You Can See it in Their Eyes

We were standing in the church hallway with our squirming and screaming babies when the bishop's wife walked by. This woman, the bishop's wife, is one of those people you can't help loving. She's just so full of light and joy and infectious love. She is one of the kindest people I know.

Which is why I know she wasn't trying to hurt me. She wasn't trying to wound anyone. She was merely trying to be encouraging when she stopped, and in her effusive and loving enthusiasm gave both me and my friend a hug and said, "You young mothers are doing such great work here! You are doing the truly important work! It may feel hard now, but the love you're giving your babies now, the time, the sacrifice, it will stay with them forever! I know! When I go to the high school, and I look at all those grown up kids, you can tell the difference between those kids raised by good mothers, and those raised in daycare. You can see it in their eyes!"

She hurried on to her Sunday school class or wherever she was going, probably never giving a second thought to her comment or that small moment in the hallway.

But I think about that moment often. Her words echo in my mind almost every day. "You can tell the difference between those kids raised by good mothers, and those raised in daycare. You can see it in their eyes."

My kids will be starting daycare next week.

To say I have conflicted feelings about this is a massive understatement. Because, you see, if you had asked me just a few years ago, I would've agreed 100% with my bishop's wife. Not that I ever would've said it out loud like her, but I totally felt that way. I felt that really good mothers stayed home with their kids. Really good mothers did not pass off the responsibility of caring for and raising their children to someone else.

I had a hard enough time coming to terms with the situation when we hired our first nanny. Not only did it feel strangely privileged and extravagant (I did not grow up in a world where anyone had a nanny), I struggled with the idea of giving up my responsibility to raise my children, even if only for a few hours a week. But at least, at the very least, it was still one person in our home, keeping my children in the routines I set, with the toys and activities I provided for them, giving them the individual attention they needed. If I couldn't be there myself, a nanny felt like the next best thing.

But daycare? The image of daycare in my mind was one of flickering fluorescent lights over threadbare dingy carpets illuminating a sad and stringy selection of secondhand toys, with a bunch of kids crying in soiled diapers while frazzled and overworked care providers tried to keep too much snot from spreading around. Daycare, in my mind, was neither happy nor loving, the opposite of the kind of environment I wanted for my children. That person I was long before I married or had kids would never, never in a million years, have imagined daycare as an option for my children, my future precious babies.

Funny how life turns out. Because like I mentioned earlier, my kids are starting daycare next week.

So, how did we get here?

Well, the decision process was long and winding. We had a wonderful nanny this past year that I was so grateful for. Having a nanny in my home solved a lot of headaches (like what to do when my oldest was sick and needed to stay home from school), but created other headaches (what to do when she gets sick and can't work?). Plus, there was the conundrum of what to do with our middle child, who really ought to be attending preschool (alas, the wonderful days of Joy School co-ops are behind me). So we started looking into the daycare option provided on my university campus, and it looked good. Really good actually. After visiting and getting a tour, I was very impressed. They have an incredible staff-to-student ratio, three separate playgrounds, a garden that provides produce for the meals (lunch and snacks) prepared on site for the kids, and a fleet of vans and carseats for quarterly field trips. They had a sparkling accredited curriculum, and a shiny beautiful facility. It was not the dismal daycare center of my imagination. Plus, it was on campus. I could bring my kids to school with me, drop them off, then walk over to my building just a few minutes away. I could come eat lunch with them, or check on them whenever I wanted. It sounded perfect.

So we applied, and got accepted, and put down the deposit, and started making all the other arrangements. I would have a wonderful, reliable daycare option for my younger two children (the oldest one will be in full day school).

But then, the memory of my bishop's wife surfaced, and started haunting me daily. "You can see it in their eyes." You can see it in their eyes.

What can you see in their eyes? Neglect? A lack of love? A lack of connection? Is that what is destined for my children, now that they will be attending daycare? Does it mean I love them less? That I am less devoted, less involved, less of a mother?

I know there are many women out there who are rolling their eyes at my concerns. Of course it doesn't mean I love them less! Of course my kids will be just fine!

But I know some of you will understand why I feel so conflicted about this. These are my children, the single most important responsibility in my life. Nothing is more important, not a job, not a degree, nothing is more important than making sure they are well cared for and all their needs, physical and emotional, are being met. So, when I fully believe that, why am I doing this? Why am I sending my kids to daycare?

