I'm vapid?

About a year there was an incident of all hell breaking loose around me.  The details are not for this blog since really it was about someone else but I say this because as part of the all hell breaking loose I got told I was vapid.  Now, I have to admit there are plenty of English words I don't know and this person found one of them, vapid.  I had no real clue to what it meant about me.  I knew it wasn't good.

In general, I am a shy person and I really struggle with small talk.  If I don't know anything about a subject, I will probably keep my mouth shut and listen.  I'm a big believer in learning from listening and using context clues to try and understand what is being shared.  Now that said if I feel like I actually know about some subject, like breastfeeding, being glutenfree/wheatfree, or education, I will jump in and talk your ear off.

After some research and a good deal of soul searching, I'm not sure that I'm vapid.  The person who said it was angry at the time and I'm pretty sure feeling under attack so this was the stone hurled.  Vapid - to contribute nothing or to lack a challenging aspect.  Maybe I'm still misunderstanding.

This concept was actually hurled at a group of us in describing our conversations with each other.  We were told we talk about nothing of interest.  All we talk about is babies, periods, sex and other stupid shit.  Vapid.  The ladies in question as well as myself I would argue are far from vapid.  Can we talk about nothing?  Absolutely.  For those of us raising kids and worrying the better part of the day about doing a good job educating our children, talking about nothing is actually kind of nice.  A conversation on which the fate of the world does not hinge is really really nice.  For a different subset of us, talking about nothing (small talk) with a group of friends is about practicing the art of small talk.  We are shy.  We don't speak to people unless we have something to say so a discussion about nothing is an honest to goodness exercise in being social.  Vapid.

I've heard mothers be called vapid.  Mothers add nothing to the conversation except talk about their kids.  I wrote a blog post about my Ravebaby many years ago stating that my child is my legacy, my ultimate research project, my eternal life experiment is motherhood.  I expect my husband to talk about his physics projects, I expect a barista to talk about coffee, I expect an artist to talk about art but yet when a mother talks about her kids, she has nothing to add to the real world.  Vapid.

Maybe my topics of conversation add nothing to your life.  Maybe you think I'm boring.  I probably think the same thing about you.  I have a four-year-old who sings Let It Go around the clock so it is possible I can't put a thought together without bring her into the conversation.  My bad!  Please tell me more about Socrates and how hard it was for you choose between hot outfit #1, #2 and #3.  I was just lucky to find something that was clean because I haven't been able to find time to do my own laundry in weeks.

I am in the process of earning a doctorate in educational leadership.  I have two Masters degrees.  You want to talk about the state of education?  You want to talk about librarianship and the real value of the community library?  What you only want to talk about theories and philosophies?  Good for you, but I'm about to tune out and yes Ravebaby's Let It Go will be ringing in my ears.  Vapid.

Maybe I am vapid, what the hell do I know? Ravebaby would say, "Vapid rhymes with Rapid!"  Yes dear those are rhyming words and can we please not watch Frozen again?  How about some Word Girl?

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Wordless Wednesday: tiny hand prints

Tats and more

As I was coming home on Saturday from my last class of residency, I had the thought that I needed to mark this event with something.  I wanted to play a gig but that is hard to do at the last minute.  I wanted to get a piercing, just my ears again, but I hated the idea of dealing with keeping it clean.  Then a strange thought came across my mind a tattoo!   I honestly had not wanted another one.  I'm happy with the huge pro-breastfeeding pin-up on my left arm and was thinking I was good until after earning my EDd.  The tattoo idea itself was not strange actually it was the who to get a tattoo from that was strange.

You might remember my DH's bestie, AKA my Archnemesis.  So Archnemesis has recently started tattooing, just himself.  He's never tattoo anyone else but has been making designs to others.  I never asked about his tattooing or for a design.  I've been pretty busy with school so everyone else's goings on have been on the back burner.  Anyways, the universe decided I should ask Archnemesis.  Such a strange thing since for the most part we have a strained friendship, I mean I do call him a nemesis for a reason.

Anyways, I was talking to DH about it and DH sent the text from there the universe took over.  text at 7pm and the design by 10, tattoo at 12am.  I should say that Archnemsis specializes in hand-poke tattoos so one needle poking in the ink.  This tattoo was going to hurt.  Oh did I mention I would be the first person he had ever tattooed outside of himself?

The design process was strange.  What do you want?  I don't want bitch-ass flowers.  Bitch-ass flowers?  Yep none of that shit.  Then what do you want?  A pine tree.  What?  A pine tree.  Anything else?  No bitch-ass flowers.  End conversation.

So why the pine tree?  Well, I live in the land of pine tree.  It is often described at the the pine cone curtain.  Pine is one of my favorite smells since my dad has worked my entire life at a sawmill and he would come home smelling of pine.  It also seems feeling that I have a couple of flowers on my left arm for Ravebaby and my mom that my right arm have something for my dad.  That's the story of the pine tree. 

