Day Seventeen

Have you ever been afraid to ask a question? Afraid to admit there is something you don't know? Afraid of looking like less than what you want to be? One of my favorite professors once told me that all academics live in fear of being discovered as a fraud. Beneath all of the loquacious bravado, every so-called "expert" is fearful of not knowing enough.

My cute girls are helping me realize just how ridiculous such fear is - and just how beneficial it can be to let it go. Over the course of their first week of school, each has faced assessment tests to determine a baseline from which their teachers can work throughout the year. I imagine it's a fairly standard experience regardless of school, district, or state. It's really not that big of a deal.....except it is.

On Monday, the Bug fretted over a math problem she thought she might have done incorrectly. She was so distraught, she talked about it in her sleep that night. A lot. Have I mentioned how much she wants to be like her daddy? Turns out she got a perfect score on that test, and has done amazingly well on each subsequent test.

On Tuesday, the Bear worried her way through her test, and left concerned she wasn't able to write out her full upper and lower case alphabets on the fly. At one point during her test, her sweet teacher had to reassure her that she was doing very well when she hit a math problem she couldn't complete. Turns out her teacher wanted to see how far the Bear's math prowess went, and had moved on to a test a full grade level above where she should be.

I suppose it goes without saying that we've talked at length this week about embracing what we don't know. If we don't find the courage to admit and accept what we don't know - yet - how will we ever know what we need to learn? The girls have internalized this lesson remarkably quickly. I've come to the realization that I need to do the same.

For my part, I've had a couple of questions regarding some sources for my thesis. Finding the right ones could be an immeasurable help in contextualizing a couple of my chapters. I've been reluctant to ask my advisor for direction, though, for fear he will realize I don't know something he may think I should. The girls experiences this week, however, have made me understand the absolute futility of such fear. The fact of the matter is I'm not sure which sources will be the most effective for my chapters and I do need help sorting through the possibilities. So taking a cue from my girls, I owned up to what I don't know, and emailed my questions to my advisor. I suppose it's entirely possible that he will think less of me, although that's difficult to imagine. He was once a grad student too, fumbling through the dissertation gauntlet. Regardless of his response, however, I'm in a quandary and I need to get out. Luckily, I've got my Bug and Bear helping me rediscover the path. Funny how life comes full circle sometimes....

Day Fourteen

There are life moments, and then there are life moments. Some I would rather forget - like the time I saw "Watcher in the Woods" or "The Dark Crystal" or "Poltergeist". Others, I wish I could hold onto forever. Sometimes I fear I get too caught up in that which must be done, rather than the good stuff that happens while I am working on all of the extraneous mumbo jumbo. Thank heavens for days like today. The first day of school. Another bittersweet milestone in the life of my beautiful girls. Days like today are what it takes sometimes to get me to stop, look around, and appreciate every good thing that swirls around me while I am stressing about everything else.

Behold: The Good Things!

I love the way the Bear sleeps with her arms over her head - and has since she was born. She looks like she is in a constant state of surrender.

I love the way the Bug sings through life. She's even taken to making up songs on the fly to narrate whatever is going on around her.

I love that Dave is so adept at math, he can do it without numbers. In the words of my girls, the daddy is a mad genius!

I love the way the Bear's voice squeaks when she talks. I'm going to miss that one as she grows older.

I love how sincerely the Bug wants everyone around her to be okay. She often takes stock of everyone's feelings just to make sure...

I love how much Dave loves what he does and how fearless he has been to follow his dreams. He was the first one in his family to get a four-year college degree. The VERY first. In his ENTIRE family. EVER. If ever someone was destined to follow a particular path in life, it's Dave!

I love the way the Bear lights up a room just by walking in it and smiling. She could charm anyone into anything.

I love that the Bug talks in her sleep. Sometimes I will lie down next to her, just to listen.

I love that Dave loves bow ties. Did I mentioned that he was destined for his path in life? Down to his wardrobe!

I love that the Bear dances through life. This is not an exaggeration. She is ALWAYS dancing. We've had to go so far as to enforce a "no dancing at the table" rule for her and her sister!

I love that the Bug wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps. I mean, she REALLY wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps. She is working extra hard at math just to make sure she's ready!

I love how ecstatic the girls are when their daddy walks through the door. One of the hardest things about our new schedule is how little they will see him. On the other hand, the relative scarcity will make that moment all the more poignant.

