The Horizon

Yesterday Bruce and I tried to explain New Year's Eve to our newly three-year-old daughter, Emmie.  "You see, this whole year you were two.  Then you had your birthday, and now you're three," we recapped.  She nodded in understanding.  "Then it was Christmas.  That whole time has been called the year 2014.  What comes after fourteen?"

"Fifteen!" Emmie proclaimed proudly.

"That's right!  Tomorrow is the last day of the year 2014.  That's called New Year's Eve.  The next day will be the first day of 2015 - a whole new year."

Emmie smiled back at us with uncertainty.  The idea of a new year probably just sounds like words.

Celebrating the symbolism of New Year's Eve may be lost on a future preschooler, but to us adults it's a time a reflection, renewed hopes and promises.

Like all years, 2014 had its highs and lows, but maybe not as dramatically as the prior year.  The entirety of this year, we lived in our own home. To me, that's indicative of security and stability.  We worked on our home in small ways, and every day I'm aware of what we've accomplished together.

This year, my daughter's personality flourished.  She's a little individual, with her own sense of humor, her own preferences and talents.  She's hilarious and often outgoing.  She loves magnets, blocks, animals (stuffed and real), Disney princesses (it almost can't be helped in this Frozen world we've been living in), playgrounds, and emojis on my phone.  She makes up her own stories and songs.  Her stuffed animals have reading parties, which makes me want to explode with delight.  She calls her dolls "dollos."  She loves her father and me as well as her family and friends; she tells us constantly.  She's obsessed with taking pictures and selfies - she's getting really good, too!

Backseat window horizon - taken by Emmie!

I love thinking about who Emmie is right now, and who she will become.  It's amazing to see the being you created become a person in the world.

This year we survived the worst winter I can remember.  During that time, we also became a one-car family.  It hasn't been easy, especially with my unpredictable schedule.

I also made the decision to try a new career path by taking a job at a museum, despite the complications it's involved with commuting and child care.  So far, working there has been thrilling.  I learn every day.  The other employees are great and have similar interests.  I finally have the camaraderie I've been missing as an adjunct college instructor.  There, I get to talk to visitors who come from around the world.  I asked for the chance to expand my role, and my bosses have responded in kind.  It make me really hopeful for the future.

Working at the museum has meant that for the first time, Emmie was enrolled in daycare.  She liked it at first, then freaked out.  She had a recurring ear infection for the first six weeks.  She says she misses us when we're gone.  It breaks my heart, but I know that we are actually so blessed that we got to spend more than two years together.  Not everyone gets that option.  At the same time, Emmie comes home from daycare with all kinds of artwork.  She tells us about her day.  She interacts with other children and exercises social skills.  I know that it was a good step for both of us to take.

In 2014 Bruce continued to toil away at work, taking on extra responsibility with no substantial recognition.  He made the same wage as he had the past two years, even while sitting in meetings with executives, no title to distinguish him.  His superiors kept promising they were going to promote him, that they were creating a new position just for him.  "Just a little while longer," they kept saying.  It was infuriating.  It got to be a point of contention between Bruce and me.  I wanted him to look for a new job.  I didn't believe the company would live up to its word and my husband would ultimately be disappointed.  He wanted to prove that his hard work would pay off.

Then one day at the end of October, he texted me that he was offered a new, upward position.  It was created just for him.  No one else in the company has his title.  Instead of instantly accepting it, he turned around and negotiated a higher salary than what was offered.  They agreed.  

He did it.

It's not going to be a huge financial change for us, but anything extra is welcome.  I think the best part of the whole ordeal is the pride involved, the relief in knowing that Bruce's efforts weren't in vain.  He has been acknowledged for his achievements.

This year one of my best friends in the world, my "sister," had her first baby.  Even though she's across the country, I paced in anxiety during her labor as if I were in the waiting room.  I finally got to meet her son last month.  I love him like I never knew I could love someone else's child.  I really feel like his aunt, and it's just the best feeling.  Emmie is crazy about him.  When Bruce held the baby, he, too, melted.  It's wonderful to look back at two silly, single girls who became wives, and mothers.  I can't wait for all the adventures our families will have together.

We celebrated other friends and family this year.  Bruce's sister moved back to Illinois!  She's only half an hour away now and we get to spend much more time with her.  

At the end of the summer Bruce, Emmie, and I traveled with my father and brother to Georgia to visit my aunt and cousins, whom Emmie had never met.  We had a loving, fun few days.  We're already thinking ahead to our new trip.

We also lost an important family member this year, Bruce's uncle.  His uncle read at our wedding ceremony and gave the prayer at our reception.  He was a kind man with a big heart.  He had a wife who was his best friend, two grown children, four teenage grandchildren, and plenty of close family and friends.  His memorial service was the most beautiful, meaningful I have ever witnessed.  He is missed by everyone who knew him.  We were all lucky to have him in our lives.

It always resonates with me whenever I hear someone say, "I can't complain," when asked how it's going.  There's so much negativity in the world, so many tragedies and injustices we can't seem to escape.  That's why it's vital to focus on what's good in one's own life.  As the sun sets on the horizon of 2014, I can't complain.

Bring on 2015.

Christmas DIY Magnets

Hey there! Have I really not posted since early Fall? How have Halloween and Thanksgiving come and gone already? Honestly, my head has been swimming the past couple months, teaching classes at two schools and working at the museum. Some days it felt more like drowning, but more on that in another post.

I wanted to share with you a cute idea I had to display Christmas cards. I used to staple them to ribbons and hang them from a prominent spot like a mantle. Last year in our new house, which doesn't have a mantle, I decided to put the cards up with magnets on the metal door to the garage, which is located in a high-traffic area of our house, between the kitchen and the living room.  I used random magnets I had around such as pizza parlor freebies, vacation souvenirs, and tongue-in-cheek ones left over from my college days (e.g. tiny stuffed Virgina Woolf and Frida Kahlo magnets).

The effect was confused and incohesive, as you can imagine.

This year, I wanted to do the same thing with Christmas cards, but without the randomness. I bought a 30 pack of blank magnets from the local hardware store for about $7.  The ones I got are in the shape of triangles, squares, and circles.  They're just flat black magnets. You can also find blank magnets at craft stores.

