Reconnecting

• The new power supply arrived, and so I am happily ensconced on the couch again and not having to run back to the office throughout the day. In my defense, not all of my time has been spent on frivolous pursuits: I spent quite some time yesterday chasing down texts I need for my seminar.
• Last Sunday, my family met up with a friend and her husband. She was a colleague of mine at the school where I taught in the States. I'm a little sad that I'll be leaving so soon after she and I are back in the same place, but we'll be sure to get together regularly to make the most of the time. And I'm going to introduce her to people in my department; Trillian and I may even have a dinner party so that we can mingle on a couples-level.
• Today I received an email from another former colleague. I had just been thinking the other day that I should email her (though I'll be damned if I can remember what triggered that thought). The one detail I can't get over is that her son is now in the 6th grade! I've known him since he was 3 or (just) 4.

Time flies and all of that. Off to finish a section of my comps reading. More substantial posts soon.

The post wherein you get to see my breast

Today is the Great Virtual Breast Fest over at the League of Maternal Justice. I didn't get things together quickly enough to submit a photo for the montage, and then Scooter has been weaned for 3 years now, so we couldn't participate in live nursing either. But I am a huge supporter of breastfeeding. There are a hundred different posts I could write about my thoughts on the issue and my personal experience. But tonight I'll write just the one.

The origin of the nickname 'Mouse' was a girl's attempts to make fun of me and some friends. (We were dishing back, so don't feel sorry for me.) 'Mouse' was one part of what she called me; it's the rest of it that made me mad. But when that dropped out, 'Mouse' stuck.

And it's pretty clear why. I am an introvert and usually go out of my way to avoid notice (performance aspect of dance, notwithstanding). Despite my size--always tall and now overweight--I try to take up as little space as possible. There is, obviously, a self-esteem component of this. There is also a deep desire not to offend or make trouble for anyone.

Becoming a mother, however, forced me to confront some of the mousier aspects of my personality. I quickly realized that it was one thing for me to relent and yield in situations because it was 'easier,' but there was no way I would, no way I could, just acquiesce when it came to my son. And breastfeeding was an important part of this.

In the first weeks after my son's birth, I was nervous about feeding my son anywhere other than the comforts of our own house. When I went to the obstetrician a few days after his birth (there was an issue with my tear--cringe), I asked if I could wait in a back room so that I could nurse him. I was still so new to the whole process that there was no way for me to get him to latch on without entirely exposing myself, and I felt so raw and vulnerable from the whole giving-birth-thing that I wasn't ready to take that on in public.

But after about 6 weeks, once feeding became more comfortable, more the experience I had been hoping for, I gained a new courage and assertiveness. I loved the fact that I could take my son anywhere without worrying about his feeding. We carried diapers, a couple changes of clothers for him, and an extra shirt for us (learned about that one the hard way--explosive diaper!), but I never had to fumble with multiple bottles and formula and water sources.

My absolute favorite purchase for the first year was our sling. My son was very comfortable in it and I carried him everywhere. I also discovered that it gave me the support I needed to nurse him, even while walking. And although he absolutely refused to nurse under a blanket (for which I couldn't blame him since I get claustrophobic under the covers), I could pull the far side of the sling up just a bit, affording a little extra privacy, but not physically covering his head.

Even without the sling, I never hesitated to feed him. I became quite skilled at unlatching my bra with one hand and bringing my son to my breast as I simultaneously moved my shirt out of the way. If someone watched very closely, they might get a tiny nipple-peek, but I think that would say more about their interest than anything else.

While I did usually pick a quieter place--the bench in the back of Target near the pharmacy, my office chair turned towards the wall, in a booth at a restaurant--this had more to do with wanting a peaceful moment than fearing others' reactions. There were times that I almost wished someone would challenge me, because I knew I was up to the fight and would have made them regret it.

Breastfeeding also made me more sure of myself as a mother. Co-sleeping was a natural result of the feeding schedule for us. Despite the horror stories other parents told us (mostly about kids in bed until age nine, though also some about squashed babies), I knew that it was right for us. Ditto with continuing to breastfeed past a year. We heard all sorts of things about needing to get him onto more solids, but given what he was like then and how picky and stubborn he is, I suspect he would have gained even less weight if I'd withheld the breast.

And so every time I hear about another mother who is asked to 'cover up' or go nurse in the bathroom or some equally inane thing, it makes me really mad. Because to me, such a request goes even deeper than the issue of what's 'decent' and the oversexualization of the breast, it goes so far as to question her very motherhood.

Baby Scooter's response to Bill Maher, Facebook, and anybody else who suggests he not breastfeed anywhere he wants.

Anything else you'd like to tell me, Universe?

Most of my computer-time is spent on my Dell Inspiron laptop. Before I got that at the end of my first year of graduate school, I primarily used our desktop, which has always been located in whatever space we were using for the "office."