Honestly, my only answer is that I sincerely believe God wants me to. I don't think I could do this any other way, and I question Him over and over again, because it feels counter to everything my culture has taught me to believe about what He wants. But this I know: when I pray, I know that I am supposed to be getting this degree. And when I pray about my children, I know that God is taking care of them.

When my baby started nursery at the end of June, and screamed for forty minutes straight before the desperate nursery leaders finally found my husband, I came home from church, knelt, and prayed, "If she can't handle two hours of nursery, how is she going to handle a full day of daycare? Are you sure this is right?" And the answer I got was, "She'll be fine. I'll look after her, for remember, she's my child too."

When I found out about the daycare's policy that absolutely zero super hero paraphernalia is allowed, and my sweet boy who has worn his Catboy cape and mask day and night since March would not be allowed to wear it at school, I came home and prayed again, "But he loves that outfit! And if I were a stay-at-home mom, he could wear it as much as he wants! It's his security blanket against all his anxieties! Are yous sure this is right?" And the answer I got was, "He'll be fine. I'll look after him, for remember, he's my child too."

They'll be fine. They'll be fine.

They will know that I love them. They will know I am not abandoning them. They will not lose the light in their eyes.

And so, I write this, partly to justify my decisions to those of my culture who I know will question me, and partly to say that I now believe differently. I believe I can love and care for my children just as much as ever, and also let someone else watch them for a good chunk of their waking hours. I believe I am still a good mother. I believe my children will still know they are loved and cared for even if they will grow up in daycare. I believe it is all about perception, and my perception has changed.

My children will be raised by a good mother, a mother who has made many sacrifices. And you will be able to see it in their eyes.

On Priorities, Time, and My Best Work: A Motivational/Business Psychology Reading Spree

One of my classes earlier this semester hosted a panel of professors that were invited to come talk to us (all graduate students) about what it was like to pursue tenure track as a career. During the Q&A, another student asked the panel about their work/life balance, and all of them laughed as if such an idea were hilariously ludicrous. Then one of the female professors proceeded to share how she had never attended a single one of her children's soccer games (presumably because she's too busy on Saturday mornings?), and shared what she evidently thought was a hilarious anecdote about when her five-year-old daughter asked if they could occasionally, like maybe once a month or so, eat a home-cooked meal. She shared this story with evident pride, as if to say "Yes, I have put my career above my family, but this is what success in this career looks like!"

I was suuuuuuper annoyed with this professor's response. I wanted to raise my hand and refute the message she was sending, that her career is so demanding and her life so busy that she had to sacrifice things like family dinner and attending her children's games. I wanted to say, to her but especially to the other student who had asked the question in the first place, that work/life balance is all about priorities and choices.

I know this from personal experience (more about that in a minute), but I'm also backed up by all the reading I've been doing recently on topics like work, motivation, and success. In the past month or so, I've read five books that have all talked about some aspect of "success," what it looks like, how to define it, and how to achieve it. There are plenty more out there on this topic, but the books I've read recently were Deep Work by Cal Newport, Originals by Adam Grant, Grit by Angela Duckworth, Multipliers by Liz Wiseman, and Essentialism by Greg McKeown (for short summaries, see my last two monthly round-up posts here and here). While all of these books have there own (sometimes widely different) focus and message, there were a few common themes and takeaways that I found repeated throughout them.

The biggest takeaway for me is that work, and especially good, deep, interesting, and successful work, does not have to consume life. In fact, much of the reading talked about studies that confirm people are usually "busy" doing things that don't actually matter, and if we could strip away all the unnecessary stuff, and learn how to do just the essential, deep work in an efficient manner, then we could accomplish twice as much in less time, opening up the rest of our lives for relationships and rest and things that make life worth living. In one way or another, all of these books talked about figuring out what is most essentially important in life, what our core goals are, and then letting everything else go so we can just focus on those goals and use the time we have in the best way possible.

I've been fascinated and encouraged by these ideas, because I think by anyone's standards, my life is "busy," but that doesn't mean I don't have time for the things that mater most. For better or for worse, this is the path my life is on for the next five years or so (and potentially beyond, who knows what the future brings). I am a working mother, this is my reality. And because this is my life right now, because I am teaching two courses a semester and taking classes and working toward a PhD while raising three rather young children on less sleep than I'd like, I need to figure out how to make this work. I need to figure out how to live a life that is busy but is not frantic and survival mode all the time. I need to figure out how to thrive.