I checked out Pinterest for some DIY inspiration.  There are some neat ideas out there, but not exactly what I was looking for.  How could I easily decorate these magnets with some holiday spirit? Then it hit me - duh! I ran to the drawer, pulled out my wrapping supplies and found my mini Christmas bows.  They already have adhesive, so all I had to do was stick them on. No cutting, no measuring, no gluing! Voilà - Jolly bow magnets for displaying Christmas cards.

I'm also considering covering some magnets with gift wrap paper and ribbon, but that might have to wait until after grades are posted.

What do you think about these little DIY Christmas magnets?

Separation Anxiety: On the Eve of Change

I'm taking my daughter to daycare tomorrow.

I'm taking my daughter to daycare tomorrow.

This thought has been on continuous loop in my head all day.  I should also be thinking, 'I'm starting a new job tomorrow,' but I'm not.  I can't believe the time is here to part from my little girl!

I'm currently in the middle of filling out the paperwork at the kitchen table.  I'm reading the DCFS pamphlet,"Summary of Licensing Standards for Day Care Centers," and I had to walk away for a moment.  It's overwhelming.

Every since I accepted the museum job, Bruce and I have been researching childcare.  Unfortunately, family help was not an option for us at this time.  Therefore, I looked up daycare facilities online and called three or four in the immediate area and priced them out.  I reached out to local acquaintances for references, too.  Last week, we visited one affordable daycare we found online and one lady who runs a home daycare that was recommended.

The daycare had mainly positive online reviews, just some small gripes from one mom.  When we visited Emmie immediately started playing with the children in the classroom.  She actually cried when we left!  We liked the teacher, but the director was elderly and a little - how should I say this? - loopy.  For instance, she was praising the teacher and said, "Oh, she's been with us for what? Four or five years now?"  To which the teacher corrected gently, "Two and a half years.  But it feels like longer!"  Since Emmie would mainly be interacting with the teacher, who was sweet and seemed dependable, we decided it was a non-issue.  Overall, it was a clean, kid-friendly, established place.  The kids would go outside to the center's playground twice a day, but there will probably not be any field trips for the two-year-olds.  However, we did feel that Emmie would be safe, well taken care of, and would receive structure if she enrolled there.

The lady who runs the home daycare was nice and laid back.  She watches her own children, as well as a a few local children of friends and others who've discovered her through word of mouth.  She had her house set up like a little daycare, with fun play areas, a nap room, tons of books, and a fenced-in backyard with a swing set and other fun outdoor activities.  Emmie also began immediately playing with the kids, who are all different ages.  We really liked the lady, especially how she said she would take the kids out on walks and to the park, and that her philosophy was for "the kids to feel like they're over at a friend's house."

Honestly, either way Emmie would be in fine hands.  And I know that Emmie would be fine with either place.  In the end, as much as it shames me to admit this, the choice came down to cost.  My paycheck from the museum will give us very little additional income after we pay childcare, so every dollar counts.  The daycare is a little cheaper, and we have a voucher for a free week of tuition that we got from our local Welcome Wagon-type organization.  Our decision was made.

Anyways, if we don't think it's working out we can always try something else.  Plus, the museum closes during the winter, so really this whole thing is only for a a few months. A couple days a week for a few months.

I just called the daycare and asked them a bunch of questions.  The person who answered the phone was very cheerful and had all the answers, which relieves me a bit.  Tomorrow I'll get ready for work, wake up Emmie, get her dressed, feed her breakfast, and we'll go to the daycare.  She'll have a little backpack with a change of clothes, a pillow, and a blanket.  They're going to give me a personal pin number to enter the facility.  I'll give Emmie a hug and leave.  Then I'll go to work and pick her up in the evening.

Deep breaths.

I know how fortunate we were that I was together with Emmie for almost three years.  She's only ever been watched by family.  Last weekend I talked to parents who were taking their six-month-old to daycare Monday through Friday.  I can't even imagine.  Of course, the sad memory of the woman I worked with at the hotel who came back to work after six weeks stays with me always.  It's been a tough road, but a very, very blessed one to be home with Emmie.

The bright side is that Emmie's pretty excited to "go to school."  I've been prepping her, telling her about how she'll be with the teacher and the kids, and she can bring a pillow and blankie, and needs to take a nap at nap time.  She's a brave, independent, social little girl, so I have confidence that she'll adjust well.  It's me I'm worried about.

What if she gets hurt?  What if she cries, gets scared, and I can't comfort her?  What if - God forbid- someone mistreats her?  Will she contract illnesses from the other kids?  Will she pick up bad behaviors?  Everything feels so unknown.  How does anyone do this?

I will do my best to sleep soundly tonight and shed as few tears as possible tomorrow morning.  I will try to pay attention at work, and not freak out if I can't check my cell phone every two seconds.  I will maybe call the daycare during my break, but I will remain calm.  I will.  It's going to be a long first day.

Here we go.

It's Time for Me to Fly

This has been a summer of metamorphosis.

A few weeks ago, my mother caught three milkweed caterpillars.  She placed them in a glass dome and kept them so Emmie could watch them transform into butterflies.  By the time we went to retrieve them, they had turned into green, gold-flecked chrysalides (I just looked that up - the plural for chrysalis).

Two days ago, one of the chrysalis turned brown.  You could see dark lines inside, the stripes of the wings.  When we woke up yesterday, he has emerged as a beautiful monarch butterfly!  Soon after, one of his friends did, too.

When Bruce got home from work, we released the two butterflies.  Emmie's face was lit with fascination and delight as they took off into the sky.  Actually, we were all pretty amazed.  It was a special moment.

While that miracle of nature has been occurring, I have been grappling with my own changes.  A few weeks ago, my seasonal employment ended at the purse store.  It was a welcome conclusion for many reasons.  I liked the job, but retail has a dark side.  I looked forward to the four classes I had lined up for the fall.

As I predicted in another post, it turned out that only two of my classes are going through.  Two got cancelled.  That's a major financial hit to our family.  To put it more specifically, it is over 10% of our annual income lost.  It means I'll be making 40% of what I hoped I'd be making in the last half of the year.  What if you got a 60% reduction in pay?  What would that mean to your family?

