This sort of thing helps explain a variety of my preferences, e.g., why I prefer living in a rural area to living in a city, why I prefer good old-fashioned paper books to Kindles, and so forth. It strikes me that a great deal of modern development serves to increase immediate efficiency/productivity but leaves us much more vulnerable to catastrophe. Being a bit risk averse, I have a hard time seeing that as progress.
Sydney
As we’ve gotten closer to our due date I’ve noticed a marked difference in behavior between those who know when we’re due and those who can just see that we’re expecting. Since I’m not terribly big, most people just seem to assume I’ve got a ways to go. But those who are counting down the weeks with us (and see us regularly) tend to treat the baby like an impending medical emergency (“You’re going to drive to the grocery store? Make sure you take Sydney with you!!!”). Sweet as it is to have others looking out for us, I’m kind of glad that I don’t have much of the “any minute now” look going on. No need for Joe-on-the-street to take one look at me, freeze, and holler, “Somebody boil the water!”
Erin
At 37 weeks along, our babe is now officially considered “full term.” As in, full lung capacity for those blood-curdling screams I expect it will let loose once it appears on the scene.
Erin
Sydney tosses the instruction manual away and goes out to try to install the car seat. Erin, having also read the instruction manual, stays inside and cackles to herself.
Erin
Sydney recently got an email recruiting players for an intramural softball team for his department. He couldn’t resist. So today we went to the sporting goods store, picked up two mitts and a ball, and threw the ball back and forth in front of our house. I am glad that, for once, the chickens didn’t try to join us in our outdoor activity. Sydney’s off to his first practice shortly, on a beautiful, sunshine-filled, 50-degree afternoon.
Erin
Dates to keep in mind:
– Saturday, April 11, I’m giving a paper at my department. It would be nice to make that!
– Sunday, April 12, is Easter Sunday
– Monday, April 13, is Sydney’s mom’s birthday
– Tuesday, April 14, is our official due date
– Wednesday, April 15, is tax day
Sydney and I will both be teaching Freshman Writing Seminars this fall. I’ll be teaching a course on non-linear narratives (stories that play with time and perspective), the course proposal for which I won the fellowship last spring. This should be fun! Sydney will be teaching a class of his own for the first time and seems quite pleased with the prospect of having control over the material and the way things will be taught.
But both of us are rankling under the restrictions of the writing center for which we will, technically, be working. Course titles must be no more than x number of characters. Course descritpions must be fewer than 125 words. That’s all understandable, if a bit annoying, but less palatable is the commandment that our course descriptions contain a “hook” to lure students into signing up for the class. A hook? You can imagine how well such ad-speak goes over with die-hard academic types. And of course there’s a lot of nonsense about what percentage of the class must be used to teach writing (by which we take them to mean comma-splices and not, say, thinking and argument, which we intend to do all the time). In other words, we aren’t taking the red tape too well. I’ve had to find my own way through and around such pages-long commandments in the past few years of teaching, but it’s really funny watching Sydney hit them for the first time. And now that two of us are in it, you can expect the house to be filled with much sharing of frustrations as new little wrinkles arise.
Erin
We have been having the same discussion for almost four years now. It’s time we got an outside view.
When I’m sick, I want toast, tea, chicken soup, and apples. Mild, comforting things.
When Sydney’s sick, he wants chili, curry: anything spicy enough to drive the taste of the illness away.
It would be one thing if these were just our personal preferences. But we so completely don’t understand why the other would want what he or she wants that we have decided the other is completely messed up. So where do you fall? Are you a spice or mild sickie?
Erin
Alan Schmierer
