I want eggs.

Is he going golfing or going to deliver newspapers in the 1930s?

Yesterday morning, I placed buddy in his high chair and went to prepare his usual breakfast of raisin toast. But then he spoke one of the most crystal-clear sentences I have heard him utter to date: "I want eggs." So, I did what any other proud, enamored mama would have done; I whipped my buddy up some scrambled eggs.

Coffeehouse, I'm-supposed-to-be-grading thoughts

My husband is a warm hug. I left work early and met him at the local coffeehouse to grade. He's a dimpled smile. A back and foot massage. Kisses on the forehead and sweetness. Gentle. We nuzzle. Laugh. Intertwined fingers and nerd-talk.

My son is glasses obsessed. He just wants glasses. It's the first thing he asks for when he wakes up in the morning. A singing legless cuddly bear with a star belly that lights up is his "friend." He runs up to me, plants his face in my legs. I pick him up and before he buries his face in my neck he says, "I love you," with emphasis on the "love." I've never minded anyone's drool less than his.

I can't let this baby go.

This blog is like, my baby. I began it almost 15 years ago, and have updated it pretty regularly ever since. My first entry was in 2005...I was on the cusp of graduating from undergrad. I talk about graduation, breaking up with my first boyfriend, starting my first job, moving into my first apartment, quitting my first job and going back to school, moving into my second apartment, graduating with a Master's degree, travels to Spain, travels to France, moving back in with my parents, working again and quitting again, going back to school for a doctorate, moving into my third apartment, learning to play the guitar, travels to Cuba, falling head over heels for a fellow grad student hottie 5 years my junior, getting engaged to the guy, marrying the guy, graduating with my PhD, getting my current job as a university professor, moving to another state, moving into a house, getting pregnant, moving again into an apartment attached to a bigger house, having a baby, trying to keep up with a toddler...that was legit an abridged version of 15 years of life. I started it when I was in my early twenties, and here I am now, looking down the barrel of 40. Almost. Not quite.

I can't let this baby go. I can't just abandon her. 

I feel like all of my now once-a-month posts are just "Look at my kid. I'm busy at work." I don't have the energy or the time to do the creative, introspective musings I used to do. Have I lost my creative spark? Is it that I feel my stuff isn't exciting anymore because it just revolves around career and parenthood? I feel like I used to be more fun. Like, things were more interesting and unpredictable. None of this single girl meets postmodern world coffeehouse musing stuff. No more rants. No more crushes (other than, currently, Idris Elba. You're welcome.) No more sternly worded letters to old disgusting dudes who had the audacity to try to holler at me. No more excitement or expectation about the path my life would follow. Well, that's not to say I don't have anything to look forward to. I do. I'm just saying, the major things have more or less been settled. If the good Lord wills it, maybe one day I'll write about another baby or buying our first home. But that's not as fun and quirky as the other stuff.

Maybe I should just face up to the fact that I'm a boring, tired, almost 40 year old. That just does not sound interesting at all. Like, nobody wants to read that (I mean, at this point in time, nobody really does anyway) and I certainly don't want to write it. I mean, nearly all of my posts nowadays have to do with the fact that I rarely post. Sigh.

But there's just something, a still small voice whispering to me. Don't give me up. Don't let me go.

Maybe I should sing this song to my blog:

Pre-Fall Term Denial and Other Musings

So, the fall semester is merely weeks away, and I still haven't done half of what I need to do to prepare.

It seems like every summer, I get lazier and lazier. I can't even blame it on the kid...we still take him to daycare during the day, so I sort of have no excuse.

I'm also a little in over my head this fall...organizing visits and video chats and Multicultural Languages Festivals, book review deadlines still hanging precariously over my head...(sigh) just thinking about it is already making me tired.

Don't get me wrong...I don't dislike my job. I honestly couldn't see myself doing anything else. Once I'm in the classroom, in front of my students, I'm in my zone, in my place. It's just all the stuff that surrounds being in the classroom...planning, grading, syllabi, online platforms...I wish I could be one of those fancy schmancy professors who just waltz in and teach and let their TAs do all of the grading and admin stuff. But you have to be about dat lyfe to get to that level of professoring. And I ain't about dat lyfe.