The worst part is, one of my classes won't pay out until the end of September.  The other one doesn't even start until October, so for over a month, I won't be contributing anything monetarily.  By the time I start getting paid for the other class at the end of October, we will be so far behind, we'll be playing the pathetic game of catch-up.

I'm sick of this.  I know that we made choices when we decided to have children.  I love staying home with Emmie, but at the same time, I feel miserable knowing that I'm not doing enough to help our family pay the bills.  These night classes just don't fill up all the time.  Since I'm not available to teach during the day, my predicament is so much more precarious.  Every time a class gets cancelled, I feel like a loser.  Plain and simple.  I feel like I failed.

I read a blog post a while back from The Penny Hoarder, "How to Save Money When You're Living Paycheck t0 Paycheck."  I followed his advice, attempting to do anything I could to make more money.  I started filling out surveys.  Turns out, they don't pay "$3-$4 each for 20 minutes of your time."  You earn points that you can accumulate and exchange for gift cards or PayPal certificates.  The surveys are annoying and repetitive.  Some of them don't give you points at all.  You start to take them, and if the survey gods deem you inappropriate for their needs, they kick you off.  If you do manage to complete one, I've factored that it pays anywhere from 50 cents to $1 per survey.  I've taken more than 5 surveys and have only made about $1.60 so far.  At this rate, I'll have to spend about 21 more hours to qualify for a $20 gift card.  This mom just doesn't have that kind of time.

Another thing I've done is become a secret shopper.  So far, I've visited one store.  I had to interact with 4 employees, finding lame excuses to talk to them and analyze their answers.  It was awkward and discouraging.  I wanted those employees to follow procedure so they could be scored well.  When they didn't greet me at the door, I paused weirdly in the entrance, thinking to myself, "Come on, come on!  Greet me, already!"  I had to spend at least 20 minutes in the store and purchase one item (for which I'll be reimbursed up to $1).  Can you imagine talking to an employee in every department of a store about various products and then only spending a $1 on an unrelated item?  I must've looked so obvious!  I went home and filled out a six-page survey, complete with required paragraph descriptions for every employee and their service.  I'm waiting on my $16 check to come in the mail ($15 for the shop and $1 purchase reimbursement).  At least I got a free glue stick out of it!

Neither of these methods looks like it'll catapult us to easy living.

I've applied for several other jobs this summer as well.  One was to be a college aptitude test tutor.  They wanted applicants who have scored in the top 10% themselves.  I'll tell you what, the people who were in the 90th percentile on the ACTs or SATs probably don't need to work as a tutor!  If you didn't have adequate scores, you could take their sample test.  If you did well on that, you would record a short video of you pretending to tutor someone.  If they liked your video, you would go to their orientation meeting where you would practice some skills and get judged.  If you did well in orientation, then they might call you for an actual interview, which is where you'd learn the specifics of the job and how much it'll pay.  Talk about jumping through hoops.  After learning all that, I stopped the process.

I also applied to be an adjunct at a new school opening up in the area.  I heard nothing for about a month, and then got an email to the tune of, "Sorry I haven't contacted you sooner.  I got your CV, and you look like an excellent match.  Can you come in tomorrow?  School starts next week."  What!  We emailed back and forth, and the interviewer revealed that if all went well, I should be prepared to get hired on the spot and fill out paperwork.  I've never heard of an interview happening like that.  

There were red flags everywhere.  The school was in a sketchier section of town.  When I arrived, the walls of the former-bank building were bare and the halls empty.  Only a paper sign hung over the door to indicate the name of the school.  The interviewer read me handwritten questions out of a spiral-bound notebook.  It was like a couple people got together and decided to play College in an abandoned building.  After a few minutes, the interviewer nodded and said, "Okay! I like you.  I'd like you to take this Tuesday-Thursday night class that starts a week from today.  Faculty orientation will be this Saturday morning."

She couldn't tell me how much it would pay.  It was determined by HR, and I would get my surprise contract, with any luck, at Orientation.  After I accepted the job and re-arranged my schedule to attend.  She couldn't tell me when the semester ended.  She had no books for me, no sample syllabus.  She couldn't even tell me what days I'd get paid.

There was no way I was agreeing to that.

It was actually a painful struggle for me.  How could I turn down a job when we're in such financial uncertainty?  But I had no idea how much money I was even turning down!  And if they were that unorganized, how could I even be sure I would get paid at all?  It was too vague, too sloppy.  Something in the pit of my stomach told me something wasn't right.

I'm tired of being an adjunct.  That interview was the tipping point in a series of dissatisfying career occurrences.  At the beginning of the summer, I emailed my boss to schedule a meeting.  I wanted to discuss my "career path."  I wanted to discuss what moves to make to get better classes, possibly a full-time position some day.  I thought I could speak to him honestly about my professional future.  This guy is my former professor at my alma mater, also my current place of employment.  I have a picture in a photo album of him with his arm around me, both of us beaming at my graduation.  I've house-sat for him, had beers with him, gone out to dinner.  Until now, I considered him a kind of mentor, and a little bit a friend.

Weeks would go by without him responding to me.  He told me to pick a day to meet, so I did.  He didn't write me back for two months.  In August, he emailed me, apologizing and giving me excuses for his poor communication and our missed meeting.  He wanted to try again.  We scheduled another time.  

The week of our meeting, I emailed him to confirm.  He confirmed.  I couldn't find a sitter, so Bruce took a half-day at work.  He knew how important this meeting was to me.  Emmie and I drove Bruce to work, and drove back to pick him up.  Then I went to the coffee shop where my boss and I were supposed to meet.  I was a couple of minutes early.  I got an iced tea and sat down to wait.  You know where this is going.  Minutes went by.  It turned into half an hour.  I knew it - he wasn't coming.  I emailed him some dumb email, stating that I was waiting, and if he needed to reschedule, he could call me on my cell.  Eventually, I left.

I went home and sobbed until my head felt like it would explode.

I was mortified.  This was the last straw!  I felt so insignificant, so worthless.  My boss stood me up.  I was so meaningless to him that our meeting wasn't worth attending.  He emailed me several hours later, apologizing again and giving some insufficient excuse - he just forgot.

I'm not going to rehash this all, but when I became a college instructor, I once felt so important.  I was helping shape people's futures!  I was giving them knowledge!  Now all I feel is pathetic.  The school doesn't value me enough to pay me well or give me any type of security.  My boss doesn't even respect me enough to respond to my emails or meet me when he says he's going to.

