May was a whirlwind, and June is looking to be a tornado.
In May, I interviewed for and accepted a job offer at Eastern Kentucky University. This means that my little family of three will uproot and move from Alabama. I'm sad to leave behind all my family (and Fluffy's family) and many friends, but this job looks to be a good fit for the direction my teaching career has taken. I'm excited to be working full-time again, and I am thrilled that we will be moving close to two sets of very dear friends.
Last week, Fluffy and I capped off this exciting month by driving (6 hours) to Kentucky to look for houses. Three and a half grueling days later, we found what we feel is the perfect house for us right now. It isn't that much larger than our current house, but it has 3 bedrooms and much more natural light. It's close to work and in a great neighborhood/area. I think we will be happy there for several years, provided I am happy at the job for as long.
The primary source of "wind" in May was the trip, nerves over finding a house, and issues we encountered when getting a loan. It is hard to get a loan when you don't have a current paycheck or a signed contract, but when such a thing happens, look local. Those homegrown banks are willing to help out folks that will be professionals in their towns.
With the choice of house and loan made, we move into June. I stand - arms crossed and foot tapping - waiting for my contract to arrive so I can sign it and send a copy to the bank. We can't close on the house without that. Hopefully the bit of nudging my department head gave the dean will help things along with the higher ups. Move your pens, people! I need in my house before school starts!
Adding to the stress of getting all the paperwork in order is the stress of trying to sell our house in Alabama. The house has been on the market since Monday around 10am, and we have already had 5 visits. Two more are scheduled for tomorrow. There is plenty of interest, but so far, no offers. And the folks who came tonight came in a downpour - definitely the worst time to show the house as they could see how horrible it gets when we have flashflood-type rain. These visits are rough on Spawn, as we have to pack him up and take him away, often screwing up the schedule to which he has grown accustomed. This makes him whiny, which makes Fluffy and I irritable and snippy. We are all sleepy and grumpy.
I just hope someone makes a good offer soon. That way, we can have July to just chill before August comes and brings with it the stress of a new job.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
SMH
Why, oh why, must everything happen at once? First, my book came out. Then, I got a new job. Now, I'm trying to find a new house in a city seven hours away and sell my house. So much for a calm summer.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
A Stone Skipping Over Water
Our relationship was like that - here and there only a moment of
interaction but with enough impact to make a mark (not a bad one, mind
you).
Our mothers played tennis together, and this was how we first met. My mother often dragged me to the courts and left me in the clubhouse with a lunchbox of toys. Even though I would've preferred being left at the swimming pool, this wasn't often possible, but I had an active imagination and could make do with my toys and an almost-house.
One day, I sat upon one of the bamboo sofas with neon palm tree printed cushions (hey, it was the 80's) and applied makeup to a Barbie head. He came in, looked at me, and said, "That's terrible, and look at her hair!" It didn't matter that he was six years older, he sat with me and showed me how to brush the tangled from her hair without ripping it out of her scalp. Why would he play with me? This, I asked my mother. "He has a little sister. He knows your brother." Judging by how rarely my brother allowed me to play with him, I couldn't understand how this was an answer.
<long skip>
He sat with me on the porch of the clubhouse and helped me tear out dresses for my paper dolls. "Don't be impatient or you'll rip the folding tabs." No, I couldn't abide that. This obsessive trait, we mutually understood.
<long skip>
"Here," my tennis coach said, "Practice returning Jason's serve." It glanced off the top of my racket and hit me in the chin. He crossed the net to have a look at it. "Sorry," he said and smiled.
<long skip>
I stood beside an outdoor fireplace, Solo cup of keg beer in hand, chatting with another girl. I saw him and he me. "Oh my God, [Summa]! Is that you?" Yes, it was. "How old are you?" I was eighteen. "Really?" We talked for three hours.
<short skip>
I hugged him at his engagement party. By now, he was a dentist, and I was working on my bachelor's.
