Katherine and Nathaniel are currently in their second round of we-just-started-nursery-and-whoah-new-germs colds, so our house currently has lots of naps, occasional whiny duets as the kids battle for my lap, and parents who don’t know whether to laugh or cry at our rotten luck on the minor-illness front. It always, we’ve decided, happens when one of us is facing a deadline. Later this week I’ll be going into London for a conference (right now, judging by the kids’ needs, I’m guessing I’ll be doing some of my revisions on the commute, just before I deliver my paper), and once that’s over the term will have started at Oxford.
This week I’ve been inundated with emails about getting my university ID and keys to my office (which I’ll only have until Christmas, so I’ll try not to get too attached), and I, gulp, saw my name on the list of speakers for later this term, next to a title for a project that I haven’t started yet.
Sydney and I have also started compiling lists of places to which to apply for jobs as openings start appearing, and, though it’s not a great year for jobs, we’ll have plenty to keep us busy for the next few months. I sent out my first application earlier this week, which gave me a chance to work out some of the kinks. Sydney has been fairly quiet about his deadlines and projects for the near future, but I think that’s because he’s worried that if he discusses them out loud it will guarantee that the children will get sick again right before his deadline. I think he’s doomed whether he talks about it or not; the phrase is “Man plans; God laughs,” not “Man says his plans aloud; God laughs.”