In my heart, I'm done.  It's going to take a lot to revive that old valiant, proud spirit.  I've been defeated.  I'll still teach as an adjunct until my kids are old enough to go to school.  The flexibility is a blessing and a curse because when my classes do go through, the schedule allows me to be home with my kid.  But I won't love it like I used to.  I'll just be going through the motions, knowing that my this "career" is going nowhere and me with it.

It's time for a change.  The other job I applied for was at a small, yet renowned local museum.  I haven't mentioned this previously, but before I was married, I completed a certification program in Museum Studies from a prestigious Chicago university.  I got a little volunteer experience when I was living in the city, but nothing more.  However, I have always dreamed of working in a museum.  I love them, even more than I love higher education.  My relationship with museums extends all the way back to childhood.  Museums are places where anyone can learn, usually in interesting ways that appeal to various senses. 

Why I didn't pursue a museum career from the start?  Quite simply, I didn't know how.  I knew I was good at English and I loved it, too, so that's the route I took.  Back in my late teens, I didn't even know you could major in Museum Studies.  I majored in what was familiar and accessible, English, and added on what I thought was something more practical, Communications. Ha! Recently, I saw this clip from The Simpsons, that satiric animated take on society, which pains my already-injured esteem:



I don't want to feel this downhearted about my career choices anymore.  So when I saw the job posting for the museum, I applied, even though it isn't the best fit for our family.  The job is during the day, and we have no childcare for Emmie.  But I didn't care.  I wanted to see if I could even get an interview, maybe make a good impression for the future.  I did get one, and it was wonderful.  I sat and talked with the Executive Director about local history, architecture, and historic preservation: all subjects I am infatuated with.  It was a joyful half hour.

The day after the horrible adjunct interview, the Executive Director of the museum called and offered me the job!  I was so flattered that I accepted without hesitation.  My heart was singing again.  

Except, what will Emmie do?  I don't feel ready to leave her with someone else, even though it will only be 2 days a week.  However, this is a dream come true.  It's an opportunity that I would regret passing up.  I'm going to be able to network with so many people; who knows where this could lead me?  I made it quite clear in the interview that I was seeking to grow in the museum field.  Perhaps this could my shot to find a career that makes me proud, that can fulfill the achiever in me.

It's time to start making decisions for me.  We've been researching childcare, and it looks like after that cost, I will be taking home less than $20 a day.  If it was a job that I didn't feel good about, I wouldn't leave my daughter for so little.  But I'm am really hoping this will be the starting point for a new direction for me.  I'm giving myself a chance.

Yesterday, as we watched the butterflies emerge and take flight, part of me was thinking about my own transformation on the horizon.

Bloom On

Here's a fun little survival story:

Back around Eastertime, I got a potted hydrangea as a gift from my mother-in-law.  It was the kind you see in the store wrapped with colorful tinfoil - forced to bloom and not meant for more than to look pretty during the holiday.  Sure enough, a few days later, all the flowers fell off and it looked pathetic, despite me following the care instructions.

I didn't want to throw it away, though. I thought, "Why not plant it in the ground, give it a chance to live outside?"

Look at it now!

Originally the flowers were blue, but the acidity in our soil has turned them purplish, much to my delight. 

I'm so happy it's grown and rebloomed. Every day I go outside and check on its progress.  I'm really 'digging' this whole gardening thing, ha!  There's a certain sense of satisfaction derived from knowing you nurtured beauty in nature.

Savoring Summer

And just like that, it's August.

I told myself I would start preparing for the Fall term today.  All the classes I'm scheduled for need retooling or are using a new book, so there's going to be plenty of unpaid work for this adjunct.  My plan is to work on classes only if they seem like they're going to "go."  Just one class has a decent enrollment so far.  Fingers crossed.

Instead of working, though, I want to begin procrastinating straight away by looking back at all the fun we've been having this summer.  After the extreme winter we had, I wanted to make the most out of this time of year.  Some Chicagoans have been complaining that the temps have been too cool, lingering in the mid-70's, but I like it.  It's been a windows-open kind of season, sunny and pleasant.

This summer's been all about the play dates.  Having a toddler is cool; you can go out on adventures and see the joy sparkling in your child's eyes.  Everything new they discover is like discovering it for yourself all over again.  My mom constantly took us on day-excursions as children, and that sense of exploration lives on in me.  I hope I can pass it on to my kids, too.

Since May, we have:

Emmie sloshes through the water at Crown Fountain in Millennium Park

• Sung along to Frozen with a hundred other little girls during Movies in the Park night.
• Walked around the neighborhood and various parks, sometimes in the stroller and sometimes on foot.  Sometimes in a wagon.
• Played on numerous playgrounds in the area.  At the beginning of the year, I thought Emmie was still too little for the big playgrounds.  I stood nervously by as she climbed up ladders to go down slides.  Now, she's scaling jungle gyms like a regular monkey.
• Meandered around little town festivals and sat on the grass, eating food from a cart and listening to live music.
• Visited the Chicago Children's Museum at Navy Pier, the Brookfield Zoo, the Cosley Zoo in Wheaton, Blackberry Farm in Aurora, Millennium Park in Chicago, and Primrose Farm in St. Charles.  In that order!
• Attended numerous children's birthday parties.  Almost all of them had some fun water feature - either a kiddie pool, sprinkler, or even a splash pad.  Emmie is a winter baby, so it's a treat to celebrate with other kids in the summer.
• Acquired a sandbox and a water table for the backyard, both of which were the best thing ever at first and now only briefly hold Emmie's attention.
• Taken an outdoor toddler class on insects with the Forest Preserve.
• Gone swimming in friends' pools, park district swim classes, and at Splash Country in Aurora, despite the mild temperatures.

I tried to maximize the fun while minimizing the cost.  The parks are free and have free activities.  Many museums have free days, discounted times, or sales on sites like Groupon.  The sandbox was a hand-me-down.  Sure, you have to buy presents for kids' birthday parties, but I found that it's a small price to pay for the opportunity to interact with other children and learn important lessons like giving and sharing.

This summer has been all about family, friends, good times, eating fruit, being physical, and living in the moment.  I'm not ready to let go quite yet.  Let's see what we can do with these last glorious days!

