tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17505659051438179342023-11-15T23:27:19.349-08:00GeekymummyThe Hairdog Chronicles.
Tales from a scientist and an engineer raising a family in San Franciscogeekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comBlogger333125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-69291529858358545432013-01-06T18:21:00.001-08:002013-01-06T19:03:38.035-08:00Branching outSince moving to our new environment we have paradoxically identified and clung to a few new routines. This has included a very limited scope of places to dine out with the kids. I'm in the burbs now, and bereft of the wonderful 'child friendly yet delicious for adults with a decent wine list to boot' restaurant smorgasbord of my old SF neighborhood.<br />
<br />
We initially ventured only to the nearest mall, actually walkable, where the kids have fallen in love with the pizzeria, and the diner. Though adequate when we need a night off from cooking, I am tiring of these options. The kids eat only grilled cheese sandwiches (Geekyboy), chicken strips and fries (Geekygirl) or mac n cheese or pizza (both). I drank the diner through their entire (horrific) wine collection - red first, then white and struck out on the vegetarian section of their menu options until I was eating grilled cheese (with avocado) sandwiches myself. they fortunately seen to have closed for the winter. Which left us stuck with the (perfectly nice) pizza joint as our only dine out option.<br />
<br />
This weekend I set the kids up in advance for trying something new. I have learned with my two that spontaneously saying "lets try this place for lunch" sets off a flight or fight response in them. They are terrified of being confronted with new food. So I promised them their favorite pizza place on Friday, on the condition we would brave "Sammy's" a pizza/pasta/salady place which looks decent (by my new suburban standards!) at the other, fancier, drivier mall, one weekend day.<br />
<br />
It was a huge success! Geekyboy despite the availability of a grilled cheese sandwich (if the menu comes with crayons you can almost guarantee it will offer this staple!), instead chose angel hair pasta with olive oil and Parmesan. Having steeled himself for a new cuisine experience he seemed determined to try it. He was resigned to not liking it, I could tell. The contrast in his face and mood the second he forked the deliciously cheesey pasta into his mouth, and realized it was yummy was profound and rather adorable. Geekygirl chose mini burgers, a new thing for her and ate them with relish. Preprepared to cope with newness, they embraced and enjoyed it.<br />
<br />
It was hardly gourmet cuisine, though my ono tacos were very good, but I consider it a triumph and am delighted to have a new option for eating on nights I am too exhausted to cook.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, though I am delighted when I figure out how best to handle my kids, I wonder why they have to be so complicated!<br />
<br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KIXu4z7csbPMajnf2S1sMcPG1BujErNfHE5wF9XokdXlHEIk5AhCe3i8VGO4Bv9cebk5WA_TXXCy9XQRglOFVzS00aWfsRscw7vB_ZHwa6IdQrmCmJpJqymUWPb_x2oidxsjcs9uOWk/s640/blogger-image-536506812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KIXu4z7csbPMajnf2S1sMcPG1BujErNfHE5wF9XokdXlHEIk5AhCe3i8VGO4Bv9cebk5WA_TXXCy9XQRglOFVzS00aWfsRscw7vB_ZHwa6IdQrmCmJpJqymUWPb_x2oidxsjcs9uOWk/s640/blogger-image-536506812.jpg" /></a></div>geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-20435940592699084892012-12-24T20:47:00.001-08:002012-12-24T20:53:45.357-08:00So this is ChristmasThere are years, and this is one, when you are just not really ready for it to come around again. But when you have a house full of excited, precious and yes, really very good children, you just have to pull it off properly.<br />
<br />
The last door on the advent calendar is open. A snowman. "I knew it would be a snowman, mummy", Geekygirl told me at 6am this morning, completely confident that I would want to be woken to hear the news of what was behind the last little cardboard door.<br />
<br />
"you see there wasn't a snowman yet, and there was bound to be one, so the last door had to be a snowman." She seemed satisfied that order had been established in the universe. <br />
<br />
The cookies are baked (thanks Betty Crocker for your mix, and Vons for your neon food coloring and gold sprinkles. New years resolution to drive the extra 10 minutes to the organic store is firmly in place, but for now we will enjoy our radioactive sparkly treats). The Christmas cake is also baked, and that actually was an effort in organic cooking. The assembly of the ingredients alone involved dragging the kids around half the markets in san diego, and the collateral purchasing damage of the trip included skating reindeer tree ornaments, a tray of holiday cupcakes, wooden nutcracker characters, and two giant Mylar holiday balloons.<br />
<br />
Half of the cake has been safely dispatched to England in lieu of our presence around the Christmas table, and it did turn out quite nicely, I have to say, thanks to mum's advice to soak the dried cherries I had to buy to replace the glacé. A frustration of American living is the inability to find proper ingredients for Christmas cake.<br />
<br />
There are 9 (who taught these kids to count?!) carrots to be eaten - or possibly returned to the fridge- along with both a pink sparkly snowman cookie, a slice of the cake, and an innocuous glass of american milk rather than the traditional sherry, sitting by the quite enormous and fabulously eclectically decorated douglas fir, the biggest we could fit in the new house<br />
<br />
Stockings are hung. And we have assured the kids that yes, Santa knows we are now living in San Diego.<br />
<br />
Over the past two days we have watched both "the polar express" and "Santa paws", both of which reduced me to tears but got us all firmly believing in Christmas, and have settled upon Piers Brosnan as Bond in 'tomorrow never dies' for our Christmas eve movie.<br />
<br />
Just as we were finishing up stories, geekygirl lost a tooth, too. So tonight will be pretty magical down here in San Diego.<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas to anyone still reading!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2KAOYImE7ZH3DoRhSkNgDyyFdHoBAPrnUPHzzrZU-hr6v3qhSE1BBTtHYapDoAzKjtaSdOif_7-bsUJGT1wn0wHowa5_ElxJgcPayGkn9ZYRWHB9KgICcTIsxlTKuzBgzRhLneqHeP1Q/s640/blogger-image--118376398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2KAOYImE7ZH3DoRhSkNgDyyFdHoBAPrnUPHzzrZU-hr6v3qhSE1BBTtHYapDoAzKjtaSdOif_7-bsUJGT1wn0wHowa5_ElxJgcPayGkn9ZYRWHB9KgICcTIsxlTKuzBgzRhLneqHeP1Q/s640/blogger-image--118376398.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AQBWuKZPoIBdvhtzVwd0_UYqL6xezAU10swB5rFrqVpwvQb2jK3-_87KHWNRnte0hukzgzebYPUPMYVFSGIkvnZdXs7H4-Zl8AvWhuZF4nJ0pT8p7ZlpuxkbnEXo42QfijC9MVbHWqc/s640/blogger-image--517915643.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7AQBWuKZPoIBdvhtzVwd0_UYqL6xezAU10swB5rFrqVpwvQb2jK3-_87KHWNRnte0hukzgzebYPUPMYVFSGIkvnZdXs7H4-Zl8AvWhuZF4nJ0pT8p7ZlpuxkbnEXo42QfijC9MVbHWqc/s640/blogger-image--517915643.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rx_7O-ecKAjcIjBWxSZxBjz5Y9yf7lU6ZUXa4qzASXopUt7iM2ieWN9QL4WYZPfUCn6qa4tb3nGpUGZfpTPhl9FWwxTEufr8i55htGMTK8NbcClacItolN1gyxCSUHvEz5RSNwSuVCc/s640/blogger-image--312671919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rx_7O-ecKAjcIjBWxSZxBjz5Y9yf7lU6ZUXa4qzASXopUt7iM2ieWN9QL4WYZPfUCn6qa4tb3nGpUGZfpTPhl9FWwxTEufr8i55htGMTK8NbcClacItolN1gyxCSUHvEz5RSNwSuVCc/s640/blogger-image--312671919.jpg" /></a></div>geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-19533903322346351732012-10-14T11:36:00.000-07:002012-10-14T11:36:22.378-07:00Life's a beach<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcX8nqVcGTLVy0tlO_5josUpQDVW8FSXXepLuJn1IAcN4M6VCezlv-8CotBziM9DaT1cL7J0dxLm-ObkvxAdId826z8KWqbKsvpI_YG5jIOda8UT92D5brMQ3BiVqBG52a1UpVbxL174/s1600/photo(26).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcX8nqVcGTLVy0tlO_5josUpQDVW8FSXXepLuJn1IAcN4M6VCezlv-8CotBziM9DaT1cL7J0dxLm-ObkvxAdId826z8KWqbKsvpI_YG5jIOda8UT92D5brMQ3BiVqBG52a1UpVbxL174/s320/photo(26).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Not everyone loves the beach. We all do in theory and in pictures. What is more soothing, what gives a more powerful sense of longing, a sense that if only you could just be there the world would make sense, than a photograph of a pristine beach? In reality the beach is unpredictable, there might be miles of smelly seaweed, rough water, a jellyfish bloom. It is very sandy in reality, and that sand scrapes between your feet and your sandals as your walk home, and more importantly those of your sensitive, whiny kids, meaning that they end up walking barefoot on the sidewalk and you endure glances from passers by who look at the barefooted children and assume lackadaisical parenting choices or extreme poverty. The sand gets in your car and your carpets, lugged home on rock collections and poorly shaken towels. <br />
<br />
I don't mind though. I rather like that my house is covered in a thin layer of fine silver pacific beach and that occasionally I feel it gritting between my teeth. That my car has an aura of being perpetually on holiday, with damp towels in the trunk, sand on the carpets and shells in the cupholders, makes me smile as I drive errands and go work. I commute past the beach every day, even though it takes five minutes longer than the freeway option.<br />
<br />
I've been here in San Diego for three months now. I still haven't sorted out any weekend enrichment activities for the kids. They need gymnastics classes and swimming lessons. I dream of piano and dance classes. But have yet to get further than a few stolen moments of googling such opportunities during my work day. Instead, when the weekend rolls around, we invariably just pack up some towels, some snacks, put on our favourite swimsuits and head down to the nearest shore. Guilt at my parental laziness aside, I would challenge anyone to argue that this isn't enriching for everyone.geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-70326936708568001342012-09-09T22:26:00.002-07:002012-09-09T22:26:43.849-07:00Del Mar Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL39FEwfCiCR34m6__54Eaq8d1JLwpfrTVzBYimT4fHtkAKrS5PjB8Afi0ekMO4uQB3uMxdNSKQwvfl2dW0YT91EpbfgWZqf-4dtd1YNWo2h18OHDOMaqMu7xdy_Wn6XW4zUp1qsdYcb8/s1600/photo(22).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL39FEwfCiCR34m6__54Eaq8d1JLwpfrTVzBYimT4fHtkAKrS5PjB8Afi0ekMO4uQB3uMxdNSKQwvfl2dW0YT91EpbfgWZqf-4dtd1YNWo2h18OHDOMaqMu7xdy_Wn6XW4zUp1qsdYcb8/s400/photo(22).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
It seems fitting that today, as I scrubbed off the remains of my Maui pedicure, I noticed a trace of black creeping up the nail on the toe I stubbed while climbing the rock pools with Geekyboy. I'm painting my own toenails, for the first time in a long time. Half arsed home pedicure a badge of my self imposed single parenthood, now that I don't have the ability to just pop out and get my nails done on the weekend.<br />
<br />
I knew that it would be hard, taking on essentially full responsibility for the children. I just hadn't realized which bits of it would be the toughest. The practicality, the keeping the house tidy and the kids organized hasn't been too bad. I have a new homebodiness about our little place, I'm quite proud of how I've put together the rather shabby little rental house here in Del Mar. I may have used an excess of teal in the decor (who doesn't love teal, there are so many pretty shades and it's so San Diego with its essence of ocean?!), but the organization systems I restarted our lives with, involving multiples of labeled sterilite containers, gives cleaning up such a satisfying feeling of returning order to the universe that I do it quite often with something close to pleasure. <br />
<br />