<short skip>
I chatted with him at someone else's engagement party, told him I was married and that I was a teacher. "You're too smart to do that." Well, kids need smart teachers. "It was good to see you." You, too, and it was the last time.
<the stone sinks>
Our mothers played tennis together, and this was how we first met. My mother often dragged me to the courts and left me in the clubhouse with a lunchbox of toys. Even though I would've preferred being left at the swimming pool, this wasn't often possible, but I had an active imagination and could make do with my toys and an almost-house.
One day, I sat upon one of the bamboo sofas with neon palm tree printed cushions (hey, it was the 80's) and applied makeup to a Barbie head. He came in, looked at me, and said, "That's terrible, and look at her hair!" It didn't matter that he was six years older, he sat with me and showed me how to brush the tangled from her hair without ripping it out of her scalp. Why would he play with me? This, I asked my mother. "He has a little sister. He knows your brother." Judging by how rarely my brother allowed me to play with him, I couldn't understand how this was an answer.
<long skip>
He sat with me on the porch of the clubhouse and helped me tear out dresses for my paper dolls. "Don't be impatient or you'll rip the folding tabs." No, I couldn't abide that. This obsessive trait, we mutually understood.
<long skip>
"Here," my tennis coach said, "Practice returning Jason's serve." It glanced off the top of my racket and hit me in the chin. He crossed the net to have a look at it. "Sorry," he said and smiled.
<long skip>
I stood beside an outdoor fireplace, Solo cup of keg beer in hand, chatting with another girl. I saw him and he me. "Oh my God, [Summa]! Is that you?" Yes, it was. "How old are you?" I was eighteen. "Really?" We talked for three hours.
<short skip>
I hugged him at his engagement party. By now, he was a dentist, and I was working on my bachelor's.
<short skip>
I chatted with him at someone else's engagement party, told him I was married and that I was a teacher. "You're too smart to do that." Well, kids need smart teachers. "It was good to see you." You, too, and it was the last time.
<the stone sinks>
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Birdsong
Spring is coming. With the warming weather comes a rapid increase in birdsong. There is one call in particular that stands out -- a mocking bird. With each song, he says, "Hey ladies. This is my tree. Come on over and check out my nest." One long tweet followed by a lower-pitched short tweet and then a slightly higher, off-key short tweet and I am thinking of the swings and the first time I ever heard the mockingbird's song.
When I little, about once a week in late spring and all summer, my mother would pack up our giant, wooden picnic basket with the smiling sun on top, load us into the car, and take us to Memorial Park on the backside of the public swimming pool. My brother and I hung from jungle gyms, dirtied our bottoms on metal slides, got stung by yellow jackets, and (my favorite) swung on the swings. These were old-school: black plastic U-shaped sling seats that burned your legs on summer days, long just-rusting chains, and towering A-shaped pole supports.
Tweeeeet, tweet, tweet, just like the squeak of the chains as she swings. Listen! He thinks he's found a mate, but it's her on the swing. Poor, poor bird.
Back, forth, the pendulum child stretches out her legs, leans back on the chains. Higher feet, higher. She reaches, reaches and scoops the clouds with her soles.
Down she goes, knees tucked tightly. Lean forward now, but don't fall out!
Soaring, reaching, stretching, yearning, until she gets so high that the chains go slack. Weightless for a moment, her bottom leaves the sling, then she returns, the chains catch with a loud clang. Watch your fingers, honey, the chains pinch. They leave blood blisters and blood and a worried mother. Fingers safe, she wobbles wildly for a bit on the back arc.
When it's the dry, hot misery of late August, she watches as the poured concrete around the pole wiggles in the grassless dirt. She sees the earth crack, sees the pole puff out dust as it settles at her lowest point. She wishes for her brother, because if they synchronize, they can get a bit of the pole to come out of the ground. They can see how the concrete looks like a crumbly, gray mushroom. It won't come out too far though. These things are buried deep (lawsuits and all).