The whole tattooing process was actually okay.  I handled the pain well and Archnemesis's  design and work was great.  I think we all learned a lot from the process.  I now have a cool piece on my right arm and Archnemesis and I are okay terms.  My arm currently looks like he punched the shit out of me but considering everything it's probably just karma.

#Mamavation Monday: Residency is over

As most of you know I've been in the first year of my doctorate in Educational Leadership.  Saturday May 3 was the last day of my residency year (Year 1).  I feel like I've accomplished something big.  I survived my first 8 classes (24 hrs) of doctoral work and I'm pretty sure I'll be keeping my 4.0. 

According to the cohort before us, if you can survive this first year then it's all good until dissertation.  This was the hardest part.  I'm looking forward to some time back.  Instead of losing my entire weekend, I should have more time for family and friends.  I'm excited for days without worrying about homework.

I'm excited about getting back on board with my workouts!  I haven't done jack since spring break so like 8 weeks :(  Mamavation 2-week challenge here I come!

Chick-lit Loving Soul

I wrote this as part of an assignment, a much longer assignment.  In case you didn't know, well now you do.  Enjoy!

                    I am a librarian.  As a result people expect that I am very well read and enjoy reading classics in my off time.  The true is often disappointing to people.  I only read classics as required by courses and I enjoy chick-lit.  I enjoy a lot of chick-lit.  When I saw the novel requirement for the poetics of leadership assignment, I knew I would no longer be able to hide my passion for reading the equivalent of trash.  Unlike my co-hort members, I could not turn to the respectable works of Shakespeare, Bronte, or Hemingway.  I have no intimate knowledge of the words of Fitzgerald or Austen. 

                   As a scholar-practitioner, I have to forgive my lack of passion for the classics and embrace my love of chick-lit.  In loving my chick-lit loving soul, I realize there are probably more people like me, who are not well read and struggle to answer questions like what is your favorite William Faulkner book?  Not being well read is not the sign of a frivolous mind but of a person who faces life all day so prefers to escape into fiction.

                   The result of the merging of my chick-lit loving soul and my scholar-practitioner metaphor is The Undomestic Goddess by Sophie Kinsella.  Kinsella is known for her book series Shopaholic and I imagine she is not well known among those whom prefer Machiavelli with their tea.  For me, Kinsella's work is the highest form of escapist reading.  I am transported to London, where most of her books take place, and I live the life of women trying to find love and balance.  

Anyway that is the introduction to the novel section of my Poetics of Leadership assignment.  If you feel like watching the final product here is the link.  Like I stated earlier this is part of much larger assignment.

Wordless Wednesday: bag garden

The day Mac and Cheese almost derailed my life

So maybe not so dramatically but it felt like it.

Last week I walked in to find Ravebaby enjoying the mess out of a cup of microwaved Kraft Mac&Cheese.  I think for many parents this would have been a cute sight.  A wonderful picture opportunity to share on Facebook.  A cute yellow covered face with a huge smile and the perfectly place cup in that beautiful little hand.  For me, my blood ran cold and I went into panic mode.  Yes my beautiful wheat-allergic daughter had just consumed a huge amount of wheat! 

I know I was showing my panic.  My mother and father, who had been watching Ravebaby at the time, were freaking out.  Ravebaby started to freak out and yell at her grandmother for giving her wheat.  I had to take a deep breath and start calming down at least outwardly.  I was honestly freaking out.  First few thoughts, is she breathing okay?  Should I take her to the ER?  Do I call DH?  What do I do now?  Why didn't I throw that stupid cup of mac and cheese away a long time ago?

Once I could think again, I got Ravebaby her allergy meds and called DH because I needed to hear from someone that I had done the right thing.  Ravebaby was fine.  I think we were more freaked out than hurt initially.  The first day there wasn't any real reaction.  Maybe she had outgrown the allergy?  Could it be?  Was my daughter ready to join the ranks of the "normal" kids?  Yes, I love her just the way she is but I'm a mom and "normal" would still be nice. 

Anyways, the hope gives way to night terrors!  A big huge fuck you and your hope too to me.  It has been a week since the mac and cheese and she has been sleep walking and waking up at least five times a night.  Her attitude stinks; mostly due to lack of good sleep, I think.  So far outside of losing sleep, nothing else has really reacted.  No horrible skin break outs.  No sickness.  She has living on gas medicine but otherwise pretty good overall. 

I know plenty of wheatfree mamas out there have guilt and stories similar to mine.  I'm sharing so you know you are not alone.  I watch what Ravebaby eats but I'm not with her 24/7 and she is getting older and pulling food for herself.  She is going to eat wheat.  She has done it before and she'll do it again.  All I can do is take a deep breath and be ready to give her her allergy meds and gas meds and lose sleep.  I'm so lucky it is not worse.  I don't know what I would do if this ever turned deadly.  So far so good.  No point in worrying about a bridge before I get to it, right?