The emotional part of lone parenting is the hard part. Geekygirl especially is testing my limits. I know, intellectually, that she is anxious and worried. She isn't a kid who does well with change. She is able to tell me this sometimes, but more often she slips imperceptibly from regular defiance into a raging tantrum more appropriate for a three year old, and I struggle to bring her back to the world without being kicked or bitten. In the past two weeks I have physically carried her into school and left her screaming in the principal's office (because the only pair of leggings deemed acceptable for school were not dry - I miss school uniform!), and at bedtime have had to have her in time outs where she sat and screamed "mommy you are killing me" so loudly I expected the police to show up at the door.<br />
<br />
Weekends are long. Today the mood started out badly; the roku player wasn't working so I didn't get my extra hour in bed while the kids watched "Pinky Dinky doo". It looked up as they joyfully tucked into the promised weekend breakfast of chocolate chip waffles with chocolate syrup (though the diabetes researcher in me cringes at how far I have fallen), and it hummed along happily as we tackled the promised activity of the day, painting ceramics at one of those "paint your own stuff" places in the mall, but then it crumbled dramatically when none of the restaurants we tried served anything acceptable for lunch and I refused to take the kids to the swimming pool (we went the day before). I carried my howling 45lb six year old across the parking lot in 80 degree heat as she bit down on my shoulder like a miniature vampire.<br />
<br />
In full fury still when we returned home, she proceeded to tear her bedroom apart, upending every carefully labelled bin of stuff all over the bedroom floor.<br />
<br />
Then we put it all back into place together, as she calmed down, and eventually came to me with a proper apology. Well almost a proper apology. It was followed by a request to go out for dinner "I'll even try something new, mummy" she promised. I wasn't sure whether it was the best parenting decision to agree to this after the appalling behaviour of most of the day, but I was tired of crappy food. Decisions like this are now mine alone to mess up, so I drove the kids to fancy downtown Del Mar, to a nice Italian place with an ocean view, where we had a lovely meal. The kids were buzzing after the gelato so we quite spontaneously decided to walk down to the beach. We found a free concert going on, a scene of families dancing and picnicking along to classic rock against a backdrop of surfers and beach volleyball.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUn7Nnzaxmi_ntA1Uh4FbSoG0yeTsFZg0i4eJFdqLQPWbkxCnsUKxW-nqNLQOF9CpGxTW3WKAwSBlN9E0UusQ0c0MjmnhegHZl65WZvk_5g6LmJiTwGsfoqBBUsZZPuocCz3DnEoAJGzA/s1600/photo%252825%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUn7Nnzaxmi_ntA1Uh4FbSoG0yeTsFZg0i4eJFdqLQPWbkxCnsUKxW-nqNLQOF9CpGxTW3WKAwSBlN9E0UusQ0c0MjmnhegHZl65WZvk_5g6LmJiTwGsfoqBBUsZZPuocCz3DnEoAJGzA/s320/photo%252825%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Moments like this evening, of watching the sun slip into the ocean, watching the children glow in the warm evening light, feeling the salty breeze sift the warm air and the sand between my toes, I can imagine that we can be happy here. I can feel, for the first time, even fortunate to have been given the opportunity to try it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHG064vG61cUZQmu0V5hwMtfwR_dGkXdJBVU5zKzrn146PtnyjlqSRJYvHj161tifOOYimB_LVlCE_nP_Bt8FGDgCJK2Y25frAkRtzfFNfvJv8AMUy_ho22l_nLyak5o3oVp2Z-dgFvSU/s1600/photo(24).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHG064vG61cUZQmu0V5hwMtfwR_dGkXdJBVU5zKzrn146PtnyjlqSRJYvHj161tifOOYimB_LVlCE_nP_Bt8FGDgCJK2Y25frAkRtzfFNfvJv8AMUy_ho22l_nLyak5o3oVp2Z-dgFvSU/s320/photo(24).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKXYDnlGVByiYiFFZ4vftOTMoUYOWaf3H4Cdzbr5SPJfvV0Fm-tjUtjrmM2LN7jukmcVoFWvYmS0vX4k1rKaD_LA5ayVETLDRBcnzMFoJBPpRR7BSwe5bFn-bvEBM0d38YuZRGEku0i0/s1600/photo(23).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKXYDnlGVByiYiFFZ4vftOTMoUYOWaf3H4Cdzbr5SPJfvV0Fm-tjUtjrmM2LN7jukmcVoFWvYmS0vX4k1rKaD_LA5ayVETLDRBcnzMFoJBPpRR7BSwe5bFn-bvEBM0d38YuZRGEku0i0/s320/photo(23).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-4485547842023157942012-08-18T21:58:00.000-07:002012-08-18T22:06:34.252-07:00hello goodbye i love youI think that is what "Aloha" means.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMj7o99IG0UiwZ5dGA5cKTllDvI0vO46ZQZ4hYk2fvLesE80furvvBv_nZXgbRLKxFTN6MiyXck8qYhR5fdnJGT6CN1lQJ_I1ER4XWfbV2qwBEjcDZVM3VMkurO37XoDe8rBrtMIPIVyE/s1600/photo(20).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMj7o99IG0UiwZ5dGA5cKTllDvI0vO46ZQZ4hYk2fvLesE80furvvBv_nZXgbRLKxFTN6MiyXck8qYhR5fdnJGT6CN1lQJ_I1ER4XWfbV2qwBEjcDZVM3VMkurO37XoDe8rBrtMIPIVyE/s640/photo(20).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Not content, apparently, with moving to the beachy San Diego lifestyle, the Geekyfamily are vacationing in Maui this week too. I feel like a beach junkie. The move down to San Diego was pretty tough, but I'm proud of how we handled it. We're settled-ish now. Finding a new normal and getting into a SoCal groove. I've almost got out of the habit of carrying sweaters everywhere.<br />
<br />
Long before our world was thrown into disarray, we had spontaneously booked a family holiday to Maui. Our first proper "summer holiday" in fact, rather than a whirlwind relative visiting tour (no offense intended to lovely relatives who may be reading and whose hospitality we have much enjoyed in the past!). We debated the wisdom of going, new job for me, new expenses, more disruption. Perhaps it would be more stressful than relaxing, we wondered.<br />
<br />
You can see from the picture that the wondering stopped as soon as we got here. I'm dreadful at just being in the world. My mind is always racing ahead or pondering back. The islands are perfect for slowing time and disconnecting from the outside stuff and reconnecting with the elements and with what's inside.<br />
<br />
I wish I could just be in the world the way children are when at the beach. That I could run back and forth from the waves to the shore for hours, filled with purest glee, like Geekyboy can. That I could spend all morning bobbing like a cork in the ocean then all afternoon paddling around the pool until my fingers were prunier than prunes, like Geekygirl can. I did all of this today, I was almost there. But I had this blog post percolating in a corner of my mind most of the time.<br />
<br />
I was marveling at the perfection of the day. Beaches are always wonderful, children always have fun, even when the water is chilly, the sand has scratchy pebbles, and piles of fly infested seaweed assault their nostrils, but the beaches here in Maui are beaches from dreams. The water is the clearest, sparkling, dappling blue, with flashes of silver fishies under the gently breaking waves. The beach slopes gently, no sudden drop offs that leave you suddenly out of your depth. It is bracketed with rock pools perfect for exploring. The sand is not only silky smooth underfoot, it also forms solid, satisfying castles. The weather is perfect. Warm, but not stifling, with just enough breeze and humidity to mingle the scents of plumeria blossoms and ocean spray into an aroma uniquely Hawaii.<br />
<br />
Thoughts flashed by as I tried to just be in the world. Chasing the children along the shallow shorebreak. "Wish I had time for a pedicure, my toenails look shabby. Why do we women have to spend so much time on ridiculous grooming? When did unmanicured toenails become embarrassing? Wish I hadn't spent so many years worrying about how I look in a bathing suit. Every year I'll look worse than the year before, so I'm going to be happy with how I appear right now. The 70 year old me will look back fondly on this 41 year old body. Forty one. I'm forty one. Midlife, give or take a year or two, I expect. If I'm lucky. How do I want to live the rest of my years?"<br />
<br />
I once read that as parents we have become obsessed with setting our kids up for a good future, with figuring out what they should learn (Mandarin or Cantonese? Yoga or Tai Chi, Modern Dance or graphic art?), when what we can really give to them that matters is something more elusive. A happy childhood. I'm one of the lucky ones in that I really did have that myself. The beaches of my early childhood may have been those of the north east and the south west of England, beautiful, but at the time littered with crisp packets and fag ends, and so bracing that we built sand castles in our winter coats, but still they formed the foundation of happy memories.<br />
<br />
As I watched my little pale skinned kids slowly bronzing through their factor 50, delighting in the pure sensations of sand and water, I felt satisfied that this week we really are providing them with those happy memories, burned by ultraviolet into their synapses. Like the new freckles that have sprung from the activation of the pigmention genes in their skin, something tangible about this experience will remain with them even as time marches on.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7XCw3H4mPXYBc7A7i8jgMKHLFUgbslmdWTtek7V1T8DJA2ldmO4Jyoajbp17cO7Tt4Hgr797rx26DLrDUftXloetKb1sfHKDIuS6WxL0TxMBbtaqYnUkUcCVyJ0xpt3vtFQL3sH-1qg/s1600/photo(21).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7XCw3H4mPXYBc7A7i8jgMKHLFUgbslmdWTtek7V1T8DJA2ldmO4Jyoajbp17cO7Tt4Hgr797rx26DLrDUftXloetKb1sfHKDIuS6WxL0TxMBbtaqYnUkUcCVyJ0xpt3vtFQL3sH-1qg/s320/photo(21).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-67059109657433153812012-07-03T21:57:00.000-07:002012-07-04T09:05:44.626-07:00superwoman?I often feel trepidation when I see an article, like the much commented upon piece in last week's Atlantic magazine, <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/07/why-women-still-can-8217-t-have-it-all/9020/">suggesting that women can't have it all.</a> Don't buy into it, I tell myself. Just work harder, be better organized, eat healthier, do more yoga, you can be a supermom and a rising star in the office too. But as I read through this article (its a long one but worth reading through) I felt stabs of recognition. She points out that being a full time working mum is probably too hard for most people to do. She compares us to people who work full time and also run marathons, but points out the other people don't look at us with the awe they reserve for marathon runners.<br />
<br />
I'm not as successful yet as the author, Anne-Marie Slaughter, first woman director of policy planning at the State Department, but I do put in long hours on someone else's schedule. My weekends combine laundry, errands, grocery shopping and household tasks with wholesome fun family activities, as weekdays are tied to the office. Like the author, I have a supportive husband, particularly when it comes to taking over when I have business travel, but like I her I have come to realize that this is necessary but not sufficient. The lion's share of the sundry but critical tasks; finding summer camps, laundry, weekend classes, buying clothes, laundry, getting hair cut, making dentists appointments, laundry, keeping the social calender, buying birthday gifts, and did I say laundry?, all default to me.<br />
<br />
The article gratified and validated me, in a way. By reading it I recognized that I am actually pretty awesome. The fact that I have more than just kept my head above water for the past six years, that I've had success at work, that the kids are strong and happy and doing well, and that I have even contributed a little to the community through the PTA and the preschool parent steering group and I have fought my figure back to its pre-baby dimensions, give or take a droop here and there, puts me in a fairly elite group of women. The fact that I am disappointed in myself that I haven't yet had time to train for a marathon or take up triathalon makes me see that perhaps I expect a little too much of myself.<br />
<br />
It also made me feel very tired. The kids are 4 and 6. I am still working relentlessly. I plan on doing this for many more years, since I love what I do, but I'm only just starting to realize that as the children get older they actually require more, not less of me.<br />
<br />