Tweeeet, tweet, tweet. She swings up, up. At the highest point, she leans back and lets go. Little girl, let your feet fall over your head. You will stick the landing with a smile.
When I little, about once a week in late spring and all summer, my mother would pack up our giant, wooden picnic basket with the smiling sun on top, load us into the car, and take us to Memorial Park on the backside of the public swimming pool. My brother and I hung from jungle gyms, dirtied our bottoms on metal slides, got stung by yellow jackets, and (my favorite) swung on the swings. These were old-school: black plastic U-shaped sling seats that burned your legs on summer days, long just-rusting chains, and towering A-shaped pole supports.
Tweeeeet, tweet, tweet, just like the squeak of the chains as she swings. Listen! He thinks he's found a mate, but it's her on the swing. Poor, poor bird.
Back, forth, the pendulum child stretches out her legs, leans back on the chains. Higher feet, higher. She reaches, reaches and scoops the clouds with her soles.
Down she goes, knees tucked tightly. Lean forward now, but don't fall out!
Soaring, reaching, stretching, yearning, until she gets so high that the chains go slack. Weightless for a moment, her bottom leaves the sling, then she returns, the chains catch with a loud clang. Watch your fingers, honey, the chains pinch. They leave blood blisters and blood and a worried mother. Fingers safe, she wobbles wildly for a bit on the back arc.
When it's the dry, hot misery of late August, she watches as the poured concrete around the pole wiggles in the grassless dirt. She sees the earth crack, sees the pole puff out dust as it settles at her lowest point. She wishes for her brother, because if they synchronize, they can get a bit of the pole to come out of the ground. They can see how the concrete looks like a crumbly, gray mushroom. It won't come out too far though. These things are buried deep (lawsuits and all).
Tweeeet, tweet, tweet. She swings up, up. At the highest point, she leans back and lets go. Little girl, let your feet fall over your head. You will stick the landing with a smile.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
EA* Imitates Life
I had not played Sim3 in about 3 years, but when the house was
struck by lightning just before Christmas and we had no internet, I got back into it. I made
Sims for myself, Fluffy, and Spawn. At the point when this conversation occured, I was top level in the
science career, Fluffy was a gardener/inventor, and Spawn was a
firefighter (We have since all retired and are awaiting the Grim Reaper.).
Me: I hate that I just now realized they'd added that you could be a teacher. I would've made my Sim do that since I'm actually a teacher.
Fluffy: Well, you can always re-start your game, try again.
Me: And go through raising Spawn all over again? No.
...
Me: I should've made you a teacher, too. I mean, what else are you going to do? I don't know, if I could get a job that paid well enough, you could be a stay-at-home dad.
Fluffy: Really? If I did that, I would take care of the house and even do home improvements. I actually enjoy that kind of stuff when I'm not also having to work.
Me: Sure, and I actually enjoy teaching.
Fluffy: I am so in love with you right now.
Me: Of course, that means we could never leave the south because we wouldn't be able to afford to live on one salary anywhere else.
Fluffy: Buzzkill.
*For you non-gamers, EA is Electronic Arts
Me: I hate that I just now realized they'd added that you could be a teacher. I would've made my Sim do that since I'm actually a teacher.
Fluffy: Well, you can always re-start your game, try again.
Me: And go through raising Spawn all over again? No.
...
Me: I should've made you a teacher, too. I mean, what else are you going to do? I don't know, if I could get a job that paid well enough, you could be a stay-at-home dad.
Fluffy: Really? If I did that, I would take care of the house and even do home improvements. I actually enjoy that kind of stuff when I'm not also having to work.
Me: Sure, and I actually enjoy teaching.
Fluffy: I am so in love with you right now.
Me: Of course, that means we could never leave the south because we wouldn't be able to afford to live on one salary anywhere else.
Fluffy: Buzzkill.
*For you non-gamers, EA is Electronic Arts
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Real Life Updates
1) Last Sunday, Spawn turned one. We held a large party (in my opinion) of family and friends. It went better than I expected - all the children had a good time, no one had a meltdown (including Spawn). It was stressful, but it was good.
