How Do We Love Them?

Each time I have contemplated having another baby, the thought has struck me: how is it possible that I should love another child as much as I love this one? Each of my children has been an incredible--amazing!--emotional investment: all of the hopes, fears, worries, joyful moments, new experiences, anxieties. . . For years, I wasn't certain that I could have another baby and love him or her as much as I loved my son--fertility wasn't the issue, but love. The thought seemed strange. At the risk of sounding cliché, it was becoming Catholic that opened my mind to the possibility that I could, indeed, have another baby to love, with whom to share all of our family experiences--but that's another post. The same thoughts surfaced when I was pregnant for number three--I was still in the midst of the intense, anxious infant-to-toddler love; my son had had years of my love (and I had had years to love only him with wonderful and difficult mother-love) and seemed much more self-sufficient by the time his sister was born. But however many babies we have, there are always new things to be learned, and I've been thinking about how we love our growing families. . .

We love them all in their different ways--that seems obvious. Each has a different personality, different needs. But while that is true, there are ways that we love them that are the same--or similar--for each child, which nevertheless vary according to where we are with them at the time.

We love them in the midst of the group dynamic: When older brother is able to pick up the youngest, we smile to see his delicate manipulation of her soft floppiness. When he is able to negotiate the various compromises of toddler interaction to give Momma time to take a shower, we are grateful. And amid our exasperation from the noise and commotion it generates, we love to see his horseplay with the little sisters because of the affection it betrays. There is a communication between the baby and the toddler that is amazing to see. . . We love the nicknames that one bestows on the other. And the thrill that is apparent when little sister catches sight of her big sister reverberates through us, and we echo her joy.

We also love them in ways that are (st)age-appropriate: Babies, we adore. This is why we celebrate Christmas, no? That this instinctual love that humans are meant to feel for the smallest and most helpless of our race--the rapt emotional embrace that requires no act of our will--should be transferred to our Lord and Savior. We love them in our recognition of the newness of their actions and their experiences--in our observation of the novelty of their interactions with their senses, their bodies, their families, their worlds. Even amid sweet frustrations, we love their recognition of ourselves--who we are to them--and love their needs, which we alone fulfill. We love their cries and fussiness, and dwell on the sweet sounds that we know we can soothe, or else we love them with anxiety, holding them until their discomfort passes.

Toddlers, we love with tolerance and a sense of adventure. We love them with a wry twinkle, appreciating their cleverness as they demonstrate to us that we can't sneak anything past them--not an open door, not a single piece of chocolate. We love them when we follow their routines--never ever coming in the front door when we come home, but heading around the building to play by the porch. We love them when we "see down" to play with legos or blocks instead of doing that very important thing that we should be doing. And when we repeat with wonder that word or phrase that we've just heard for the first time, or smile at that thing that they shouldn't be doing but which is a very big accomplishment, we give them our love. By letting the baby cry or fuss just a little bit longer to attend to the needs of the toddler, we are loving them in a way that really matters. In every delicate frustration we endure--even if not so well--or turn into a rowdy game, in every single effort to divert attention from that one forbidden or harmful thing, we love them. We love them as we share our tasks with them, even if we can accomplish them better alone. We love them when we hold them like the babies they still are, enjoying their affection whenever it happens to present itself.

In all of their seeming independence and hidden vulnerability, we love our older ones--our "pre-teens," though that term is speeding them on to a stage they have not yet reached--in ways that are subtle, but special. It may mean popping in to comment on a particularly well-played cello piece, suggesting that something is not quite right with a certain note, or asking about the piece being played. In our attentions to what is important to them, we love them. It may mean listening--at least for a little while--to the narrative of "how I beat the last video game boss." We love them when we laugh at their jokes--even the really corny ones. We love them when we accept the help they give us rather than dwelling on the help that was not given. We love them when we answer their questions honestly and carefully, giving neither too much information, nor too little. We love them by walking beside them sometimes, not always in front.

We love them all by remembering all of the ways we love them, as often as possible.