I mean, I'm teaching first year, first level Spanish this semester, which I really love. Just getting back to the basics and doing all the fun stuff. I really enjoy being students' first engagement with Spanish. My goal in this case is to inspire them to go further. I'm also teaching Junior Seminar this time around which is much more involved and involves much more planning. And I'm totally excited about what I'm doing...I'm even planning to incorporate some of the research I did in Spain, but I'm just not excited about sitting my lazy butt down and organizing it all.

The kid is gorgeous as ever, had his 18 month check up and growing like a weed. Exhibit A:



This cutie face with his fresh haircut (done by yours truly...a little bit of YouTube tutorial goes a long way!) He's feeding himself, getting into absolutely everything, and smart as a whip. The other day I heard little bud count to five...in Spanish! He'll be 2 in January, which is ridiculous. Which brings me to another consideration. Are we going to /when will we try to give our bud a sibling?

Here's the main thing: your girl ain't getting any younger. And I'm not trying to be 40 years old with an infant. Like, if we want another one for real, it wouldn't be a great idea to wait until then, anyway. Mother Nature's biological clock don't play no games, and nothing's a guarantee. Here's another thing: there is never a perfect time. Like, if we're going to sit around and wait for the stars to align before we even think about number two, it'll likely never happen. So, let's let buddy have his second birthday and let's see what hubby's job prospects look like and maybe we can think about trying again in the spring. I think we'll be good with two. Like I said, your girl ain't getting any younger.

We're trucking along. Trying to wait on God and trust in His timing. There are so many things I hope for, but there are also so many things I am so very thankful for.

Toddler

Mr. Independent

Our son is officially a toddler. Which means he's officially everywhere, in the throes of establishing his independence.

I used to silently judge parents in public who seemingly "gave in" to their kids. No wonder their kid is acting like that...they're literally enabling them to be spoiled brats. Now, I know better. It's not a matter of giving in. It's a matter of survival. It's about getting through an experience with the least amount of friction or noise as possible. And if that means giving your kid unlimited goldfish crackers and peanut butter cookies, or allowing them to tear up a napkin and throw the pieces on the floor, or attempt to balance a dinner roll on their (supposedly spill-proof) sippy cup, then you live and let live, thereby avoiding roars of disapproval from your very vocal child and judgey looks and otherwise unwanted attention from fellow bystanders (or in the case of a restaurant, where survival mode is much more acute, fellow diners).

We're currently at the beach with my husband's side of the family, and it's our buddy's first experience with sand and the ocean. He's not really a fan of the water, but loves playing in (and attempting to eat) the sand.

España, Day 3 or Then and Now

I remember the first time I went to Spain. It was over 15 years ago. I still remember how magical it all was, even the simplest things, ice cream in the Plaza Cervantes, cobblestone streets, loving how they give you a little snack when ordering my requisite Fanta naranja at a cafe. And may I add that the disgusting, fake neon orange, corn syrup-filled Fanta orange soda in the U.S. is nothing like Fanta naranja. I remember tears coming to my eyes when I saw an Andalucian flamenco show. I remember saying goodbye to a Spanish boy I had a desperate crush on. But that was then.

Now...

I'm with him.

Instead of a Spanish host mom's house, an Airbnb apartment is my dwelling.


















Now I have a kid and missing him like crazy. WhatsApp video chat all the way!
Now I have a research project to undertake and it's going all right. None of my fears about archival work were actually founded. Now that I know how it all works, I'm completely fine.

Lines That I Couldn't Change

"In My Place" by Coldplay has always been my nostalgic/melancholy moodiness anthem.

It reminds me of undergrad, a general sense of wistfulness, a certain sadness at the cognitively dissonant fact that things change yet remain the same, an unsettled feeling, unease at the fact that no matter where I am, no matter how my identit(ies) have (re)adjusted, I hit this solipsistic nerve again and again, it represents a resigned realization that there are certain elements of the circumstances which circumscribe me that are uncontrollable, left to the whims of outrageous fortune, it conjures up something inescapable, something bittersweet, an unanswerable mental query over whether I'd be satisfied even if everything I wished for were instant reality, it's wondering what could have been, what would have been, an unspecified yearning, the inexplicable urge to wander, to slip away unnoticed.