In our first apartment in Toronto, we had a tiny room just outside the living room. It was very handy since I could sit there and check on Scooter simply by pushing my chair back. Or if he was upstairs in his room (with gates on his door, the top of the stairs and the bottom of the stairs), I could hear when he got up since the office was right at the bottom of the stairs.

In our current apartment, the office is right next to the front door. And we have a very long hallway to the rest of the apartment. While one can hear a decent amount of the noise from the rest of the apartment, it is not very distinct. So when I worked here regularly, I would frequently have to leave the office to go see what Trillian or Scooter was trying to tell me. Whenever the clothes washer is running, there's a chance I won't have heard them at all.

The laptop has allowed me to do most of my work from the living room couch. The flipside is that it's also very easy for me to hop online and waste valuable work time reading "just one more blog" or playing "just one more game." I'll be good about avoiding too much extracurricular online activity for a while, limiting my email and blog reading to a couple times a day, but then the time I spend on those things starts to creep up.

In the past month or so, I've had electrical tape around part of my power cord. Due to the position of the power supply port--it's on the opposite side of the computer from the electrical outlet--and the fact that (apparently) Dell power cords tend to be weak at a particular junction, I have been in danger of ripping my cord.

In the past day or two, I realized that some wires must have finally come apart under the electrical tape, as my computer would suddenly switch to battery power even when everything was ostensibly plugged in.

So I have ordered a new power supply. On a holiday weekend, of course. Which will add multiple days to the time of delivery.

All of this is the long way of saying: I have less computer access than usual. I think maybe the universe is trying to remind me that I need to be reading for my comps.

Back to the books.

I am a bad mother, because...

... I let my son play enough Simpson's Road Rage and Hit and Run on our PlayStation 2 that his reaction upon seeing a tree the other day was, "I hope Homer doesn't crash into that tree!"

... when Scooter was saying that he wanted to go on a "special trip" today (Whole Foods didn't qualify), Trillian and I gave him a choice of going to the coffeeshop or staying home. "Coffeeshop or stay home?" we asked. His reply? "Damn!" (Even asked him to repeat it. Sure enough, that's what he was saying.)

... and after my son said that, although I did manage to tell him that was not a good word to use, I was shaking slightly from the effort of containing my laughter.

... in an effort to get my son off his favorite carbs (goldfish crackers and Cheerios)--we're working towards gluten-free, dairy-free--we're plying him with chocolate chip cookies (gluten-free, dairy-free, but still full of sugar).

Scattered thoughts on a foggy Friday

When Scooter and I headed off to school Thursday morning, a heavy fog had descended on the city. It felt a bit like the world was empathizing and making my mindset concrete.

My back is not too bad. I am mobile, not even hunched over. It's a dull pain. But constant.

Yesterday, I went home after dropping off Scooter and taking care of an on-campus errand. But my back hurt enough that I could tell I couldn't sit comfortably for studying. So I went to our fitness center and sat in the hot tub for a bit and then had a massage.

Better, but something's still a little out of place.

This morning, there wasn't so much a fog (despite my title), as a haze. And that seemed about right. I had to sit through my three-hour seminar today. I fidgeted like a little kid, uncomfortable however I arranged myself. So I can't say I got much out of it.

I have a chiropractor's appointment tomorrow and am looking forward to just the tiniest of adjustments--seriously, I can tell that things are stuck up and back, probably less than a centimeter.

In the meantime, I bring to you some of the things that have been flashing across my currently dulled mind.

Positive Spin on the Back Pain: As I looked up the chiropractor's number, I realized that the last time I went in for an adjustment was for episode #2 (described on Wednesday). Which means that the last time my back was out of whack (as opposed to just sore) was something like 6 years ago. That may be the longest I've gone without since the initial injury. And again, I'm not even completely laid out.

Cutest Moment of the Day: As we headed home, out of nowhere Scooter proclaimed, "Thanks for keeping us warm, Sun."

Unexpected Warm Fuzzy: Scooter and I arrived at school fairly early; he was the second kid there. The little girl, a real sweetie, greeted him enthusiastically and told him the toys she was helping the teacher get out. Scooter happily returned her overtures and fully engaged in conversation. While Trillian and I have noticed the increased complexity of his sentence structure and his improved oral comprehension, it took seeing him interacting with another kid for me to realize just how much this means.

Feeling Out-of-Sync: I still haven't gotten into this semester's rhythm. I think it has to do with the fact that I've been traveling midweek two out of four weeks we've had class. Plus I only have class once a week--the rest of my time is mine to schedule. I've done a pretty good job of attending to my work, but things always come up. (I typed "back" at first--there's a Freudian slip.)

Off to bed now. Here's hoping that the haze lifts tomorrow--from both the city and my mind.

On my back (but not in a good way)

I am supposed to be at my first ballet class tonight (OK, actually second, but I was out of town for the first). Instead, I've got an Icy Hot patch on my back and have periodically been stretching.

