Compromise

Rob and I have been starting to talk about various things for our new house in Texas-- what to do about phones, what to do about a TV, etc. This is all fairly premature, considering that it’s still another 10 days or so before our current house goes on the market here. Probably we should concentrate on selling this house before we expend a lot of effort negotiating whether we’ll only have cell phones or if we’ll have cable. Most recently we’ve been talking about our TV/entertainment options. Here in Connecticut, we have a dark basement that Rob has outfitted with a projector and huge screen and speakers and all the associated wires and whatnot. This likely isn’t going to be an option when we move to Dallas, due to the lack of basements and the unlikelihood of having an “extra” room for a dedicated home theater. Our TV is probably going to have to live in our main living room and it turns out that the two of us have very different expectations about what that should look like. I would prefer something like this (although Pottery Barn is out of our price range) that you can close so that the TV and all the components and speakers are hidden. Rob, on the other hand, would like to have something like this in our living room.

Go ahead, click. Browse.

OK, I am being a bit facetious and Rob doesn’t really want gilded columns and velvet curtains. There was serious mention of theater seating, though. Although I am horrified by the idea of those kinds of seats in my living room, this is a good opportunity for me to work on not demanding what I want. I usually have strong opinions on what I want or what I think is the right way to do things, but I want to be a generous spouse who gives Rob the opportunity pursue his interests and do what he enjoys. I actually don’t find it very helpful to concentrate on the idea of compromise; when I do this, I tend to obsess on who has compromised more, who is moving further toward the other’s position, and why it’s just not FAIR that Rob wants to put six ugly speakers in our living room. I feel more freed to give Rob room for himself when I think about situations like this as an opportunity to let go of what I think I deserve or am owed. We had this read at our wedding, and the idea of this as a model for human relationships is big for me-- not grasping for my own importance but setting aside my own selfishness. Of course, I am profoundly, terrifically bad at this, which a number of people from my parents to my sister to Rob (to probably every roommate I’ve lived with) can attest to. My baser self asserts itself and I wonder why everyone just can’t do things my way-- my wonderful, logical, insightful, brilliantly-thought-of way.

My ponderings on TV and compromise were interrupted this morning by poop. A whole lot of poop. I often deal with poop since I have a toddler in diapers, but the main perpetrator this morning was dear Abbey. She’s been having some digestive trouble in the past few days and unbeknownst to us, she made several messes upstairs last night. What a thing to wake up to... Fortunately, nobody stepped in any of it before we noticed it. Blech... If Abbey doesn’t get better soon, we shall have to go to the vet. She never used to have any kind of trouble like this, but this is the second bout of GI trouble in the last few months. I have a sneaking suspicion that the culprit may be all the food Grace drops. Just in the past few days, Abbey has pilfered an entire cheese stick, most of a muffin, and chocolate-covered raisins, among other little tidbits. That can’t be good for her doggie tummy.

Impending Haircut

I finally called and made an appointment for a haircut yesterday. Hooray! Since Grace has been born, I have gone Way Too Long between haircuts. Haircuts and doctor appointments are two things that are rather difficult when you are the main caretaker of a little one. Although not ideal, I have taken Grace with me to quite a number of doctor appointments. I just can’t do it for a haircut, though. I can just imagine myself sitting there trying to hold still while some young woman scissors my hair and Grace flips out from boredom in the stroller. So I must try to arrange such things around Rob’s schedule, which is, shall we say, constrained.

So I have about a week until said appointment and I am toying with the idea of a significant change. I did like my last haircut (in September!) with chin-length subtle layers and a long, side-swept bang. (This is from right around that haircut, although I have the bangs pinned back.) Now I am leaning toward doing something like this (courtesy of Whoorl’s Hair Thursday), with things a bit shorter and a funkier shape.

I am definitely a proponent of having a haircut with an actual shape and style, especially once you are no longer a college girl. Long hair with no shape to it makes some women feel young or feminine, but I come down on the side of unsophisticated and unflattering. I have been known to harbor a secret desire to run up to someone and cut off their long, all-one-length hair. Bwah hah hah! Then they would HAVE to go to a hair stylist! To repair the damage I had just inflicted! That being said, I am so bad these days about getting to regular haircuts for upkeep. Maybe I will get a delightful haircut that I love and will be motivated to make time for it more.

