It’s been a long weekend.  A nice weekend, but a long weekend.  Most people love the holiday weekends where they can spend quality time with their families, head out to have Summertime adventures, and remember the joys of togetherness.  I’m one of those people…most of the time.

By dinner tonight, though, I had to walk away from the table for 10 minutes in order to simmer down my frustrations from all that togetherness.  I’ll be happy to resume the normal routine tomorrow.

But we did have some nice adventures this weekend – including fun in the $29.99 blowup pool, a trip to the mountains and an exotic animal farm, boston butts smoking on the big green egg for 14 hours, and numerous jars of homemade jam.

Happy Memorial Day! I’m glad it’s over.

I never learned to cook through any sort of formal training.  My mother never sat me down and taught me the basics of preparing a meal.  Her approach was more along the lines of ‘hey, you’re hanging out in the kitchen! why don’t you stir this together or press the fork into these cookies for me!.’  I usually got stuck doing all the jobs kids hate – like peeling potatoes and cleaning up the aftermath.

Not exactly groundbreaking stuff but I enjoyed being in the kitchen – especially when she was baking.  I helped more in the  as I got older simply because I thought it was fun.  I loved watching a bowl full of random ingredients become something edible and delicious.  I was impressed with the gadgets, the techniques, the final product dripping with the words ‘I did that from scratch!’  In all honesty it never dawned on me (until recently!) that hanging out with her in the kitchen was her way of teaching me to cook and bake.  Living 800 miles away from one another means it is a rare treat when we do get to be together in the kitchen.  And it still just feels like we are hanging out.

This summer I’m planning to ‘hang out’ with my oldest, Amelia, and see what sort of trouble we can get into in the kitchen. She has been begging to help me with meals for almost a year now.  Frankly I’ve dismissed the help because dinnertime is usually a frazzled mess of ‘get something on the table before we have to leave for karate/ballet/scouts/piano.’  It was always easier to do it myself without little hands and feet in the way.  But not this summer.  This summer she becomes my kitchen buddy.  I’m going to teach her to cook and bake the way my mother taught me – practical and helpful.

I originally intended to do formal lessons on how to read a recipe, measurements, ingredients, etc.  I decided instead to allow her to take the reins – showing me what she is willing to learn, what she enjoys, what she feels inspired to cook.  Maybe we’ll make jam.  Maybe she’ll only want to bake cookies and pies.  Maybe she’ll ditch me altogether to help her daddy smoke things on the Big Green Egg.  It doesn’t matter what she chooses.

Either way I’ll still be hanging out in the kitchen…

ready to pass the potato peeler on to her.

This post is inspired by the novel Julia’s Child by Sarah Pinneo. Worried about what her kids eat, Julia Bailey starts a prepared organic toddler meals business. With names like Gentil Lentil, can Julia balance work and family and still save the world? Join From Left to Write on May 24th as we discuss Julia’s Child. As a member, I received a free copy of the book.

I got the idea for this post from a wonderful organizing blog I read.  I’ve been struggling with topics lately and when I saw this one I knew I needed to write my own.

1.  I’m struggling more with the transition from academic back to domesticity more than I’d like to admit.  I wanted to return to domestic life, simplify things, cook more, and be the version of the perfect housewife I  have in my head.  But it’s much more difficult than I expected.  I keep having thoughts like ‘Am I wasting my fancy PhD by staying home?‘ and ‘Does the family really want or need me home anymore?’  I even applied for a few writing and professor jobs because I feel like I should or I’m supposed to.  I mean that’s what is supposed to come next, right?!

2.  I been thinking of quitting blogging.  This one is getting to me more than I’d like to admit.  Spending so much time and energy studying mommy blogging for my PhD seemed to take away some of the mystery of what we do.  I always worried that studying mommy blogging would somehow ruin the experience for me and I wonder if it actually happened.  My comments have been down, my stats are almost nonexistent, and I struggle daily for topics to spew because I can’t seem to be as vocal and open as I once was.  What keeps me going, though, is the secret magic of this space.  And I have to remind myself that no matter how much anyone studies mommy blogging in an academic setting they’ll never fully be able to capture the magic and sisterhood of what we do.  I just keep repeating that over and over…

3.  My dream (the real dream I keep visiting over and over in my head and in my heart) is to write romance novels.  You know…those Harlequin Super Romance happy ending style romance novels.  Yea, I’ve been reading them for years and it has been a dream of mine to write those stories – not the great American novel or something profound – just simple, trashy novels that remind us that happy endings exist.  I don’t tell too many people this because it is usually followed by judgment, laughter, and (in academic circles) feminist stares.  But deep down it is what I really want to do and it scares me to move forward.