In preparation for this move to San Diego I have a little hiatus from the nine to five (more like eight to six) of office life. I have no actual office to go to at the moment, and though I have to keep up with email and call into the occasional meeting my main 'job' is to get us situated in our new location. Suddenly having a bit more time on my hands is disorienting. I now recognize that I've been on a treadmill for years. A smooth, steady predictable one, thanks to expertly executed routines, but one going at an unforgiving pace. Any unexpected hitches would surely have sent me flying off the back and grappling for the supports, but there haven't been too many. Now it has slowed down temporarily and I'm breathing a little easier and looking around a little more. <br />
<br />
<br />
I've taken Geekygirl to a movie, Geekyboy to the petting zoo and myself to the Jean-Paul Gaultier exhibit at the De Young. I have taken bags of old clothes to goodwill. I have brushed the dog almost every day. I still seem to spend an inordinate amount of time doing laundry.<br />
<br />
We are starting a new life in San Diego, and I'm going to try and set the treadmill moving a little more slowly. I'm going to take afternoons off to go to the movies with the kids. I'm going to use my vacation days. I'm going to hire a nanny/household helper so that I don't have to do laundry all weekend. I'm only forty one. I have long career stretching ahead, there will be a lot I can achieve in the next fifteen to twenty years, but at the moment I have two amazing little kids, and we will be living in one of the most child friendly and beautiful spots in the world. Season passes for legoland and sea world, here we come! And just perhaps a triathalon training program too.geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-88375234664846254502012-06-25T15:38:00.000-07:002012-06-25T15:38:06.245-07:00Entropy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQMwgrZBJ6VvxSEITDL5xlmeLRQs5W2ulaCLLnG8ZkekA56jZURK1l1Z5VSXQHFErDFDmrTAwcEQUZRGlVpSDXiJqfXdqLxm7CO4182l5L7JvokAaoydqsl-d9JMf2wEndVooLExOfIOs/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQMwgrZBJ6VvxSEITDL5xlmeLRQs5W2ulaCLLnG8ZkekA56jZURK1l1Z5VSXQHFErDFDmrTAwcEQUZRGlVpSDXiJqfXdqLxm7CO4182l5L7JvokAaoydqsl-d9JMf2wEndVooLExOfIOs/s400/photo(1).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Entropy is the measure of the number of ways a system can be arranged. A system with high entropy is one with disorder, and all systems trend towards states of high entropy. I find it reassuring to know that the natural state of the universe is chaos. It's not just my poor housekeeping.<br />
<br />
I was thinking of entropy as I embarked this weekend upon the mammoth task of sorting out the children's toys bins. Now, I have a natty IKEA arrangement of plastic bin shelving, optimistically labeled "dolls", "vehicles", "animals" etc but in reality, whenever I clear the floor of toys, I sweep everything into random bins, so what we actually have is a state of extreme disorder. Tubs filled of pet shop animals, stuffed animals, squinkies, superheros, bits of lego, brio, playmobil, matchbox cars, dolls clothes, my little pony grooming tools, polly pocket ice cream sundaes, mardi gras beads, hair clips, plastic food, maps from the zoo, playing cards and home made valentines. To my shame I even found a melted and reformed packet of chocolate buttons lurking in one of them the other day.<br />
<br />
Since "entropy is proportional to the natural logarithm of the number of
possible microscopic configurations of the individual atoms and
molecules of the system" (thanks wikipedia), I was even pondering if it might be possibly to mathematically describe the state of the children's bedroom, and identify the probability of a child being able to find (for example) the tail light of a lego safari jeep in the morass of plastic.<br />
<br />
I know some people who manage to keep every kit in its original state, never losing even a single puzzle piece or a playmobil persons hair. A friend of mine who falls into this category even sells this <a href="http://www.tricksack.com/">cool product</a> which can indeed do wonders for organization if you actually put your toys in it, and put one thing away before playing with another. I suspect though that anyone who has more than one child, and who, when the children are quiet and occupying themselves prefers to get on with some adult activities like blogging or lying on the couch drinking wine, often returns to a previously organized room to find that the kids have decided that all the puzzle pieces, barbie shoes and lego cubes are food for the imaginary raccoons that live in the linen closet, and have mixed all these items together in a pillowcase.<br />
<br />
This weekend I tipped everything the kids own into a giant pile. The pile resembled those bundles of plastic flotsam floating depressingly in the ocean. I was quite horrified at how much plastic crap we own. I spent several hours categorizing everything, tossing quite a lot of things in the trash, and restoring order to chaos. Entire kits were made whole again. I even found the tail light of the lego jeep.<br />
<br />
I realized as I sorted that our stuffed animal collection is quite out of control. The main culprit has been my frequent business travel. I got into the habit of picking up a gift every time I went away, since my trips were fairly infrequent. In recent months though, I have been going down to our San Diego office twice a month or more, and the collection of plush aquatic and zoo animals from the SAN airport shop has grown exponentially. I've alluded previously to big changes afoot in the geekyhousehold, and this reorganization is a prelude to this change. The increasingly frequent trips to San Diego were a foreshadowing. My company has closed its bay area office, and made me an offer to move to San Diego. This weekend's clean up was performed in preparation for a big move.<br />
<br />
Two career families are often faced with hard choices. Statistically, women more often choose to forgo opportunities that require relocation in favor of keeping families together, and this likely contributes to the stark attrition of women in the upper echelons of organizations, as mobility can be key to success. Faced with this decision myself, I can understand the dilemma.<br />
<br />
But for many reasons, and not because I don't want to be another depressing statistic, in a few short weeks the kids and I are moving south. Since Geekydaddy's job is in the bay area he is staying up here for the time being, and will join us only on weekends. I still can't quite actually believe that I am going to leave my beloved San Francisco. I can only hope that we are not moving towards chaos and that I can continue to keep my head above water in our new environment. Wish me luck!<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-23732979220509452902012-05-27T20:22:00.001-07:002012-05-27T20:26:05.061-07:00Ch-Ch-ChangesWe have been stable for so long. In our beloved San Francisco home in our perfect neighborhood. Spending winter and summer weekends at our place in Tahoe. Sure, jobs have changed, kids have grown, we have made new friends, but fundamentally we have been grounded for a long time now.<br />
<br />
This year things are changing. Really changing profoundly for the first time since I got on flight VS019 with my two suitcases and headed out from Heathrow into the unknown that was San Francisco.<br />
<br />
Part of this change means that this weekend we are preparing our Tahoe home for sale. Last night, just like countless Friday nights past, we packed up the car, picked up burritos and headed west on I80. We arrived at the house late and I carried the sleeping children into the house. This act of lifting first Geekygirl, then Geekyboy from their car seats, carrying them into the waiting house and lowering them into their beds is one which never fails to trigger the "poignancy of the passage of time" button in me. "How did you get so big?" I think to myself every single time. The weight of each child gets greater and greater as the weekends have built into years while my arms still vividly remember both of them as featherweight babies.<br />
<br />
Today we drove over the mountains to Reno to pick up a U-haul truck. I still remember the first time I saw the Sierra Nevada range. My English country sensibilities quite flabbergasted by the vastness, by the sheer scale of this edge of California. Today every curve of the road is familiar, the mountains still breathtaking but now part of the fabric of my world. I have watched the seasons pass over them year after year. I always think, when I coast up and down the freeway in my powerful car, of the pioneers who navigated here in horse drawn wagons. People who left everything behind in search of a new and better life. I like to imagine that I would have done that, had I been born there and then, instead of now. That I was always destined to be a Californian.<br />
<br />
The realtor brought people to look at the house as we were filling bags and boxes for relocation, recycling and rubbish. It seems so very recent still, the day that Geekydaddy and I went house hunting with this same realtor. So many moments in our lives get lost in time, but the day we saw this place first, back in 2004, sticks brightly in my memory. We knew, the minute we walked in, that despite the walls decorated with stuffed animal heads and pelts, and the table devoted to fishing lure construction, that the place was meant to be ours. So many happy times, and a few hard ones too, if I"m being honest, have passed since then. I've been re-reading my old posts, and have linked a few Tahoe related ones <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2011/07/i-love-to-ride-my-bicycle.html">here</a>, <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2009/09/first-hike-of-summer-on-last-day-of.html">here </a>and <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2009/12/cat-who-almost-ruined-christmas.html">here</a>. <br />
<br />
Mountain weather is a good analogy for life. We have desires, hopes and plans but can't rely on many of them actually coming to fruition quite the way we pictured them. Last weekend we basked on our sunny deck, all bikinis and paddling pools, but this weekend we awoke to snow, and steady flakes have been falling all day putting pay to our desire for a farewell barbeque. Our lives are changing. We're taking a path that we didn't plan for or choose, but that nevertheless will offer opportunity.<br />
<br />
Analogies have been filling my head. Through the whirling storm against the windshield wipers I considered the analogy of life as a snow globe. We have been given a good shake up over the last few weeks. But when a snow globe restores itself after an upending, the scene returns to where it was before. Perhaps a better analogy is a kaleidoscope. The basic components of our family and life remain the same but they are being twisted and shaken into a new form. Our life will be new, it will be different, but it will still be beautiful.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeg6KLkc1nLD6g46DBWI7HUuY_giY_PMt1NELiODivK0n_Ibc8kOxyiIQsVnIkRvfnTyNWJoFInLTyp5LL3kJHILUH_3QAyqSKiiRSAbk_CD1kJXsOzOsCJ1aipLuRGllS1kGXDVvpBo/s1600/kaleidoscope1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeg6KLkc1nLD6g46DBWI7HUuY_giY_PMt1NELiODivK0n_Ibc8kOxyiIQsVnIkRvfnTyNWJoFInLTyp5LL3kJHILUH_3QAyqSKiiRSAbk_CD1kJXsOzOsCJ1aipLuRGllS1kGXDVvpBo/s320/kaleidoscope1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-85116295035933174262012-05-19T17:27:00.002-07:002012-05-19T17:27:30.742-07:00growing upGeekyboy doesn't want to grow up. He tells me so occasionally and quite poignantly. I think he knows that he has to eventually and that it won't be as good an experience as the here and now of being four years old. Every now and again he will sigh, look at me and say "mummy, do I have to grow up? I don't want to grow up."<br />
<br />
I suspect this reluctance to accept the inevitable progression through life is part why we have one big hold out issue with his maturation. Ready for a confession? Geekyboy, who is almost four and a half, still asks for a pull-up to poop in. He has gone on the potty precisely once, and was not enamored of the experience. (He jumped off too soon and got a little poop on the bathroom floor). We talk a lot about him getting to be a big boy, big enough to use the toilet, or even the throne-like potty chair I got especially for him, but he always replies "But mummy, four is not a big number. It's actually quite a small number". Which is hard to argue with.<br />
<br />