So I've been thinking about what my core, essential priorities are, and what else I can strip away. And here's what I've decided. My family is first, always and forever. What this looks like for me is family time. Family dinner that I've cooked every day is a priority (and unlike that professor, I've managed to cook dinner for my family nearly every day since starting school last August). Play time with my children is a priority. FHE is a priority. Date night (mostly at-home date night, but whatever) is a priority. Story time at bedtime is a priority. Violin practice is a priority. Family movie night is a priority. These things happen, and 95% of the time I am there for it.

But school is also a priority. I'm a bit afraid to call it a career, because I still have no idea if this PhD thing is going to lead anywhere, but at least for now, I'm allowing myself to lean in as if my end goal is a career (why go to all this trouble if not to treat it like it's leading somewhere?). One of the things most of these people wrote about is the importance of finding meaning and passion in your work for it to be worthwhile, and that gave me a little pause. I've admitted before that I don't find much greater purpose in academia. I mean, what good does it do the world to study reader marginalia notes in early printed play texts? These feelings are why I never would have pursued academia as a career if left to my own devices, but do you know what does give me purpose? The unshakable faith that this path is my calling in life. For whatever reason, God wants me to get a PhD, and I know this almost more certainly than I've ever known anything. So school gets to be a priority. What does that look like? It means that when I have childcare time to do schoolwork, I dive deep. I get my homework and lesson planning done, but then spend extra time doing research for the sake of research. I write conference abstracts and apply for funding. I try to get something published. I'm committed, 100%.

But other things are a priority too. This is my life, and so sleep is a priority. I go to bed at 10, and get up at 5:30, and sleep in on the weekends. Health and exercise are a priority. I do yoga in the mornings, I eat vegetables for every meal. Friendship is a priority, so I go to book club. My spiritual life is a priority, so I read my scriptures, and meditate, and write in my journal, and prepare my lessons for Sunday, and go to the temple. Pleasure reading is a priority, so I listen to audio books when I can. Pleasure writing is a priority, so I write here when I can.

But do you know what is not a priority? What is not taking up my time these days? Television. A clean house (although this one makes me sad). Social media. Play dates with other moms (although this one also makes me sad, maybe this summer?). Attending all the interesting guest lectures on campus. Serving on the PTO at my son's school. Grocery shopping (my husband now does 100% of the grocery shopping, although I make the lists). And probably a million other things that would be so fun, or fulfilling, or good uses of time. They just aren't essential right now.

I still have my issues, my pinch points, and my things that are out of balance. I need to find time to get my hair cut, go to the dentist, fold the laundry, and a thousand other small things that I still consider "necessary" but that I haven't made the time for. But I firmly, firmly believe that my life is better for having had to make these decisions about my priorities.

And I also firmly believe that if that professor at my school had different priorities, she could have made it to every single one of her children's soccer games, and still been at this same point in her career. I am learning this about the work I have to do, as I compare myself to the grad students and professors around me. Work expands to take up the time you allot for it. My childless peers spend eight hours a day in their offices, work nights and weekends too, and tell me how frantic and busy they feel. I spend two hours a day in my office two days a week, and work after my children go to bed at night, and yet I get the same homework load done, teach the same number of lessons, write the same number of papers. In fact, I think my work is better for being condensed. I must work more efficiently, but I have learned to work better because of it.

All of these thoughts and experiences I've had with my work and defining my priorities over these past few months have made me view my husband's work differently. He spends eight hours at work every day, regardless of whether he actually has work to fill up those eight hours. His job is a little bit famine or feast: some times he has more work than he can handle, other times the projects are a little more scarce. But regardless of how busy he is, he's expected to be in his office eight hours a day for the sake of "face time" and looking busy. Regardless of how hard he's worked during those eight hours, he's expected to be on call all night long (and all weekend too), checking his email incessantly just in case something comes in. And even though in his line of work absolutely no one will die if those contracts aren't reviewed until Monday, he's expected to work all weekend just to keep everyone happy. In his culture of billable hours, efficient work is not rewarded. In fact, the longer it takes you to do a task, the more busy and "productive" you look. It's a ridiculous culture that I have many frustrations with (as does he).

But like I said, January is a notoriously slow month for him. As I've compared our work loads recently, it's been especially frustrating. He still goes to work for eight hours every day, but spends much of his time working on personal things. He finished our 2018 budget, worked on our taxes, and researched some home renovation projects. He took two afternoons off to go to the dentist (cavity). These things are all fine and good, but he also spends a lot of time checking pointless email, scrolling the internet, just filling his time up.