In the time I spent with Spawn and looking through pictures of the party, I noticed how interested in other children Spawn has become. He needs friends his age, but every time I think about putting him in daycare or a mother's day out, I think a) I don't have the money for that b) Spawn is so healthy and I know he will be sick all the time if he's in daycare c) Once I find a full-time job, he'll have to go to daycare, so I should just enjoy having him home and teaching him myself while I can.
I keep telling myself I just need to try to enjoy him while he's little, especially since he will probably be my only child. Taking care of him can be so exhausting. It's hard when you need a break or you just want to go out, see friends, or shop and you can't.
2) Friday, I received my signed contract for Fairest. It has been put on Eternal Press' publication schedule for May of this year. I've returned my author information sheet, so now, I'm just waiting to hear from the editor about suggested changes or corrections.
I'm amazed by this little book. I started it as a NaNoWriMo project in 2010 and gave up after 15,000 words. In 2011, I added a few more chapters before I gave up. I moved on to other projects for a while before I made up my mind to finish it. Unlike most of my other works, this one is stand-alone. Those other stories, even if I have finished entire books of them, are still unfinished. I had a chance to complete something with Fairest. In summer of 2012, I did. It was fulfilling to finally FINALLY finish something. It has a beginning, middle, and end.
I spent some time editing it and tried querying in September. When it received no interest, I sent it off to friends and had another go at editing it. Then, on a whim, I decided to look for publishers instead of agents. It's not easy to find YA publishers who take unsolicited works, but Eternal Press does and did! I was so used to rejection that I had to read the email twice before I realized they wanted my book!
3) I have applied for twelve jobs across the southeast. I am qualified for all of them, but I well-qualified for three of them. As a female and with my work experience, I should be a prime candidate.
It may be too early to worry about, but I'm torn over whether or not to move. There is a position at my current school, one that I could easily learn what I don't already know, one where I already know everyone, am respected and like, but it is administrative. I'm not wild about having to evaluate co-workers and grad students. I'm not sure I can tactfully deal with parents, one of many reasons I will never teach high school again. Before I had Spawn, I was too sympathetic. Now, I have almost none. All of my patience and caring are spent by him, and I don't know if this would be a good thing or a bad thing for my job.
On the other hand, I don't enjoy research. I see it as necessary for my career, but I'm not passionate about it in the way I am about my actual career. This administrative position comes with no research, but the pay and workload are terrible. Having said that, there is a similar position at another school that has competitive pay and workload to that of someone in a regular professorship. But do I want to move? Do I want to leave my friends and family? Yes and no. Yes and no.
4) I spent the last three days proofreading Fluffy's dissertation. He finally sent off first drafts to his committee last night. Now, he just needs to set a date and time to defend and make a power point. Why is this more stressful for me than my own defense?
In the time I spent with Spawn and looking through pictures of the party, I noticed how interested in other children Spawn has become. He needs friends his age, but every time I think about putting him in daycare or a mother's day out, I think a) I don't have the money for that b) Spawn is so healthy and I know he will be sick all the time if he's in daycare c) Once I find a full-time job, he'll have to go to daycare, so I should just enjoy having him home and teaching him myself while I can.
I keep telling myself I just need to try to enjoy him while he's little, especially since he will probably be my only child. Taking care of him can be so exhausting. It's hard when you need a break or you just want to go out, see friends, or shop and you can't.
2) Friday, I received my signed contract for Fairest. It has been put on Eternal Press' publication schedule for May of this year. I've returned my author information sheet, so now, I'm just waiting to hear from the editor about suggested changes or corrections.
I'm amazed by this little book. I started it as a NaNoWriMo project in 2010 and gave up after 15,000 words. In 2011, I added a few more chapters before I gave up. I moved on to other projects for a while before I made up my mind to finish it. Unlike most of my other works, this one is stand-alone. Those other stories, even if I have finished entire books of them, are still unfinished. I had a chance to complete something with Fairest. In summer of 2012, I did. It was fulfilling to finally FINALLY finish something. It has a beginning, middle, and end.