I love how much Dave loves his girls. There is nothing he wouldn't do for the B & B. And that includes construction of a dungeon AND a mote by the time the girls reach junior high school.


....Okay so the aforementioned examples only cover a minuscule fraction of all that is good in my life. I hereby promise to make sure to include some of these moments in my posts from now on. Otherwise, when I look back on my blog for the next nine months, I may forget that it was packed with so much magic!

Day Ten

Life is a funny thing. You can focus all of your attention and energy into a very specific set of goals, yet the lessons you learn can come out of left field. Over the past week, I've experienced just that. While I've labored over my notebooks to get some traction on my thesis, raced around town to get my girls ready for school, and hovered over my computer to make my way through a to-do list for church, a lesson came out of nowhere. No really. I could not see this one coming until it hit my upside the head. But when it did hit, it offered up a very important lesson that I hope will help shape my book, my thesis, and, most importantly, my life from here on out.

Language has tremendous power and we must be careful how we use it.

Now this may seem fairly obvious - I've always been slow on the uptake - but it's something I find I needed to learn. Now. Before I write another word on either project, or try to help my kids learn from their mistakes. Words are visceral, vital things and I want to make sure I use them in best way possible.

So what brought up this little diatribe of mine? It's pretty simple really. I've had experience with some pretty powerful language as of late - both inspiring and devastating. I'd rather not focus on the latter. It would just serve to illustrate the capacity for words to bring us all down. Now the former, that is a completely different story....

After a disastrous February - please see Day One for further information - I questioned whether I have what it takes to actually write a solid piece of research. (This is not an idle concern. Trust me, my master's thesis was NOT my finest hour.) I've pressed forward under a suffocating cloud of doubt. Well, last Friday I finally decided to admit as much to my advisor. I described in painful detail the crippling writer's block that has impeded my progress, I explained my confusion regarding the best course for a chapter, and I expressed my doubts over the path I have chosen. His reply? Exquisite. He understood. He empathized. He assured me that my research was sound. And he helped me chart a way forward. Throughout all of this, I realized he is not about to give up on me - a student he inherited by default when my original advisor retired - and he wants me to find my way to the promised land. They were only words, but they made me realize that I might just have a viable project on my hands, and the mental alacrity to make it work.

Nothing has changed. Not really. I'm still stumbling along, trying to muster the courage to believe in myself and my ability to earn the mantel of PhD. I'm still trying to find the energy, patience, and serenity to make it through the day with a modicum of grace. I'm still trying to discover the secret recipe to dividing my time in the most efficient way possible. I've just come to appreciate the power of uplifting words a bit more than I did a few days ago. I hope I can make better use of them in my writing.....and my life. I suspect a lot of other things will fall into place a lot more easily - or at least more pleasantly - as a result.

Day Six

And now for something completely different. No, not Python. Primary.

I am a big believer in balance. I find it to be an absolute necessity if one wants to have any degree of sanity in life. Too much of one thing or the other, and an entire life can be thrown off kilter. Sure, there are seasons in which one facet of life takes over by sheer necessity - when you're up against a deadline, when your child is sick, or when your daughters' dance studio suffers a major fire and the staff is in desperate need of help. In such moments, you focus and deal. And then you move on to make up for whatever tasks or schedules have fallen by the wayside. You get back to the delicate art of balance. About two and a half years ago, a different kind of balance asserted itself upon my life. In the midst of everything we were trying to keep up with as a family, I was asked to "take charge" of the 70+ children in our church between the ages of 18 months and 11 years. (Please note that these are monster quotations marks! I certainly do not do it alone!)

We have a very diverse congregation and these cute kids come from every conceivable background - from the strongest of families to anything but and everything in between. They need a lot of love, understanding, and, yes, lots and lots of patience. At the moment this request was made of me, I felt overwhelmed and utterly unequal to the task. I hated babysitting while I was growing up and had not ventured near the children's meeting room from the moment I was old enough to leave. This was not my thing by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, I said yes and dove in with both feet. And I nearly drowned several times, but that is a completely different story!