Not Teaching Sci Fi

The class didn't make--probably because History decided to schedule ALL of their summer courses at the same time as the Sci Fi. So FOUR of our summer classes didn't make. But that's okay. I'll be teaching another of my favorite "not really considered literature" genres: children's lit. And this will be REALLY fun, since many who are taking it will be doing so as part of their Education degrees--but I plan to teach it as literature, with theory & everything. ;)

Here are the texts:

The Norton Anthology of Children's Literature

Considering Children's Literature: A Reader

The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznik

Answering My Own Question. . .

I'm home on a Sunday morning with my girls because the younger of the two was running a slight fever this morning (99.5 or so) and has a runny nose. :( So I thought I would report my findings. . . There are indeed places to get cool European and Japanese, good quality fabrics online (as I knew there had to be), it's just a matter of typing the right search terms into Google. Some can be found on eBay as well. So here's a list of cool online fabric retailers:

Hart's Fabric

Bunte Fabrics

Sew Euro

Fabric Hound

Reprodepot Fabrics

Maybe one day I'll get around to ordering some!! And then using it!! (And of course, I'll go to a 5 or 7 PM Mass. . .)

Where Do You Find the Fabric???

I've been doing a lot of sewing lately. I made two dresses for Chiclette, one for Doodle, dug out lots of patters, I have a cute top cut out for myself, piles of fabric everywhere--you get the basic idea. I have still been doing other things--I went to my department 3 times for meetings this week and once to pick up the unsold blanket (green) that my Doodle promptly claimed as her very own (though she took it off of her bed to cover her little sister before we left the house this afternoon!). I need to revise some handouts for next week, revise a dissertation abstract and conclude a conclusion. Sewing is for when I need to de-stress or be creative. So doing a little bit of non-productive web searching earlier, I discovered the most incredible magazine with oodles of patterns in every issue! It's called Ottobre and is published in Finland. The clothing design is really amazing. If I could sew all of the time, I would have no need to buy clothes for myself or the girls again--ever. That is, if I could find good fabric!! Because the styles are fashionable, but there's no matching the quality of fabrics that the better manufacturers can get their hand on. At least, not that I've found. Please, if someone knows something I don't, let me know!!!!

Academic Moms & Tenure Track Jobs

Hat tip: Kate

A study out of Utah revealed recently that female professors are less likely than their professional counterparts to have children. This is hardly surprising to someone who has been in a graduate program and known a number of female academics who, for whatever reason, have decided not to have children or have delayed that decision indefinitely. I have been fortunate to be in a department full of professor-moms and even more fortunate, lately, to be in a department full of grad student moms (though this was late in coming--I was the only grad student mom in the department for quite some time!! It's nice to have company. . .) The blog that mentions this study also mentions that UC Berkley is doing something to try to address the issue of continued gender inequity in academia--the basic fact that while being married with children seems to be an asset of sorts to male success in academia (or at least a reflection of--like sowing the academic oats has a biological counterpart*), the reverse is true for women. More women who achieve tenure have fewer children, no children, and have children later, while women who have children earlier tend to drop off of the tenure-track, choosing instead to work in adjunct and lecturer-type positions. Tenured women are also more likely to be divorced, since the average male prof is married to a non-academic, while the average female academic is married to a male Ph.D., leading to the "my career is more important that yours" syndrome. I have seen that happen with a lawyer couple with whose family my family was good friends when I was growing up, so I suspect that that statistic is true of professional married women in general. It is not unique to academic couples for each individual to enter the marriage with the assumption that his/her career is or should be more important than the other person's, or more important than the marriage or the family unit. But such things vary according to maturity level of the individuals involved (the couple we knew were very immature), temperament, and level of ambition.

Now, to be fair, the rather extensive study done by Berkeley showed that women with children made up almost 1/2 of women in tenure-track positions, with only a slightly lower percentage overall than women without children. It's funny the way that worked out, unless you look at the comparison to the number of men in tenure-track positions. It was clear that family considerations do indeed keep huge numbers of women out of tenure-track positions. When I consider my schedule for next year as I strive to keep my youngest out of daycare, I understand why. But at the same time, for women to drop down into lower-paying, higher-teaching load adjunct and non-tenure track positions doesn't make intuitive sense to me.

