11D

End of Week Journal

The storm passed through last night clearing out the humidity and the fog in my brain. At 7:00 am, I was in the kitchen pouring bowls of cereal for the boys. They took a break from the game of "slam your brother with the sofa cushion" to eat their cereal and some toast. I had gone to Trader Joe's yesterday, so the kitchen was well stocked with wild blueberry scones and blueberry jam. I had little ciabatta rolls for Jonah's lunch bag and engineered a perfect little sandwich with squares of cheddar, lettuce, and salami.

Good bread makes a good morning. Nora Ephron was on Oprah a few weeks ago and she declared that we live in a golden age of carbs. I do think she's right.

My legs were a bit stiff from yesterday's pool trip. My brother and his daughter and my sister and her daughters came to the swim club with Ian and myself. I spent most of the time in the water with Ian to score some exercise points, and then promptly piled the calories back on with beer and pizza. Steve called at 5:00 and was dismayed to find a party at his house, while he was still stuck at the office.

I located Jonah's yellow camp shirt and helped him pick out some shorts. His camp bus arrives between 8:05 and 8:20, but Jonah was outside by 7:55 riding his bike in a circle and waiting. I threw on yesterday's mini-skirt and sneakers and joined him outside. As I drank my coffee, Jonah told me about what he expected to do that day. "And I think we're going to play mini-golf, because we haven't done that yet. But we're not going to do the inflatables, because we're too big for that. It's for the little kids. But the little kids can't play golf, because they can't use the clubs...." He didn't even stop talking, when I ran in for my camera and told him to smile.

He's very excited about camp, which is good, because we spent a bloody fortune on it. During a brief moment of financial exuberance this winter, we signed him for this fancy-shmancy camp. It's a full day of activities and swim lessons and Kool-aid. He's smelling the cool air coming in from the forest and sitting on the damp ground singing songs with enthusiastic counselors.

Best movie version of camp -- Addams Family Values.

Early camp buses make a good morning.

I walked around my garden inspecting the tomatoes and shrubbery. Ian came outside to see what I was doing and declared that he wanted to ride his bike, too. So, I put on my freshly laundered gardening gloves and weeded, while he did loops on his bike. I suppose you shouldn't spread mulch while wearing a mini-skirt, but it was too much trouble to go in and change.

Next on the morning agenda is to print out the weekly schedule and to make a list of chores. Ian is heading to daycare in a few hours, so I'll get some work in. Must order desk copies for next semester and proof read a survey.

Plans for a few child-free hours make a good morning.

Talkety, talkety, talk:

 

Green things:

Bonding

Summer!

Old and New Media Survey

I'm putting together a survey for reporters at four major newspapers about their blog reading habits. I'm going to ask them which blogs they read, how blogs help/hurt them, and how blogs help/hurt the journalistic profession in general. Any question suggestions?

Spreadin' Love

Henry Farrell sets up a new blog to publicize political science research.

Melinda Henneberger says that Democrats would win more women voters if they were more moderate on the abortion issue. I'm not sure if she's right or not, but this article has been much discussed around here.

Robert Putnam is a big favorite of mine, though his latest study is very disturbing. His five-year study shows that immigration and ethnic diversity have a devastating short- and medium-term influence on the social capital, fabric of associations, trust, and neighborliness that create and sustain communities. He fears that his work on the surprisingly negative effects of diversity will become part of the immigration debate, even though he finds that in the long run, people do forge new communities and new ties. (Thanks, Amy P.)

Suburban Hippy

When I moved to the suburbs after years of city dwelling, I had a hard time with it all. One of the ways that I got over suburban shock was to imagine I was Vanessa Bell and be an eccentric British woman with a garden. I don't know how well I succeeded. I finally invested in a good handbag this weekend, and I think a good handbag means eviction from the hippy club.

Anyhow, I was amused to read that I wasn't the only one who used Bloombery to overcome Suburban Shock.  Read about Frances Palmer.

I am enjoying the gardening, though not in hot muggy days like this. Check out Echidne's garden and Kieran's weed.

Weekend Journal

Steve and I went away for a weekend without the kids, and the first thing that I did we came home was to edge the lawn. I kid you not. I edged the lawn. Why the hell would you do such a thing? Well, we went to Lambertville, NJ and and New Hope, PA, vacationland for bikers, middle aged gay men, and McMansion dwellers. It's two towns of antique stores, decorative lawn ornaments, and nicely groomed boxwood shrubs, which explains my urge to edge the lawn this afternoon.

My parents offered to watch the kids for one night, so we couldn't venture too far. We had decided on New Hope, because I remembered that they had a lot of jewelry stores. I lost my wedding ring a couple of years and figured that we could a find funky replacement there. We quickly decided that funky wasn't worth that much, so we switched gears and bought a teak bench for the foyer of our house. I really don't want a wedding ring anyway. No ring and no name change really freaks out my dad.  Call me a child, but freaking out dad still brings me some joy.