His sister talks a lot about what she might like to be when she grows up. She is proud of her new grown up teeth, of her ability to read. She loves being six and can't wait to be seven. Kindergarten was awesome and first grade will be even better. While Geekygirl ponders the relative advantages of veterinary medicine over restaurant ownership as career options, Geekyboy will state "I want to be a giraffe when I grow up", or "I want to be Mama Odie" (from 'the princess and the frog). He doesn't quite yet seem to grasp that though we do grow and change quite dramatically as we age, we can't switch species or turn into animated characters.<br />
<br />
It was after a lovely lunch out with the kids that I got another insight into his funny little mind. We had been having a conversation about growing up, when he turned to me and said. "I don't want to be anything when I grow up. I just want to always be Geekyboy".<br />
<br />
I realized then that the concept of growing up to be a man like his daddy is so alien and unimaginable to him that in his mind it is just as reasonable that he might one day turn into a giraffe. I explained that he would always be himself. That all adults were once little children, and all little children become adults. Boy to man is a journey wrought with challenges though, so perhaps geekyboy is wise beyond his years in wanting to slow down time. It is hard for me to imagine him grown. I can only hope that the sweetness, sensitivity and openness he has now at four survive intact as he grows into his adult personality.<br />
<br />
<br />
.<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-23691669804974623212012-05-12T20:59:00.002-07:002012-05-12T20:59:57.627-07:00Birds, bees and puppiesIt was a parenting moment that I knew was going to come, but still, I was not quite expecting it. I should have been. The children have always been very interested in nature, animals and life itself. We have recently been reading a lovely book about mammals an animal and asking me to guess what it is, using various definitions of the members of the vertebrate class of life, such as "it drinks it's mother milk" "it comes from an egg", "it has scales" or "it is warm blooded". Being a biologist myself, I am delighted with their fascination and with their precocious knowledge. Though I admit to being shamefully stumped when asked if fish were warm blooded. I'm not sure. If anyone knows, please feel free to enlighten me!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zxob_HJQWdBuaO8OCcwQ66Uf2ojU4zk1gsCe1LftFrmjqyWH_RVhYdLUNCb_UBL9Msrgj3OrvklslJJ22QK5o4xm1qHtXueiwX3neYxSPiJBsus1MYH2lk-yBfIml62GLEYVruX8b5Y/s1600/photo(19).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-zxob_HJQWdBuaO8OCcwQ66Uf2ojU4zk1gsCe1LftFrmjqyWH_RVhYdLUNCb_UBL9Msrgj3OrvklslJJ22QK5o4xm1qHtXueiwX3neYxSPiJBsus1MYH2lk-yBfIml62GLEYVruX8b5Y/s320/photo(19).JPG" width="320" /></a>So I shouldn't have been surprised really, when, over spaghetti and hot dogs, Geekyboy asked me "When will Geekydog have a puppy grow in her tummy?". I explained that since we didn't have a boy dog, she wouldn't be having any puppies. Geekygirl then asked in all innocent curiosity "Why do you need a boy dog to make puppies?"<br />
<br />
I froze for a second. Then decided that this was a good a time as any for an explanation of the mechanics of procreation. The kids already know how babies get out, but had not shown any curiosity about they got in until now. Having one child of each sex means that they are familiar with basic anatomy at least, and the fact that I was talking about dogs made it more of a biology lesson than a personal story about what mummy and daddy get up to. It went quite well. Geekygirl's eyes widened as I explained but she accepted the concept without shock or horror. I asked her if she had any questions. Being a San Franciscan born and raised the question she came out with was "but what about kids with two mommies? How do they get a baby?". So we ended up covering sperm donation, IVF and regular sex all in one evening!<br />
<br />
I hope this is the beginning of many conversations we have with the children about sex and relationships. Though I had all the basic information I needed about my body as I grew up, subjects like desire and sexual exploration were off limits as a dinner time conversation topic in our Catholic household. The rules were clear, we were to remain virginal until we married a nice Catholic boy, preferably after graduating college. There won't be so many external rules for our kids, but I want to instill certain values. Respect yourself. Respect others. Take responsibility for your health and your feelings, and those of your partners. Enjoy yourself while you figure it out. And know that you can come to us with absolutely any question, worry or fear that you may have.geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-55957573841311604852012-05-02T22:00:00.000-07:002012-05-02T22:07:03.333-07:00there goes another year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5xwDMquTOuTVXSLWXlGpGhWZT7nTiirxTTlwmgqDJVtHOfxFW6MQaaP3Sb0A0xeLJkzpPK_SSS0HrRrIoE_Usnc8tRI19b5JTo-1JAcSqVaRmXb2ois2bOMG9PuWS3wWkejkcbHhvBY/s1600/photo(16).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5xwDMquTOuTVXSLWXlGpGhWZT7nTiirxTTlwmgqDJVtHOfxFW6MQaaP3Sb0A0xeLJkzpPK_SSS0HrRrIoE_Usnc8tRI19b5JTo-1JAcSqVaRmXb2ois2bOMG9PuWS3wWkejkcbHhvBY/s320/photo(16).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvJL4oaXIRLfZykxoy73DNOTTPudvlQPf4Msh84TAQT7hrjNqMik_3OVEivAGMNgi4y5EDOyBF1SZXzSd0dTahFfdyh67MiT5qQEy0uhHNnEE31WqLLHbJySXJqdreXnekg9hV2MKaq0/s1600/photo(17).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvJL4oaXIRLfZykxoy73DNOTTPudvlQPf4Msh84TAQT7hrjNqMik_3OVEivAGMNgi4y5EDOyBF1SZXzSd0dTahFfdyh67MiT5qQEy0uhHNnEE31WqLLHbJySXJqdreXnekg9hV2MKaq0/s320/photo(17).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It has been a long time since I wrote anything. If you are still reading, thanks for hanging in there! Life just hit that level of busy where blogging fell off the priority list. I last posted just before the kids birthdays in February. I found myself blocked while trying to write the annual 'there goes another year ' update. Much as I love when others write endearingly of their growing children, and much as I adore my kids, I found myself unable to come out with any sincere or satisfying happy birthday posts. The fact that they turned 6 and 4 within a few days of each other and that the intervening time was filled with a business trip to Japan and China, that their fairly elaborate party was two days before I left, and that I had to generate 60 home made valentine cards for them to take to school/preschool before leaving for the trip made the week too overwhelming to write about. The fact that we survived it, and that everyone had a wonderful time has to go down in old fashioned memory, and a couple of facebook status updates, rather than in insightful prose.<br />
<br />
What has pulled me back into writing again is that we are spending the weekend in Monterey, exactly a year from the <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2011/05/helter-skelter.html">last time we made this same trip.</a> I'm running in a marathon relay with my co-workers (I run seven miles, not a whole marathon, I hasten to add), and brought the family down for a little mini break in this idyllic California tourist town. We are in an identical motel room, I think it is actually the room next door to the one we had last year, we ate an identical breakfast at the same Denny's restaurant (waffles. Geekygirl actually had waffles for 4 of the 6 meals we ate on the trip!) and spent another beautiful day at the aquarium. We dined at the same Mexican restaurant we went to last year with the rest of my co-workers, and again I got up at 4am to catch the bus to my relay race starting point, wondering again what on earth possessed me to sign up for this venture. <br />
<br />
I'm not a very "in the moment" person. My head is usually recreating the past into ever rolling reinvented versions of the future. On the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myers-Briggs_Type_Indicator">Meyers Brigg"</a>, if you are familiar with that personality type tool, I'm an extreme "N', iNtuitive, living in the world of possibilities and connections, and not at all Sensing, grounded in reality and concrete things. The only time I get peace from my mind is when I run. There is something about the simple awareness of lungs, heart and muscle connecting with air and ground. Noticing the adrenaline kicking in and lifting my old joints into fluidity. Feeling the sun prickle my skin as the sweat rises. (In California. In Scotland it was the biting, icy wind). It was training for this event last year that reignited my dormant running addiction, and I feel quite satisfied that I'm going into it this year feeling strong and trained.<br />
<br />
It was running that started me blogging. Analyzing events and retelling
them to myself as stories in my head as I ran, I realized that I wanted
to write them out so that I didn't lose all these moments to time. <br />
<br />
I have used running to meditate through a lot of changes this year. Coming full circle back to Monterey in what seems like the blink of an eye has me turning them over in my mind again. Geekydaddy quit the business he was trying to start and took a new job, one that he loves but that makes huge demands on his time and mental energy. Geekygirl started Kindergarten at a wonderful, but challenging inner city school that makes demands on mine. My company merged the San Francisco office with the one in San Diego into a "one company/two locations" model, bringing with it the stress of forced change, rivalries, opportunities and the logistical issues of working with people in an office 500 miles away. I have become a regular on the Virgin America early flight from SFO to SAN, and the children now have more toys from that city's airport gift store than I had ever thought possible to buy. <br />
<br />
The kids were delighted to be back here in Monterey. For them it is a treat, pure and simple, and they are thrilled with the novelty of a trip away from home, tinged with the familiarity of a place we have been to before, a place of happy memories. It was a weekend of simple pleasures. Time with mummy and daddy. Motel beds to jump between, jellyfish to look at, sand to play in, french fries and waffles to eat. Sure, mummy and daddy spent part of an afternoon working in the hotel room fending off dive bombing bed bouncers, but all in all it made for a lovely family weekend. I'm fascinated that the kids have both hit that age when they will form permanent memories. Forty, fifty or more years from now they will still remember this motel room in Monterey, and these trips to the amazing aquarium, much as I remember the little hotel in Maidencombe with the swing in the garden and the too deep swimming pool, and the red sandy beaches of Torquay from the holidays of my childhood. <br />
<br />
That's what this blog is about for me. Preserving memories, feelings, moments in time. There is always something to write about. Recently I have felt that I haven't had time to write well enough to justify posting, worried that I will throw down posts that I cringe at years later, but I have decided today that doesn't matter. Writing it down is what matters. On that note I hereby apologize in advance for any mindless drivel that appears here in the near future.geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-17330184973498103472012-03-04T15:02:00.000-08:002012-03-04T15:04:26.662-08:00Silent Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYAq2gK5kHZoCgCaUOUV3mp_T1CEuPQ7qU3kF3iN5jXykPg7XfjqTAcG61f4v0Xxegyl0xAFWwdNjHfxaXjESN0IBBVXgdmWc54oox5yAopLEHU4a9wMZgDc8RrOwFkyJ7Zx9KVfikYg/s1600/photo(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYAq2gK5kHZoCgCaUOUV3mp_T1CEuPQ7qU3kF3iN5jXykPg7XfjqTAcG61f4v0Xxegyl0xAFWwdNjHfxaXjESN0IBBVXgdmWc54oox5yAopLEHU4a9wMZgDc8RrOwFkyJ7Zx9KVfikYg/s400/photo(3).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://draft.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.mochabeaniemummy.com/silent-sunday/%22%20%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.mochabeaniemummy.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Silent-Sunday-Badge-SMALL-1.jpg%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22Silent%20Sunday%22">Silent Sunday</a><br />