I remember reading posts recently about the presence and absence of children in our lives. Not just the ones that sparked some of my bolder pronouncements on the subject, but discussions on other blogs about how having children around while growing up fosters a healthy attitude toward children, including a realistic impression of what can actually be accomplished with children around. Just the knowledge of how to take care of a baby is a healthy effect of having not only siblings, but young cousins, and friends who have siblings, etc. While it may be helpful for me at this stage to have some on-campus office hours in the fall, I know that I can write with my babies around. I've been doing it as long as I can remember!! So sacrificing the lower teaching load of a tenure-track job for a job that requires more in-classroom hours and less research & publication doesn't seem like a smart career (or family) move to me. Of course, I don't aspire to an R1 university anyway. I would like a university where achieving tenure is a more laid-back, faculty-supported, not highly-competitive enterprise. So clearly, I won't be taking a position (or applying for a position) with the Berkeley system. Besides my aversion to earthquakes and mudslides. But it is nice to see the problems laid out and some solutions proposed. I really like one of the goals articulated in their report on their findings: They want to be able to answer the often-asked female grad student query, "When is a good time to have a baby?" with a resounding "Any time!" Part of their program, then, is to support grad students who wish to have families. The problem is that at this stage their family-friendly policies and goals (dictated, no doubt, by current reluctance of some people to move to California because of cost as well as a negative birth rate in some parts of the state that rivals that of some European nations. . .) are not necessarily shared by the institutions that will be hiring their new Ph.D.'s. So it's a step in the right direction, but unless other schools follow suit, it's only a solution for the faculty they wish to recruit or retain.

On the other hand, if some nutbar tries to tell me that I'm being utterly irresponsible by having more than one or two children, I can just say that since only 1 in 3 female tenured academics have children, I can have up to 6 myself and still be making up for the other two!!

*Sowing the academic oats does indeed have a biological counterpart when male professors, having achieved tenure, marry their grad students or undergrads!

Postcolonial Digression

So Anastasia posed a question on her blog: empire bad, yes? What sayest thou?

After I made a rather obvious smartass comment, I revisited it to say the following:

Playing devil's advocate: Empire can both neutralize the extremities of culture and allow for a mingling that produces richness along the contact zones of cultures that would otherwise compete for supremacy. Unified by--and against--the colonizer, they mingle to create cultural richness that previously had not existed. Not to mention postcolonial literature ripe for analysis!

So while it's a darn shame that no one has had his still-beating heart ripped from his chest down in Central America lately, the Romans might have made some cultural improvements in Europe before succumbing to the Germanic hordes.

But undergraduates are studying marketable subjects--like philosophy--and wouldn't know about those things.

Blankies Galore!!

So this is what I've been doing this weekend.

A blanket for my friend (and Doodle's godmother) who will be having her second child (and first daughter) in June. It is a cowgirl motif because my mother made some of the decor for her son's room in a cowboy motif, and the new baby will likely inherit that room. So this way, it is something new to go along with something shared!



Disclaimer: Any resemblance that this blanket might bear to the school colors of any Texas university is purely coincidental!!

So far I have only made blankets to keep (4, to be exact--one of them a 12 square Christmas blanket!) and blankets to give to good friends (also 4--now 5). These blankets are something different for me, and proving to be more difficult than I thought! I decided that I would make a blanket to donate to the English Graduate Student Association's annual silent auction. I was going to make a unisex blankie, but I was attracted to the florals (as usual) more than the gender-neutral prints. So I did both!

The first is the floral, and its color scheme is based around the asian cherry blossom print. I'm not sure the colors are true-to-life in this pic, because there's a lot of peach in the floral:

My first "neutral" blanket is a green froggie blanket (I love frogs) with yellow trim and a yellow backing.


The winner will choose 1 of the 2 blankets. I hope they go over well!

Marriage Prep begins in the car. . . on the way home from school?

Two days ago, my son, who is 11 years and in 5th grade, came home telling me about an "adventure" that he was involved in--nothing school related, he added. It seems that a girl in his class "likes" a boy in his class and wants to "date" him, but he has been taking no notice. ("Good for him!" I thought. In my day, we "liked" one another, but I'm not sure we really talked about "dating"--at any rate, no one went anywhere. . .) Well, my son became involved in this when the girl entreated him to ask the boy some questions--not sure what questions, probably "will you go out with her or what?" and to try to convince him to go out with her. She offered him first $10 and then $5 to ask her intended some questions.

