Changing pace

Note: This post does not have much to do with children. Apologies.

Today was a day of cool little departures from normal, all in the middle of an otherwise ordinary day. It doesn't take much to make life feel fresh.

1. I pulled on a favorite skirt I haven't worn since last summer, size 10, and it fell off. I pawed through my closet and on a whim, took out the size 2 skirt a colleague bequeathed to me a few months ago. It had been flattering of her to say she'd outgrown it and it would fit me, but I'd figured her assessment was way off and stuffed it in the back of the closet. I've never worn anything remotely in that ballpark sizewise. Now I tried it on. It fit. As soon as I went downstairs a colleague told me she liked my skirt and that I looked "adorable." I was flabbergasted. I still am.

2. For 90 minutes in the middle of the day I was assigned to assist with a bunch of seventh graders forming a guitar band under the instruction of an outside guitar teacher. She would teach the girls music; I would keep order as the official faculty member in the room. No order-keeping needed. About ten minutes into the session, the instructor asked me to go to the piano and double the girls' chords on the keyboard in a jam session. I've never jammed with anyone before. We played and sang Taylor Swift songs. I'd never heard a Taylor Swift song before. By the end, the teacher had me learning my first guitar chords. Totally new for me, and such a refreshing alternative perspective on the school. Glad I drew that chaperoning straw.

3. I've assigned my juniors to write historical fiction set in the late 19th-century industrial era. I met with some of them about their stories today and got a sneak preview. So I have a stack of papers coming in right before spring break, but they're going to be a refreshing departure from my standard fare. As far as I can tell, they're all going to be romances about young women. And I suspect they will be revealing. There are jilted fiances ("At the end of the day, he just couldn't keep up with her wit and passion"), rich girls trapped in houses by strict parents ("Everyone thought it was so wonderful to be a member of their wealthy, prominent family, but it was more like prison"), and lots and lots of tragedy.

4. I like that there are many students who know and greet me now, even when I haven't taught them. I walk through the halls and hear a cheerful scattering of "Hi, Dr. Boger"s along the way. We have nice students. Today I was charging West-Wing style through the building with a colleague, strategizing about classes, when we turned a corner into a new hallway and bumped into the second graders getting their things out of their lockers. Suddenly the voices piped up, "Hi, Ms. Lank!" My colleague didn't know me as Ms. Lank and looked quizzical for a moment. We turned another corner, and I was Dr. Boger again. Kind of cool, the subtle ways in which one's life roles are differentiated even living and working in a tight space.

5. Our whole family went running together on the track after work. In the middle of a lap, I was accosted by a student who wanted me to participate in a project for her friend from another school. I've never run a mile in the middle of which I went on camera discussing what it means to be human and why we're here on earth. My headiest workout to date. Tom's, too, I suspect.

6. Tom received a bouquet of cookie flowers (thank you, Colorado church family!). We agreed they were the yummiest flowers any of us had ever eaten.

Life is good...

...with a few good friends.

And the beauty of living at school is the ease of the after-school playdate. What's not to like about a friend who is happy to read out loud together from favorite books all afternoon?

I desewve a speshoo tweat

Tom and I occasionally make the above simpering mark as a joke, learned from an accomplished, cosmopolitan friend whom I was stunned to hear utter that phrase, with that accent, on a mutual business trip a number of years ago. She was wheedling the group to stop for ice cream and un-self-consciously lapsed into a posture she must have learned in her family of origin as a child.

For my part, I don't usually claim to deserve special treats. Wheedling baby talk doesn't get one very far with my husband, as some of you may know. In fact it does the reverse, as his puritanical roots surface and he reveals his disgust with one's small-mindedness and/or artificiality.

And neither of us imagines ourselves in need of much pampering. For a number of (graduate-school impoverished) years, our Valentine's and anniversary gifts to each other have been descriptions of what we would get each other if we could. We've found that almost as romantic.

We also don't imagine we "deserve" anything for most life accomplishments. I never imagined that getting through generals, defending a dissertation, serving in the Peace Corps, or getting a job offer--all the hardest things in my adult life--merited material recognition. They're their own reward.

But.

Thanks to Alice, and much coaxing and soothing and pretend play...I may finally have retired from an 8-year job. It appears that mama cow, provider of mommy milk since 2005, has finished her last day in the milking parlor.
 
I didn't nurse my girls so long because of ideology. I didn't do it for a merit badge. I didn't do it to prove I'm mom enough. If anything, I often felt out of control and insufficiently strong to cut if off, as many of you know. If you'd told me in the spring of 2005 that it was going to be eight years, I might have turned to bottle feeding right away.

I'm not proud, sentimental, or sad--just relieved, like the marathoner 5 yards past the finish line.

...And honestly, it may be simpering, but I'm feeling that I deserve a special treat.*




*After all Alice is getting a big present for weaning, and she's been at the nursing thing only half as long.