There have been days when I won't deny that I've been jealous of his time. Why does he get the luxury of eight child-free hours to essentially scroll Facebook? Why must I be the one trying to cram eight hours worth of work into two? Why am I the one feeling pressure to hurry through my homework and lesson planning so I can rush home to be with the kids, while he feels no such pressure to be home despite having far less work than me right now?

But after reflecting on what I've been reading, I've come to the conclusion that I do not so much wish I had my husband's time, as I wish he had mine. I do not wish for eight child-free hours, I'd miss my kids too much! I do not wish to spend eight hours on my work when I've been able to get it done in two. Why would I want to spend a single minute longer than is necessary on my work? And would I be working at the depth and level I'm working at if my time crunch didn't demand such complete and utter focus? I would rather be forced to get my work done as efficiently as possible, so that I can spend the rest of my time building Legos on the floor with my boys (while trying to keep them out of the mouth of my baby girl). I wish it were acceptable for my husband to spend his time like mine, to work efficiently when he has work, and to spend the rest of his time at home on his other priorities not worrying about "face time" or whatnot. But that is not the culture of his work place, or our society at large. For most, the longer hours you spend at work, the busier you look, the more successful you must be.

I do not believe this to be true at all.

Other take-aways I've had from this motivational/self-help reading spree:

-Business books are repetitive. Not just in themselves (though some of them are that), but between them. The same studies kept getting mentioned over and over and over. Honestly, I don't ever need to read Carol Dweck's Mindset because I've already read so much about her theories of growth mindsets vs. fixed mindsets. The other studies that kept coming up? Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's work on flow was mentioned in almost every single book (although, I've got to give a plug here for Grit, because Duckworth's discussion of how "flow" works with the concepts challenging practice in learning a new skill was the most interesting and insightful discussion on the topic). There was also some study about dogs getting shocked that got mentioned a couple times (something related to the concept of fixed mindsets, and how we lose hope when we don't think we can change our circumstances). I found the repetition to be more interesting than annoying, actually, because it felt like seeing a larger pattern and identifying what ideas are resonating right now.

-I came away from all this reading feeling really positive about corporate America. This is very different than the feeling I get from my reading in the Humanities department, where everyone is a liberal or socialist, and capitalism is the greatest evil of all time (I once mentioned to a class mate that my husband was a corporate lawyer, and he visibly shuddered and said, "Wow, so, basically he's the devil incarnate," ...). Anyway, all of these books made me feel like it could actually be extremely personally rewarding to have an executive corporate job. All the motivational jargon just made it seem like you can find your best selves in these jobs and really become a dynamic and innovative leader who can change the world. Go team corporate capitalism!

-Mormons rule in business. So, I didn't realize that the last two books I read were written by Mormons (Liz Wiseman and Greg McKeown) until after I'd read them and looked up the author bios, but I think Mormons were quoted or mentioned in every book I read but one (Mitt Romney, Steve Young, Clayton Christensen, and others all got shout outs). So go Mormons!

Okay, so now I'm kind of burned out on this genre, but I still feel all sorts of motivated to conquer the world and live my best life and do my best, most creative, deepest and most efficient work. I honestly recommend all of these books, for different reasons, but if you don't want to read all of them then I think Deep Work and Essentialism would be my two top picks for general readers (followed by Originals, if you like pop psychology Malcolm Gladwell stuff). I have lots more thoughts about all of these books (especially Deep Work), so I may write more about this stuff in the future. But enough for now. Have you read any of these? What are your thoughts?

Composition

You guys, I've neglected this poor little blog of mine so terribly, but it's not for lack of interest. I have so much I want to say and write and post here, but the issue is time, like always. Still, I needed to give myself a break from all the crazy term paper writing and grading I'm in the middle of this month, so I'm popping by to write a few of those swirling thoughts down.

Also, I've got a little treat of a guest post in the pipeline for you, which you really ought to be excited about (I know I am).

Anyway, what I wanted to talk about today was composition. I teach a course that is sometimes referred to as "Freshman Composition," and in my practicum course we do a lot of talking and reading and theorizing about what "composition" means. The biggest thing we talk about is how composition isn't just about words or writing. Composition happens in many modes: visual/picture, sound/speech/music, body/gestural, and spatial/design. This means there is a move in composition courses to emphasize not just writing, but projects that involve all of these modes.