Well, first I told him that she was not going to give him money, so not to expect it. He was a bit disappointed. I further said that if she did produce the money, he was not to take it. Then, I got went off for a little while--good humoredly--about the silliness of the whole matter: 5th graders? dating? Dating (I said, in my parental wisdom) was really about getting to know someone whom you might want to marry. Yes, he said, and when you mention marriage, the kids are like--eeeeeeewwwwww. But when it's dating, they're like--who's with who? Oh boy. Now, I would not have had a conversation like this with my mom. Never. Though like my son, I knew her opinions on the matter and probably would have cast it in a way that made it look like I understood and agreed with her on all points. Hmmmmm. . . But I never would have even gone into a "She likes him, but he doesn't like her" etc. etc. I'm glad he feels like he can be open with me, even about this trivial stuff. Because, I started thinking, this is trivial now, but my attitudes are going to lay the foundation for when things are much less trivial. Aren't they?

Having thought this on some kind of subconscious level, I realized that I couldn't just leave it at "This is silly. 5th graders are too young. This is for people who are considering getting married." So in spite of the fact that he was likely more interested in the second Leven Thumps book, I proceeded with a discussion of sorts. It went something like this:

Have you discussed the Sacraments in R.E. yet? I mean, this year? Kind of. So you basically talked about what each one is? And no much else. O.K. Have you talked at all about how Marriage is like Ordination? [O.K., he's confused, but interested. Good.] Well, both are considered vocations, and God calls some people to Marriage, some people to the religious life, and some people are neither, but live a single life. Also, Marriage and Ordination are two Sacraments that are exclusive. You can't be married if you are ordained, and in most cases, you can't be ordained if you are married. Remember, though, a couple of years ago we were at a Mass officiated by a newly ordained priest? He had been married, but his wife died, so he became a priest. So he is one of few people who will be able to receive all seven Sacraments, which is uncommon. From there, I stressed the seriousness of marriage (which is why I was comparing Marriage to Ordination--because marriage is "everyday," while it's easier to recognize the special significance of Ordination)--the idea that it is a vocation, and as such, it has to do with what God has planned for us. And because it is serious, and a Sacrament, anything leading up to it should be taken seriously--like dating. And that is why 5th graders shouldn't be talking about such things--or 6th graders, or 7th, 8th. . . You get the idea. I definitely suggested that dating was for late in high school at the earliest.

I know there's a school of thought that says that chaste, Catholic young people shouldn't "date" at all, the argument being that "dating" as it's currently defined doesn't lend itself to chastity. True, but the definition can be altered in the mind of the young person by parental influence, I think. I started thinking about this again after reading Dr. Janet Smith's essay on "The Challenge of Marriage Preparation" this evening, which claims that, on the contrary, "Young people simply don't date." She continues:

Young men do not plan for the weekend and then invite a young lady out. Often young people just hang out together and perhaps someday one or the other musters up the courage to ask his or her friend "Is anything romantic going on here?" For the licentious, a positive answer means finding a vacant bed.

I think this is partially right (the latter part) and partially inaccurate, but the point is a valid one--what passes for dating runs counter to chastity. While I'm sure that we'll have to repeat this conversation at uncertain intervals, I think it was important to lay some groundwork with this conversation.

Dr. Smith outlines three stages of marriage preparation according to the Church--remote, proximate, and immediate:

Remote preparation takes place in the home, as the child from a very young age observes how his or her parents interact. Children, like sponges, soak up nearly everything around them. In our culture, that preparation is often counterproductive; children spend their earlier years with squabbling parents and their teen years shuttling between parents who are trying to get their lives together. Even those who grow up in intact households harbor deep doubts about the durability of marriage.

Proximate preparation takes place as one moves into adulthood and begins to think about choosing a life partner. This might include some sort of education in abstinence or sexuality in the schools. I think this period is also mismanaged in our culture. Young people are not counseled to date wisely. They easily fall in love with someone who is not a good choice for a life partner and thus many unfortunate marriages are made.

PreCana instruction and engagement encounter weekends constitute immediate preparation. If done well, these are opportunities to begin to work on some of the issues that all married couples face and even to give a very important final consideration to the wisdom of one's choice. This is an opportunity to teach Catholics who know so little about their faith. A crash course is needed in what a sacrament is, in marriage as a vocation, in marriage as indissoluble. Couples need to learn why premarital sex is wrong, why contraception is wrong, why prayer should be a part of everyone's life, for instance.