<a href="http://loveallblogs.com/silent-sunday-04-03-12/">Link up here</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-6668495990121029062012-02-25T21:34:00.001-08:002012-02-25T21:34:29.277-08:00Silent SundaySilent Sunday is back!<br />
Link up here<br />
loveallblogs.com/silent-sunday-linky/#respond<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvMZ26JNKcTUwIXc2KVwtNnU76WhdwWz5fCu09hICPJq53e0IFDBtw6aV2swVqMf_gZrteVqjv8YRIZKu5FNFnghyphenhyphenA4vhoLAULZr8I8rZihL-DH79xV2oY3HNHm4d4cU9JcmPtlmKGbig/s640/blogger-image-546570583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvMZ26JNKcTUwIXc2KVwtNnU76WhdwWz5fCu09hICPJq53e0IFDBtw6aV2swVqMf_gZrteVqjv8YRIZKu5FNFnghyphenhyphenA4vhoLAULZr8I8rZihL-DH79xV2oY3HNHm4d4cU9JcmPtlmKGbig/s640/blogger-image-546570583.jpg" /></a></div>geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comPotrero San Francisco37.752659 -122.404593tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-68048202652468804222012-02-05T12:31:00.000-08:002012-02-05T12:31:02.526-08:00Party Karma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjajY0wF2AThQPpjRgUX02oGhzH9KAnPqbXL2FsxnX4uLu-VKPzeUHw5kLJPKqsRC0rqvcGm6ba5Hxu3tyPm2QvwIyKmcIvy_ZVMmMazLfxsqROOgq-_GjG9brnBzY9hKLf0hl6vt6EBCw/s1600/photo(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjajY0wF2AThQPpjRgUX02oGhzH9KAnPqbXL2FsxnX4uLu-VKPzeUHw5kLJPKqsRC0rqvcGm6ba5Hxu3tyPm2QvwIyKmcIvy_ZVMmMazLfxsqROOgq-_GjG9brnBzY9hKLf0hl6vt6EBCw/s320/photo(14).JPG" width="270" /></a></div>
<br />
My calender for this weekend was blissfully empty. Given that it is bracketed by day trips to San Diego on Friday and Monday I was grateful. I've nothing against San Diego, indeed it is very pleasant down there, but it is rather a long commute.<br />
<br />
I had the ability to be spontaneous, but was lacking in inspiration, so I just I took the kids to a new playground near our house. This was, until recently, one of the shabbiest little spots in the neighbourhood, a dirty sand pit with a flaky metal climber and a couple of hazardous swings. Back in my pre-kid days it was the spot where I would meet up with a rag tag bunch of dog owners on a Friday night. We would share wine in paper cups, and let our dogs wrestle in the sand pit. Now it is full of serenely beautiful couples toting gorgeous children with the kind of complex Bay Area ethnicity that will render them unlikely to ever be checking a single box on the census forms. <br />
<br />
We were heading home, enjoying the January sun, when we saw a bouncy house being inflated. Though I recognize that having a party at a local park is a fun and economical way to celebrate, I always get a sinking feeling when our chosen play spot happens to have a party going on. My kids love bounce houses. Ordinarily quite satisfied with the slides and swings, they will mope and whine and ignore everything on the playground, itching to bounce with the party kids.<br />
<br />
As I walked past it I noticed a few kids I knew flying down the inflatable slide, Then a few more. Then I spied several families who I know really well, who waved and beckoned as if they were expecting to see me. I realized I was looking at most of the parents and children in Geekygirl's class.<br />
<br />
Geekygirl tugged at my sleeve. "Mommy, Jasmine gave me an invitation last week, to her birthday!" she said. I didn't recall digging any such item out of her backpack, though on reflection I haven't actually emptied the backpack for several days. I then vaguely recollected an email, and a face book invitation to this exact occasion. Such serendipity on the back of such scheduling failure! Still, I was un-made up, barely respectably dressed, and of course without a gift for the birthday girl. I confessed to the hosts that I had totally forgotten about the party, and they of course insisted that we stay. Geekygirl had set out that morning in a tutu and tights, and was quite appropriately attired. Perhaps that is a good strategy to adopt. Always dress as if you might unexpectedly find yourself at a birthday party.<br />
<br />
Or perhaps a better strategy would be to get important social events into my calender. This faux pas falls on the back of two recent "booking the babysitter for the wrong night" mistakes, and one "showing up for a party on the wrong day" disaster. I am really quite well organized in the workplace, but haven't seemed to translate that over to my social calender. Do you think my friends will think it strange if I ask them to send me outlook calender invitations for anything they expect me to show up at?!geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-85715944551722617242011-12-29T19:25:00.000-08:002011-12-29T19:43:54.914-08:00What I wore Wednesday (or "i'm too old for stripper heels")I just discovered <a href="http://transatlanticblonde.blogspot.com/">a great blog </a>by an American mum and feminist living in the UK.<br />
<br />
She has a linky for "what I wore Wednesday" (because even feminists care what they wear).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiCM9TsOjMjb0MPVI2xk-JETmIPqOcMc5gGlGmOjSSQvYXPX_VV6CSWZA3LNtU-LSOOwjH2z1BqDvw1SxfTr336Y7cVF2cX-K-AYIyEErM4KqK-bfXNNZs-RXciBoaaNdK_CipQTNOgE/s1600/WhatIWoreWednesday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiCM9TsOjMjb0MPVI2xk-JETmIPqOcMc5gGlGmOjSSQvYXPX_VV6CSWZA3LNtU-LSOOwjH2z1BqDvw1SxfTr336Y7cVF2cX-K-AYIyEErM4KqK-bfXNNZs-RXciBoaaNdK_CipQTNOgE/s200/WhatIWoreWednesday.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I'd been looking for the opportunity to blog about my outfit choice for our company holiday party, and couldn't resist joining in.<br />
<br />
I have become completely addicted to the classic Diane Von Furstenburg wrap dress. Thanks to a steady supply of barely worn ones showing up on eBay I now have quite a collection, and I chose this racy little backless number for the work party, (with strategic spanx and a solid backless bustier for added dancing confidence). Going backless to the party was a last minute gut decision. I took a chance that I am now well respected enough at work for my scientific and strategic insights to reveal to my peers and superiors that I have a large tattoo of the San Francisco skyline across my shoulder blades.<br />
<br />
To complete the look I picked up this seasons must have; spangled platform stiletto heels, footwear that can only be described as 'stripper shoes'. It was a good do, and as the wine and music flowed I shook my stuff out on the dance floor as if I was twenty five again. My knees, however, are forty one, and ever since the party they have been feeling rather decrepit. I am rather annoyed with myself for tweaking my knees before ski season has even got started and I suspect knee injuries are an occupational hazard in the world of the exotic dancer.<br />
<br />
I got so many compliments though, including a heartfelt expression that I looked way too glamourous to be a pharmacologist, that it may have been worth it. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAnEa-5Ywf7m8xLf_90HrEy6UxZg_Efc6pbBgtwcLkhxTiqgBKUYsyHUFbfGTHl-OXHG_lG6kyvSDZa-8q1jGgGmuEVOtRsveNZBetlbkwymXerq-_MRunOhHnSxNuqRt5h4yIkVNnqzs/s1600/IMG_0149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAnEa-5Ywf7m8xLf_90HrEy6UxZg_Efc6pbBgtwcLkhxTiqgBKUYsyHUFbfGTHl-OXHG_lG6kyvSDZa-8q1jGgGmuEVOtRsveNZBetlbkwymXerq-_MRunOhHnSxNuqRt5h4yIkVNnqzs/s320/IMG_0149.JPG" width="125" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkekS9xmMllnGVzxEP6mfDqK9UwsKvQzktDXGrol__VrcbwMImRJteOV0ua0tAgX_Ql93eOHeyAK7U6aSsDCvkJKAXW60joQptajaeo0Rx3szmlLMgtboXyOFjqPQlw4AP_FmMZXQV3k/s1600/IMG_0147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkekS9xmMllnGVzxEP6mfDqK9UwsKvQzktDXGrol__VrcbwMImRJteOV0ua0tAgX_Ql93eOHeyAK7U6aSsDCvkJKAXW60joQptajaeo0Rx3szmlLMgtboXyOFjqPQlw4AP_FmMZXQV3k/s320/IMG_0147.JPG" width="119" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-15001048498294648562011-12-24T21:53:00.000-08:002011-12-24T21:53:46.832-08:00Looks like we made it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GYdhRfkDw1YJdLubP_4Io3b5JVPKWapzke4Z1zJJovofpWWUa7Il3QzFAGF9a4aBjYOXe7MwwzaO3KNkdNlDhVS4c84YkzHn9TZ0h31rdsaAmjU6EP2D__Zq5uUD-uYDtV7Qe4hQhMY/s1600/photo%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GYdhRfkDw1YJdLubP_4Io3b5JVPKWapzke4Z1zJJovofpWWUa7Il3QzFAGF9a4aBjYOXe7MwwzaO3KNkdNlDhVS4c84YkzHn9TZ0h31rdsaAmjU6EP2D__Zq5uUD-uYDtV7Qe4hQhMY/s320/photo%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
I wasn't sure, this year, if we would get here. To a peaceful Christmas eve in the mountains, with the presents found, bought, delivered, wrapped and waiting to be put under our eclectically decorated tre. <br />
<br />
With two cats and a dog and two kids all safely transported across
California to the beautiful, though almost snowless mountains.<br />
<br />
With gifts from from us to others actually chosen with thought and care, though mainly shipped by amazon, nestled under other people's trees. Although the photo books I made well advance for shipment to the Grandparents mysteriously disappeared, leaving me digging though ever more bizarre places (my company's dry cleaning closet being the most recent) as I began to believe I had only imagined that I had ever even seen them. They finally appeared last night as we packed the car, in a hidey hole beneath the extra set of back seats. They will not be arriving until the new year.<br />
<br />
With a
dare I say almost perfect fruit cake sitting proudly on the counter.<br />
<br />
The marzipan figures are rather amateur compared to to the
creations of some of my facebook friends (seriously, some of you should
bake for a living), but the kids are quite happy with my creation,
especially the tiny marzipan avatar of the dog gamboling in the snow.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajXBT2_CIj-OSWAYzKqYT22Lt8aoaQ16lVNMorNMGJjjslBkJWeeuyFlzeSwpUeoWTMsTqLNqQx0L0eUouPXOp44vW-naOsa2VacARB3uPgJujrk30WHyRba5PQDxww_427SijfpZ91g/s1600/photo%252812%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajXBT2_CIj-OSWAYzKqYT22Lt8aoaQ16lVNMorNMGJjjslBkJWeeuyFlzeSwpUeoWTMsTqLNqQx0L0eUouPXOp44vW-naOsa2VacARB3uPgJujrk30WHyRba5PQDxww_427SijfpZ91g/s320/photo%252812%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Our tree, however, is a perfect story book fir, a thickly prickly deep
green cone. It is decorated with a mixture of gorgeous danish filigree
ornaments (thanks to my mother-in-law's excellent Christmas taste), and a hotchpotch of other items; precious preschool offerings, some wooden jungle animals, the mini mirrored disco balls I picked up in the Haight a few years back, my beloved disembodied cat heads, a variety of spangled vehicles and, the new additions, a couple
of crocheted octopi from a recent craft fair.<br />
<br />
The children love the tree so much. Already they remember the familiar ornaments from years past, unravelling the paper towels I wrapped them in the previous January with delight. Geekygirl is now a very opinionated decorator, and Geekyboy, just shy of four, looks at the tree reverently, and says "it is so beautiful, mummy". <br />
<br />
The past few months have been so very busy. A new job for Geekydaddy has meant he is home past eight every might. Real school for Geekygirl is bringing homework, PTA and other obligations. Stressful changes at my work have been occupying my mind and my time.<br />
<br />
Halloween hit, and since then I have barely had time to breathe, slamming things into my to do lists and checking them off, hardly gaining satisfaction from completing one task as so many more were waiting, but snatching breaths of pleasure and tiny moments of zen, along with family photos, whenever I could. <br />
<br />
It seems that we have made it here, intact, to the end of the year. The last window of the advent calender has been opened (the fact that I remembered to bring it up here a miracle in itself), the rice pudding portion of the Danish "ris alamande" is prepared, waiting to be whipped into a fluffy delicious dessert that is unrivaled by any English pudding. A slice of cake, satisfyingly moist and perfect at that first cut, is waiting for Santa. The children, thrilled to have a seemingly endless eight days free from their
regular routines. have made paper chains which are cheering our
windows (Thanks Grandma and Grandad) They were so happy and relaxed today that they actually asked to go to bed. <br />