In fact, my students right now are in the middle of creating multi-modal projects. For this assignment, they were required to make an argument in a way that involves two or more "modes" of composition. Many of them are choosing to make videos, but I'm getting a lot of PowerPoint presentations, some picture books, photo essays, and one student is even making a blog.

This has kind of been a shift in thinking for me about what a freshman writing course should be. I mean, I get teaching writing. I'm comfortable teaching writing. I kind of thought that's what I signed up to do.

But video editing?

Photo composition?

Heck, even PowerPoint?

I'm totally out of my depth.

There's this old school, born-before-the-internet, averse-to-change side of me that's like "This is not what writing is!!! Can't we teaching writing in a writing class and leave all this technology/visual/mode stuff to tech people? Artists? Graphic designers? That's not me!"

But there's another side of me, this side that blogs and writes on the internet, that totally understands and is actually excited by this move. See, here's how the argument goes: Composition happens in all of these modes, but they've only been taught to the masses insofar as technology has allowed the masses access to these modes. The technology for writing just happened first. We got pencils and papers in such a cheap place that the masses could all be taught how to write (and technically, to draw too. It actually used to be much more common for people, especially women, to learn how to draw well.). But now technology has developed to such a point that every one of us is walking around with these devices in our pockets that can compose in all these other modes. It can take pictures. It can record video. It can edit. It can record sound. You can even do certain kinds of graphic design.

And now that this technology has become so ubiquitous, it kind of only makes sense that we begin teaching how to compose in all of these modes. I see this with my students. I can write an essay without blinking an eye, but edit a video? Haha. But the vast majority of my students are far more comfortable putting together these highly sophisticated videos than they are with any of the written assignments I've given them so far. It's put me in a bit of an awkward position, where my students are the experts on how to do the assignment, and I'm the amateur (worse than amateur). It's humbling.

But all this discussion about composing in different modes has made me see my five-year-old's play in a new light too. He is a composer. It was his drive to write stories that inspired his interest in learning to read (totally backwards of most children, who are interested in reading first and then learn how to write.) He still writes quite a bit, but his recent passion has been making movies. His imaginative play is all about practicing for his "movies" that he's going to make. He's constantly using my phone to take pictures and record videos (I never have space for the photos I want to take because of his creations). Luckily he has a wonderful father who's far less of a neophyte than I am, and who makes movies with him on Saturday mornings. They started out with stop motion photography on an app, but have since progressed to green-screens and special effects (see below, one of their first attempts, which is by no means professional, but pretty impressive to me). Friday night movie night is now less about the story of the movie, and more about how the movie was made (he was fascinated when we pulled out Honey I Shrunk the Kids a few months ago, and still talks about the sets and the "movie magic" that made that film possible).

I don't know if this means he's going to grow up to be a film producer or movie director. Maybe, maybe not. But I do know he's going to grow up completely understanding that stories and information can be communicated in many different modes, and he will be able to compose in any of them because of technology.

Also, he's definitely getting his own digital camera from Santa this year. Because I want my phone back.

Permission to Want It

I am a mother of three young children, a wife, a homemaker. And in my spare time, I'm getting a PhD in English.

I've had such complicated feelings about this PhD. It was not part of my original life plan. It was never a goal. It was not something I wanted.

I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to be the good little Mormon housewife. I was content with that life, and getting this PhD feels like telling the world I wasn't content with that life. That I wanted more, that I have goals and ambitions for a career outside the home. Which is why, to other Mormons, I'm always so quick to explain, "This is revelation! God basically told me to do this! I don't know why, please don't judge!"

The whole lead-up to this program has been so emotionally fraught for me, so full of second-guessing, and so much anxiety. Mostly, anxiety about child-care. So many nights I've woken up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep over the anxiety of child-care. We struggled to find a nanny, a child-care facility, a situation that felt good to us. I laid awake in bed those nights praying and pleading with the Lord: Please, help us find someone good! Help us find someone who will love and care for my children the way I love and care for them! And tell me again why it won't be me? Why can't I just stay home with my kids? Why is this so hard?

The answers didn't come immediately, but they came firmly and unmistakably, the way all the answers have seemed to come through this whole miraculous process of having the Lord turn my life around. I felt the words, "I have prepared angels to take care of your children. Please stop worrying."

But I couldn't stop worrying. It took weeks of struggle and stress, and even when we finally found a nanny I was comfortable with, even after she visited our home and showered love on my children and expressed enthusiasm and gratitude for the job, I still couldn't stop worrying. What if she quits? What if someone gets sick? What if the baby won't nap for her? What if? What if? What if?