Recently, my husband and I were asked to participate in our parish's Pre Cana program. Okay, it's more like ongoing recruitment than a request! ;) While we see the importance, and I believe we would both like to help prepare young couples for the realities of marriage and the realities of Catholic marriage, we have so many questions. One big one is what kind of contribution we could make. Given the chance, what insights based on our own experience could we really pass on to new couples? And how would they fit with the goals of the Pre Cana, or how could we make them fit? So far, we have missed the preliminary conversation because Doodle was sick last weekend. She's still not doing very well, though there are no real symptoms, but one reason I am dubious about whether we could or should participate in the marriage prep program right now is that it means being away from the children for a long stretch on the Pre Cana weekends. But the question of topics is also troubling. Would we discuss NFP, when we would likely stress the difficulties rather than the benefits? We are singularly unqualified to discuss finances, although we might give a lesson about not letting difficult finances hurt the marriage.

But at any rate, if we are not sure yet whether--or how--we fit in to the "immediate preparation," we are committed to the "remote." I know I mentioned to my son in that same conversation that people who are married should be--and should remain--friends. He found this difficult to apply to his parents--because, well, we're parents--but agreed once I explained. He also saw friendship as the basis for the marriage of a couple with whom we are close as a family. I hope he will carry some of this with him, and when the next round of conversations comes around, we will have a strong foundation on which to build.

So THERE!

I've taken the post down. So all of you perverts who find my blog by doing Google searches for "sexy breastfeeding breasts," etc., can just go the heck away!!! I'm sure my number of hits will be cut in half now. But until then, shame on you!!!

SF Course Reading List

So in July I will be teaching Science Fiction. I have officially placed my bookorder, and my desk copies of the novels are on the way (I hope)! The books I'm requiring are:

Gunn, James The Road to Science Fiction #2: From Wells to Heinlein

Gunn, James The Road to Science Fiction #3: From Heinlein to Here

Heinlein, Robert The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

Moon, Elizabeth The Speed of Dark

The anthologies are expensive together, but the two of them equal the price of the "standard" academic textbooks--except, apparently, the Norton anthology, but as they didn't get a copy to me after I requested one TWICE... I can't say I necessarily would have chosen it anyway. There still seem to be some omissions. "The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke is one that I would like to see included, and I would like to teach Bradbury's 'The Veldt," but at least I do that in my Intro to Lit course. Keyes' "Flowers for Algernon" (the short version) is one I will have to have as a supplement. It and Vonnegot's "Harrison Bergeron" will make for interesting discussion with The Speed of Dark. I admit that I have not yet read The Speed of Dark, but it comes highly recommended; it might be possible to have the author talk to the class; the author is a Texas author, contemporary, a woman, and well, the book sounds interesting. Also, book orders are due. Like, 10 days ago.

So, any thoughts??

Catchier Title: Catholic Postmodernism?

I suppose the whole "finishing a dissertation draft" thing is making me feel like an academic again or something, because my last few posts have been very much in the academic vein. That makes me feel good, really, because this is pretty much how I should be thinking if I want to pull-off an academic career of sorts. Also, it's nice to have ideas & feel excited about having ideas again!! So continuing the trend. . .

In response to my last post about Reading Modernism as an Adult, Maria, fellow-Catholic Academic and Modernist (!) wrote a post about her experiences of Modernism as an Adult, with particular reference to postmodernism. She writes:

I realized that I was a modernist after a few years too. Especially, in grad school when I realized that my dabbling in postmodernism had turned me off of over fragmentation without a purpose. A purpose of purposelessness. I found that increasingly annoying. Particularly because of the discussions that I had in the last few courses of my MA with people who thought that uselessness had more use than well, use (sorry about that). It really bothered me to think that there were people who thought in such a way.

This made a lot of sense to me. Particularly the bit about fellow students. I almost think sometimes that grad students and (to a lesser extent perhaps) professors who study postmodernism take it more seriously than the writers themselves.