Another hair annoyance of mine is women who get really precious and attached to their hair. I was at a salon once and I saw a girl actually crying because she was so unhappy with her new haircut. She thought it was too short, if I remember, but it was shoulder length still. (If I were in charge of everyone’s hair, I doubt that I would allow anybody to have hair longer than shoulder length. Unkempt! Unstyled!) It is just hair, for goodness’ sake. It grows back. Again, however, I am being a bit hypocritical. I too have known the woe of a disliked haircut. This picture is from a haircut I had a few years ago that was just not a good match for me. I really wanted an Amelie-style bob with short bangs but it was awkward after about a week of growing out and every time I looked in the mirror I would feel annoyed and grouchy. Rob got really sick of me talking about it, if I remember correctly. But oh, looking at these pictures makes me want to try it again! I am such a glutton for punishment!

In non-hair news, last night was the night of important paperwork. We had our chosen realtor over and signed a contract with her to sell our house. What a big step! I am feeling more at peace about the whole process these days. The house will officially be on the market two weeks from today. And then I helped Rob proofread and finish up his application for the PSDP, which would give him funding for research during his fellowship. Boy, did that bring back the memories... The last big academic grant proposals I worked on were my own for postdoc positions (I did work a bit on some while I was a postdoc here at Yale, but not as much) and it was interesting and a little weird to help out Rob with his. That is certainly one part of the academic research world that I will not miss.

Back to School

My classes started up again this week so I am feeling a bit academic and ready to sharpen pencils and cover books and whatnot. I have cut back on how much I’m teaching this spring, mostly because of having the house on the market. I couldn’t quite figure out to have a babysitter at home with Grace and be able to show the house, and now I’ll have more energy and time to keep the house in tiptop shape. The teaching I am doing should be fun: labs for an earth science and astronomy course. Don’t tell my students, but I really know nothing about geology; hopefully my ignorance there will be eclipsed by knowing enough astronomy. (Ha ha-- “eclipsed!”) Cutting back on teaching meant me saying goodbye to one of the two universities where I was teaching, which was a tiny bit bittersweet. That university was really small and the physics department was really friendly in a sort of bumbling, tweedy way. The university where I am still teaching is a bit bigger and seems more polished in how things are run. The students are quite different as well; one university tends to have students who are all subculture-y and pierced, wearing band T-shirts, with majors like philosophy and music, while the other one is apt to have students who are preppy and have majors that will get them specific jobs.

Returning to campus always makes me realize that I am getting OLD. Well, maybe it’s more accurate to say I am no longer truly young, as my 30th birthday approaches later this year. When I was first starting teaching up here in New Haven, I thought I would have to be really careful about being super professional and formal to combat being close in age to the students. I need not have worried. It turns out that college students these days are wee tiny infants. They are all these fresh-faced unformed babies and I definitely feel the decade or more that separates me from them. Do you realize that this year’s freshmen were born in 1989?

The day before I started back to teaching, Grace had a world-class tantrum. Most of Grace’s flip-outs these days are what I am calling “autonomy tantrums” where she gets frustrated because she can’t manage something she wants to do, or I won’t let her do something she wants to do. I can’t even clearly remember what set her off on Sunday but it snowballed into quite a maelstrom of misery and emotion. Our normal methods of attempting distraction or giving her some space to calm down on her own weren’t really working, so after almost half an hour Rob ended up holding her in our darkened basement until she finally got herself together. It is really great to see her becoming so independent and self-reliant but there are certainly some growing pains along the way. We’re trying to give her as many opportunities to do things herself as possible; I find myself thinking several times a day, “Can I let Grace do this herself? Is it worth a confrontation for me to do it?” I think it’s healthy for me to think this way, because I tend to enjoy being in control and doing things MY WAY and I know I could steamroll right over her in a condemning way. Sometimes, of course, we can’t accommodate her. Today, right as we were getting ready to leave the house, Grace decided she did not want to wear a diaper. This is a problem because she does not, you know, use the toilet. We had a knock-down-drag-out wrestling match getting her into the diaper, into her coat and hat, out the door, and into her car seat, where much wailing ensued. Sometimes it’s tough being the mommy...