<br />
And I have even completed this blog post, which feels in itself like a great big sigh of relief. <br />
<br />
Happy Christmas, everyone.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlKBhUOqft0DjFu0N6H9EoR3tEnUrZ4zwUwkcShPNewXENzmBoEaglhDrJPDWJ7uOIGsuODNF1LRuHcJYdDlBGOGD_vOMWQj7j_gFQl0we6M8SZxPOA9Y0_Vem_NkIkCFq2O6hjgnvUQ/s1600/photo%252813%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlKBhUOqft0DjFu0N6H9EoR3tEnUrZ4zwUwkcShPNewXENzmBoEaglhDrJPDWJ7uOIGsuODNF1LRuHcJYdDlBGOGD_vOMWQj7j_gFQl0we6M8SZxPOA9Y0_Vem_NkIkCFq2O6hjgnvUQ/s320/photo%252813%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-54250451388400683572011-11-17T17:09:00.001-08:002011-11-26T09:35:45.496-08:00Sayonaru ScoobaruLast week I had a bittersweet day. I replaced my car. It seems peculiar to be sentimental about a vehicle, but Scooby, the 2002 Subaru Outback wagon, has been such an integral part of our lives that its hard to imagine life without him. We bought the car, shiny and brand new, before we were married, before we had the dog or the kids. Before I even had a proper job.<br />
<br />
The 202,000 miles on his clock delineate the great waves of life we have lived since then. A measure of the life of a family in miles.<br />
<br />
I watched my brand new sparkling diamond engagement ring cast rainbows on his dashboard as I drove to my first proper job.<br />
<br />
We sat in his warm leather cocoon as we debated whether to buy our Tahoe cabin.<br />
<br />
We filled his trunk with cases of wine as we scoured the wine country planning our wedding.<br />
<br />
We collected Geekydog from the animal shelter, her happy dog laugh misting up the windows as we transported her to a new life of dog luxury.<br />
<br />
I screamed through the last part of labor with Geekygirl as we hit every red light crossing town, fearing that she would be born right there on the back seat.<br />
<br />
I nursed both kids (pulled over and stationary of course), in his passenger seat on many a trip to the mountains.<br />
<br />
I locked <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2010/03/driving-miss-geeky.html">two year old Geekygirl inside</a>, prompting the most critical test of my negotiating skills to date.<br />
<br />
We transported cribs and changing tables, then toddler beds and sectional furniture back from Ikea in his spacious interior.<br />
<br />
We transported a dazed and pathetic Geekydog to and from not one but two knee ligament surgeries.<br />
<br />
We negotiatied rain, hail and snow storms with sleeping kids and pets all held safe in his steel embrace.<br />
<br />
The miles represent hundreds of ordinary journeys to work, to get groceries, to get up and down from Tahoe. Some of those miles were the extraordinary moments; first days at school, interviews for n<a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2010/06/moving-on-out-moving-on-up.html">ew jobs</a>, unexpected trips to the ER, and bringing new babies home.<br />
<br />
I drove the car for the last time last week, down to the dealership, where we left it to its fate. It was a sunny day, and the wood and leather of the steering wheel felt warm, worn, and oh so familiar under my hands. 202,000 miles of hands sitting at ten to two. I felt disloyal, as if I was taking a beloved old dog to the pound. I started to understand why some people keep old cars on blocks in their driveways forever.<br />
<br />
We traded it in for a brand new Subaru Tribeca SUV. It is fantastic. A sleek dark indigo blue, with a pristine rich smelling cream leather interior (Though cream may not have been the best choice for a family car, I am already realizing). It is eerily quiet and rattle free, the engine smooth and powerful and the stereo as clear as a bell. I think we are going to have a beautiful relationship. But I'm still not quite over the other guy.<br />
<br />
This isn't really a Thansgiving post, its just that the holiday has given me time to write. There's nothing like mulling over ten great years though to feel almost overwhelmed with things to be thankful for. The least of these being really good cars.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkfW9s0_t-2sSs1BcdaFFYIdOxRl2vx5i_swg2PWgui6njM3y4QNAz9Hmq6kyIkO7Q5Zr0weJ2-MYnCS_oROWLfogPS_jf_1d4NM7acui-CBPPVMoD04IBwe-2HhCtGq0bcVh6oNwEeA/s1600/photo%252810%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkfW9s0_t-2sSs1BcdaFFYIdOxRl2vx5i_swg2PWgui6njM3y4QNAz9Hmq6kyIkO7Q5Zr0weJ2-MYnCS_oROWLfogPS_jf_1d4NM7acui-CBPPVMoD04IBwe-2HhCtGq0bcVh6oNwEeA/s320/photo%252810%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX3z8kabsvTHs4MsZv2Y8NGWxIlyG7JJvMqWFCeexhQ4OPuwntsgyUBBvl_v8imPTP38EdOhD53GbqgZTp8l3fVMTVa1zH0UqLvtYSqpnWxTFe3eWfF9AO3wjnsxg3e4EZD_6pyoNh1A/s1600/photo%252811%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX3z8kabsvTHs4MsZv2Y8NGWxIlyG7JJvMqWFCeexhQ4OPuwntsgyUBBvl_v8imPTP38EdOhD53GbqgZTp8l3fVMTVa1zH0UqLvtYSqpnWxTFe3eWfF9AO3wjnsxg3e4EZD_6pyoNh1A/s320/photo%252811%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-23261057303920541832011-11-13T14:15:00.001-08:002011-11-13T18:07:15.285-08:00the holidays begin wth halloweenHalloween heralds the arrival of the whole holiday season here in the USA. Fall and winter and their collection of holidays just run right along into each other without stopping for breath. The orange of fall slowly deepens to the red of Christmas as the pumpkiny-ghostly themed tableware and knickknacks morph into the pumpkiny-pilgrimy items only to be supplanted in the aisles by poinsettas and snowflakes. When I'm feeling happy and energized I love the costume hunting, the various parades, parties and community events. I enjoy the holiday card making and the anticicpation of special food and presents. When I'm tired, all of this seasonally prescribed fun seems to expand into into a relentless list of 'to do items' to be stuffed into the giant gant chart in my head. Perhaps I should start making actual gant charts for the holidays, that way I might avoid paying rush shipping for last minute presents and everyone who should get a present or card from us might actually receive one before January. Anyone know of a good "microsoft project for mothers" iphone app?<br />
<br />
This halloween, however, I exceeded even my own expectations by getting the kids costumes well in advance and getting everyone to their various events and parades with all costume bits intact. Nobody <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2010/11/snapshots-of-halloween.html">got sick</a>, and Geekygirl obliged me this year by choosing her halloween alter ego (Tinkerbell) many weeks in advance of the day, and for <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2009/11/tale-of-two-three-four-halloween.html">possibly the first time in history</a> not changing her mind at the last minute. Geekyboy got it into his head that he wanted to be "max's red robot toy from max and ruby". Of course the creative mum who prioritizes her children's wishes over her demanding schedule (my alter ego) would have jumped to this challenge. The mum who prefers to order costumes online while sitting in her office (the actual me) suggested to Geekyboy that he be Plex the Robot from "Yo Gabba Gabba" instead, since this costume could be conveniently purchased with a single click.<br />
<br />
I'm always rather jealous of families who manage to persuade their kids to take part in a themed extravaganza. One of my friends boys was an incredible miniature Elton John,and she, in an amazng feat of creativity, was his piano. My kids were delighted with their off the shelf costumes though, so I should quell the "I'm not superhalloweenmom" guilt. In fact Geekyboy so embraced his robot persona that he would answer only to "Plex" while in costume, and insisted on walking in a special and rather adorable robotty way for the entire parade. I suspect the boy may end up on the stage.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKw2nQVWmzV7EreR0XlzhRBgYNc3YPyB8Ci6TrMWz2RRRZE33Gmv0QLuTkY5uKzrghvoJkG_No35kvW4vzdzfJuPET1nTizyU1FbBSnC2au3JRUSQw_VKvvzvCi_NJjJjAOD9QwRhm9U/s1600/IMG_7389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKw2nQVWmzV7EreR0XlzhRBgYNc3YPyB8Ci6TrMWz2RRRZE33Gmv0QLuTkY5uKzrghvoJkG_No35kvW4vzdzfJuPET1nTizyU1FbBSnC2au3JRUSQw_VKvvzvCi_NJjJjAOD9QwRhm9U/s320/IMG_7389.JPG" width="254" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Selfishly, I ended up reviving my long dormant creative talents for my own costume. We have a party at work every year with prizes for creativity. We have a fun crowd, but recent changes have left people rather despondent. Our group decided to try and bring back a bit of the fun. Inspired by this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fl4L4M8m4d0">brilliant video</a> (warning, it may only really resonate with you if you spent six years of your life as an impoverished graduate student or postdoctoral research fellow), we did our own "lady gaga wears lab wear" team extravaganza, complete with dance routine. We won. I was really quite pleased with the way my latex lab glove dress came out. It made me a little nostalgic for times when my actual hairstyle was not dissimilar to this wig, and when I went to clubs wearing outfits that were not all that different either. I was also very grateful, as I wandered the neighbourhood trick or treating event that evening, still in costume, to live in warm, accepting San Francisco.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnXAunPuX8aWBoXXt35Jn7qGORayJI6ynW1a0CEahymkp72sjx_Xjg0q9bqGbeAnPbTBs3ybMXKlnmhFDdvfwDaL98tKknv7Cu1lAknn2DEXBovsUID9VK2VndnSNLiLTvMepp1F936A/s1600/gaga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnXAunPuX8aWBoXXt35Jn7qGORayJI6ynW1a0CEahymkp72sjx_Xjg0q9bqGbeAnPbTBs3ybMXKlnmhFDdvfwDaL98tKknv7Cu1lAknn2DEXBovsUID9VK2VndnSNLiLTvMepp1F936A/s320/gaga.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Happy belated Halloween!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYbb70UpMjz5nmNs3LniYFxOuRecU4j-D1WnDKujKtuEqH4BMhOcfXGjjtAzexAKJwsS-DJyxy1s9d27YfSBbj1FeygJLmaaHqBs4zlb6UPfHbIWpu47kva5d3o2KnF3JkLvMAUcrhjo/s1600/IMG_7384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYbb70UpMjz5nmNs3LniYFxOuRecU4j-D1WnDKujKtuEqH4BMhOcfXGjjtAzexAKJwsS-DJyxy1s9d27YfSBbj1FeygJLmaaHqBs4zlb6UPfHbIWpu47kva5d3o2KnF3JkLvMAUcrhjo/s320/IMG_7384.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-44837800993274635802011-10-22T15:05:00.000-07:002011-10-22T15:08:45.948-07:00Cabernet, Callouses and ContrastWe are well into the school year now. Geekygirl has settled in remarkably. Most days her dad drops her off, and I pick her up from the afterschool program. We have fallen into a new routine, and are moving though our days with calm competence again. Mostly. Our little schoolgirl has become very goal oriented. There seems to be fierce competition amongst the little girls to get across the monkey bars on the playground climbing frame as fast as possible. The advanced kids, I'm told in awed tones, can even skip every other bar. To this end Geekygirl has developed thick callouses on her palms, and assures me that she is one of the best at the bars. I'm glad all those gymnastics classes were good for something!<br />
<br />
Our school places a lot of emphasis on reading and writing in the early years. As a school that is struggling with test scores still, they need to focus on the basics. Every morning they have a 'writers workshop' and these efforts, a picture described in the child's own words, are put together to make a book. Geekygirl is an academically inclined child, she loves to read and write and will spend hours with markers, paper and stapler making her own little books even at home. I noticed an additional callous today building on her index finger, from holding her pencil so often. <br />
<br />
The first of these books came home not so long ago. I was proud of Geekygirls careful and descriptive illustrations, and glad to see how happy the representations of us family members looked in her pictures. Then I looked more carefully. On three of the five pages mummy looks particularly cheerful, and on each she has a large glass of wine in front of her, as exemplified below!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCthfq_rabK7IxTPxgJtg_vREHwtfmSbcV-D4ppA0yv9m2hyxt-3_RtLIfwpxy5mjUefXgK3scK3W32P0ewWtG1ZzWZANWB0mIXiAShe2Xad03ajZC0IzkLbNQhc-c2tDaRyCHzpwygc/s1600/photo%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXCthfq_rabK7IxTPxgJtg_vREHwtfmSbcV-D4ppA0yv9m2hyxt-3_RtLIfwpxy5mjUefXgK3scK3W32P0ewWtG1ZzWZANWB0mIXiAShe2Xad03ajZC0IzkLbNQhc-c2tDaRyCHzpwygc/s320/photo%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
