the dirt would magically disappear. And the dumptrucks and backhoes would just fall from the heavens into our backyard every morning and disappear at the end of each workday. Instead, this past Monday a dumptruck and a backhoe appeared in our backyard and proceeded to not only dig a ridiculously large hole, but also leave mountains of red clay piled several feet high, and create yards and yards of deep, muddy trenches throughout what remains of our backyard, down the yard beside our house, and all the way to the street.

Personally, I don't mind. Every extra mound of clay signifies one step closer to a beautifully finished pool, and thinking about that makes it all OK. Husband-dear, on the other hand, takes a less light view of matters. With each pile of dirt hauled away, he sighs about sprinkler systems, sod, the fence, and a host of other matters that I, in my pool-induced euhoria have completely brushed aside. I mean, who needs sod when you have a pool deck? Or a sprinkler system when you have a pool full of crystal clear water? Clearly, husband-dear is a kill joy. Or, considering the fact that I have never seen a piece of sod or sprinkler pipe up close, while husband-dear turned that into a career prior to joining the military, he is possibly just a realist. I'll let you be the judge and share our current view from our back porch: Is it like the New Mexican desert I keep talking about? Or maybe not?

Another wordless Wednesday

Since no one came even close to guessing the story behind the picture of the flags that I posted two weeks ago, I figured it was time for another wordless Wednesday.
So.
Three more pictures without a story. Knock yourselves out.

At ease

You know all those lame sayings your mom your grandmother totally random old people who start talking to you as you're walking down the street always say to you? Phrases like "the more things change, the more the stay the same?", "a bird in the hand is better than two in the bush", "good fences make good neighbors", and "The way the clock ticks at home, it doesn't tick anywhere else"? OK, so that last one is actually not something a random American elderly lady would say to you, as it's Dutch. Or Dunglish, to be more specific. But you all get my drift, you know, "there's no place like home" or "you can pick your nose, you can pick your friends, but you can't stick a spatula up your butt and jump over an electronic fence". Sorry. That last one was also not something an elderly lady would randomly tell you. Unless she's secretly a teenager suffering from Asperger's and a wicked sense of humor.

Anyway.
Sayings like that, ones that are annoying because they are true.
Well, today I was able to disprove two of them. Yes, two. First, there's "the more things change, the more they stay the same". As you all know, I've been working on an NIH-funded project, and a result have only had to teach two classes this semester. It's been a wonderful experience. But in spite of that, today still looked like this:

8:30-9:15am-Faculty meeting
9:15--9:45am Student appointment to retake midterm
9:45-1pm - Classes
1-2pm Presentation run through with students attending undergrad conference
2-3pm Committee meeting
4-5pm Taping interview

And that's not including a 7:45-8:30 class prep, three five minute meetings with students regarding their need to re-prioritize their lives in lieu of their recent midterm grade, five IRB proposals to evaluate, a long phone call to plan a lunch meeting, a brief meeting with the chair regarding an upcoming conference, and two treks across campus to get to the various meetings and back.

It sounds a lot like my life before the grant. And it was. But it wasn't. It could not have been more different. Not only because several of the meetings included people asking me for my opinion or advice, but also because I was happier than I ever remember being at work. Busier too, but definitely happier. When I was walking across campus to yet another meeting, stopped for the third time by a student who had a quick question, waved to a faculty member who called out a "hi" across the quad, and realized it had taken me ten minutes to traverse maybe half a mile because of all the people I knew who wanted to call out a greeting or exchange a few ideas, I knew why. It was because I, for the first time in a long, lone time, felt at home. I was surrounded by people I knew and who knew me, people who appreciated me, and for whom I would gladly drive three plus hours every day. Faculty members who wanted to collaborate, share a coffee, and who asked me for advice. Students who, even though they complained and griped the whole way, never ceased to come back and visit me after graduation. Students whom I would gladly describe as royal pains in the behind, but who were, above all, MY royal pains in the behind, and whom I would gladly encourage, cajole, pester, push, and call out until the moment they walked across the stage at graduation.