Our House (Is a Very, Very, Very Fine House)

Nonmatching, noisy old dishwasher

Stainless, quiet new dishwasher

Mr. DIY

When we bought the house, there was no refrigerator, washer, or dryer.  We did become the proud owners of a 20 year-old dishwasher and a stove that looks older than the house itself.  We immediately bought a new stainless steel refrigerator.  We were given a washer, and I've recalled the saga of our dryer here.  Three down, two to go.  

The thing is, the stove works fine, so besides aesthetic reasons, we really don't need a new one.  At first, the dishwasher was still somewhat acceptable, though we quickly got into the habit of pre-washing all our dishes in the sink before loading the dishwasher.  What a waste of water!

Bruce works for a company that sells warranties, so sensing that the dishwasher wasn't going to last forever, he purchased one.  Sure enough, in the last month, the soap starting caking up on the inside door and the dishes came out looking the same as when they went in.  That was the last straw, the day I had to hand wash a full dishwasher's worth of dishes.  We called the repairman, whose costs are covered by the warranty.  He literally took one look at it and deemed it irreparable.  The warranty stipulates that if your appliance is not worth fixing, they would reimburse for up to $400 towards a new one.  We went out and got a new one that same night, realizing that the 4th of July sales were prime time for shopping.

We rented a truck from the store to bring the dishwasher home.  Bruce decided to save the installation expense and do it himself.  I watched from the kitchen table as he took out the old dishwasher and patiently hooked up the new one.  This is the guy who just a few years back hated reading instructions and got totally grouchy trying to put together our new range grill on the eve of my 30th birthday.  Since becoming homeowners, he's changed our bathroom's shower head, put in our bedroom ceiling fan, attached a dryer, and now he's installed a dishwasher.  I don't want to reinforce gender stereotypes, but being handy is a very attractive trait in a husband!

Baby, You're a Firework

Last year, we discovered that one of the perks of owning this home is its fabulous fireworks-viewing location.  We wanted to have a 4th of July party this year, but because I'm working the retail job, I knew I wouldn't be able to get the holiday off.  I requested to work a day shift, and we settled for having a less formal party of close friends and family.  While I was at work, Bruce got the house ready.  His parents picked me up from work and took me home.

My brother and sister-in-law were already over, my bro cooking ribs on the grill out back.  Bruce prepared the brats and burgers while I made a watermelon and avocado salad I found online.  Bruce's mom made a fruit and marshmallow flag (Emmie ate practically the whole thing), and a friend brought a gluten-free fruit and brownie "pizza."  Yum.

My parents came over, too.  My parents and my in-laws haven't really socialized, except for during our wedding events, the baby shower, and Emmie's birthday parties, so I wondered how it would go over in the more intimate setting of a small get-together.  It was fine! Not too awkward at all.  The best part was Emmie getting to have both sets of grandparents in one place.  She was the center of attention.

After a couple hours of eating, listening to music outside, and playing bean bag toss, dusk set in and the fireworks began.  We were all very impressed with our little town's display.  Emmie appreciated them even more than last year, though she was easily distracted from the sky by her glow-in-the-dark bracelets.  Her grandpas alternated holding her, and we all enjoyed the show.

Viewing fireworks from the backyard (this pic doesn't do it justice)

Part of me couldn't help thinking that our house might not be the biggest, or newest, or in a posh neighborhood, but one day out of the year it's the best spot in town.

House Plans

My sister-in-law, always generous and thoughtful, got me gift cards for my birthday so I could continue refining my home improvement vision.  But what should I get?  Here's my latest wish list (see my Pinterest for details):

• Bamboo shades for the living room to replace faded hunter green roman shades
• White wood blinds for our bedroom and Emmie's, as miniblinds have been trashed by toddler/cat
• Light grey paint for two bathrooms (downstairs is currently forest green and our tiny master bath is a dark teal, which makes it feel cave-like)
• White floating shelves for master bath
• Welcome mat for front stoop
• New art or picture frames
• Backsplash tiles for kitchen
• Glass shelves for kitchen window above sink
• Lavender plants

Then there are the things we need that aren't very fun: fire extinguisher, new mailbox (the door rusted off the hinge on the old one), mulch, window well covers.  The list of projects goes on and on!  But I guess that's the beauty of being a homeowner.

America

Happy 4th of July!

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

It was my birthday last week, and the one thing I wanted more than anything was to take Emmie to her first Chicago Cubs baseball game.

I come from a family of Cubs fans, and have wonderful recollections tied to the team and to the iconic Wrigley Field.  My maternal grandparents always had the game on the TV in their living room, Harry Caray's boozy, fervent voice mixed in with all of ours.  My uncle on my father's side lived in Lakeview, and we'd always pass Wrigley Field on our way to Broadway and Argyle St., where our preferred Asian grocery store was.  I remember gazing up through the car window at the old-fashioned marquee in awe.

When I was a preteen, the movie Rookie of the Year was filmed at Wrigley.  The company my father worked for was asked to participate as extras.  My dad, mom, brother, and I sat in the bleachers along with hundreds of others.  The scene was of Henry Rowengartner hitting a home run.  There was no actual ball flying over us, but we were instructed to stand up all at once, turn our heads to the right, and then cheer as it soared out of the park.  We did it over and over.  Unfortunately, that scene was cut from the final version.  Regardless, it is a happy memory, and we each got a souvenir Cubs travel mug.

Bruce is also from a hardcore Cubs family.  The story goes that Bruce's grandfather was listening to a Cubs game on the radio when the Cubs blew the lead in the 9th inning, and he had a fatal heart attack.  It's sad to think of the myriad generations of fans who never got to see their favorite team win a World Series.

Win or lose, we love the Cubs.  Bruce and I have attended countless games together and with friends.  When we lived in the city, we were a short walk away up Sheridan Rd. in the Uptown neighborhood.  Since I have a summer birthday, we've celebrated many times at Wrigley Field.  The day we got married, the Cubs won against the Cardinals, one of our biggest rivals.  The two days after we returned from our honeymoon, we went to Cubs games.  For our first anniversary, we went to a Cubs game.  You get the idea.  We've sat in pretty much every section of the park, including the suites, thanks to Bruce's godfather who has business perks.