This started me wondering about all the details of our lives that the kids teachers become privy to. I can understand why therapists use art to find out what is going on in a child's mind. An observant kid like geekygirl puts so much detail into her drawings, and they give away all sorts of clues about our lives.<br />
<br />
This past weekend we had a fundraiser for our school. I'm one of those "personality types" that gets seduced by an idea without thinking about the actual effort involved in pulling it off, which is why I and a couple of other parents ended up running a street carnival aided almost exclusively by some of the fifth grade kids.<br />
<br />
Our school is undergoing a demographic shift; the younger grades are a mixture of "people like us" and poorer families, but the fifth grade is comprised exclusively of kids from the nearby housing project (council housing to folk in the UK, if it is even still called that). After the event finished, three of my helper team asked me to walk them home. Laden with pumpkins and other goodies that we gave them in thanks for helping, I walked the short few blocks with them enjoying their self satisfied happiness from a day of being both helpful and rewarded.<br />
<br />
There is a dividing line in our neighbourhood that most of us don't cross. Charming tidy houses and clean tree lined streets streets abrubtly give way to rough grassland scattered with broken glass and ugly concrete barracks. The only thing we share is the million dollar view of sky and bay. As we crossed that line, my helpers called out to another kid, perched like a meercat on top of the hillside, "is it OK to go home?". He said that it was, so we continued down into the development, between washing lines and empty fast food bags, between cheery hellos from young mothers and scowls from sterotypical gangsters.<br />
<br />
They pushed open a battered door, beckoning to me "Can you acks her if we can come back with you?" I had promised them earlier that I would take them back up to the street fair once we had dropped their loot at home. The tiny house had nothing. Bare kitchen counters, bare walls, bare lineoleum floors. A single couch in front of a huge flat screen TV, blinds drawn against the sun and the view. A young woman sleeping on the couch with three young kids bouncing all over her, the kids happy to see their sisters and a visiting stranger. I asked her if the girls could come back with me, and she raised her head an inch, asked them not to be too long, then lay back down. My kids offered me a soda, and we headed back out together. I wondered, after seeing their home environment, what kinds of pictures they drew in school.<br />
<br />
I hoped that by going to our local public school we would get a chance to help the kind of people that I don't usually meet. America, perhaps more than Europe, becomes very socioeconomically segregated as we move through life. I know people with all sorts of origins and ethnicity but almost all of them went to college and most to graduate school. I don't think I know anyone who grew up in a housing project. There are two Americas, and one of them is not a place where you would want to be. Here in San Francisco they are right on top of each other, and one of the only places they do meet is in our public schools. I'm glad I took those girls home, but I'm discomforted by the stark contrast between their lives and ours, and fear that the gulf is to wide to be bridged. How do we, as a society, get bright kids like these out of there? <br />
<br />
I'm not really asking you for answers, just sharing my thoughts, but if you have any, please do leave a comment.<br />
<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-11483152942020866972011-09-18T10:47:00.001-07:002011-09-18T10:47:35.203-07:00Silent Sunday<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/101697839703634748072/BloggerPictures?authkey=Gv1sRgCKaIwoupl-CPmwE#5653757730665421490'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-QYG7VQtJV4mhGVrWdqJ4GvzmH8ucKzaaco7Z4cNudQZ5FqJTPqgQQCXfHwpPapcbLGaT56UYqxswI32OPhHlE2KDs7aUZ3VgtTYHny4lU-8nSvYEmpGC6yk2v7pXbo2A9dNo0v_a_x_L/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone because my daughter has commandeered my laptop<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-48657875322841014452011-09-16T19:20:00.000-07:002011-09-16T19:40:29.792-07:00the tyranny of timeNever enough hours in a day. Never enough days in the week. This sums up our life and I suspect the life of all working parents.<br />
<br />
Today I was struck by the importance of even tiny increments of time. Fifteen minutes lost or gained can dictate the whole course of a day. <br />
<br />
Biological science experiments are divided into precise chunks of time. Experimental protocols state precisely how long cells must be incubated with test drugs, how long they must be spun in the centrifuge, how long a reaction must proceed for before it is stopped and the result read out. If you ever visit a biology lab you will see harried scientists with timers clipped to their jeans chugging down too hot coffee during the precise 5 minute break they have between steps in an experiment. Once you start your experiments you can't just stop half way through and continue the next day, either, so if something is going to take four hours from start to finish you need to organize your day accordingly.<br />
<br />
On Thursdays I take the kids to gymnastics class. It is one of the high points of their week, and mine too, but it starts at 4.30pm. With our new double drop off kindergarten and preschool schedule this requires me to leave the office at or before 3.55pm at the very latest to arrive at class almost on time. My working days are split between desk work and lab work, and my experiments sometimes fall on gymnastics days. Seemingly insignificant issues can throw the whole day out of whack. Needing a sharp pair of scissors to open the box of 96 well plates, and taking five minutes to locate one; needing to restart the computer controlling a critical instrument, there is ten minutes lost; having an urgent email to answer, that's twenty more minutes gone....<br />
<br />
Today at 3pm I realized that this dribbling loss of little bits of time meant that I no longer had time to run my experiment and get out in time for the gymnastics class. The experiment was very important for a project, a project with its own timelines and deadlines, and it also utilized a very precious human tissue sample, one that had been donated by the family of someone who had died, so I felt a strong obligation not to waste this gift. I had to do the experiment, and if I did there was no way I could get the kids to the class any less than twenty minutes late. I tried to justify that missing one gymnastics class isn't a
big deal, but to them, it is. I have disappointed them before, showing up at school and having to tell them that actually, mummy is too late to take them to class. They struggle to understand what I could have been doing that mattered so much. I send a message that I don't want to send; that my work is more important to me than they are.<br />
<br />
The story has a happy ending. I don't work in a vacuum, I work with a team of other scientists, most of whom are also parents. I've learned, rather belatedly in life, to ask for help when I need it. My coworker finished my experiment for me, and I made it to class.<br />
<br />
I'm blogging via the free wifi at gymnastics class now, watching the kids with half my brain, blogging and responding to the ping of my work email with the other. Stealing a fragment of time back for me.geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-24899442539722799292011-09-11T13:16:00.000-07:002011-09-11T16:00:50.699-07:00Ten yearsI heard about it from Geekydaddy. Back then we were cohabiting, not yet married, though we were already living in the home we still have here in San Francisco. He called me from his drive to work, and I turned on the TV in time to see the second plane hit. My mum and dad were visiting from England that week, and on the morning of September 11th 2001 they were at the San Francisco Airport, waiting for a flight to Las Vegas. They watched the events unfold on the airport TV monitors. They were efficiently bused back to an eerily quiet city, and wondered about the wisdom of being dropped off downtown amidst San Francisco's skyscrapers. I took the shuttle to work, everyone sitting on it in uncustomary silence, watching the sky, waiting and wondering whether our iconic American structures too were destined to burn.<br /><br />Sometimes it doesn't feel as if ten years have passed since then, but other times it feels as if we live in a different world. Especially when traveling by air. International travel always had fairly rigorous immigration and security, especially at Heathrow, but do you remember domestic US air travel before 9/11? When, if you didn't have bags to check, you just walked into the airport and strolled right up to the gate to check in? There were no security checklines, and you could carry whatever you liked in your carry on bag. Your non traveling companions could walk you to the gate and kiss you goodbye right as you boarded the plane. Geekydaddy would meet me at the gate, often with flowers hurriedly purchased at the airport shop designed for just that purpose, when I arrived home from a conference.<br /><br />When I moved out to San Francisco back in 1996 I was invited to ride in the cockpit for part of the flight, courtesy of a friend of my fathers who worked for the airline. I can't imagine my children will ever get to do that. The children are seasoned travelers though. For them it will always be normal to remove your shoes at the airport, to walk through body scanners and to pack tiny ziploc bags of miniature toiletries. We all moan about the inconvenience, but to be honest, I have got used to it. Perhaps it has already saved us from other acts of violence. We probably never hear about many of the near-attacks that are prevented.<br /><br />No amount of security can protect us from idiocy though. Southern California should have been on a code red idiot alert last Thursday, when someone <a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2011/09/power-company-employee-caused-massive-blackout-utility-says.html">flipped the wrong switch </a>and inadvertently sent the whole of SoCal into the dark ages. We are so dependent upon the flow of electrons through our world. When there is no power there are no ATM machines, credit cards are useless, cell phone service is patchy and gas pumps don't work. I was standing at the self check in machine, ready to fly back home from what was supposed to be a day business trip to San Diego when the screen went blank. A long line began to form behind me. My scheduled flight time came and went. People started to mutter and wonder if something more ominous than a simple power outage might have occurred, this anniversary being forefront in everyone's minds. Twitter reassured me that there was no foul play, so I found a taxi to take me back up to my company's office in La Jolla so that I could join the rest of my stranded colleagues. Our admin staff back in SF got us booked into a powerless, but fortunately not drink-less hotel, but there was no way to get flights rebooked while the airport was still without electricity. I was fortunate to be with our company president, an amazing woman who I always want to be with in any crisis situation. She found a cab with enough gas to drive us to LA, and had enough cash on her to pay the fare. The amazing admin staff, working overtime back at mission control in our SF office, got us booked into the LAX Hilton, and on flights back to SFO the next day.<br /><br />This was a minor crisis, a mere adventure in the grand scheme of things. Even the children were unphased by the news that Mummy would be back a day later than expected. I showed up at work the next day in a snazzy LA souvenir T shirt, having been reminded that so much in our lives is beyond our control, and is instead in the hands of the randomness of chance. From now on though I will always carry cash, and have spare pair of knickers in my handbag.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-41099871453606268812011-09-05T15:21:00.000-07:002012-05-02T22:23:38.206-07:00clothes maketh the womanI consider myself a feminist. I like to be admired for my intellect, my scientific insight, and my hard work. Often I find myself wondering why I also care so much about my appearance. I worry too about projecting this onto my daughter. Geekygirl is a gorgeous kid, and people tell her so. Peggy Orenstein in "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cinderella-Ate-Daughter-Girlie-Girl-ebook/dp/B004DI7M2Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1315261065&sr=1-1">cinderella ate my daughter"</a> raises concerns about teaching our daughters that their value lies in part or at all in their looks, that this will set them up for eating disorders and poor self esteem, but the ugly reality seems to be that no matter how much we wish it were not so, looks do matter. <br />