I'm missing my son's first day of kindergarten. His father will be able to take him to school that day, and his grandmother will be there to pick him up at the end, but I will be thirty miles away attending my third day of mandatory orientation, and when I realized this is where I would be on my first child's first day of school, I nearly cried. I wanted to drop out right there. No PhD, no anything, is worth not being there on the biggest moment of my child's life to this point. He knows I won't be there, and he keeps asking who will be there. Who will be there to pick him up? Who will be there to help him find his classroom? Someone will be, but it won't be me.

It should be me.

Will I ever live the guilt of this down?

I have been so distracted by the logistics, so consumed by the worry and the anxiety and the stress and the guilt, that I haven't actually done that much thinking about school itself. I will be teaching this time, two sections of freshman writing. Finally, this past week, when I realized it would be catastrophic to put it off any longer, I started preparing for class.

And...

I got excited. I got interested. I forgot how much I love teaching. I forgot how much I enjoy this subject I'm studying. I forgot that there is something about this whole academia world that brings me a lot of satisfaction. I've been so focused on letting people know that I did not choose this path, so focused on stressing about how hard this is to figure out, how crazy it is to be a mother of three and go to school, so conflicted about asking someone else to watch/love/raise my children for thirty hours a week(!), that I forgot to actually want it.

As I prayed that night, the spirit filled me with these words again, "I have prepared angels to watch over your children. Do not worry about them. I will take care of them, for they are mine. But you are mine too. You are my child too, and I have given you gifts and opportunities, and I need you to make use of your gifts. You have my permission to enjoy this. You have my permission to want this."

I think this time I will listen. I am still working on letting go of the worry. I'm still snuggling my baby a little bit extra, still relishing in the last slow moments home with the boys, still anxious about meeting all their needs. I'm still full of confusion about why this is my life path, still so full of conflicting emotions.

But I'm also excited. And I'm giving myself permission to enjoy it.

To want a PhD.

Thursdays at the Library

Today is Thursday.

On Thursdays, the nanny shows up at 1:30, just like the other days of the week when I have class, but on Thursdays I'm not in a rush to get out the door. I said leisurely good-byes, then got in my car and drove to my local public library first to pick up a hold, then back on the freeway to head down to campus. Traffic was worse than usual, but my audio book was fantastic (H is for Hawk, by Helen McDonald) and I didn't mind at all. I found a parking spot quickly, then walked the twenty minutes across campus to the library. I stopped at the front desk to pick up another round of holds (these ones a bit thicker and heavier than from my public library), then staggered upstairs under the load.

The library was busy today. More and more students fill up the carrels and tables each week as the semester gets under swing. I wandered around the floor looking for an available seat when, bingo! I spotted an empty private room on the other side of the stacks and sprinted for it, rushing to secure this prime location before any other student could snap it up.

Surprise! Studying English Has Nothing to Do With A Love of Reading

On the first day of class this semester, as I was making small talk with some of my fellow students, I asked my go to question: "So, read any good books this summer?"

The friend sitting next to me, who, and this is crucial to understand, taught AP High School English for sixteen years before coming back to school to get her master's in literature, replied, "No. I started The Poisonwood Bible and couldn't get past the first page. That was my only attempt at pleasure reading." Cue my mouth dropping open in astonishment.

The Two Week Mark: Panic Attacks, Erotica, and Other Crazy Stories

School's only been in session two weeks and I've already:

• Lost multiple fights with the bookstore and Amazon.com to get my books in on time. Barnes and Noble just flat out canceled my order, after I'd paid! (Obviously got refunded, but no wonder they are going out of business if they purport to sell books they can't actually provide).
• Experienced my first ever real panic attack. It was fairly mild, but that first week of the semester was pretty overwhelming.
• Read a post-modern novel described as a "dream of electrifying eroticism and inexplicable violence." It's so different being a literature student at a non-religious school.
• Had the professor of my research and bibliography course tell us that he disagreed with the MLA style guide, and that we should follow his rules instead for citations (I'm sorry, but what?!?!)
• Used a ruler in class to measure the exact length in millimeters of a line rule on the title page of a 1790 copy of Pamela. I'm still trying to figure out just why that measurement was so important.
• Had a professor announce on the first day of class that truth does not exist. Once again, so interesting being at a non-religious school (although this experience was far less inflammatory than the professor in my first semester who openly mocked an Indian student for believing that Hindu mythology was true, that guy was a real jerk).