Goodnight, Sun

Grace’s bedtime reading includes the book above almost every night. She insists on holding the book by herself and turning all the pages but does allow me to “Mommy read! Mommy read!” For those of you who are too old to remember the details of this book from your own childhood and are not yet the night-time readers to your own offspring, there are two moons in the book, the full moon outside the nursery and a crescent moon in the painting above the fireplace. Grace only identifies the crescent moon in the painting as a moon and claims that the full moon outside the window is actually the sun. She is unpersuaded by the fact that there are stars in the sky, the little bunny is going to bed, or any other clues about the time of day. When we get to the page with the eponymous text and we read, “Goodnight, Moon,” she responds, “Sun!” I sometimes try to convince her of the lunar qualities of this particular round orb, but she asserts, “Sun!” In fact, she won’t let me continue to the part about the cow jumping over the moon until I acquiesce that yes, it is the sun. I need to figure out how to explain the phases of the moon and celestial dynamics to a toddler.

It’s very near full moon right now, actually, and it is really delightful to show Grace the moon outside. With Rob working another string of night shifts, I’ve been doing Abbey’s evening walk with Grace in the Ergo and she is very excited to see the moon. These days Grace seems amazed and enchanted by discovering things in real life that she has learned the names of from books or TV or what have you. When it gets warmer, I think a trip to the zoo might be in order for her to get to see the animals from what is perhaps her favorite book.

Speaking of night-time, the night before last will go down in the record books as one of Grace’s top 10 worst ever. She woke up a bit after 1am and was totally awake until almost 5am. Rob was at the emergency room working a night shift so I was left to my own devices. Nothing seemed to do any good to get her back to sleep-- I brought her to bed with me with no success, let her wail in her crib for a while (maybe I’m not as committed an AP mama as I claim), and finally just let her run around our upstairs while I lay dazedly in bed. Such misery... The next day I was so exhausted that I felt weepy and depleted. There was no opportunity for a nap so at 4pm, unable to face the rest of the day without some chemical help, I had a nice cup of coffee. One good thing about not being a regular coffee drinker is that when you do have some, it will perk you RIGHT UP. Perk you right up into slightly frenzied, energetic mania. I felt much more able to cope with the rest of yesterday but then I could not go to sleep last night. I guess 4pm is too late in the day for me to have coffee. Another night of less-than-ideal sleep! Oh well, soon I shall return to a sleep equilibrium. And of the two adults in our home, I am certainly not the one with the most cause for dissatisfaction with my sleep.

Five Stages of Grief

We have now started the process of putting our house on the market and are coming to grips with the fact that we are likely going to lose money on the whole transaction. I have had quite a number of different reactions to such a prospect. “Surely not,” I think. This was practically the least expensive house we saw when we were looking and we did quite a bit of fixing up; how is it possible that we will lose money? Then I may swing toward feeling angry at the housing market. How dare it climb so high and then turn down with such inconvenient timing for us? And then I start to think something like, “Maybe we can sell for what we paid and then just lose the realtor fees...” Or in some moments, I feel very down about the whole thing, sad and lethargic and unable to gather the motivation to touch up more paint or clean out another closet. I have had a few moments of acceptance but I’m still working it. Cliche, anyone?

There is good reason to keep moving toward acceptance, of course. We’ve had two realtors over and from what they are saying, it is unlikely we are going to lose vast quantities of money. Losing a bit of money now is not going to have a long-term negative effect on our financial life. And we are moving to Texas where houses are so much cheaper that (if we decide to buy again) we would still be able to buy a house, even with losing a chunk of our down payment on this house. And really, there’s nothing we can do about it now, is there? Beating ourselves up about our decision to buy doesn’t make anything better or solve any problems. We didn’t have brilliant predictive powers that allowed us to see what the market would do, so buying a house seemed like a good idea at the time. And the biggest reason to move toward acceptance is what I believe about a steadfast, faithful God. That doesn’t mean God is going to keep us from losing money, but it does mean God is the reason I can say, with increasing sincerity, “It’s going to be OK.”

Today, in further spruce-things-up endeavors, we’re having a new screen (well, glass, actually) door put up, as well as having the house power washed. That sounds very exciting, I think. “POWER WASHING!” Too bad I can’t use some kind of power washer to clean the inside of the house; I have a feeling it would involve a lot more adrenaline and excitement than my actual cleaning procedures. My next cleaning tasks are our glass-shelved, glass-doored cabinets in the kitchen (which are a bit dusty after 2.5 years) and the stove’s drip pans. I hate cleaning those and never seem to be able to get them clean. In my single-girl renting days, I would always buy new ones before moving out of an apartment at the end of a lease and throw away my blackened old ones. Shockingly unenvironmental... Maybe I will try Oxiclean on them this time around?