I know that in theory postmodernism is "A purpose of purposelessness," and that many writers and philosophers do indeed take that to heart. But I would venture to say that not all of them do. In all of the fragmented contradictions of postmodernism, isn't it possible to sometimes glimpse a hint or hope of meaning? The pieces may not fit. . . or perhaps it's that we haven't yet found--or have forgotten--the clue to assembling them. Not that we would necessarily assemble them anyway, because aren't the pieces interesting in and of themselves? They make us laugh at ourselves. As in the stories of Donald Barthelme. But perhaps I'm not talking about the purist postmodernists. I have a few postmodernists that I keep up my sleeve and play with from time to time. I've waxed poetic about Calvino before. And Borges is always good for a laugh.

Now the interesting thing about Calvino and Borges is that--whether or not they ever set foot in a Catholic Church past the age of 7--both lived primarily or extensively in Catholic countries, or so it could be supposed. (I have since found Barthelme listed in many places under the heading "American Catholic writers," usually with the disclaimer that he declared himself to be agnostic.) And though being "culturally Catholic" isn't the same as being Catholic, raised Catholic, practicing Catholic, or coming from a Catholic background, it affects one. There are moments in Invisible Cities that remind me--not of Catholicism exactly, but of a certain worldview that I grew up with. It has to do with the continuation of life--indeed, the celebration of life!--in the face of fragmentation and apparent meaninglessness. I say "apparent" because nowhere in Calvino do I get the sense that life is absolutely meaningless. Life provides questions--seemingly contradictory questions--that we can't answer, but, well, we all know that. Of course, I'm also the person who sees Arthur C. Clarke's "The Star" as posing a dilemma that actually allows for a theological answer. *shrug* Truthfully, there's a certain kind of hopelessness that I find exhilarating. Perhaps because it is after a certain point of hopelessness that faith really begins to take root. There are moments like that in Tolkien, too, and they can be positively identified as Catholic in his context.

So what I'm wondering is, can a "Catholic postmodernism" be identified, and what would it gain for us to do so? Perhaps an articulation of a particular Catholic worldview. To return to my Catholic colleges question, I think I imagine an academic community that would assist and support this kind of inquiry--colleagues who would take such questions seriously. Wonder where I could find such a place?

Reading Modernism as an Adult

When I entered grad school, really I thought I'd be working with Victorian poetry. Perhaps Modernist poetry. Maybe Yeats. I did not think I would be working on prose and I certainly didn't think I would be working on Modernist fiction. Except that the only grad course I took on Victorian poetry was really, really boring. And the courses I took that included poetry generally did so out of a sense of obligation rather than interest, and I was really never taught how one writes graduate or professional-level papers/articles about poetry (and though my undergrad prep was good, it's not the same). Still, I toyed with the idea of doing something with metaphor or something with ecocritisism. But it just didn't take off, because that's not what I was really doing in my seminars. Two trends emerged: my papers confronted feminism on the issue of motherhood, especially using gothic literature, or they did this literacy thing. And, well, the literacy thing felt more innovative, and could be applied more broadly. Besides, I didn't want to teach Mary Wollstonecraft (gothic) and I didn't want to teach American Lit (poetry & American gothic). So I rediscovered Modernism. That was where most of my coursework was anyway. Even so, though, I hate Henry James, Ford Maddox Ford bores me (though he might have some Catholic issues to explore), wasn't too keen on Lawrence, didn't like Woolf. . . But I like Forster. And I like Huxley. So they were a starting point. I also like WWI. A lot. It caused an intellectual crisis of huge proportions. Anxiety. Loss of faith in civilization. . . . a heap of broken images. . . Whoopee! That's what hooked me on these guys to begin with! Except, well, I don't revel in despair anymore. Though I still like W. H. Auden's poetry. But I like expressions of despair, and of human continuation in the face of despair. So anyway, it seems I'm a Modernist, having just written a big 'ol dissertation on these guys. (Really, I like Modernism. I promise.)