I got this awesome travel grant. I didn't even apply for it. It was a "perk," more or less, of being promoted and receiving the same benefits as a newly hired cohort of professors from so-called underrepresented groups. I ain't mad, I'm just saying. So, with this generous travel grant, I'm going to Spain (among other places) and decided to bring my husband along.

We're leaving next Monday. Well actually, on Wednesday, we're leaving to go visit my parents for a few days, leave the kid with them, and then leave. Which means that I should be doing a ton of preparation and packing and making sure of this and that, but I'm not. Instead, I'm lounging around in my pajamas, blogging, not wanting to do anything worthwhile.

I should be excited. Ostensibly, I am. I mean, hello, a "working vacation" in southern Spain? With your also Spanish-speaking beloved? Kid-free? Why can't you just be happy?

I'm doing archival work. Which means I have no earthly idea what I'm doing. I have a general idea of what to expect, just from talking with others who have done similar work and reading about this particular site online. But I can't stop myself from imagining people's perception of my competence, or rather, lack thereof. I show up to this official, super strictly regulated Spanish archive that contains centuries-old documents looking like how I look. Young-looking, black, female. You're a professor? I mean, I'll have an official-looking letter of introduction to present to the archivists to "prove" that yes, I am indeed a professor who is looking for a very specific piece of documentation, but still, I'm kind of dreading the initial scrutiny. Like, the questioning of if I belong there. Me, an anomaly in the U.S. and most certainly in Spain, among all the "serious" scholars who definitely know what they're doing.

I mean, I'm looking forward to the trip, I truly am. But there's another part of me that feels strangely ambivalent about it.

Big Boy

I cannot believe how fast our little guy is growing! I remember when all he could do was lay there. Now he does all sorts of things. One of the things I have to say I enjoy about being a parent is seeing my son sort of test the limits of his physical abilities. Can I reach that? Can I open that? Can I move that? It's like, he's trying to see what he can do and he does certain things just because he can.

He says all kinds of words. P speaks to him primarily in Spanish, but the only Spanish word he uses consistently is agua. And he uses it to refer to all liquids. Like, if he sees P drinking out of a coffee cup, he's like,"Agua?" He loves to repeat what he hears us say, and though it's usually hilarious to hear him try to mimic us, it's also really scary. Little ears are listening...

I want to cherish this time I have while buddy is still wanting me to pick him up and cuddle him. I know he won't always.

I'm Free! For Now...

So, it's been what, 2 months since I last blogged? Those faithful souls who still (maybe?) check in from time to time, I salute you.

Academic summer
I'd say that Monday officially began my academic summer. Turned in grades Friday, made it through commencement on Sunday (sweating through my regalia). This semester seemed particularly draining. Perhaps it had to do with teaching the winter term and then gearing right back up for the spring term with a week to spare. Perhaps it had to do with dealing with a mentally draining and emotionally exhausting experience with a student who, among many other things, struggled with mental illness. Perhaps it had to do with the stress of awaiting my mid-probationary review results (a performance review at the halfway point to tenure) in light of one of my colleagues not attaining tenure. (For the record, I passed with "flying colors" according to the Dean. Whew.) Perhaps it also had to do with several instances of figuring out life as a part of a partnership with two working parents and a sick kid. Sick kid = can't go to daycare. Ear infections, Rotavirus (that was a new one), hives, hand foot mouth, pinkeye and just various and sundry fevers, congestion and cough. No joke. We had that humidifier blasting. Stayed wiping everything down with Clorox wipes. The custodians may have had to vacuum up more than their fair share of cracker crumbs in my office and my colleagues may have heard more than their fair share of crying, banging of xylophones and roaring of toy dinosaurs. Little boy is going to have quite the robust immune system.