I spent some time editing it and tried querying in September. When it received no interest, I sent it off to friends and had another go at editing it. Then, on a whim, I decided to look for publishers instead of agents. It's not easy to find YA publishers who take unsolicited works, but Eternal Press does and did! I was so used to rejection that I had to read the email twice before I realized they wanted my book!
3) I have applied for twelve jobs across the southeast. I am qualified for all of them, but I well-qualified for three of them. As a female and with my work experience, I should be a prime candidate.
It may be too early to worry about, but I'm torn over whether or not to move. There is a position at my current school, one that I could easily learn what I don't already know, one where I already know everyone, am respected and like, but it is administrative. I'm not wild about having to evaluate co-workers and grad students. I'm not sure I can tactfully deal with parents, one of many reasons I will never teach high school again. Before I had Spawn, I was too sympathetic. Now, I have almost none. All of my patience and caring are spent by him, and I don't know if this would be a good thing or a bad thing for my job.
On the other hand, I don't enjoy research. I see it as necessary for my career, but I'm not passionate about it in the way I am about my actual career. This administrative position comes with no research, but the pay and workload are terrible. Having said that, there is a similar position at another school that has competitive pay and workload to that of someone in a regular professorship. But do I want to move? Do I want to leave my friends and family? Yes and no. Yes and no.
4) I spent the last three days proofreading Fluffy's dissertation. He finally sent off first drafts to his committee last night. Now, he just needs to set a date and time to defend and make a power point. Why is this more stressful for me than my own defense?
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Karma Police
"Arrest this man."
I believe in karma, as I have felt the wheel roll over me too many times to ignore it. When I hear about people who prey on the pain or loss or generosity of others, I know that at some point, the scales will balance. I'm sure that isn't much comfort to those who were the victims of deception, but it is something.
With each day comes new tragedy. People come together to aid their fellow man, but there are always a greed-driven few looking to make a buck off tragedy. I'm going to tell you a story about one such person.
Fred, let's call him, started graduate school the year I came back. Though his undergraduate record wasn't stellar, he received a full ride (tuition waiver, stipend, book money, housing allowance) at the department's expense. An older student with a wife and seven-year-old daughter, he wanted to get his PhD, try to better his position in life, etc.
He'd never taught before, and if you've never taught before and have no training, it's in your best interest to seek the help and guidance of a veteran. Fred did not. The first semester, he was never on-time to class. Several times, he never showed, forcing other teachers to fill-in for him and leave their tutoring spots. He was always late to do his floor hours, practically hid while in the lab, and left early.
Because of him, the lab director made a new policy that all the workers had to swipe in and out, like punching a time clock the same way the students did. She claimed that the information collected would be used for the department chair to decide who got benefits and how much in following semesters.
When Fred learned of this, his work ethic improved. He asked for help, called or emailed people to cover for him, and so on. And we did help him and cover for him, even when he didn't repay us or failed to show for the shift he swapped with us.
After his first semester, he lost his stipend but not because of his shoddy work. No, his grades were too low. As graduate student in our department, you can't make C's, and if you make too many B's, the department will cut your funding in favor of giving a better student and worker more benefits.
Since his family depended on the money and he had 18 graduate credit hours, the department head took pity on him and kept him as a part-time instructor (same work load). Because of his lack of teaching skills, he was put in a course with no instruction time. He couldn't possibly teach his students wrong because there is no teaching in that class. All he had to do was show up, and of course he didn't.
Now, you might be thinking, "So he's a dirt bag. I'm not seeing how this should exact karmic retribution." I'm getting there.
Right around spring break, he just disappeared. The two people in the department who were friends with him couldn't get in touch with him. Finally, he answered an email from the department head stating that his wife was in the hospital.
