Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 44

Around 10:00 this morning, The Triathlete got a phone call from Number One Son from his school. He was complaining about blurred vision and headache . . . Even that he was having trouble reading words at the board because the letters were swimming around. We thought it might have been some kind of ploy, since he has been acting funny this week...but she decided to go lay her eyes on him just in case. When she arrived at the school office, he walked in and his eyes were both unfocused and crossing. She decided to take him to our pediatrician. Meanwhile, I began to think of the worst possible scenarios involving blood clots on the brain, aneurism, cancer . . . Thinking about how we would make it work at St. Jude in Memphis, wondering about how we would manage the other two while he was in the hospital . . . Worried until it got to the point where I was sure I was going to vomit. I sat and tried to work for about an hour when in walk the two of them, smiling.

As it turns out, he was crossing his eyes while clowning around for laughs at school, and overdid it. Our pediatrician knew it almost immediately. So after lunch, we took him back to school, and all agreed that the eye-crossing routine hadn't worked out very well.

Neither of us told him what we both experienced in that hour or so: the worst fear--the coldest knot of ice in the stomach, the hottest knife in the skull--that either of us has ever felt.

Adventures in Parenting, vol. 43

Number One: has learned that he isn't the biggest (in fact he's about the smallest) or the most aggressive or athletic. The boys his age are already quite aware of who is good at which sport, and they compete (as they should). Number One is not competitive. He doesn't spend all day shooting baskets or throwing a ball. He flits from thing to thing and mostly makes up stories. Kids don't get a lot of street cred for being like he is, and even the academics have been on ya moderate success. The other night he asked me what advice I could give him to make him feel better about himself...I gave him the advice you'd expect, about patience and being the right kind of polite and hardworking person, but at nine, how can a kid understand? Hopefully it'll take if we are consistent.

Black Letter

One of the most daunting features of sixteenth century pamphlets is their tendency to use "black letter," a type font associated with early German printers.  Most of the letter forms are relatively easy to recognize, though it takes some practice.  I remember the first time I ran into this stuff when doing course work in graduate school, and how I did my best to avoid it. I'm finding that, predictably,  experience pays off in research as in other things.

Narrenschiff

Every day that passes I am more and more glad that I have this break--this distance--from the usual. It's already doing me a world of good.

Day Seven

I think I've figured out a schedule that will work for me, which is an enormous deal seeing as I need to find a way to spend my time wisely.  If I can spend the morning hours on campus, working at transcription, library oriented work, and so on, I can spend the afternoon hours at home with the dog, and whichever children I need to be watching at the time, while I read whatever book/article/pamphlet I need to cover.  I don't imagine I'll get away without changing my approach at least once, but for now it's good enough.

I was pleased to talk to my student intern today (unpaid; she's getting class credit for it) and she was remarkably quick and enthusiastic to join me in the work. I threw her in the deep end, giving her a black letter pamphlet to work on . . . and she is on it like a terrier.  A rare gem, she is.

Eventually I'll get back to posting on other stuff . . . it's just that I'm super preoccupied with this work at the time.

Day Five

After a weekend full of mundane family matters, I returned to the researches with a burst of energy today, reading (as I need to do a great deal of) primary sources from the 1570s-90s. I also started giving my "intern" (I have a very bright young woman who will be helping me out with some of the work) some assignments. I'm excited to be getting to the material itself, though every day I deal with it I'm reminded of the missed opportunities I had to seriously study this stuff when I lived in Chapel Hill.  It seems like too much to do from where I stand right now . . . but if I plug away at it, I may find that by the end of the month I've made some significant headway. A little momentum will go a long way.

Day One

My dear machine been idle so long 
Now it's time for another drive
Please can you take me where I wanna go
Though I let you rust
My dear machine--

Among the pitfalls I foresee in a semester away from teaching (the first, I might add, since 1999?):

1. The Errand:  I'm not teaching, and not required to be at the office, so it should be no problem to stop in here . . . stop in there . . . be out for two or three hours . . .

2. The Endurance:  How long has it been since I sat myself down and did serious study for 5-6 hours over the course of a day?  I have grown accustomed to entirely different work rhythms, and need to recover my ability to focus for long periods.

3. Where and When: This is a small town and it is difficult to disappear. There are Time Vampires lurking around who will consume all I have.

4. Confidence Crater:  Am I still capable of doing serious sustained work?