So anyway, if I'm a little MIA around here for the next while, it's only because I'm expending all my energy trying to wrap my poor, sleep-deprived brain cells around Foucault and Derrida and the like. It's going to be a doozy of a semester.

A Student Mom: Childcare

Yes, I'm a mom, and I'm going to grad school. I write on ongoing series of posts chronicling my experience as a student mom. If it interests you, find the rest of the posts here.

If you had told me ten years ago that someday I would hire a nanny to watch my kids, I would've laughed in your face.

Even if you had told me that five years ago, I still would've been skeptical.

First off, nannies were only for those super rich people, the ones who had summer houses in Europe and sent their kids to private boarding schools and that kind of thing. Sure, my husband makes a decent salary, but we are by no means wealthy (especially not with the depressing weight of student loans still hanging over our heads).

Second, I would've told you that I would never entrust the care and raising of my children to someone else. Weren't nannies for those bad moms who were too busy and too selfish to stay home with their kids?

Without doubt, childcare has been the most stressful, most gut-wrenching, and most guilt-ridden part of this whole experience of going back to grad school. There were so many days during my first semester, when my kid was sick or when the planned babysitter fell through last minute, when I thought to myself, "Oh yeah, this is why young mothers don't do grad school."

For my first semester last year, we used a network of friends and family for babysitting. I have a good friend who lives in our same apartment complex that took my kid two afternoons a week, and then I would drop him off at my sister-in-law's house for my evening class another day. It was stressful to manage the pick-up and drop-off, but I was happy knowing these were friends and family my son was comfortable with and who would care for him like their own children (plus, we couldn't beat the price of the friends and family discount :).

But my sister-in-law moved out of state over the summer, and then we had a baby, and we didn't want to drop two kids on our friends for the 15+ hours of childcare needed each week (easy way to destroy a friendship). So we started looking at other options, the most appealing of which was hiring a nanny.

I won't bore you with the details of our search, the prayers and the fretting and the late-night anxiety I went through thinking about bringing a perfect stranger into my home to take care of the two most precious people in the world to me, especially when we can't afford to pay a lot. I will only tell you the happy ending, because last week I interviewed and hired the perfect nanny. Except for the part where we don't speak the same language (why or why did I minor in French instead of Spanish?), this is the most perfect situation I ever could have dared hope for, and I feel so grateful and blessed that things were able to work out this way.

So next week, I will return to school full time (three days a week, five hours a day), and my boys will be looked after by a nanny.

Now that the stress of finding a nanny has subsided, I've had time to fully reflect about the position I find myself in. I have a nanny. I am voluntarily leaving my children every week. I am paying someone else money we can barely afford so that I can go to school and study literature.

Some days, I really feel like this is all a terrible idea. We are throwing so much money at this thing, this dream of mine to get a master's degree. Money that should be going to get us out of debt or saving for a house. And then I am leaving my children. Leaving them with someone else who will get the afternoon snacks ready and change the diapers and put the baby down for naps and make decisions about how many TV shows to watch. I'm giving up control over those decisions for fifteen hours every week. Why? Why? Why?

The only answer I can give is because for me, for us, this is the right thing to do at the right time. I can't give any more logical explanation, but trust me, I pray about it over and over and every time, I just know it is right. It is okay. I don't know why yet, but some day I will look back and understand.

After meeting with my nanny, I even wondered if I was going to school now just so we could give her a job. She has been out of work for a while, and even though we aren't paying her much, something is more than nothing. While we had been praying to find a good nanny, she had been praying to find work, and here we are answering each other's prayers.

This whole experience is helping to dislodge some perceptions I used to hold about motherhood and childcare -- perceptions that I think would have held me back if I hadn't been pushed so hard to do this. Here's what I'm learning:

• It takes a village to raise a child. One mother can't do it alone, and it's not shameful to ask others to step in and help with childcare.
• My children will still turn out just fine if I am not around for every second of their lives. I haven't given up my responsibilities for their well-fare, education, and development just because I leave them for a few hours every week.
• I like my children more when I get a regular break from them. I have more patience, I am more kind, and I am a better mother when I get back from school.
• I can still be a good mom and be a good grad student.