Since moving to the suburbs, the change to our financial situation, and having baby, we've gone to way less games in the past few years.  Last season was the first time in almost ten years we didn't go even once.  So of course, my top priority was taking Emmie this year.

My amazing, kind, thoughtful friends who still live in the city know a guy with season tickets.  He wasn't going to the night game of last Saturday's doubleheader against the Washington Nationals, so my friends bought the tickets off of him for my birthday present.  I was overjoyed!  Bruce, Emmie, and I got all dressed up in our Cubs shirts and blue and red baseball caps.  We drove down to the city and met our friends, who still live in our old neighborhood.  From there, we pushed Emmie in her stroller the same way would would walk long before she was born.  We pointed out our old apartments, and as we entered Wrigleyville, she was thrilled to notice all the other Cubs fans and the organ music resonating throughout.

Since Emmie is 2 years old, she gets free admission at Wrigley.  We heard from other parents that this could be a difficult age to try and take her to a game, but we were determined to try.  Since we only had two tickets, we were prepared for her to sit awkwardly in our laps, to have to get up often, and inevitably have to leave early.

Showing off our family brick outside Wrigley

One of the greatest excitements for me is first walking in to Wrigley.  There's people everywhere, taking pictures with the sculptures outside, milling about, lining up at the gates.  You can hear the organ playing inside, but also the unavoidable drum circle kids, the high-pitched beeping of the ticket reading machines, and as you enter, the sound of Cubs radio sportscaster Pat Hughes over the sound system.  You first smell the delectable sweetness of grilled onions, over the faint mustiness of a century of American baseball history.  Everyone starts off with high spirits.  You can feel it all around you.  

Emmie's eyes were wide, taking it all in.  She had me acting as cheerleader next to her, pointing out stuff, exclaiming, "You see that, Emmie?  Isn't that cool?  Oh, wow!" The whole time.  We checked her stroller at the Fan Services counter, and held her hand tightly as we navigated the throng of attendees.  We found our seats along the first base line just underneath the terrace.  The stands weren't full, and our row was nearly empty, so we each had a place to sit!

We stood and listened to "The Star-Spangled Banner."  I read there was no point in explaining the game to a toddler; it would be a few years before she could begin to understand the rules.  Nevertheless, she liked watching the pitcher throw the ball, the batters hit it and then run the bases.  It was a beautiful evening for baseball.  The sky was a pretty blue and puffy white clouds drifted lazily across.  In the fourth inning, Luis Valbuena hit a two-run homer to tie the game!

Not only were the seats great, but we were lucky to have this chatty guy behind us who's had season tickets for the past thirty years.  He told us many tips we would've never known, like where the cleanest bathroom is.  He reminded us that there's an upper deck patio where we could take Emmie once she became restless, which we did.

Up there we ate nachos and witnessed the sky darkening down by the Loop.

We got back to our seats just before the rain. People below us and in the bleachers scattered, but we were safe and dry.

After a few minutes, it was raining buckets, and the field was getting soaked.  Emmie looked on with fascination as the grounds crew rolled out the tarps.  I wasn't even disappointed that we were in a rain delay.  It was fun for Emmie to see the water pouring down.

The guy behind us also told us about the "First Timer's Certificates" we could get for Emmie, just down the stairs at a booth in the concourse.  What a neat keepsake from the game!  I had no idea they did that.

It's no secret that this Chicago girl loves a good hot dog.  Since it's the centennial celebration of Wrigley Field, they are selling specialty fare to commemorate every past decade in the stand called "Decade Dogs."  Bruce and I split the 1970's Pulled Pork Dog and the 1950's TV Dinner Dog.  Messy, but delicious!  We washed them down with some cold ones.

To save money, we brought a PBJ and snacks for Emmie.  It's not well known that you are allowed to bring in sealed non-alcoholic beverages and food to Wrigley.

After about an hour, the rain slowed, and the game started up again, but the Cubs couldn't get back into it.  The Nationals got some runs, and it didn't look good for our guys.  Emmie was rubbing her eyes and yawning.  It was time to go.  At the top of the sixth, we began to make our way, but had one last stop - to see Clark the Cub, the new Cubs mascot.  We visited his new clubhouse.  Emmie was enamored with him!  We all posed for pictures with him, Emmie with a huge grin on her face.  We got her a Clark shirt two sizes too big so that she could wear it for a couple years.

As we were leaving Wrigley Field, we could hear the crowd singing along to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." The sun had set, and the lights had gone on, illuminating the stadium and the scoreboard from our view on Waveland Ave.  I have no idea who officially sang the seventh-inning stretch that night.  All I could hear was my daughter, who recently memorized the words to the song she will hopefully be singing for a lifetime.

Absolutely, us true fans want to see the Cubs win.  But the reason why the Cubs are loved so unconditionally, why we say we "bleed Cubbie blue," has to do with faith, tradition, and family.  It is moments like these, shared from one generation to the next, that course through our veins.

Go Cubbies.

My Life as an Adjunct

“Those who can, do.  Those who can’t, teach.”

The above saying has been on my mind often lately.  My mother used to mutter it when I was a kid, for reasons unknown to me.  I have grown to realize she was echoing a sentiment held by our society and perhaps the root of the predicament that many of my colleagues and I find ourselves in.

I never aspired to be a teacher.  Sure, I eagerly assumed the role of teacher when playing School with other children when I was little.  Throughout primary and most of secondary school I did very well, especially in English-related classes.  My favorite book as a young girl was Jane Eyre, and her time in the schoolroom was always one of the most romantic parts for me.  I was also fascinated by my teachers.  Some inspired me in ways I will never forget (shout-out to Mr. Reed!).  So, without knowing it then, I was classic teacher-material.  But what I really wanted to be was a writer.

In college, I concentrated on English.  My thinking was that, all the great writers before me had a broad understanding of the works that came before them, and I needed that, too.  I took every literature and creative writing class available.  I wrote poetry, was published, and won awards.  All the while, though, my foreign-born father pressed me to major in something more “substantial.”  At the time I thought I was compromising by double-majoring in English and Communication.  In my last two years I studied for classes like Introduction to Literary Theory as well as Media and Mass Communication.  From term to term I got the highest marks, but had very little direction as to a potential profession.  I graduated summa cum laude with absolutely no idea what to do next.