I'm almost afraid to say, lest I jinx it, but for the first time in a long time, I felt at home. No, we still haven't found a church home, or friends who mean as much to us as the ones who left, or whom we left behind. I still don't like living in a subdivision, and I also still don't understand why this town does not have a proper book store, an independent movie theater, or a downtown. But this afternoon, on that sun-filled quad, with half a day full of meetings and students and faculty, it all suddenly came together. This place is home. It may not be like any home I've ever known or will know. It may be the most unlikely home I have ever had. But I like it.

There is the love!

So there's still love plenty of love between my blog and me. The fact that we weren't on speaking terms for a few weeks has more to do with my own inability to get the thoughts swirling through my head on to the screen. And just to clear things up, it didn't help that blog posts usually come to me while I'm showering or driving my car. By the time I'd get out of the shower or my car there was usually either a day to begin or end, and little time or energy for writing down those thoughts, which seemed far less awesome and deep out in the real world anyway.

But, all of that is behind us now, and my blog and I are back to the way we've always been: sarcastic, cynical, but definitely in love. And there probably isn't a better day to rekindle that love than on Valentine's Day. Coincidence? Of course not.

Personally I'm still not entirely sure what I think about Valentine's Day. As the girl who never ever ever had a boyfriend around Valentine's Day, and so who never ever ever had anything to show her friends on that dreaded day, I grew up firmly believing that Valentine's Day was an absolutely ridiculous financial exploitation of human relationships. Yes, I had graduate school written all over at a very early age. Secretly, of course, I wanted nothing more than a card and some flowers, so everyone would know that although I too was definitely normal, and just like everyone else. My whole Valentine's complex wasn't helped by the fact that  once I made it to college, and actually did have a semi-significant other who lasted through Christmas, I broke up right before Valentine's Day. Poor guy.

Anyway, then came husband-dear. As you may have surmised from last year's Valentine's Day's post, husband-dear was a little skittish when we met. OK, he was a lot skittish. And you know what, most of the time, it didn't bother me too much. He had a life, I had a life (well, I was busy running surveys and coming up with even more complicated methods of analysis), and I figured he would come around eventually. Except on our first Valentine's Day together. Suddenly, him being my boyfriend really mattered. Really mattered.  However, being the complete newbies at this whole intercultural, blended family thing that we were, neither one of us said a word about that day. And this turned out to be a big. Deal. Especially if one of you expects a card with some sort of declaration of at least serious liking on there, and the other believes that any show of love on Valentine's Day would indicate a desire to get married the next week and start making babies (or something. I'm not sure what husband-dear was thinking, but that's my closest guess).

You can guess what happened: I got husband-dear a card, while he, in return, got me nothing. I would love to tell you that the fallout was not pretty, but there really was little fallout. Sure, I cried on friends' shoulders about how this my first Valentine's Day with a boyfriend, and I still hadn't gotten anything, but that was about it. I believe the only thing I said to him was something about how it would have been nice if he had gotten me a card, and that was it. I figured, in a ruthlessly logical way, that since I hadn't communicated my expectations to him, I shouldn't have had any to begin with. I'm telling you, running analyses for months on end does things to your mind.

I never told husband-dear about how hurt I had been by that first Valentine's Day until the next year, right before our second Valentine's Day, and right after we'd gotten married*. I'm not sure what I said, but something about how that had been the first Valentine's Day on which I had a boyfriend, and how I had so been hoping to finally get something. I remember I said it in passing, in the checkout line at the commissary, without really meaning anything by it (I'm still up to my eyeballs in data analysis and write-ups at this point). Husband-dear, however, almost cried. In the checkout line. While wearing his uniform**. He had had no idea, and felt horrible.

But he made up for that lost Valentine that year, and all the year's after. I have come into my office to find my desk covered with chocolate kisses. I have gotten stuffed animals, jewelry, flowers, candies, coloring books and crayons when it's been a stressful year (I like to color when I need to unwind - don't judge), and the sweetest cards you can imagine. I've come home to a house filled with candles and the song we danced to at our wedding (the "real" one) playing on the stereo, to a three-course meal complete with a fully decorated table and a chocolate martini, and tiramisu in the oven. We may not have had a "first" Valentine, but the ones since have been the best.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone - show everyone where the love is!