It took me a while to understand the gift of such responsibility. One day, it hit my like the proverbial ton of bricks. I mean seriously, what better foil for hard academic research can there be than two solid hours in the middle of wacky, energetic, wonderful kids once a week? During the week I am a scholar and a mom. On Sundays I am a walking kleenex, a security blanket, a vaudeville act, and a buddy. I am racing through the halls making sure each class has a teacher, finding sufficient numbers of chairs (a huge challenge in and of itself - we are the third congregation to meet in our building each week), and playing goalie at the door when escape attempts are made. I cannot think of any experience further removed from the rigors of academia than this one. And the deep satisfaction I feel at the end of an exhausting Sunday can rival anything I've felt following just about any other effort exerted in my life - except with my own beautiful girls, of course, but that too is a different story altogether.) In fact, Sundays often give me a kind of emotional and spiritual jolt that helps me balance all the challenges and responsibilities of the week that follows. Not a bad exchange, if I do say so myself.

Sure, there are days when I am ready to abandon it all out of sheer frustration. These are kids after all! There are times when my responsibilities require me to act as jail warden when children misbehave. There are times when all I want to do is hand in my keys and run. But these kids - as crazy as they can be sometimes - are incredibly dear to me. They are my responsibility. They are my friends. They remind me every week that there is so much more to life - and to love about life - than the "hard stuff" like school. And I love them more than I ever thought possible that morning two and a half years ago when their spiritual care was placed into my unsteady hands.

Thank goodness for balance.

Day Five

How do you do it all? I get this question a lot. The truthful answer is this: not very well. I scramble, I chase, I stay up late and get up early. But doesn't everyone, really? In spite of the nature of my life - the strange amalgam of academics, motherhood, and religion that it is - I cannot imagine that it is any more or less complicated than anyone else's. And there is always that lingering truth that this is all leading.....somewhere. To a book deal? To a teaching position? To Target? I cannot say for sure. But the opportunity to pursue an advanced degree is a gift. The chance to do so with my girls looking on is a freaking miracle. My thesis has been their reality since birth - and they will be old enough to understand and appreciate it when I graduate.

All of this brings me back to that ubiquitous question: how do I do it all? I think a much more interesting question is this: where do I do it all? With Dave off at work and school during the vast majority of his waking hours, my home must double as my library and office. Have I mentioned that my home is very small? Let me preface this by saying that I love my home to an unhealthy degree. It is warm, cozy, inviting, and old in a "lived-in-and-loved-for-generations" kind of way. Nevertheless, the fact remains that it is small. So small that my desk has led a rather nomadic existence for the past several years. It has done a stint upstairs in the living room. It currently resides on the landing at the bottom of our stairs. And it will be returning to its previous location as soon as we finish re-doing the living room walls and windows.

The size of my home has also meant that my desk is not the only nomad in the family. I am constantly migrating - with all of my books, notes, files, and binders - as occasion requires. I will work on my kitchen counter while the girls are playing outside so I can keep an eye on them. I will work on my dining table while the girls are playing in their rooms, or watching a movie downstairs...next to my desk. I even have been known to work on my girls' floors when they have been sick. I am a movable feast of obscure historical information. Somewhere, my grandpa and great grandpa - my predecessors through this doctoral gauntlet - are looking down on me............and laughing. I like to think that in between chuckles, they are smiling with pride - just a little bit.

In the coming weeks, however, I will be a nomad no more. As part of our plans for the living room, we are setting up a bona fide office area for me and I could not be more excited. I am about to dive into a demanding work schedule once the girls are in school, and after four years in this house, I am finally going to get my own little corner in which to write! The plans call for a wall-mounted shelf, and an excellent desk lamp. I am even going shopping for a real, ergonomic office chair to replace the $10 folding chair I have called home since the dawn of time. Writing my thesis is about to get a lot more comfortable and convenient. And if someone ever asks me where I do it all - I can tell them with a smile.

P. S. I am so happy and grateful that a few of you out there are coming along on this crazy journey of mine! Mia, Ryan, and Lindsay - I love and miss you all!!!!!

Day Two

Mornings are an interesting emotional exercise around here. My family is besought with what we affectionately call the Dahl Worry Gene. It is a genetic compulsion to stew over anything and everything. When one problem is solved, another takes its place. It is a vicious cycle. And it is imprinted upon each strand of my DNA. So as each morning begins, every concern that has ever crossed the recesses of my mind washes over me. I feel it all to the core of my being. Each day I have to consciously fight back against its pull. Either that or just succumb to the dark side. I've seen what that can do to a person's heart and soul. I choose the former.

