14 September 2008
Uncle Tim enjoys all things photography. Here is one of his projects, created from several photos of Eamon. Emma, golf club in hand, looks on at the silly photo shoot. (Sometimes it does seem like there are seven Eamons running around).
We have recently switched from cable to the dish. Thus far, we have had good luck (knock on wood) but last night, the system was a bit unstable and would indicate "no signal" for a brief moment and then set to "Channel 666." Should I be concerned about this? Why not reset to another number? Does "666" really need to be the default? Should I call a priest?
When I was getting out of the shower this week, Emma was waiting patiently for me in the bathroom. While toweling off, she pointed to my nipples and said, "Mommy....owie." Really...she thinks my nipples are some sort of wound in need of a Batman band-aid? Is this a good sign? I realize that she is two years-old and very curious about the world around her however I hope she comes to understand that my nipples/breasts are not in constant need of first aid.
My Cognitive Psychology textbook = the new Ambien. Antidote to Cognitive Psychology textbook = Large quantities of expresso.
Okay... time to get back to studying while it is naptime! (Unfortunately, not my naptime).
This week I created a Facebook profile. My impression of Facebook was that of an adolescent and college ("traditional" college age) networking site and so I had eschewed the Facebook "experience" as not appropriate for a non adolescent/non traditional college age individual like myself.
I learned that a few friends were actual Facebook "people" and so decided to investigate myself. I created my profile and began adding a few of my known Facebook friends. Less than a week later, I have reconnected with high school classmates and college dorm friends, among others. It has been much fun to use Facebook to communicate with the cool people of my present as well the wonderful people of my past.
P.S. Facebook is not solely for the "younger" (read: under 25) crowd.
05 September 2008
Ironically, Eamon and Emma are not the only members of the household who have returned to the classroom. Alas, their mother has also returned to the world of academia. Despite Eamon's perception of "Minnesota" (e.g. "The U of M") as a large scale adult-like pre-school, I do not anticipate that I will be engaging in any arts and crafts projects that include finger paint or foam stickers.
Like Eamon and Emma, I have the first week of school under my belt. I walked through campus this week, watching the many Freshman wandering about, dazed and confused, wondering if they would ever find their classroom. (The answer: most likely not). Despite the fact that it has been a few years (read: many) since I first walked around campus like a deer staring into the headlights, I was feeling a bit out of sorts myself. I wondered if I am just too old to be in school. I had just left Biology lecture where I was asked by a fetus (read: eighteen year-old) if I knew how to use a computer based program specific to the university. He chimed, "It's on the computer. Do you know how to use that?" Now, perhaps he was a friendly lad who was just trying to help. I should not automatically assume that he was being a smart ass or was truly uncertain if my elderly self looked incapable of using a computer, due to the fact that I was born pre-Apple. I contemplated a retort but decided that I needed to get from the West Bank to the East Bank and across campus post haste as not to be late for my second class. Did he really ask me if I knew how to use *the* computer? Perhaps, I should have said, "I was using a computer (read: playing Pong on Atari) when you were born, you damn kid!" I decided that would not help the "old factor" I was feeling at the moment. (Maybe it was the cassette playing "Walkman" (read: orange eight track player) and my "Frankie says Relax" shirt that threw him off). (Really, I do not have a Walkman, Eight track player or any 80's related t-shirts).
So, today, as I am running (yes, I can still run) to my 8:00 A.M. class, I was yet again attempting to quell these insecurities bouncing around in my head. I arrived only to discover that my biology lab partner appeared to be approximately twelve years old and had neglected to bathe in a substantial amount of time. He felt it necessary to mention repeatedly that he was a mechanical engineering major and thus "very smart" (his words, certainly not mine). I could not determine if it was the highly offensive aroma emanating from his body or his incessant smugness that annoyed me more. In any case, I wanted to beat him with a stick. I surmised that this response *might* be against university policy but I am looking into it to be certain, when he invariably annoys me again.
The lab instructor asked the class members to provide introductions of themselves. At that particular moment in time, I found myself struck with the question of which proposition do I dislike more....the "introduction routine" of the first day of class or the annual gynecological exam. I decided the yearly trip to the ob/gyn would be preferable to listening to the kid at the next table describe why ketchup is (and will always be) his favorite food. While I was hoping there would be a fire drill or something so I could escape, the woman (read: girl) across the lab table announced to the class that she was a princess. Yes, she said "I am a princess." She went on to explain that she is a princess of the Minneapolis Aquatennial and spends much of her time involved in various princess-related activities. Apparently, the highlight of being a princess is wearing the crown. (Makes sense). The coup de grace of this first lab arrived when I thought it could not get any worse. This occurred when one member of the group announced that he and his lab table hated the Badgers. Now those are the epitome of true fighting words to a native Wisconsinite! At first, the lab instructor asked him why he hated the "small animal" (her words) but then suggested "oh, I have heard they can be mean" only to discover the pinhead was referring to the WISCONSIN Badgers. I found myself growling (in my mind, of course) like the actual "small animal" (read: "real" badger). I realized then and there that I was a character in the Matt Groening "Life in Hell" comic series.
I still have not been able to assuage the "you are too old for school" concerns that are ruminating inside. Instead, I have decided to refocus this negative energy with plans to sneak soap on a rope and some breath mints into my lab partner's backpack while I review the U of M policy of beating others with a stick.
Whew! We have made it through the first week of the new school year! (It seems like the summer came and went at warp speed, but I digress). Eamon and Emma attended summer school and are now adjusting to their new "regular school year" room assignments with new teachers and unfamiliar classmates.
Emma has settled into her classroom with little hesitation or reserve. Luckily, one of her summer teachers, whom she likes very much, has been assigned to this new room. Eamon, though, has experienced a bit more apprehension and worry as his school year begins. He was very fond of his teachers of the previous school year and would be more than pleased to return as one of their pupils. To Eamon's chagrin, however, these much adored teachers work only with the three-year old crowd whereas Eamon has moved upstairs to the land of the "big kids" (e.g four year-olds). Many of his buddies from the previous year still attend the school but have been assigned to one of the other four year-old pre-school classrooms.
As the weeks progress, perhaps some of these new faces will become new friends. Hopefully, the uncertainties of the new year will ease and the comfort and familiarity will be once more.