*Technically, we got married twice. Our legal wedding was months before our "real" wedding, to ensure some military stuff would be taken care of. The one in January is our legal wedding, and the one husband-dear claims we shouldn't celebrate. But every year, he asks me if we are, just be on the safe side. Yes, that first Valentine's still haunts him today.

**And he is going to kill me for telling you this.

The happiest place on earth

The title is, for once, not a sarcastic reference to the place I call my hometown. In fact, I actually have nothing sarcastic or cynical to say in this post at all, which is probably why it took me so long to write it. I know, who are you and what did you to Dixiechick, right? But seriously, the reason for my title is the fact that I, husband-dear, our darling offspring, as well as my in-laws, spent Thanksgiving break at Disney World. And it was truly magical. The rides, the parades, the landscaping, the cone-shaped lampshades in our hotel room, the endless suspension of disbelief, it was all absolutely wonderful. I mean, all I really should be telling you is that although I brought all of the grading I usually complete over Thanksgiving break (about two days' worth), it stayed inside its bag, next to my suitcase in our room. Untouched. For four whole days. That right there says it all.

I had only been to a Disney park twice before: once to Disney world in the mid-80s, and once to Disneyland Paris in the early 2000s, so my expectations were based on little more than warm, fuzzy memories and the tendency to say "Mag-EEK KEENgdome". Revisiting a park when your memories are so picture-perfect, but either so long ago, or related to a park on another continent is always dangerous. What if your memory glossed over the less than enjoyable parts? What if you looked at your scrapbook so much you don't remember all the not-so-great stuff? What if the park in Paris really is the better version? Fortunately, I had so much grading to do in the weeks leading up to our trip that I had pretty much forgotten we were going had little time to consider things like this. Instead, on Wednesday night, I turned into a Tasmanian devil, threw some underwear and shirts into a suitcase, and pronounced myself ready to go.

Thinking back, I realize that there is one less-than-glowing thing I can tell you about our trip to Disney world.
Sorry.
It was, unfortunately, also the first thing we did on our trip: getting there. I'm not sure why, but for some reason unknown to mere mortals, Disney resorts are pretty much, like Hogwarts, unplottable. The hotel we were heading to had two different addresses listed on its own website, our GPS couldn't find it, and Mapquest wasn't too certain about the location either. After a not-too-reassuring phone call to Disney reservations, where an agent happily told me that "We hear this all the time!", we went on our slightly-less merry way.
Fortunately, my phone did seem to know where it was going, although it completely disagreed with Mapquest. Now I have not navigated us/myself through most of Europe, the eastern part of the United States, and various parts of China to let a measly trip to Orlando get me down, so I went to work, pulling out the various maps we had stowed in our car, and tried to get a grip on the layout of the happiest, or most mysterious if you will, place on earth. And after some triangulation with a Florida map, our GPS, my phone app, and some serious anxiety-driven kvetching, I figured out that you could indeed get there from here, and plotted a route. All questions and queries about toll roads, short cuts, and alternative routes were quickly quelled with a stern, "I set up the route, and this is how we're driving", and away we went. Almost merrily.

And once we got there, it was all quickly forgotten. When we walked into Magic Kingdom that afternoon, we walked right into the "Make your dreams come true"/"Believe in your dreams"/ "Just dream already, dammit!" parade (OK, so I might have made the last one up, but I can't remember the name of the parade for the life of me), and the magic was born. We laughed at Stitch, yo-ho-ho-ed our way through the Pirates of the Carribean, made a mandatory nuisance call to my friend Shelly during the It's a Small World Ride, and loved the Thunder Mountain Railroad (which in my memory had real water spilling over it, which was either a figment of my imagination, or has since been turned into the wafting smoke they use now). We watched the Electric parade, listened to a group of southerners sitting behind us complain about the fact that ZOMG President Obama was now featured in the Hall of Presidents, and bought Disney jackets when the weather proved a little colder than we expected.