So after talking to my committee member on Friday, I am settling down to read some of what I need to read to get me up to speed. (Funny thing. . . Woolf is my least favorite, but I am told--not surprisingly--that that's what most people will want me to teach. Ugh!) Most of what I have read of the big Modernist novelists I have done on my own. I read A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in high school, for example--loved it. Stephen Daedalus is all about teen angst. And I was in my anti-Catholic phase, so that was O.K. When I reread it for prelims, I hated it. The Catholic stuff was interesting, as I now had a context from which to understand it, but Stephen Daedalus needed to get over himself in a big way. I understood that now as I did not when I was 15. Go figure. Of course, Dubliners is brilliant, but it's not in fashion anymore. It's like "Joyce for Dummies." Real scholars read Ulysses. Really really real scholars read Finnegan's Wake. Maybe one day when the kids are grown up. Until then, I have more important things to do with my time.

So I'm reading Lawrence's Women in Love. It's supposed to be one of his best. Which is good, 'cause it's 400 pages and Lawrence generally needed to learn when to stop writing. Perhaps this one will be different. Sons and Lovers is in my dissertation. I've got some short stories under my belt (read "Horse Dealer's Daughter"?--hated it). I read Lady Chatterley's Lover, like so many adolescents, and felt utterly cheated. Although I did latch on to a phrase or two about things I had no idea about at the time. And I'd look back and think, "Hmmm. . . was Lawrence right?" not knowing that Lawrence is generally wrong. In a big way. But what strikes me now is not his wrongness, or his frustrating tendencies, or his inability to find synonyms for the word "hate," but his absolute silliness. His self-conscious (oh how he hated self-consciousness) attempts at sensuality, eroticism. Especially masculine-flavored eroticism. It makes me giggle. And it was so scandalous at the time. And I would have felt differently 15 years ago. But really, all this talk of muscles and maleness and moustaches, hair and skin and animals, fountains and jets and streams. Really, I can't help but chuckle. Has the writing always been this absurd, and I can just see it now? And if so, then why didn't his contemporaries dismiss it as such instead of being scandalized? Or is my "maturity" and the culture's acceptance of Lawrence in all his over-sexed silliness just a symptom of our desensitization in the area of sexuality? I pause more now over his declarations about God's non-existence (which he--unlike Joyce--takes as a given, or tries to) than over his erotic imagery. Does that say more about me, or about the writing?

So what do you want to do?

I thought that with a Ph.D., the answer to that would be pretty clear. Even to those relatively unfamiliar with academia. So imagine my surprise when I got a version of that question from one of my committee members!! Granted, it was phrased rather differently. First, he asked where I wanted to teach, what kind of flexibility I had in terms of following a job (that was the "what's your husband going to do" and "will he follow you" question), how I'm going to market myself, and, finally, whether I want to be a "publishing" academic. Ummm. . . 'cause we have a choice, but okay. . . Even schools that really value teaching over publication--as evidenced by the high teaching loads required at those schools--feel the need to put a clause in their job ads about publishing & scholarly activity. I'm not sure what the rationale is. Maybe they feel like they need to include that kind of thing in order to attract up-and-coming new Ph.D.s, or maybe they really do feel like there should be a publishing component for academics at their (mostly smaller) colleges. I don't quite see a 4-4 load being compatible with a publishing career. And I don't see a 4-4 load being compatible with me. Writing and research for publication can be accomplished with babies around. Teaching 4 classes a semester--not so much. And the schools with the higher teaching loads don't tend to pay more.

But actually, I do see myself publishing. I like academic writing. I think some of my ideas might benefit the literary community. It sounds arrogant, but you have to think that kind of thing to play this game. And, well, you have to think that what you're doing is at least as interesting as what others are doing, perhaps more interesting. I'm pretty much there--no surprises. I do wonder what will stimulate new ideas, though. I can get some mileage from the literacy thing. I can get some mileage from ideas left over from coursework, and Catholicism might creep in somewhere, somehow. The "must write to complete course" and "must write to finish degree" will be replaced by "must write to publish" and "must write to get promotion/tenure." I suppose that the "ideas generated by coursework" will be replaced by "ideas generated by teaching" and "ideas generated by conferences" and "ideas generated by further reading." But you know, it feels different. I guess it will happen.