She had some kind of stomach bug. He spent two days nursing her before deciding it was too severe and took her to the emergency room. They said it was a bug, sent her home, etc. When she wasn't better five days later, he took her back, and she was diagnosed with a bacterial infection so rampant that the antibiotics couldn't fight it. After another week, she died.
We were shocked and appalled for him. In this day and age, in the United States, how could this happen? Well, it does. Every day.
We covered his classes. We covered his hours. We sent food, money, cards, flowers. We asked after funeral arrangements. Then, one of his friends saw him out one night with his wife! Here, we were supporting him while he grieved for the loss of the love of his life and the mother of his daughter, and she wasn't dead. She hadn't even been ill.
Even though there are people like Fred out there, who will use and abuse the goodwill of others, we should still extend it to those in need. Even if we can't be sure that the need is real, giving and helping is what a decent human does. If you've been burned, please don't let it discourage you. Just think of it as good karma.
I believe in karma, as I have felt the wheel roll over me too many times to ignore it. When I hear about people who prey on the pain or loss or generosity of others, I know that at some point, the scales will balance. I'm sure that isn't much comfort to those who were the victims of deception, but it is something.
With each day comes new tragedy. People come together to aid their fellow man, but there are always a greed-driven few looking to make a buck off tragedy. I'm going to tell you a story about one such person.
Fred, let's call him, started graduate school the year I came back. Though his undergraduate record wasn't stellar, he received a full ride (tuition waiver, stipend, book money, housing allowance) at the department's expense. An older student with a wife and seven-year-old daughter, he wanted to get his PhD, try to better his position in life, etc.
He'd never taught before, and if you've never taught before and have no training, it's in your best interest to seek the help and guidance of a veteran. Fred did not. The first semester, he was never on-time to class. Several times, he never showed, forcing other teachers to fill-in for him and leave their tutoring spots. He was always late to do his floor hours, practically hid while in the lab, and left early.
Because of him, the lab director made a new policy that all the workers had to swipe in and out, like punching a time clock the same way the students did. She claimed that the information collected would be used for the department chair to decide who got benefits and how much in following semesters.
When Fred learned of this, his work ethic improved. He asked for help, called or emailed people to cover for him, and so on. And we did help him and cover for him, even when he didn't repay us or failed to show for the shift he swapped with us.
After his first semester, he lost his stipend but not because of his shoddy work. No, his grades were too low. As graduate student in our department, you can't make C's, and if you make too many B's, the department will cut your funding in favor of giving a better student and worker more benefits.
Since his family depended on the money and he had 18 graduate credit hours, the department head took pity on him and kept him as a part-time instructor (same work load). Because of his lack of teaching skills, he was put in a course with no instruction time. He couldn't possibly teach his students wrong because there is no teaching in that class. All he had to do was show up, and of course he didn't.
Now, you might be thinking, "So he's a dirt bag. I'm not seeing how this should exact karmic retribution." I'm getting there.
Right around spring break, he just disappeared. The two people in the department who were friends with him couldn't get in touch with him. Finally, he answered an email from the department head stating that his wife was in the hospital.
She had some kind of stomach bug. He spent two days nursing her before deciding it was too severe and took her to the emergency room. They said it was a bug, sent her home, etc. When she wasn't better five days later, he took her back, and she was diagnosed with a bacterial infection so rampant that the antibiotics couldn't fight it. After another week, she died.
We were shocked and appalled for him. In this day and age, in the United States, how could this happen? Well, it does. Every day.
We covered his classes. We covered his hours. We sent food, money, cards, flowers. We asked after funeral arrangements. Then, one of his friends saw him out one night with his wife! Here, we were supporting him while he grieved for the loss of the love of his life and the mother of his daughter, and she wasn't dead. She hadn't even been ill.
Even though there are people like Fred out there, who will use and abuse the goodwill of others, we should still extend it to those in need. Even if we can't be sure that the need is real, giving and helping is what a decent human does. If you've been burned, please don't let it discourage you. Just think of it as good karma.
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