The magic continued throughout the next two days, with us mastering the fastpass system at Hollywood studios, Epcot, and the Animal Kingdom so that we got to ride some our favorite rides not once, but twice. I got to wow Jimmie with my knowledge of the Lights, Motor, Action! show, sing along with Aerosmith on the Rock n Roller Coaster, speak Italian at Epcot, hug a cast member, marvel at the fact that the Canadian pavilion still has the same 360 degrees film it did twenty-six years ago, have a glass of wine in Germany, and freak out at the "bugs" crawling under your legs in the "It's a bug life" show.

So, I'm sorry. I have nothing negative to say about my Disney experience. I suppose the one thing I could come up with was the fact that the cast members at our hotel would wish each guest a "colorful day" and tell them, "sketch ya later!", but you know, that's just cute.

Again, my apologies. Tomorrow, we will return to our normal programming.

And then there were none....

I have friends all over the world.
Literally.

I have friends in Nijmegen, Groningen, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Hilversum, and every single small Dutch town in between.

I have friends in Italy, in Monaco, in Germany, Belgium, and in France. Friends in Helsinki, London, Muenster, and Wales.

I have friends in Bangkok, in Aidelaide, Kenya, Vancouver, and St. Maarten*.

I have friends in Maine, New York, Massachusetts, Ohio, Idaho, Florida, Alabama, Virginia, Hawaii, South Carolina, Texas, LA, San Francisco, Las Vegas*, and as of next week, I will also have a friend in Chicago.
And another city to add to my list of places to visit. I hear it has a great marathon. And lots of wind.

True, all of this makes for a great collection of Christmas cards, some pretty neat getaways, and the opportunity to, no matter where you are, be only a few hours away from rekindling an old friendship, meeting one of your best friends, or just catching up where you left off last time.

But sometimes, every once in a while, usually right around PCS season, I wish I had just one good friend left right here.

Anyone? Anyone?

*I'm sure I've forgotten at least several of my friends in this list. I'm sorry, but there are only so many points in a list readers can handle.

Terrifyingly, confusedly elated

I'm not sure if the phrase "terrifyingly elated" makes any sense to you, but that's pretty much what I feel like right now. Actually, let's add "confused" and "nervous" to that. So "Nervously confused and terrifyingly elated". I did not think it was possible to feel all those things at once, and judging by the rumbling in my stomach, my body isn't very happy about it, but there you have it.

Let's start with the confusion. When I started to write this blog, I was merely terrified, nervous, and elated. But then, lo and behold, the change that Blogger has been threatening to implement is here, and oh-my-god-what-happened-to-my-dashboard. Everything is white, light, spacious, and, worst of all, completely different from how it used to look. It's just like with running shoes - you found a pair you like, and before the year is up, the maker decides to "improve" the "running experience" by "further adapting" to "today's runners' needs". Or whatever. I liked my blog the way it was, and now it's weird, different, and I'll have to relearn my way around it. And honestly, living in the south is confusing enough as it is. I don't want that on my blog. Call me neurotic, a type-A personality, whatever you like, a) you're probably right, and b) it doesn't change the fact that I don't like it.

Alright then, time to put Sheldon Cooper away, and move on to the elation. For a half-empty-gal like myself, just typing that word is odd. But it's true. I have been feeling elated. And for not just one, but two reasons. First of all, yesterday I heard that I had been nominated for and won the "Excellence in teaching" award at work. Apparently, several of my students nominated me, and I won.
I won, people. I never win anything. And now I not only won something, but I won because in spite of all the huffing, the puffing, the eye rolling, the whining, the complaining, my students like what I do. Enough to nominate me. That is enough to make me want to cry. Again. It makes it all worth it.

Second, I also just found out that Jimmie has made the high school marching band. In the south, where high school bands are on a par with football teams, that is a Big. Deal. Everyone who can't play football and isn't a girl (as cheerleading is still very much for girls around here), wants to be on the marching band. And so did Jimmie. He had been practicing his trumpet around the house for weeks, much to the joy of all of especially his four-legged housemates, but apparently all the loud screeches, the endless scales, and the constant hunt for chapstick for his cracked lips was worth it, as this morning the band director emailed us that he was in. And just because I am one proud momma, I'm going to tell you that our high school marching band is one of the best in the state, has won several championships, and marches like no other. I have not looked at the fee schedule, the summer camp schedule, or the weekly training schedule yet, as I'm sure those will take away some of my elation, but for now, I'm happy for Jimmie. For the little kid who used to get picked on so bad he didn't want to ride the bus to school. That same little kid who is now going to march with the best.

And the terrified part? Well, for some reason I don't remember myself, I will be getting up at around 4:30 tomorrow morning (pending negotiations with husband-dear regarding departure times), and together with several hundred other people swim 1.2 miles, bike 56.1 miles, and then finish it all off with a nice 13.1 mile run. Hopefully within eight hours. And it looks like it's going to rain. Terrified doesn't even begin to describe it.

So there you have it, it is possible to be happy, confused, and scared to death all at the same time.

Learning how to be half-full: The gratitude journal

Besides being a sarcastic cynic, at least when it comes to things such as students following directions and meeting deadlines, one could also call me a glass half-empty kind of girl. Not in a depressing, woe-is-me Eeyore style, but more your typical Dutch Calvinist "we'll believe that when we see it" kind of way. Let's say you and I are planning a trip together, I will be the one worrying about missing planes, losing luggage, and making sure everyone is up to date on their shots and health insurance, as in spite of having never experienced anything I couldn't handle, I'm always convinced that THIS time will different, and we will all be royally up a creek without a paddle, unless I plan for and talk about every possible thing that could go wrong.

Life with me is just a bundle of joy, let me tell you.

At any rate, since the person suffering the most from this semi-doomsday attitude to life was me (well, and poor husband-dear, of course, since he gets to listen to all my bat-guano crazy ideas about how DOOM will befall us), I figured I would be pro-active and do something sbout it. And so at the beginning if this year I started a gratitude journal.

Usually, I'm far too down to earth for anything as hippy dippy as a journal (which is why this blog does not count as a journal...I consider it an anthropological account of my life down south, thankyouverymuch). But I also figured it was about time I started to become more aware of the good things in my life. The things that are going pretty dang well, and which also happen to be the things I usually take for granted (our paper got accepted for publication! Well, of course it did, I spent weeks, months obsessing about, and anyway, we probably only got in because they needed a filler. Now, what about our next publication?). So for the past few months, I have made myself write down five things for which I am grateful every day. At times, I've had to get really creative, as some days have just been as gratitude-filled as a mound of fireants, but I have, much to my own amazement, always been able to find five things. Sometimes even six. Now some of them are downright hilarious, and as I was reading them out to husband-dear last night, I realized that since you guys get so much Eeyore (fine! I'll admit, I'm Eeyore) from me, it would only be fair to share some of my ups with you too.

So without further ado, here is the top ten of my funniest, most endearing, and oddest things to be grateful for:

10. Got to drive the CRV to work.
You may remember we purchased a new car about a year ago. It has seat warmers, XM radio, an IPod hookup, cruise control, and leather seats. It's also, technically, husband-dear's. And since husband-dear has this insane theory about racking up too many miles on it, I only drive it to work every once in a while. But when I do, it's 90 miles of partying, people!

9. No drive to work! This one is always followed by an exclamation mark too.
There are some Fridays when I can work from home, and even though I get up at the same time I normally do, and work as much if not more as I do at work, I LOVE not having to get in my car. I love, love, love, love it. Seriously. It is just a tad sad to consider how much I detest driving, though, when you realize I drive about 16K a year. In ten months. Yes. But at least I have a job (oooh....there is hope for Eeyore after all!)

8. Dusted the house.
Yeah, I'm not sure sbout that one myself. I'm guessing it had been a while since our cleaning lady had been by, the dust had piled up so thick it had become visible, snd I sctually found time to dust. Finding time to do anything has been a miracle lately, so perhaps that is where the gratitude came from, but yeah, dusting. I know.

7. Slept like a dead person.
With my life, and a husband who is a) the lightest sleeper in the world, and who will b) request you stop talking in your sleep/snoring/ flailing around/breathing loudly in the middle of the night, this is a miracle. I love sleeping, and there is no greater accomplishment than waking up as though you just rose from the dead (sorry, Jesus).

6. Had fun grocery shopping.
Because of my hectic schedule, I don't get to go grocery shopping a lot. But when I do, I apparently love it to pieces. Even though I went to school for 22-odd years, I love nothing better than picking out our vegetavles for the week. I know.

5. Came home to our wedding song playing and a martini.
I did really marry a great guy. I'm honestly still trying to figure out what he sees in an Eeyore like me. It must be my sarcasm.

4. Great epic ride, followed the next day by: did not have to exercise.
The word "epic" in our family is used to describe insane rains, winds, or even tornado watches. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor anything reslly has ever stopped us from riding, and there is just an awesome sense of pride that comes from walking into your garage with water gushing from your bike shoes, your hair matted into a wet ball, and your clothes plastered to your body. At the same time, there is also nothing better than having a rest-day. I know, I'm complicated

3. Got to eat a ton of snacks today.
So you may remember that I started using Myfitnesspal this year. Basically, this means that I track my calories and my exercise. And there's just nothing better than having just burnt close to 3000 calories (see #1 and #2), and hearing a bag of pretzel pieces and a tub of ice cream calling your name.

2. Ran nine miles without ITB straps, and pain-free!!
I know, who in their right mind would run nine miles, and then be grateful for it, but when you have been battling knee issues for the past three years, running without pain and without braces is a gift. From. God. Seriously.

1. I got to bike 70 miles today, and it only took four hours and twenty minutes.
And yes, people, even tough this might make me truly certifiable, that is something to be grateful for. Really.

So there you have it, ten of my weirdest and greatest gratitude entries. And let me add that I'm grateful for every single one of my readers too.

Valentine Tales

Although husband-dear and I, practical beings that we are, celebrated Valentine's Day this weekend with a romantic dinner, candlelight, and some dancing, we couldn't let today go by unnoticed. So I spent a good five minutes last night using a dry erase marker to cover our bathroom mirror in about a hundred "I heart U"'s. When husband-dear came home, he did the manly grinning nod thing to show his approval, and said, "That is so sweet."

Writing "I heart U" (and the "heart" is obviously replaced with a drawing of an actual heart) to each other has somewhat of a history with husband-dear and I. When husband-dear and I had been dating for a while (give or take, oh, nine months), and I was starting to feel like I would be telling him I loved him while he was asleep forever, husband-dear finally overcame his "OMG if I say I love you it's forever and ever and ever" fear.
Well, somewhat.
We were lying around after a morning spent go-carting with the boys, when husband-dear ran his hand across my back. At first he just drew really big circles, and then I felt his hand write "I heart U". I popped my head up, stared at then still boyfriend-dear, and although I wanted to say something, anything (like, oh, I don't know "I love you too"), I was afraid I had somehow misread his hand, and so I kept quiet.

Later that day, I finally mustered up the courage to bring it up, and in my best imitation of a third grader, I said, "You wrote I love you on my back, today"
Husband-dear replied, "No, I wrote I heart you." He grinned.
"You wrote...what?" I made a face and punched him in the arm, "You're such a dork."
He grinned again, "OK, I wrote I love you. " He paused, "I love you."
"Well, I love you." It felt so great to finally say it aloud.

Now, years later, we still write "I heart U" to one another, in our best imitation of two love-struck teenagers. So last night, as husband-dear was admiring my handiwork, I said, "You know, I bet you we are the only married couple who uses that as shorthand."
"Uh-uh" Husband-dear has long learned that sometimes letting me ramble is the safest course of action.

And that's when the Valentine's spirit went kind of Alien-Predator-Star-Wars.

"So, you know, we could use "I heart U" as a code to recognize each other." I added.
"We sure could." husband-dear, I'm pretty sure, was not listening.
"Like, let's say that our country was overrun by body snatchers, and we were worried that one of us might have been taken over by the body snatchers, we could ask the other to write "I love you". If they write "I heart U", they're still them. If they write out "I love you", then they're really a body snatcher."
"Well, "Husband-dear nodded, "You know, if we're ever facing the body snatchers, that sounds like a swell idea. I vote in favor."
"Cool." I continued, "Ooh, I'm going to blog about this."
"You can't do that!" husband-dear protested.
"Why not?"
"Well, let's say that the body snatchers are already here? Then they'd know our secret code." Husband-dear nodded with the grin I swear he reserves especially for me.
"Oh whatever."
"No, really. Don't underestimate the body snatchers."