<br />
I'n my profession, I'm a scientist in the biopharmaceutical industry, looks are probably less important than in many others. There could even be a downside of appearing too "bimboey". I wonder sometimes whether I should cut my hair, embrace my natural brown locks rather than spending a fortune on blond mane maintenance at the salon, and relax my rigorous figure-maintaining salad eating and exercise regimen. Science is a forgiving career, personal grooming wise. I was recently at a party filled with the other, more glamorous bookend of our industry, pharmaceutical sales reps, and felt distinctly dowdy, though I was secretly delighted to be proclaimed by one "way too fabulous to be a scientist". <br />
<br />
Finding that balance between looking both attractive and intelligent consumes far too much of my energy and money. Before business trips, mental energy time that should be spent pre reading slides and brushing up on science is devoted instead to preparing what to wear, down to what type of underwear will provide smooth support for my aging
bum under my nicely fitted but not too tight slacks, without causing me to
have to keep adjusting them all the time (<a href="http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/tc-shaping-lace-trim-high-cut-briefs/3193198">these are great</a>, in case you are looking
for such an item). I spent far too much time coming up with a formal yet feminine style for my <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2011/03/gallery-japan.html">trip to Japan </a>last year. I was pretty happy both with how the trip went professionally and with how I looked though, I have to say. So much so that I snapped this shot of myself in the hotel room mirror!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3RCuOf9tAqbmWlAkEJNYhgHQR2M1N49fJ2ImCs41BIcaIcWMqqOrcL5zXe0pNcVqf1pmzI9znIs-iW21rcnjqbboX0JxNAT1GfiiCgyya_tymbOfTQl80qFdA9Ay2Tfi5ZENz8BdIGUA/s1600/IMG_2859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3RCuOf9tAqbmWlAkEJNYhgHQR2M1N49fJ2ImCs41BIcaIcWMqqOrcL5zXe0pNcVqf1pmzI9znIs-iW21rcnjqbboX0JxNAT1GfiiCgyya_tymbOfTQl80qFdA9Ay2Tfi5ZENz8BdIGUA/s320/IMG_2859.JPG" width="146" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It was with great interest, that I read <a href="http://www9.georgetown.edu/faculty/tannend/nyt062093.htm">this quite old article</a>, which points out that there is no neutral work ware for women. hair up, hair down, short, long, every style says something about you and how you see yourself. High necks, a touch of cleavage or an eye popping bustier. Make up or no make up. Everything makes some kind of statement, whereas a man in a pair of grey trousers and a blue or white shirt, as long as both fit him and are vaguley clean and pressed, blends in to the background. Men can choose to stand out, of course, with jewelery, exposed chest hair or flashy shirts and ties, but most don't even have to think about the image that their clothes project.<br />
<br />
Changes at work leave me back in the world primarily of men. Nice men,
don't get me wrong, but people who tower over me, leaving me with the
dilema of whether to wear comfy flats that leave me a head and a half
below the conversation, or to rock shoes like <a href="http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/me-too-london-pump/3170318">these babies</a>, which give me an almost eye level experience with our senior team, but walk a fine balance between 'executive' and "stripper".<br />
<br />
It took me until I was about 27 to become reasonably happy with my own physical appearance. I spent most of my teen years designing elaborate hairstyles and eye make up techniques to detract attention from my too large nose, and most of my twenties worried about my weight, despite only ever skirting the edge of the overweight BMI category. Now I've hit my forties the brief period of being vaguely satisfied with my appearance is passing, as the spectre of aging looms and lures me, a scientist who really should know better, to spend stupid sums of money on tiny pots of expensively packaged face cream. I run and do pilates, not just to keep my blood lipid profile healthy, but to ensure I still fit into my slim pants. I get great satisfaction from looking slim, pretty and sexy, and feel miserable when my skin flares up in dry scaly patches, when the bags under my eyes reveal my age or when my tummy wobbles over the waistband of my skinny jeans. I really don't understand why I feel this way, since what I look like has no bearing at all on how well I parent my kids, do my job, or live my life. <br />
<br />
In hope of understanding more about this issue, I picked up two books exploring this very subject. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003TWNDZ0/ref=docs-os-doi_0">The first</a>, <span style="font-size: small;"><span id="btAsinTitle">The Beauty Bias : The Injustice of Appearance in Life and Law, by Deborah Rodes,</span> explores the unpleasant reality that attractive people are more successful, especially women. The author s</span>peculates that this is a form of discrimination that should be legislated against, and exhorts women not to buy into it, to stand firm and age gracefully. She also accepts that there is an uphil battle for change while men are in charge, since men just seem to prefer pretty women.<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005I58WAW/ref=docs-os-doi_0"> <span style="font-size: small;">The second</span></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="btAsinTitle">, The Erotic Capital: The Power of Attraction in the Boardroom and the Bedroom by Catherine Hakim</span></span> takes this thesis further and offers a different solution, accepting it as brute fact of life and encouraging women, indeed everyone in all walks of life to use their looks, their "erotic capital" as she coins it, to get ahead.<br />
<br />
I'm still distilling my thoughts on this complex topic, but I would love to hear yours.geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-15565851187520594402011-08-28T08:57:00.000-07:002011-08-28T09:02:45.244-07:00The first week at Elementary School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJh8NauaRgUjYzzUJh1J31vTdz9zkMjOHBMSr8ktz6emikgGq8Sp91u7rKvZdi3LD82TQ5stadjnP0JDCkJczYgdO3LEimEOjRmwG9_9d2p-aiKA06QtNNhPpvugJn3ePF5We-A2GidA/s1600/IMG_7102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJh8NauaRgUjYzzUJh1J31vTdz9zkMjOHBMSr8ktz6emikgGq8Sp91u7rKvZdi3LD82TQ5stadjnP0JDCkJczYgdO3LEimEOjRmwG9_9d2p-aiKA06QtNNhPpvugJn3ePF5We-A2GidA/s400/IMG_7102.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
It seems like just yesterday I blogged about embarking upon the dreaded <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2010/12/year-of-great-school-hunt.html">San Francisco Unified District school tours</a>. We found out which school we got into <a href="http://geekymummy.blogspot.com/2011/03/education.html">back in March</a>. Then the rest of the year frisked right by and the beginning of the school year hit us. Geekygirl is a kindergartener, with two full weeks at her new elementary school under her belt. She loves it. She loves her uniforms, navy and white, though I failed to calculate the number of possible permutations and combinations a creative girl can consider when she has five different bottoms and three different shirt styles to choose from in the morning. When you add in the fact that they are allowed to wear legging or tights of any color under their skirts we still end up taking quite some time to get ready of a morning!<br />
<br />
She has made new friends already, and she loves her teacher. She even loves the afterschool program. I was a bit worried about this. In her daycare/preschool all the families had working mums (or two working dads), so I had comfortably avoided making her aware of the concept of a parent who stays home and picks up the end of the school day, which is early afternoon here. A lovely friend who also has a kid in her class, and has a more flexible schedule than mine is going to take her home one day a week though (thanks P!), to give her a bit of a break from school.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to why I'm loving the school. The community. One of the reasons the district changed the application policy for the schools this year was to try and make them more part of the communities they were located within. Not everyone has been delighted with this new policy, but I love that when I drop off at school I see the same families we play with in the playground, kids that I went to mummy and baby classes with, and mums I remember being pregnant at the same time I was. There are also families who live in the less affluent part of our neighborhood who we otherwise wouldn't interact with. I love that the school is so close to our house.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, most of the families I know are in the much lauded Spanish language immersion path at the school. We are not in that program, we are in the regular General Education English language track. I did a fair amount of outreach into our parent community over the past year, and for the first time a decent proportion of this class also is from "our side of the tracks". A bonus of this not being one of the popular schools in the city means that there are only fourteen children in Geekygirl's class.<br />
<br />
As part of my rallying effort I had asked the kindergarten teacher at the time to meet with prospective parents. This lady, a thirty year veteran teacher, spoke about assessing each child's needs and grouping the children according to ability to ensure all children progressed, rather than teaching to the lowest common denominator. This gets called "<a href="http://thesfkfiles.blogspot.com/2011/08/guest-post-importance-of-differentiated.html">supporting differentiated learning</a>" here, and apparently it isn't philosophically supported by all schools. The teacher we met with retired over the summer though, and the teacher of this years K class is new. <br />
<br />
<br />
The only nagging concern I have is whether she will be
able and willing to meet the needs of all the kids in the class. There are kids who
have had no preschool, kids who don't speak English well, and kids like
Geekygirl who can read and write already. She seems really lovely, but I would like to have a conversation with her about this concept without sounding like a pushy parents who is convinced her child is a genius. Any suggestions?!<br />
<br />
Happy back to school, everyone!<br />
<br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1750565905143817934.post-30090652125043740882011-08-27T19:54:00.001-07:002011-08-27T19:54:47.467-07:00Silent Sunday<br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/101697839703634748072/BloggerPictures?authkey=Gv1sRgCKaIwoupl-CPmwE#5645734864788050210'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkzwkcEoAY3sVW28FCUpru62GeeEmhxLd5GR-oo7WsYyd141EVrArgySmBy8ORH7KU9wvJl0hqvjPjXjhPFyCxBxQI_GVmmzSowLxmkogUrdQo3HXyQDrGrHz97bzmUj2_CYdMUKU2SzV/s288/iphone_photo.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='208' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone <br />geekymummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10529149669501249892noreply@blogger.com