So, we concluded our shopping within fifteen minutes of driving into town. We spent the rest of the time eating McMansion food over looking the Delaware. Don't get me wrong. I do love a warm pear salad with walnuts and gorgonzola cheese, but it's McMansion food. Met some characters in a bar down a sidestreet.

The town is packed with bed and breakfasts, but flowered wallpaper makes me puke, so we stayed at a hotel/convention center in Princeton. We amused ourselves listening to strangers try to make conversion at the breakfast buffet.
"So, you live in Chicago?"
"Yes."
"My aunt's husband's grandmother was born in Chicago."
"No kidding."
"Yeah, it's a great town."
"Sure is."

We had a good time. We needed a break from the high maintenance boys, though I never did get over the guilt of foisting them on my parents.

 

Ramping Up

Is it possible to get your career going after you take off several years to raise kids? Some say yes, others no. There are so many variable to consider -- the amount of time off, your profession, your prior experience -- that it may be impossible to give a definitive yes or no to that question.

Is it possible to ramp up an academic career? Good question. That's been a background theme on this blog for quite a while, and since I'm on a part-time, temporary track for next year, I don't have a complete answer for you. My buddy, Margie on Long Island, is also an academic putting her last child in Kindergarten this fall and getting ready to breath life back into her academic career. This afternoon, we traded ideas and information that we've gathered along the way.

Anecdotally, I know of a lot of others in our boat. And not just women. There's Matt in Cleveland, who's the only stay at home dad on his block with a PhD in history. Since academic pay is so dismal and the jobs so rare, it's often the career that has to go on ice when the kids arrive.

Here's what Margie and I cooked up this afternoon:
1. Publish anything. Blow the dust off your dissertation and revise the best chapter. Or start new research, which is what I did. This can be very difficult if you aren't affiliated with a university at the time, because you need access to libraries. It's also a pain in the ass to go to conferences if you don't have a university under your name, which is why you should...

2. Adjunct. (God, I can't believe I just wrote that.) Yes, you should accept crappy pay and the damage to your self esteem, because you can access JSTOR and the other academic databases. You'll get more work done at the university than on your kitchen table. It's something for the resume and could be a source for recommendations. It's a temporary move, so suck it up for a short while.

3. Start the publishing and the adjuncting when the kids hit pre-school. Again, not easy. Childcare sucks and the kids get sick and all that nonsense, but just plug away at it slowly. My buddy taught an adult-education class this spring, which only met once a week while her kid was at school.

4. Get to know the local schools. Don't wait for an advertisement for an opening. Call the chairs at these local schools and send them your CV. If you are out in the suburbs, your PhD is surprisingly an asset, because there aren't a lot of other PhDs in the area. You are local talent that doesn't have to flown in for an interview. If they give you a job, there is no chance that you'll bolt after a year for something better.

5. Chat with other academics. (I refuse to write the word, "network," because it sounds so calculating.) Revive old friendships with your classmates and your advisers.They might know of positions, and it gets you back in the habit of talking about your work again.

Is this a model for getting a job at Harvard and Yale? No. Gaps on the resume are death to those schools. But there are a whole pile of other schools that have nice students and will give you an office and let you do what you like to do. Some of these schools are actually really understanding about the kiddies.

We're still working on this, so I can't give much more advice at this moment. Maybe in another year, I'll be totally cynical and promoting administrative positions and valium. We'll see.

The '08 Circus

So, Bloomberg is switching to the Independent party with lots of hints about stepping into the '08 election. I think this officially marks the point in the '08 election, when every asshole gets the green light to jump into the campaign. It's the Open Asshole  Greenlight. So, Fred Thompson, come on down. Angelina Jolie, come on down. Paris Hilton, you say you're really smart and that time in the big house has changed you? Come on down. If you have no voting record on Iraq and have a pulse, come on down. Because everyone else sucks.

Spreadin' Love

Constant negative buzz surrounds Autism Speaks.

I want to write a post about marriage at some point. But in the meantime, read Elizabeth and Amanda Marcotte for the pros and the cons.

There were some wonderful blog posts on Richard Rorty last week, including this one by Russell Arben Fox. I first heard about Rorty, when my brother took his class at University of Virginia in the late 80s. My brother and his friend, Silber, were in such awe of the man that they would perch in high trees and watch him cross the campus.

I was horrified about the stories about the slave labor in brick kilns in China. Stories about child abduction take on new meaning after you become a parent. Sam Crane writes, "But I wonder if the political fall out of the continuing stream of these sorts of stories will also be unprecedented: a move toward electoral democracy as a means of political accountability."

Are we sick of Fred Thompson, yet?

Lisa Belkin writes about family meal time guilt.