For a year I worked retail and hung out with my friends who still lived in town.  As chance would have it, I met someone from Europe and decided to try and move there.  During my undergraduate years I had read an academic novel by David Lodge entitled Small World.  It’s a brilliant book about English professors traveling the globe, mingling and attending conferences.  It made an indelible impression on me, so I determined that my best plan of action would be to apply to graduate schools and become an English professor myself.  One of the most exciting days of my life was receiving an acceptance from a prestigious school in the Netherlands to study English Literature.  I even won the full tuition waiver to attend school at no cost, like a European citizen.  For a year and a half, I buried my nose in books and wrote papers, while making international friendships and traveling the continent.  I never imagined my life would take such a marvelous path.

I received my M.A. with high marks.  One of my professors was also an editor for an academic publishing company, and offered to include a version of my master’s thesis in his latest collection.  Now I could say I was a legitimate scholar!  I was considering universities for my doctoral studies.  My future seemed promising before me.

For personal reasons, I returned to the United States.  The return was more than my physical location; I kind of reverted back to my old lifestyle.  I started hostessing in a restaurant where many of my friends, and Bruce, worked.  We’d all hang out together after hours, content to live from day to day.  But I yearned for more, and one night attended a poetry reading at the community college where I got my Associate degree.  Afterwards I ran into one of my old professors, who was the chair of the department, and he offered to hire me as a part-time instructor.  In my naïve eyes, I had become a ‘professor,’ and at such a young age!  I had never heard the term adjunct back then.

I was surprised by my first college paycheck.  I made more in tips at the restaurant!  I applied to be an instructor at my other alma mater, where I received my Bachelor’s, and was hired.  For a while I was teaching at two schools, hostessing at two restaurants, tutoring at a writing lab, and tutoring as a Literacy Volunteer.  I also started dating Bruce.  How 24 hours in a day seems to be so much more when we are young!

Bruce and I both moved to Chicago, a dream I had had since childhood.  I knew I could never support myself as a part-time instructor in the city, so I quit teaching and got a well-paying job in the hospitality industry.  For five years, we lived the urban life, in the same neighborhood as some of our best friends.  It was the 9-5 with partying on the weekends.  Then Bruce and I got engaged, married, and desired to start a family.  We moved back to the suburbs.

After so much time away from instructing, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get back in the game.  I applied for a nearby for-profit college.  They called me in for an interview and asked me to prepare a lesson to give the dean, the department chair, and some of the faculty.  It was nerve-wracking, but I did well enough for them to offer me a job.  I remember it was summer, and I got back in my warm, stuffy car, whipped out my cell phone and sent a mass text to my loved ones: “I’m a professor again!”  It wasn’t until later that I learned about the controversies surrounding for-profit schools and that an adjunct is not the same as a professor.

I didn’t make as much as I did at the hotel, but I was usually given enough classes to eke out a living and contribute towards our paying debts and household expenses.  Bruce had a new job, too, that was commission-based, and the unpredictable nature of both our jobs meant that some months we struggled.  I got a job teaching at another school for additional income.  Then I got pregnant.

As I’ve chronicled in this blog, having a child ultimately meant a loss of pay during maternity leave.  When I returned to work, a there was a drastic reduction in the availability of classes I could teach.  I teach far less now that I can only work nights and weekends.  Yes, I chose to stay home with my child.  But it’s more complicated than that – even if I chose to keep my availability open so that I could teach more, I still wouldn’t get paid enough to afford daycare.  If I arranged some type of family sitter, like my semi-retired father-in-law, my changing schedule from term to term could pose conflicts with his own agenda.  If I want to stay working in my profession, staying at home with Emmie was really the only option.

Being an adjunct means this:  You probably have an advanced degree in your field, a Master’s or a PhD.  You are considered an expert in your subject area who can share that expertise with others.  You did not necessarily get a degree in education.  You were hired as a part-time instructor based on your curriculum vitae, your body of academic and professional achievements.  The department chair or dean offers you a class or two for the following term.  You most likely won’t get offered more than two because schools now have a restriction on the number of classes an adjunct can teach, which one of my schools blamed on the Affordable Care Act in an email memo that was sent out.  You act as a per-contract worker, so you have no idea how many classes you will get from one semester to another, or if you will get any at all.  There’s no guarantee that you will work.  With any luck, if you do get offered a class, it will be weeks in advance so that you have time to prepare a syllabus and lessons plans.  It doesn’t always work out that way, though, and many times I’ve created a syllabus the night before, pouring over an unfamiliar textbook and crossing my fingers that my plan will make sense in time.  I’ve read chapters immediately before assigning them to my students, though obviously I give the impression I’m completely in charge of the coursework.

Sometimes, you get offered a class, count on the income, and then it gets cancelled due to low enrollment days before the start date, after you’ve already prepared everything.  When that happens, at least in the state of Illinois, you can’t even apply for unemployment.  You’re simply out of luck.

An adjunct usually doesn’t have an office on campus.  The work is done predominantly at home.  Even though my “office” is in my basement, I can’t write it off for tax purposes like other self-employed people can, don’t ask me why.  Sometimes, there will be a room at school for the adjuncts to share, with copy machines and maybe a computer and printer.  At one of my places of employment, I’m not sure I’m even allowed to use the printer that’s in the faculty workroom, because it’s not linked to my classroom computer.  However, I pride myself on being moderately technically-savvy and figured out how to add the printer to my computer before each class.  I bet other adjuncts for that university are printing off their work in the library alongside the students or with their home computers.  I refuse to use my personal supplies whenever possible.  Ink and paper are expensive!  I don’t get paid enough to cover those costs as well.

How much do I get paid?  For 16 weeks of work, the average I’ve seen has been around $2300.  Some schools pay more, some pay far less.  The pay is for the time spent in the classroom and does not include the work that happens outside: preparing syllabi, lesson plans, grading papers, answering emails, writing letters of recommendations, professional development.  This is hours and hours a week per class.  As I’ve noted here in this blog, one school had me creating a new online course for six months before I saw a penny.  I don’t qualify for insurance and only retirement benefits at one state school. 

