more later but for now just a vague note must do

ok, so this past week was pretty bad.

at this point i don't want to to write the details.

sometimes, well, i think most of the time, writing makes things real. and i still need to repress this last week.

i'm not ready to think about what happened. and what could have happened.

i'll say this much : we are all OK, now. there are still four baskets of laundry to go. we collectively lost about 15 pounds.

we love our baby. we love our baby. we love our baby.

thanks to my friends who helped me through it.

pill

1.I cut my finger on our decrepit fridge as the plastic crisper shattered in my hand. 

2. I therefore cannot type very well.

3. I am on mastitis number 14. 

4. I have now swallowed thousands of these little orange apo-cephalex anti-biotic pills for mastitis.

5. There seems to be no explanation for why I get it so often.

6. Because of the recession, my babysitter is in Saskatchewan.

6. I am watching the 11th Hour tonight. Better not be boring.

7. I ate a bag of Rip.L. Chips. Old Dutch.

8. I want to read Obama's book but am too cheap to buy it. 

9. I love my job.

10. Hugo says "hug" and hugs himself.

11. I've had a paper called "To Become Beavers of Sorts" accepted for a peer-reviewed book.

12. Beavers. Heh heh.

loneliest, bestest, worstest job

Parenting, surprisingly, is lonely work.

Nobody knows your kid and your family like you do.

Yourself, you're so far in it that you can barely see your way out of it.

So for all the books and workshops and friendly neighbours and "helpful" relatives and actually helpful relatives, it's still you and that plasticine-like newish person at 3 am, looking into each other's tired and similar eyes. Trying to love and care and be apart and be together.

I don't want Hugo to be like me. I want Hugo to be better than me.

I want Hugo to be happier, more peaceful, more resolute, less fearful, richer, and taller than me.

I want Hugo to find love more easily, to give love more easily.

I want Hugo, most of all, to be safe.

I'm thinking of the Admiral and BG, and especially the Admiral's last post.

There's not much anyone can really say to help - I mean, you know your family. I don't, really.

Parenting is so damn scary. And great. 

PS. I love your kids.

badd speling, great life

The first week of teaching is behind me.

I'm not sure I'm ready to let it slide by.

It was my one chance to convince the students that I am their comrade, their leader, their silent (and loud) guidance.

It was my one chance to facilitate an atmosphere of caring, determined co-operation (did I?)

It was my one chance to spell correctly on the chalkboard (I didn't).

Whether or not the first week meant anything, it was a rush. I like my job. I have a job!

Hugo is adjusting, I  guess. I mean, I know he wishes I was with him every minute of every day. 

And I don't just want Hugo to "turn out fine."

I want Hugo to be happy and excited and loving and loved every minute of the way. 

As if turning into someone were all that mattered. I still don't know how I'll turn out.

We still co-sleep and Hugo still nurses. We are close. I still sing him to sleep and snuggle him awake. We still read stories and he still sits on my lap when he watches Dora (ps - he's scared of Swiper the Fox. should I cut out/back on Dora?). He still names my nose, eyes, ears, hair, and milk jugs a few times a day. Hugo is still my baby. And my darling, beautiful, chatty toddler.

no one knows

I'm glad the year is changing.

Eight is a strange number.  I know it is a chess number, and I like chess, but I am not really all that good at chess.

Still, anyone reading this who would like to play chess with me : I will be good enough to make you think. For a minute or two. Until you win. :)

This year, I've got a few goals.

1. Write my comprehensive exams. 

2. Write my comprehensive exams without throwing up before, during, or after.

3. Pay off consumer debt.

4. Pay off consumer debt and not accumulate scads more.

Hugo is grand, and requires no goals on my part. He is all perfection, all dimples and chattiness and smiles and love. Even his farts are perfect. Even his tantrums are endearing.

And I'm starting a part-time job teaching first year English at the college. Perhaps the anticipation of talking with adults, sharing my research, and having colleagues, is all so pleasing that parenting seems, well, easier. Being at home 24/7 with a toddler, even if the toddler is a gem, makes me batty. 

And speaking of batty: children's television. Hellbats. Wonderpets? Miffy the Bunny? 

I'll end this little note with a quotation from one of my favourite thinkers, Mark Halsey, an environmental criminologist:

"No one knows ahead of time what will happen" (Halsey, 2006, 70).