4.  Being home with the kids all summer terrifies me.  I worry about the fighting, the bickering, the constant announcements of ‘I’m bored!’  I’m afraid we’ll be ready to kill one another by mid-June.  I am planning daily adventures like ‘park day’ and ‘library day’ but I still worry that at the end of the day they’ll be killing each other and I’ll be drinking.

5.  I’m afraid to take a weekend trip with my wonderful husband.  Next month we’ll celebrate 10 years of marriage.  In all that time (with three kids, school, work, life…) we have never taken a trip together.  We’ve been talking for months about getting away for a weekend – dreaming of sleeping in, enjoying good food, and talking to one another like we used to.  I’m so afraid if we take a weekend trip we’ll end up staring at each other with nothing to say.  But we need the trip desperately.  He needs a glimpse of the pre-PhD wife and I need to remind him how incredible he really is.

6.  I can’t confess anything else in this post.  I’m pretty sure you all already think I’m crazy enough without adding to it…if anyone (besides my mother) is reading these days…

I got an email the other day asking what I was going to do with my first day off after graduation.  At that moment I didn’t really consider that I might get one because life and babies don’t usually comply with days off.

Now that my mother has returned back home to Ohio and the Pomp and Circumstance of graduation is behind me I’m taking my day “off” today.

I took the kids to school early this morning since my husband had already left for the airport to deliver my mother for her flight.  When I got back home around 7:20 this morning Charlotte and I decided to resume our morning snuggles.  We sat on the couch, legs entwined, and giggled over yogurt and cartoons.  There was the occasional ball throwing for the dog or quilt adjustment to keep little feet from peeking out and getting cold.  I sipped coffee, looked around my clean living room, and decided my completed to-do list from yesterday totally makes today day “off” worthy.

We moved our pajama-clad bodies to the bedroom to play some Angry Birds and organize my new writing area.  She hid under the covers while I put files in their place and adjusted things so they were just right.

There was dancing in the shower, the brushing of tangles, and the appreciation for clean yoga pants.  The rest of the day will be spent…I don’t know how.  I don’t really care how either.  The two of us will enjoy this day “off” together in the comfort of our home where snuggles reign and naps are learning to be appreciated again.  There is always time tomorrow to  get things done.  But not today.  Today the graduate is taking a beloved day off…

Pants are pressed.  Shoes are shined.  Camera batteries are charged.  And pantyhose are purchased.

Tomorrow I walk across the stage.

I’ll stand in front of what I imagine will feel like a million people and my professor will present me with my hood.

The hood that represents my official acceptance of my PhD.

Hands will clap in celebration, pictures will capture parts of the moment, and drinks will toast the ocassion.

I’m nervous.  Excited.  Partially terrified.

But, oh so ready….

Ready for Dr. to be an official part of my name.

I read quite a bit about feminism throughout my PhD program.  I took a class on feminist media studies and read more articles than I can count on the different waves of feminism.  While many of them say similar things they all agree that feminism is about empowering women – empowering women to be equal in politics, economics, and social rights.

While I agree that the whole of feminism is about empowerment I feel that one word is often left out of the discussion:

CHOICE.

It’s a simple word, but a mighty powerful one.  I believe that choice is at the heart of female empowerment.  In all honesty I can only look at feminism through my personal experiences, my specific lens.  I can try to understand and celebrate the perspectives of other women in different situations, but I can only speak from my personal circumstances.

And my circumstances have given me choices.

I have the choice to stay home and raise my children.  It is not a requirement that I live the domestic life and it is in no way oppressive that I choose to do so.

I had the choice to marry who I wanted when I felt I was ready.  It was not dictated to me that I marry a certain person based on social class, race, or economics.  I was able to make the choice based on love and compatibility.