Anyway. Don't be deceived by the carefree sound of an "academic summer." It's not like, once grades are in, I vegetate until September. Nawl. There are book reviews to write, articles to submit, new courses to prep for. I'm teaching Junior Seminar in the fall, which is kind of a big deal and I want it to be successful. Let's not talk about the bookstore breathing down my neck. "What texts are you using for SPA 450 in the fall?" I don't knoooowww yettttt.

However, one of the upsides to academia, is definitely having more unstructured time over the summer, and having the chance to travel for "research," heh, heh. No, seriously, it is for research, but in what other profession would I be able to travel to Europe for free with my husband in tow? Which brings me to...

Spain!
So, I'm supposed to be doing archival research for the purposes of  "contextualizing" an article I'm planning to submit. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I guess I have to start somewhere. What better way to use my generous travel/supply grant than to plunge into the archives and bring my husband along in the process? P and I have both been to Spain separately back in the day when we studied abroad, but have never been together. I've always wanted to travel internationally with P, and our son is old enough to leave him with grandparents for a while, so we're going for it! We celebrated our 4th anniversary this month and didn't do anything super fancy. So I told P going to Spain together will be our anniversary trip/post-baby moon. Lol. I'm really excited about it. I'll do my work in the morning, but once the archive closes mid-afternoon, we'll have lots of time to ourselves.

I'm looking forward to having café con leche at a cozy café, having all kinds of wonderful tapas, sitting in the plaza in the evenings and soaking up the summer air and maybe going to a Flamenco show or two. I fell in love with Spain and I'm finally getting to go with the one I love.

Buddy

Our little guy is not so little anymore. He's 16 months old this month. Not walking quite yet...he pulls up, can stand unsupported and he can walk pushing his little "puppy walker." I know it's not far off. I've let his curls grow out a little. He's a gorgeous cutie guy, but he's also developing a little will. He says "no" quite often and sometimes hits at us or throws toys when he doesn't get his way. I was raised old school (i.e. got my butt whooped), but we're not doing that with little bud. Not saying I believe I was abused or anything, but there are definitely more effective methods of discipline. I think the main thing is for us to be in agreement and be consistent. Even though little buddy has shown himself to be a drama king at times, he understands and listens when we tell him "no." When P says "no" firmly, sometimes bud cries. Awww. But it makes me feel like if he cries just by us saying "no," maybe saying "no" will be enough of a deterrent. For now...

I'm trying to figure out

why exactly it is I don't blog as often.

Saying I'm busy with a kid is true, but honestly, since I've gone back to work and he's been going to daycare regularly, I'm not in the baby-attached-to-me-24/7 position I was in back when I was on maternity leave.

I could say that work consumes me, and that's more or less true. I have less unstructured time than I did when I was back in grad school or what have you. But still...

I mean, I can't put my finger on it, exactly. Maybe it's that I feel like my life has become more or less routine. The major milestones have been settled. No mystery men or cryptic flirtations to write about. No anticipation/disappointment about whether or not I'm preggers, at least not for another couple of years.

Not to say that there aren't things up in the air, or even exciting things coming up. We're still praying about my husband's job search. I'm (supposed to be) making plans for a research trip to Spain this summer. But I don't know what has changed about the way I used to write.

Maybe I feel like things are routine, more routine than they used to be. Which isn't altogether a bad thing either. But maybe I feel like whereas before I was more interesting, "single girl meets postmodern world" used to be my tagline, I now feel more conventional. Like, I'm not a single girl defying the statistics and going against the odds as I figure out living life unconventionally. Now I make my mark balancing marriage, career and parenthood. Somehow, not as unique. Now you're just like the rest of us.

I mean, not everything has been routine lately. In fact, P and I recently attended a marriage retreat and had a much needed weekend getaway while my mom came to take care of (read: spoil) the little one. We ate lots of good food, did a bit of exploring, and just got to focus on us for a while. We both learned a lot at the sessions and we came home with some practical tips for improving our marriage.

I'm on my Spring Break this week and spent the day watching Netflix films: Icelandic dramas and Spanish thrillers. It's nice to have a few lazy days to myself. But in a few minutes I'm leaving to go pick up my son from daycare. I'm falling more and more in love with him as I watch him develop his own little personality. He can say a few words now: "bubble," "oh, wow!" "boy," "eyes," and, of course, "no." He's pulling himself up now. It's only a matter of time before he starts walking.