So, if you're a body snatcher: Go. Away. If you're not: Happy Valentine's Day!

Why I'm here to stay (for now)

"Only for now! Your hair! Is only for now. Glenn Beck! Is only for now!
Don't stress, relax, let life roll off your back, 'cause everything in life is only for now"

For now ~ Avenue Q

If any one song has become my motto over the past four years, it's this one. Everything, including my students, the secretaries, my commute, our town, the crazy bible-beaters who surround us every day, is only for now.

So how long is this "for now"? Right now, we don't really know. It depends on a lot of factors, all of which are far too boring to share, but the ballpark year for departure from the south is 2015. Twenty Fifteen, people. That's four more years here. Four more years of commuting 3,5 hours to work. Four more years of dealing with students who have yet to grasp the difference between "no" and "know". Four more years of no cussing, no alcohol on Sunday, and way too many cockroaches.
And if we're lucky it might turn into five.

People often ask me what keeps me here. Aside from the obvious answer, such as, oh, love, marriage, "for better or worse", you know, little commitments like that, there are several surprising reasons for my staying around.

First, it's not Oklahoma. I'm sorry to all the Oklahomans out there, but Tinker AFB is a real possibility, and, again, my apologies, but unless I can land a job at OU, that's just not happening. I'm sure Oklahoma has a ton of redeeming features, but it is a) still part of the bible belt, but b) filled with Mennonites as well, and c) has no hills or trees, but yet d) has a kick-butt winter, and e) is even further away from any place interesting than middle Georgia. So, yes, major points for Georgia there

Second, I get to complain a lot without getting a lot of flak over it. It's great. Whenever I'm in a bad mood, I can just blame the inattentive drivers, the really large people in little electric chairs blocking the aisles, church-traffic, the bookstore that carries mainly bibles, or any other of the one thousand things that are typical to this region, without having to explain myself at all. It's great. No one ever tells me that I'm being ridiculous, or exaggerating, because the people I hang out with all agree. I would hate to move somewhere where I would actually need a reasonable excuse for being in a bad mood.

And finally, husband-dear's little incentives. I mean, I don't know if he plans these things, but it is a good thing he has taken me on cruises, various mini-vacations, says things like "Hey, let's turn our half marathon into a romantic weekend away!", and buys me diamonds. If we stay here long enough I will have seen not only most of the B & Bs in Georgia, but will also need to purchase a safe for all of my goodies. He's smart, that man, I'm telling you.

So yes, it's (only) for now, and in spite of all the job openings out in California and Ohio that my friends keep emailing me, I'm here to stay.
For now.
Really.

The tooth fairy (part I?)

So my latest thing has been a full-on tooth crisis. And by tooth-crisis, I mean a "OMG, my teeth have shifted and I totally look like a rabbit on crack now who desperately needs braces". Obviously, knowing me, there's someone to blame, and in this case, it's my work. Or better yet, my students. Yes. Honestly.

I've always had a thing with my teeth. I've had the dubious pleasure of having braces three times (the last time was in my early twenties), and ever since my braces came off the last time, to say I have been slightly obsessed with the look of my smile has been an understatement. I mean, who wouldn't be if they had gone from a 9mm overbite, then braces followed by a retainer, to a gap between their front teeth, followed by more braces, headgear, and a plastic retainer, to really big front teeth, to be followed by braces and then a bonded retainer? Any normal person would be slightly traumatized, and we all know that my neurosis beats that of a normal person by a mile. In the dark. With its eyes closed.

Seriously, my teeth were bad growing up. And so were all the different orthodontic treatments I got to try out. Let's just say that when I look at my childhood pictures, I can immediately tell when they were taken just by looking at the position of my teeth and/or type of braces I was wearing. As a highly self-conscious, geeky little kid with not a whole lot going for her as far as looks went, my teeth seemed to be the only thing I was able to fix, and so that became the focal point of my life. And, judging by my current teeth-inspired identity crisis, they still are.