In the same post that I mentioned my love of dance, I also alluded to a few injuries I sustained as a result of that said love. At age 14, I hurt my back. In fact, I am probably somewhere very close to the 20-year anniversary of that. And it remains a constant pain in my ass. Literally. Most of the pain occurs around the sciatic area.

Sometimes it's fairly minor, more an annoyance than a limitation on my mobility. Usually a couple days before my period, I find that it starts to stiffen a bit and just won't relax. It makes me feel a little out of whack, but doesn't stop me from doing anything. On occasion, I've had it go out entirely again, requiring bed rest/physical therapy/physical manipulation (chiropractic adjustment or Rolfing)/medication (Ibuprofen and/or muscle relaxers)/any combination of the above.

I was initially resolved to tell my most embarrassing moment of my back going out. But then I realized that it's a toss-up between two different times.

#1 I'm talking in the living room to my sister and one of her male friends (we were all roommates at the time). My back starts to twinge (even though all I'm doing is standing), so I decide to lay on my stomach on the floor until it passes. Except that my back gets worse and I eventually realize that I can't get up. Even after ibuprofen and muscle relaxers and ice packs. Now I have to pee really badly. Trillian's home by now, so she and my sister initially offer me a plastic container (with the male roommate out of the room) since I can't make it to the bathroom. Except that I can't get into a position where I can relax enough. We get to the point where I either have to find a way to get up or Trillian's calling an ambulance (for which I have no insurance). I have wormed myself across the floor to the stairs at this point and use them to pull myself up. After going to the bathroom, I make it upstairs (all of this with copious assistance) and go to bed until I can go to the chiropractor the next day.

#2 It's the end of the first week of classes during my second year of teaching. What had been a small class the previous year has doubled in size, and I'm still trying to deal with the dynamics of the class. On that day, I'm lecturing about the author we're about to start reading. On the desk to my left are my carefully prepared overheads; the overhead projector is on my right. After making some point, I go to lean back on the desk, coffee in hand. (This is not my classroom. My school generally had offices and we traveled to our classes, so I was unfamiliar with this room still.) My weight rests towards its end. Turns out that the legs on the desk are set a ways in. So the whole thing turns into a lever. My coffee flies out of my hand and lands on the overheads. I catch my balance before the desk falls over, but it rebounds and smacks me in the rear. My immediate concern is for the embarrassment of the moment. But by the next day, I can't stand up straight and end up walking around slightly hunched over for a week or so before I get in to see the chiropractor.

The backache tonight is not nearly as bad as either of those, more along the lines of premenstrual back pain with a little added stiffness--the result, I think, of the extra hours I have been sitting for school, coupled with the extra exercise I've been attempting to fit in.

But here's where I turn to audience participation. Today is "the great mofo delurk" (not my name). So I'll steal a page from Bub and Pie's book and ask a few questions of those who I know are there, but don't hear from (often or ever). I'll stick with only three questions though, and you don't have to answer all three:

1. Which of the above do you think is more embarrassing, #1 or #2 (or #3: the fact that I shared both stories with you)?
2. What is your favorite show of the new TV lineup? (Unless you are so cultured as not to watch any of it. To which I would have to say: you are a much better person than I!)
3. What is one question you'd like to ask me?

Give me something to keep my mind off this back pain!

My new time suck

I joined Facebook a few months ago, on the invitation of another Toronto blogger. I added a handful of other Toronto bloggers who joined at about the same time, but didn't spend any real time looking around.

And then Trillian registered this past week. So I checked back in to confirm her as a friend. In her usual manner, she proceeded to spend some time on the site and then filled me in on what she found, which included a number of mutual friends. So I started searching on my own for other people I know. Funny how the time flies...

I've been trying to moderate how much time I spend on Facebook, especially given my recent proclamation. But that didn't stop me from going through and sending out a flurry of friend requests to people I know in some of my groups (just hadn't gotten to it yet).

One area into which I've only tentatively ventured is the far past of school. I sent a friend request to one person from my enormous high school class so far and haven't looked any further back than that. The ambivalence that even contemplating looking these people up is interesting to me. Most of my pre-university social experience was neutral to unpleasant. I haven't kept in touch with many, if any, of the people I knew back then--mostly my choice and not just an accident of time.

Nonetheless, I did reach out to this one person from my graduating class, someone I was passing friends with. He was much more popular than I, involved in student government, a member of a visible minority. But always nice to me, and we had a good time in a senior-year literature elective. I knew where he went to university, but this is the first we'd crossed paths, albeit virtually, since our graduation more than 15 years ago. And I can't decide if I want to do more than look at his picture over in my friends list. Because I'm curious. There's a part of me that wants to get chatty, mention some of the people we both knew, the odd ways my paths have crossed with theirs. And I couldn't help but notice that one of his groups is the gay/lesbian student association from his university. Yes, he could have joined as an ally (he did always have a strong sense of civil justice), but what if his indication of 'married' matches mine, what if this is something we never knew we had in common?

And if I can spend all this time wondering about one person, how much more time will Facebook steal if I find somebody from elementary school?