Hungarian rhapsody

It's been so long since I've posted that my readership may have given up.

Entirely reasonable.

Hugo, now 2 and 1/4, weaned, chatty, and strong-willed, is ambivalent about daycare. He likes it, he hates me not being there. So he walks smiling towards the door, steps in, starts crying. Cries for hours.

No more daycare. Our collective hearts can't take it.

Instead we've hired our Mary Poppins, the world's loveliest, smiliest, sweetest nanny. She's Hungarian, and on the first visit to Hugo she said, "Hugo, do you like kisses?" To which he nodded and leaned in for a smooch. She plays with him. She reads to him. They giggle a lot.

She's a live-out nanny, which means a regular and highly paid babysitter. Which means nearly half my wage goes to her. Worth every penny.

And work is cool. Next term, in Readings in the narrative, we're reading Frankenstein, Monkey Beach, Chiwid and Seed Catalogue. By "we" I mean me and the keeners: I hope all three classes will be 100% keeners.

Or at least scared of my piercing pedagogical gaze. Pierce! Pierce! Read the books! Pierce!

Ah, epistemological violence. So 1980s.

Ok, I haven't posted in 2 months. Um.

I'm teaching 2 courses, which is great.

I like teaching. Teaching makes me anxious and happy, like all good things in my life.

Hugo learned how to talk this summer.

Sample sentences:

How about Mummy's shoes? (while putting on my maryjanes)

Mummy, come read truck book now! (truck book thumping my leg)

Mummy, ice cream? (and variations, such as : cookie? water? backyard? cartoons? traintracks?)

Mummy, kiss, now?

Are you OK Mummy? I'm OK. (more like one sentence)

MumDad go park play now please?

Mummy, nursing now please?

And he tells jokes.

Main joke involves pointing at anything (that is not an airplane), looking at me, and saying "Airplane!" He usually laughs between "air" and "plane," before my half of the joke, which is acting surprised and then giggling. I love the airplane joke.

My heart is breaking.

Vita's good, we are both good. He's so handsome. Um, and working hard and applying for a Master's in Counselling next year.

And we built a cedar backyard fence!!!! I like to sit outside and look at it. I smile at it.

Ciao. I am wayyy to busy. Papers to write, assignments to grade, lessons to plan, laundry to toss around. etc.

And Hugo is in gymnastics. He's into the balance beam, the climbing wall, and the trampoline. Yikes!

Natural Disaster

Hey, I started to play guitar again.

Hugo even asks me too : I have trained him well.

A good reason to procreate, for certain : manufacturing fans.

I mean FAN. As in singular.

Today has been odd : Natural Disaster Pants.

Um, Kelowna is all smoky and firy and burney and stuff.

Dangit.

We are the Emergency Prepared Family : we are prepared for H1N1, fire, earthquake, and the tedious torture of the movie version of Anne Michael's sad novel.

Um, I might need to flee Kelowna. With my child. And my husband.

And my computer.

Le sigh.

Natural Disasters.

blame the penguins

For those suffering MJ sorrow,

for those suffering parental guilt and grief,

for those wondering whether it is worth $420 annually to cover up grey hair,

for those cursing institutionalized family structures,

for those wishing they weren't so mushy about the Wilco album,

for those who love kittens but hate cats,

for those who drop apples moist side down,

for those swallowed a cherry pit yesterday,

I advise this blog:

http://www.fupenguin.com/

xoxo

n

Moooo

We went to Victoria. 

I love that city.

But the colonial FORCE is overhwhelming. V and I sat in our hotel room, feeling striated by the statues, the cops, the brick, the "history."

V took a beautiful photo of a field of blue flowers in Beacon Hill park. Then today I was reading about how the Lekwungen, the First Nations people who live

d there, cultivated those fields as a staple food source. The flowers are camas.

The English got there and said (I'm not kidding): God is super amazing, because right here, in this wild wild place with all these hunters and gatherers, there are these great 

fields of plants that our cows love to eat. It's like we were meant to show up. With our cows.

The Lekwungen liked the cows too. Especially after they shot and ate a few. 

You can imagine the fallout.

Hugo rocked Victoria, as per this victorious photo. Take THAT, cow-lonialis

ts!

if i had a bell hooks

Hugo loves hammers.

Also wheels, sirens, trains, dora and babies.

Oh, and breasts. Mostly mine, but if you are holding him and your t-shirt is on the loose side, he might just slide a pudgy hand down, looking into your eyes with a curious thirst.

Life with a toddler is hilarious, and we're getting happier, the three of us.

Although today I felt like shite for about three hours, I remedied it by taking Hugo to the downtown library, romping on the ladybug pillows, and picking out some MS and Adbuster's magazines to borrow. Which, because I owe 23$ (of which I only needed to pay 3 to get books out) and had $2.40 on me and the library doesn't take plastic, I snottily left on the library counter.

I softened my crabbiness with what I hoped was a beleaguered smile. And felt better for having expelled  my doominess.

Librarians are, generally, really GOOD people. I mean, have you ever heard of a post-feminist librarian?

Speaking of post-feminism, I'm looking for texts for English 100. Pretty much, they suck. I found one I kind of like, called Word and Worlds. It has "controversial" essays. About capitalism, terrorism, consumerism. And "feminism:" in scare quotes because the excerpts are firmly post-feminist libertarian. 

One is actually from REAL Women, the evil anti-woman group from Alberta.

And another is an excerpt from "The Rules."

What the hell???

I kind of think the author expects that readers would be appalled, which would make for good class debate. But I fear (with, I think, reason) that students would nod along with the readings, deciding that they too are "beyond" the need for feminism.

So I think I'll do another course pack. And also bell hooks' Feminism is For Everybody. 

The class has to be non-fiction.

Our house is messy. My wardrobe is inadequate for a seasonal change and my endomorphing maternal body. My attempts to jog regularly are interrupted by exhaustion due to working late at night until my eyes close over student essays, and then waking to Hugo jumping on my gut saying, "hand hand hand hammer hammer hammer baby babeeeeeeeeee."

It's all good.

Ph.D. ABD and in mid-air!!!!

So if you image-google "Ph.D. ABd," this is one of the awesome super awesome pictures you get.

Umm, the other images are stunningly unflattering head shots of professors languishing in part-time, no-benefits, temporary college teaching positions until they write their dissertations.

But this guy, the dude in the middle, in THE AIR FLYING, yeah, oh yeah, he too is PhD ABD.

In ninja awesomeness.

That's right folks.

I sat in a little room while five very smart people pummeled me with smart and tricky questions.

I sweated. I shook. I gave stupid, rambling, answers that let everyone know that I  don't know what "close reading," "new criticism," or "deciduous" really mean. Which makes me a moron.

And I gave pithy examples of rhizomatic methodology. Which were cool.

Then those five asked me to leave the room while they discussed my work and my pass/fail grade. Then, after 15 minutes (during which time stopped and the stars began to implode), they asked me back in.

And then they said, "Congratulations! You passed!"

Which makes me able to jump up, kick, fly around, and be Ph.D. ABD ninja ready.

(I still have to write a 200 page dissertation.)