After my braces came off the last time, I was tickled pink by how good my teeth looked. I even had the dentist glue a bonded retainer behind my front teeth, so I would never have to have braces again.  Well, fast forward a decade and a half later, and my teeth have shifted (and yes, the retainer is still bonded to my teeth, go figure). A little. And just two teeth really. But it's enough for me to notice, and too insignificant for anyone other than my one Dutch tooth-obsessed friend, to have any idea what I'm talking about.

But you know what? I usually don't care. I look in the mirror, realize one of my teeth has moved back just a hair, my front teeth have shifted just a little, and tell myself, oh well. That's how it's going to be, and if people don't like it, well, then it just sucks to be them.

For some reason, however, this attitude goes completely out the window whenever I'm back to teaching. And if you took a good luck at my students, I think you will understand why. My students are not only the product of some awesome orthodontic treatments, and thus have picture-perfect teeth, but they're also incredibly obsessed with the way they look. They can do their hair in ways I can only dream of, they own more clothes/shoes/purses in college than I have ever owned in my entire life, and they will use everything around them to check their reflection and make sure every strand of hair and brush of eye shadow is still in place, right down to spoons and iphones.

Surrounded by people who not only look like they walked off the fashion spread in Teen, Vogue, or Ebony, but who genuinely care about making sure they look that way, does little for the geeky teenager hiding inside of me.

So now I have a tooth crisis. I told my dentist, who laughed at me and told me I have awesome teeth. I told my parents who said my teeth were great, and I better not diss the tens of thousands of dollars they spent on them. And of course husband-dear just rolled his eyes. But still, people, a tooth crisis is difficult to get over. Especially when you love to smile and show all those pearly whites (like I do), only to realize you probably just looked like an overgrown rabbit. Now I've considered invisalign, but you know what? That would mean giving into the trend that looks are all that matter, and I'm not quite ready to that either (or part with several thousand dollars). I mean, I should be better than that, right?

Right?

Bliss...pure bliss...

In the past hour, Zoe, our supposedly overly grateful shelter mutt, managed to sneak an entire hot dog out of my hand when I had my head turned for one second to say hi to Jimmy;  Shelby, our needy rescue mutt, managed to chew up one of Jimmy's stuffed animals which she'd stolen from his room when he wasn't looking, and you know, I'm pretty sure that Gertie the guinneapig is up to no good either. There are doggie paw prints all over the kitchen floor, paw prints which I'm sure are the result of our darling mutts digging in the yard, something they're absolutely, positively not supposed to do. I need to go iron a shirt for commencement tomorrow, there is laundry that needs to be done, and I probably should go and work on an article I'm trying to get published.

But for right now, I'm not doing anything. I'm not working on a paper, I'm not going to mop the kitchen floor. I'll let Shelby have her stuffed animal, and I'll even give her a part of a hot dog since her sister had one too. I'm going to ignore the pile of bookbags and shoes by the door that mysteriously appeared when Jimmy walked in the door, and I'm not even touching that laundry. No one will know if the shirt I'm wearing under my robes tomorrow is wrinkled or not.

All I'm going to do right now is alternate my time between watching television, sitting on the back porch, and catching up on my blog reading. And why, you ask, this sudden onset of laziness?

Well, once again, the semester is -almost- over. Almost, as I still have to sit through three plus hours of commencement tomorrow, but that's really no more than an afterthought. I put my final grades in yesterday, turned in a hard copy to the office, finished prepping my online summer course, and have spent the entire day today in that blissful state of not sure what just happened to me. I keep feeling like I should be doing something useful, but then realize that there's really nothing for me to do right now. I'll sit down at my computer, and check my work email, only to find that there are no emails. I'll check my voicemail, only to be greeted by the "You have no new messages" over and over again.

So instead I've sat on the back porch and let the cool breeze mess up my hair. I've wandered around the back yard, picking up dog toys. I've sat on the front porch and soaked up the sun. I've sat on the couch and watched four episodes of That 70s Show in a row.

Life is really good right now.