Herein lies the irony of it all: many of the very concerns that threaten to debilitate my psyche truly are blessings in disguise. If it were not for my student loans, I would have quit my PhD program long ago. There were moments along the way when my desire to have something to show for the financial stress I have inflicted on my family was the only thing that kept me going. If it were not for the ridiculous amount of time it has taken me to complete my degree, I would have been forced to send my sweet munchkin to day care so I could work to pay off the aforementioned student loans. As it stands, BOTH of our beautiful girls will be in school all day before I have to set foot out of the home and into the workforce. When faced with such indisputable evidence it's difficult NOT to feel like things are working out just as they should, in spite of our numerous missteps along the way.

I don't know that I will ever feel like I am on top of everything - or anything for that matter - in my life. I spend far too much time waging a civil war against my genetic encoding. I've lived long enough to know that my "to do" list will never end. My solution? It came to me while I was watching an episode of Sports Night....

"You're not going to solve everybody's problems. In fact, you're not going to solve anybody's problems. So you know what you should do? Anything. As much of it and as often as you can."

So as I rededicate myself every day to rewriting my thesis, to writing my book, to working my body, and to caring for my family, I'll continue to suit up for battle and do my best to knock the crap out of that voice in the back of my mind telling me it's all hopeless. One of these days, I may just end up on the summit of my own personal Everest. When I get there, I fully intend to look straight down.....and laugh!


For the Record:

Thesis Progress: My new chapter outline resembles one of those bubble graphs we learned to use to brainstorm in grade school. At least it's something....

Training Progress: Ran each of the past three days. Will be taking a day off tomorrow so I can watch my sister perform in a local production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Book Progress: I ran into a snag here. Mansfield Park (1999 film) arrived on Netflix streaming queue and I got distracted - with good reason. Turns out my beloved Johnny Lee Miller plays Edmund Bertram in this particular production. Did I mention I also have a genetic predisposition for obsession with all things Jane Austen?

Day One

I've heard that accountability is just inspiration cloaked in fear of public failure. Okay, so I haven't actually heard that. I made it up last night while I was running. It sounds good, though, doesn't it? In fact, I've decided to let this little nugget of truth (or total malarkey depending on your view of things) to guide my life for the next several months. You see, Dave is diving into 12-14 hour days between work, research, and a required TA with his department. Meanwhile, I am up against what can only be described as the ultimate deadline for my thesis. It is now or never. (For the record, after ten years of hard labor, I refuse to accept never.) All of this has been set against the backdrop of two girls with full schedules of school and dance, and church responsibilities that are NOT for the faint of heart.

For anyone who may be out there (and vaguely interested) the past couple of years have been an uphill battle to say the least. The past few months alone just about killed me. It took me a good two months to get up off the mat following a devastating response from my advisor after he read my first full thesis draft. No kidding. I cried for about a week. As I tried to hide any sense of disappointment while volunteering at my girls' schools, at their dance studio, and with the kids in my congregation, I fear I withdrew emotionally. I experienced the recurrence of Boo Radley Syndrome in a feeble attempt to survive. Well, turns out survival sucks. I want more out of life. Much more. Trouble is, I really can't do this on my own. I need to be accountable to people. I need to let people in. I am tired of living in excuses. Sure church and family take up a HUGE amount of my time. But that doesn't mean I can't balance all of that with everything I want to accomplish. And I refuse to turn my beloved family into an excuse as to why I never quite realized goals that have gathered dust for far too long.

So here's the deal. As of today, this blog is officially recommissioned. It is morphing into something entirely different and, I hope, something much more useful. Over the next nine months, I will log my progress toward three distinct, yet interconnected goals: completing my thesis (yeah, that again!), running a half-marathon (running is my prozac!), and completing my novel (I've been working on a novel for about 17 years, have I mentioned that?). Each day I will report my progress, along with diverting familial tidbits that warrant mention. Even if no one ever reads this, I will. You see, I realize that accountability matters. And so I will be accountable to this infernal blog if to nothing else.

One final note. I'm not superwoman. Never have been. Never will be. When people look at me and are impressed with what I am TRYING to do I feel embarrassed, ashamed, and fraudulent. Trying is completely different than doing. Just ask Yoda. If only those same people realized how many times I've been reduced to tears under the weight of it all. Even now, it is entirely possible this whole endeavor will descend into madness. I've already chopped off my hair and dyed it red, so madness cannot be too far away! Nevertheless, it is worth a try. I'd love some company along the way.