The End of an Era

So, this marks the second week that this little cutie pie face has been weaned. No more mommy's milk.

It was a little less dramatic than I thought it would be. For the past month or so, the only feeding that he was still hanging on to was the morning one. I knew it was time because he began pulling off frustratedly crying because he wasn't getting enough to be satisfied. My supply had definitely gone way way down by that point and I figured it was probably time to pull the plug for good. Now, every morning, he gets a good dose of lukewarm whole milk from his sippy cup. He's much happier now.

It sort of happened naturally rather than abruptly, which I guess is how it's supposed to happen, but I guess I'm still sort of processing what it means to have moved on from this chapter of a particular type of bonding with my son.

No longer nursing is nice on one hand. No more human dairy cow. But in the other hand, it means our son isn't a baby anymore.

At one point, I provided all of his nourishment. Everything he needed came from my body. But now, that time has passed. I make sure to give him extra snuggles to try to make up for it. I know the day will come when he won't be as cuddle-prone as he is now. Little buddy. Snugglums. Ba-ba-boo.

DINO-mite

This is late, but as you can see, little buddy enjoyed his first birthday party:

It's been a year

since I pushed a whole human being out of my body.

It's ridiculous and shocking how short this year has been.

I remember when it was impossible to put my son down. And now, I can plop him down on the playmat and he'll scoot around, grabbing and banging toys while I blog.

Daddy went to get some hair cutting shears so we can try to trim up buddy's hair. It's not that he absolutely needs a haircut, but I just want to see if I can trim up his little wispy curls. A little YouTube tutorial goes a long way. Maybe mommy can become a barber and we can save a little dough. We'll see.

His birthday is today, but we're having a party for him next Saturday. It's going to be a dinosaur party. I always have the same reservations around each milestone. He's only a year old, he has no concept of presents or parties or cake, why go all out? He's not even going to remember it...but then, the same voice (which more or less belongs to my best friend) that told me to saddown when it came to my wedding and walking in the ceremony for my PhD graduation and participating in the frou frou of a hometown baby shower is the same one telling me that a baby's first birthday is something special that you're going to want to remember.

So, he's going to wear a cute little suspendered outfit with a button down shirt covered in dinosaurs, P and I are going to wear matching t-shirts that say "Daddysaurus of the Birthday Boy" and "Mommysaurus of the Birthday Boy" respectively (fingers crossed they arrive on time!), there will be a dinosaur cake (courtesy of my mom), dinosaur goodie boxes, dinosaur balloons, a dinosaur piñata...we're gonna be dinosaured out.

After we put our son to bed tonight, my husband said, "We kept him alive for a whole year."

I laughed, but was struck with the fact that it was somewhat of an accomplishment. We must be doing something right.

Somehow, I'm also struck with a sense of melancholy. Sometimes I'll be doing something absentmindedly or talking to my husband and I happen to look over at my son and he'll be looking right at me, observing my every move. I look at him and am taken with his overwhelming innocence. Every year that passes represents a bit of the innocence slowly fading away. Every year that passes represents a bit of my ability to protect him slowly diminishing.

I did end up giving him somewhat of a haircut with the brand new shears. Nothing drastic, I just wanted to even him up a little. I took a few curly wisps and put them in a plastic sandwich bag, folded it up and stuck it between the pages of my little baby journal.

I'm Still Here

Yup. Sup? It's me, I'm still me, I'm still here.

Things are crazy busy,

But I'm here, oh, dear, I'm still here. 

Teaching got me in a tizzy.

Ya hear me? You see? I'm still here.

My son (Oh, yeah!)

He's turning one (Oh, yeah?)

Got a party to plan

Would you please understand

It's me, really, I'm still here.

Gradin and plannin and postin today,

Plan for the Spring that's not too far away,

No time to breathe, just enough time to say

It's me, I'm still me, I'm still here.

Check it out...

And for good measure, feast your eyes on this doll: