Augury

My first day teaching my own college class finally arrived! I had picked out my outfit the night before, woken up early so that I had time to attend to jewelry and makeup, and was preparing my thermos of tea. I realized I wanted my habitual glass of morning iced tea, so I grabbed the water glass from my nightstand, filled the glass from the pitcher in the refrigerator (watching carefully so I didn't spill), and carried the glass into the bathroom with me, so that I could drink while finishing my makeup.

In between various tasks, I took a large gulp. I felt something funny in my mouth. Thinking it was a hair, I pulled something off of my tongue. But it wasn't a hair: it was a DADDY LONG LEGS!! <shudder> Startled, I dropped it into the sink and yelped. Then I tried to wash it down the drain, but it was TOO BIG, and I had to pull up the stopper to let it wash away.

But no time to crawl back into bed, fall asleep, and wake up thinking it was all a dream. I whimpered my way to the train station, thinking, "What could this mean? What kind of awful sign is it?" When I arrived at school, I had other crises to deal with (malfunctioning thumb drive! Google Drive failure! finicky photocopier!), and so forgot for a time my traumatic mouthful. After two successful classes that made me feel excited and optimistic about the coming term, I realized that maybe the daddy long legs was indeed a sign. I crushed that thing in my mouth, then went to school and nailed it with my students. Nothing can keep me down now! I eat spiders for breakfast! <grimace>

in-law appreciation

As a consistent reader of Slate's Dear Prudence advice column, I have read far too many anecdotes about dysfunctional relationships with a spouse's family. So I'm thankful that Dave's family has welcomed me and supports our marriage. Yesterday, I was reminded of the benefits of joining another family. Not only did my mother-in-law send me a kind email, asking how I was faring in the big snowstorm/cold snap, I also received a care package from my sister-in-law, N., and family!

Check out these presents:

All my favorites: tea, gummies, a Starbucks card, insects, and a special gift from A., age 3. Here's a close-up of the beautiful gold beetle plate and hand-drawn maze by A. (labeled "difficulty level: 3"):

During this chilly week, I'm warmed by the thoughtfulness of my new family.

How could I resist an article with this headline? Admittedly, the "reputable source of scientific study, Siteopia.com" did not actually pair up Katie and David; they are simply at the top of each list. Also, this article is snarky. Nevertheless, I can't help but smile in my simpleminded way. Hat tip to my brother P. for finding this!

Study: ‘Katie’ and ‘David’ Make the Best Spouses

A reputable source of scientific study, Siteopia.com, polled 2,000 people on the first names they associated with being a good spouse — "based on their experiences with their own partners as well as those of friends, relatives and colleagues," as the Telegraph puts it. Of all the names in the world, people think the best wives are named Katie, Sophie, Louise, Sarah, Emily, Charlotte, Elizabeth, Amy, Jessica, and Lucy. The kinds of guys you can take home to Mom are named David, Andrew, Daniel, Paul, John, William, Simon, James, Chris, and Stephen, because apparently, they make the best husbands.

This list is like a roster of contestants on ABC's The Bachelor. Where's the imagination, people? I bet a Vesta or a Wolf could also provide a loving, supportive, long-term partnership that would blossom into old age.

A theory: The "keep it simple, stupid" logic of the imaginary boyfriend is at play. When asked to conjure a fantasy husband or a fake boyfriend, the mind goes for safe and familiar rather than unique, so as not to arouse suspicion — i.e., "Daniel," your sixth-grade boyfriend whom you "met" at summer camp and totally "made out with," who "sent you love letters" (forged by your mom) until December.

Dispatch from Week 1

Welcome to the family co-op! I find myself in a somewhat unconventional living situation: until Dave gets his employment situation settled out (which will hopefully happen in the next month or two), I'm living with my brother, his wife, his almost-two-year-old daughter (and soon a newborn boy) in a house on Long Island. The commute can be brutal, but the social support (and hugs from my little niece) makes it worthwhile.

Already after one week, I feel grateful for the arrangement. For example, on Monday, I was using a new, very sharp knife, and sliced open three of my fingers, one pretty badly. Good thing I'm living with a plastic surgeon-in-training! I've been receiving good wound care all week. And on Wednesday, when my sister-in-law sliced off part of her fingertip with the same evil knife set, well, I couldn't help with the finger – she had to go to the hospital for that. But I could make sure dinner was ready and on the table when she returned with her sewn-up finger. All I can say is: don't buy the Komachi knives. The sharpness is great, but they're very light and without heft, which I think contributed to our injuries.

We're still settling into our routines and patterns here, and hopefully I'll be preparing soon to seek a new home for me and Dave. But until then, I'm glad I'm here.

some results

Today Dave returned to Michigan, and I remained in New York. We are not sure how long this arrangement will last, but I desperately hope to find a resolution in the next few months. In the meantime, I am reflecting on some lessons I learned from my therapist in the Fall. I found my therapist online, and he was a pleasant and encouraging person. He didn't have much to say that I haven't already thought about myself. And there isn't that much I can do mentally that will change the fundamentals of my situation: I still have to do my job every day; I still have to live apart from Dave; I still have to experience this difficult transition; I still have to wait for future plans to become clear. But there are a few things that he told me in our sessions that I want to record, so I can remind myself about them in the future:

• I am not my job. We all wear multiple hats, but I often view myself solely as an academic, rather than remembering that I'm also an individual, wife, daughter, sister, friend, community member. My career is an important and significant aspect of my life, but it is only part of the whole.
• I cannot control anyone or anything beyond myself. When things go wrong at work, I can try my hardest to fix them and put the program on the best possible footing. But in each of the issues, there are multiple parties involved. I have to accept that sometimes things won't be fixed the way I want them to, and that's not my fault.
• I am not trapped and alone. As much as I feel weighed down by my job, I need to remember that I have freedom – I have a loving spouse, the support of my family, wonderful friends; I have the financial resources to pay my bills and live in a safe and comfortable place; I am healthy and young. This is just one stage of my life; I have to go through it, but it will eventually turn into a new stage, even if I stay in this same job for many years. And even if everything in my career goes disastrously downhill, I will not be abandoned to some kind of failed life.

It's time for me to put this knowledge into action and get it done! The next eight months are going to be a wild ride...

Paean to the Sandblaster

I was in Chicago this past weekend for my national professional association's annual conference. Ah, Chicago in January! It was as unpleasant as it sounds. I drove my car with friends from Ann Arbor, through the remnants of a major snowstorm to arrive at the conference, and returned to Michigan yesterday through another winter storm. My trusty and swift steed, a 1999 Toyota Camry, aka "Sandblaster," was utterly reliable throughout it all, though. In gratitude, I have composed a song of victory in its honor, sung to the tune of "Sixteen, Going on Seventeen":

You are fourteen, going on fifteen,
Your frame begins to rust.
You need new tires,
You might catch on fire,
Your color is tan, beige, dust...

You are fourteen, going on fifteen,
Despite the blizzard-like snow
You were a smooth ride,
Not once did you slide,
Though visibility was so low!

I will spare the internet world further evidence of my poetic genius. Here it is this morning, appropriately blanketed with an evening's worth of snow:

You crushed it, Sandblaster!