As for the other questions, I couldn't exactly say that I would apply for anything I seemed remotely qualified for. That may not be precisely true, anyway. I would prefer to teach literature, but I may be seen as attractive because of rhetoric. But I don't really know rhetoric. I am flexible enough to go anywhere, but there are some places I really don't want to live. And you know, being here for almost 9 years has spoiled me. I know what doctors to see, what schools are good, and I know it's safe to take a walk in the park. There is a disturbing lack of good Catholic education, but there are rumors about that changing. There is a disturbing lack of culture, but there is a reassuring lack of crime. It's not a bad place to raise a family, just a boring place. Anyway, the next year(s) will be an adventure! I wonder how often I will have to answer/ponder these same questions in the coming weeks and months?

Life with a Toddler

This evening, my husband said to me,

Should I turn this [tape] off, wander back [to our bedroom] with her [to put her to bed]--and fall asleep so she can play bongos on my nose or something?

And I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.

IT'S FINISHED!!!!!!!!!

[Doing a little dance around the apartment]

The final touches have been put on the dissertation conclusion! (Believe me, the use of passive voice is intentional and appropriate.) Without the works cited, it is 219 pages, 65,887 words, and 348, 083 characters (without spaces). Now I get to photocopy it in all of its tree-killing immensity, and deliver it to my committee. And while I know that this is not the FINAL final copy, and that there is a bit more to the process, still. . .

It's finished, it's finished, it's finished, it's finished. . .

Portrait of an Academic Mom

This evening as I sat on the sofa writing what will be some of the final pages of my dissertation, my 2-year-old daughter, who had, a little while before, put on the DVD of The Empire Strikes Back, climbed into my lap, leaned her head on my shoulder, and fell asleep between my iBook and I as I continued to type. :)

Okay, So I Might Graduate. . .

Actually, it's looking pretty certain these days. I'm finishing up the dissertation now (well, no, not now exactly, but you know what I mean. . .), and my defense is set for May 5. I have to have a good copy to my committee by Friday so they can, like, read it and stuff. So eventually, I figure, I should get a job. Well, I guess first I have to look and apply for some jobs. So I was wondering. . .

Since becoming Catholic, I have been thinking, Gee, wouldn't it be nice to teach at a nice Catholic school? Then I could raise the kinds of questions that you can't raise in a state school where you're supposed to respect everyone's religious identity to the point of annihilating your own (like when, post 9-11, one prof voluntarily removed his Divinity Degree from the wall, and another was advised to hide her icons!!), and where there would, presumably, be some sense of Catholic identity, and opportunities for faith formation among the faculty and. . . well, that's the kind of thing I was thinking. Except that even in the first fervor of conversion, I wasn't sure Ave Maria or Steubenville would be for me. I'm an orthodox kind of gal, but I'm not ready for any Catholic versions of those protestant colleges that won't let faculty drink alcohol (yet the one I have in mind has the bar and cash register from the Bird and the Baby--the Eagle and Child pub where the Inklings met--in its library--yeah. . .), and I believe that those schools might be a teensy evangelical in flavor for a recovering protestant.

So then I found the blogosphere. Specifically, the Catholic blogosphere. And I learned that not all Catholic colleges are created equal. And that precious few are deemed "Catholic enough" for the orthodox crowd who want their kids to have a degree. I've been to a bunch of the web sites that give you the scoop on the adherence of the various Catholic colleges to the Magesterium, read many a lament about the state of Catholic higher education, many tirades against the Jesuits, and, frankly, I'm confused. The scholarly, prominent Catholic universities with whom every new Ph.D. would LOVE to have an interview are apparently unworthy of being termed Catholic, while the most orthodox of all hire mainly clergy or have 5-person English departments or 300-student enrollments and the ones in between have low pay, high teaching loads, nominal research requirements--not the kind of place to go, in short, if teaching and research are on your agenda, that is, if you want your ideas to be heard by the scholarly community. So is it worth investigating positions at Catholic colleges at all? If you risk being associated with heterodoxy or heresy, or exposed to and manipulated by such ideas? If, by avoiding those pitfalls, you are compromising the chance of having a Catholic voice in the cacophany of scholarly opinions? Not to mention compromising your ability to pay those loans--you know, the ones that are equal to or surpass the price of a really nice house? The ones that you will not pay off before you die? The ones that are, in fact, a lease on your education rather than a purchase? Yeah, those. Is it O.K. for a Catholic academic to take a position at a Catholic college or university that is Catholic in name only? In hopes of influencing others, maybe? Or do you just give up on Catholic education altogether in order to avoid this sticky issue?