I had the choice to further my education.  I wasn’t limited to one degree or even two.  I chose to push my knowledge as far as it could go and return to school for a PhD.

I have a choice in what causes I support, what charities I contribute to, what doctors I see, what birth control I use or don’t use, and what clothing I slip on everyday.  I had a choice in inking my body with tattoos and having three babies.  And I have choices in how they are raised to view the world.

It is within these choices that the feeling of empowerment lives.  Not every woman person has the opportunity to make these choices.  I know that I’m lucky to have the opportunities that I do.  But, I also know that it is my personal responsibility to raise my children in a manner that teaches them to accept everyone, including women, and help others have access to many of the same choices they do.  I may not be able to change the world but I can be sure that there will be three other souls who will understand that empowerment is something we all deserve.

This post is inspired by I AM FORBIDDEN by Anouk Markovits. Though not sisters by blood but through their Hasidic faith, Mila and Atara views the rules and structure of their culture differently. Mila seeks comfort in the Torah while Atara searches for answers in secular literature she is forbidden to read. Ultimately each must make an irrevocable decision that will change their lives forever. Join From Left to Write on May 8 as we discuss I AM FORBIDDEN. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

I had plans to write more tonight.  But, my husband and I just finished coordinating our calendars for all the upcoming events, end of school stuff, recitals, etc.  Now I’m too tired to think clearly.  Plus, I’m not sure I’ll have any breathing time before the beginning of June.

In the meantime…

I’m learning how to create a proper bun since this little cutie has her first ballet recital this weekend where she’ll play a baby mermaid.  I got to see a preview tonight during her ballet class and I died from cuteness.

Seriously, dead from cuteness.

And today I had the joy of using the first fresh herbs from the season.  I picked them right out of the garden, chopped them up, and added them into a veggie scramble I served for dinner.

My graduation ceremony is next week and I still haven’t decided what to wear.  My mother arrives in a week for a visit and we’ll spend our first mother’s day together since I moved to Georgia in 1999.  The dog needs to be groomed and my son is desperate for a hair cut.  I have a weird rash on my neck and I just ate 4 spoonfuls of Nutella out of the jar.

Perhaps breathing time should be scheduled before June…

Or I just need to buy more Nutella.

Sometimes I feel like I’m at a loss for words.  There are monumental thoughts swimming around in my head but I can’t seem to make sense of time – thoughts about music, the constellation of freckles on my son’s temple, how I feel smarter when I watch The Big Bang Theory.

I’m transitioning right now.  I realized last night that I’ve been in school more years than I’ve been out of it.  Now there is no more school, no further up the education ladder to go and I have to transition out of the academic bubble.

I keep dreaming about moving into a dorm, moving out of a dorm, and moving back into a dorm.  I don’t know what it means.  Last night there was a back hallway in my dorm room filled with trash, glass, and bugs.  I don’t know what that means either.

I’m making the final revisions on my dissertation.  I have about a week to get it submitted to the university and then all the i’s and t’s will be crossed and dotted for graduation. Rooting through the feedback and deciphering what I have to fix and what is just for future thinking makes me feel like the whole dissertation is crap.  Apparently this is very common feeling immediately after defending the dissertation.  So I’m going with it.

I did the exit counseling yesterday for all my student loans and thought ‘oh dear God!’

I need to brush the dog and buy new socks and prepare for my daughter’s 8th birthday tomorrow.

I suck at transitioning.

It’s Saturday night.

My kids are standing in the living room practicing some crazy karate form.

My husband went to drop something off at a friend’s house.

One dog is pacing.  The other? Sleeping on a quilt.

Me?  I’m curled up on the couch with my dissertation trying to prep for Monday’s defense.

Monday morning –   then it’s over.  Three years I’ve been working on this PhD and it all comes down to two hours in a conference room Monday morning.

I’m scared.  Excited.  Nervous.  Ready.  Hopeful.  Anxious.

By lunchtime Monday I may officially be able to call myself Dr.

Dr Mom: three kids, two dogs, three cats, a husband, and a teeny tiny blog that inspired it all.

Just…wow.