The argument can be made that part-time workers anywhere don’t normally get benefits.  But last year between my two schools I taught more credit hours than a full-time faculty member.  If there weren’t restrictions on the number of courses I can teach at either school, I could easily have taught a full-time coursework at one institution.  Just think: these schools can hire two or three adjuncts to teach the equivalent of a full-time course load without having to pay a full-time salary or benefits.  Last year, I made $20,000 teaching 28 credit hours and taking substitute jobs.  At one of my schools, the full-time course load is 18-24 credit hours and the average full-time faculty member earns $70,000 a year.  Do the math.  Recently, in a faculty meeting, I learned that at one of my schools adjunct instructors comprise 75% of the faculty.  Three-quarters of the faculty is paid at the poverty level while the institution continues to raise tuition, create new jobs for administrators, raise the salaries of administrators, advertise everywhere from online to billboards, and construct new buildings.

There are different types of adjuncts.  There are the ones who have careers outside of academia and are just looking to teach on the side.  Along with those, there are the retired professionals or teachers who aren’t ready to stop working entirely.  Then there are the adjuncts who are supported by spousal income.  I suppose I fall into that category, but it feels more like I’m in the last one, the adjuncts who are called “freeway flyers” due to the fact that they spend their time in the car, driving from one school to another, trying to scrape together an income.  For these types of instructors, the lifestyle is exhausting.  We work on our “days off”.  We work on weekends.  I even check and respond to emails when I am not currently teaching classes.  When an adjunct isn’t in the car or the classroom, they are bent over a desk somewhere, doing all the outside work I mentioned before.  We walk into our classroom, teach, and go home.  Rarely do we connect with our bosses or other faculty.  We are lone wolves.

This is clearly not the best environment for students to be in.  Students need instructors who are adequately prepared in every case, who collaborate with peers.  An instructor who is travelling from school to school and working from home and out of a briefcase cannot possibly be as primed as he or she would be if everything was in one place.  Despite this, most of us are doing the best we can to stay on top of our work, to put the students’ educations first.  Lately, adjuncts have come under scrutiny for not educating students to the same standards as full-time faculty.  Since Bruce has gone back to school, I’ve actually witnessed the opposite.  His full-time professors take days to answer emails.  Many have been disorganized with a lackadaisical nature towards the students.  If they have tenure, meaning they can’t get fired, what would compel them to work harder?

Since our position with an institution is so precarious, some adjuncts have folded under the pressure and given students passing grades in order to boost their student evaluations scores.  These scores are often the only interaction we have with administrators and keep us in good standing.  I was in a similar, yet fundamentally different situation.  Though I couldn’t say for sure, I got the impression at the for-profit school where I formerly taught that failing a student was discouraged.  I sensed that they wanted students to keep moving along so that the tuition would keep rolling in.  I instructed and graded the students fairly and at college-level, but started to get passed over in favor of other, ‘easier’ instructors for classes by the administrators, despite my consistently high-ranking evaluations.

A career as an adjunct means there is little or no time left to augment our professional credentials.  When do we have time to do our own research or writing?  How can I find time to publish when I have to work a retail job just to make ends meet?  Full-time faculty and tenured professors are expected to attend conferences, do research, and publish.  Their salaries include this expectation, usually with the result that they teach less in order to do so.  That’s why adjuncts are necessary, just like part-time workers in a fast food joint support the managers.

The increasing corporatization of academia is finally getting recognized by the media.  In the past few months, the New York Times and the Atlantic have done pieces on this phenomenon, as well as Yahoo! News.  Some might contend that this is the way the country is going, that the way of the world is that there will always be people at the top and many more people at the bottom.  I see this point.  However, you have to understand, when instructors like me are responsible for educating all the people who become educated – English composition classes are required at every institution of higher learning for a reason – shouldn’t these instructors at least make a living wage?  Shouldn’t they have some sense of job security?  No one ever says, “My college dean really prepared me for my career,” or, “My university president really helped me to realize my potential and nurture my skills.”  Most of the time, students never meet their dean or the president.

Often, students don’t even interact with full-time professors until they are far along in their degree program.  Since adjuncts are mainly responsible for instructing the introductory-level classes, we are usually the first interactions the students have with faculty.  We make the first impression.  We can be the reason a student succeeds and moves forward and keeps paying that precious tuition.  We are the lifeblood of the institution.

This is not how I feel on a daily basis, however.  Being a lone wolf is lonely.  Most adjuncts don’t have the time to get involved, don’t get paid to be involved, and/or are not invited to be involved with campus life.  We are excluded by our peers.  I once had a fellow English instructor (who was tenured) refer to the other tenured English professors as his “colleagues” to me.  Apparently he did not consider me a colleague, even though I have attained the same level of education as him and teach the many of the same classes.  I’ve been in meetings where I’m the only adjunct and have felt entirely out of place.  In one a professor mentioned breezily how before she was full-time she’d have to dig for change in her couch to pay for things.  I turned bright red.  Because we are paid considerably less, we feel lesser.  As another adjunct put it, I am “merely an adjunct.”  As my father-in-law observed to me once, some character in a movie was “a real professor.”

Why do adjuncts put up with this way of life?  Many of us would reply, “Because I love what I do.”  I love English.  I love reading and writing and critical thinking and showing others the beauty and necessity of all of it.  But just because we love what we do, does that mean we should be treated as less than others?  What I do matters.  We’re living in a culture that ignores the significance of manual labor, that funnels high-school graduates towards college and requires entry-level job applicants to have Bachelor’s degrees.  Despite this overemphasis on higher education, we pay the majority of our educators less than what their pupils will someday earn.  I have had so many students come back and thank me for helping them get scholarships or for preparing them so that they earned high marks on papers in other classes.  They’ve shared with me how my instruction has aided them in getting recognized in their own careers.  They have no idea that I barely make enough money to afford the clothes I wear to work.

Maybe that old adage about “Those who can’t” isn’t misguided.  Maybe I should have listened to my father and gotten a practical job in business or marketing or something.  Heavens knows I’d make more money.  I regularly consider abandoning this profession like I did once before.  But if three-quarters of university faculty chose another career, who would be left to educate everybody?  Without higher learning, what would become of our society?  Benjamin Franklin noted that “an investment in knowledge pays the best interest.”  In order for that interest to ultimately pay out, we also need to invest in those who do the educating.