Sometimes I feel like there is a lot of judgment, especially in the Mormon community, for mothers who work or go to school, especially when they don't have to. And somehow I sort of absorbed the perception that moms who worked weren't as focused or devoted to their families. It's certainly never been spoken or said to me, but I always feel like I have to defend myself when I tell people I'm going to grad school, and prove that I'm not selfish or not dedicated to motherhood.

Because what I've learned the most from this experience is that first and foremost, I'm still a mom. I still do everything I did before as a mother, only now I squeeze homework in at night and on the weekends. And I let a nanny watch them for the few hours I have to be away. Honestly, sometimes I wondered why my classmates would complain about being stressed and busy when school was all they did. Motherhood was what I did, and school was what I did on the side.

Anyway, this has been a long and rambly post, of interest to possibly no one but myself. All I'm trying to say is that if there is any other mother out there considering school, don't let guilt stop you from outsourcing childcare (money may stop you, but it shouldn't be guilt). You don't stop being a mom just because someone else is keeping your kids alive for a few hours.

And, holy cow! I have a nanny!

Why Grad School, Why Now?

"Oh, you're going to grad school? Why?"

I can't tell you how many people have asked me this question, and I suppose it's a valid one. People aren't necessarily being nosy or rude, this is a perfectly polite question to ask when people are getting to know me. But the answer is still always kind of complicated, and more than I can really explain in a short conversation with passing acquaintances.

Usually, people have two reactions when they find out I'm going to grad school:

Some people assume I'm doing this to get back into teaching, or go on for a doctorate, or jump start my career in some way. And the answer is, no. Probably not. With young kids at home, I have no plans to go back to teaching (yet) or get a doctorate (yet) or work on maintaining any kind of career, but that's difficult to explain because otherwise, what's the point of paying for grad school?

Other people, the ones familiar with Mormon culture and the expectation for women to stay home with the kids (especially when their husbands have very suitable jobs that provide very well for a young family), are just confused. Raised eyebrows. Question marks. Because why on earth would I waste the money we could be using to save for a house to pay tuition? Why would I shuffle my child around to various babysitters and disrupt our family life like this? What's the point?

The short answer I usually give both groups of people is that a maser's degree is just on my life's bucket list of goals. Something I want to do. That answer tends to satisfy most people, even if they are still a little confused about my timing.

And while that short answer is completely true in every way, the long answer is a bit more complicated. The long answer is that I'm not really sure why I needed to go to grad school right now other than it felt like a very right decision, and that every step of the way has been guided by what I can only describe as God's hand. I still don't know why God wants this experience for me right now. I'm not sure if he's just interested in my personal growth, or if there's a larger plan in play here, but I have definitely felt divine guidance in this whole process.

As I sit back and reflect on my first semester, I can already see ways I've personally grown. I grew up in Utah, I never went on a mission, and I attended BYU for undergrad, so most of my life, and the development of my faith and intellect, happened in a fairly sheltered environment where people totally accepted that religious faith and intellectual advancement could coexist peacefully in one person. Now, going to a graduate school outside of Utah, I've experienced the complete opposite. In my various classes, I saw a range of opinions expressed, from my non-religious professor who specializes in Bible studies and holds a very deep respect for believers even though he isn't one of them, to the very liberal professor who vehemently and caustically attacked religious belief in any form. I found myself in the very new-to-me situation of defending spiritual belief in an academic setting, and I can't say that I always had the words or the courage to defend myself. In fact, for being a literature program at a state university, I'm seriously surprised in general how much class time was devoted to the discussion of religion and belief. I've been stretched and pushed to think about my belief in new ways, and to find the language to defend it academically. It's an interesting challenge.

But it wasn't all testing and defending faith. I also had some deeply uplifting experiences with some of the things I read and some of our class discussions, especially as I learned about other religions and philosophies. For example, my experience reading The Faerie Queene opened up a whole new way for me to conceive of the virtue of chastity, and it is quite beautiful. Honestly, I wish that epic poem were a little more accessible to modern readers, because if I'm ever called to be in the Young Women's program, I'm totally going to teach my girls about Britomart. Spenser created one of the most brilliant allegories on chastity I've ever encountered in that text. I know the teenage girls will think I'm weird, but I'm not kidding. It's beautiful stuff, once you wade through the archaic language and strange narrative structure.

So it's definitely been a growing experience, but one I am deeply grateful to be in the middle of. I feel there is so much more for me to learn and discover and think about, and I'm still feeling excited that this opportunity is mine right now (despite what a grueling semester it was). It's hard and stressful, but still such a blessing.

Anyway, I've probably rambled enough for one post. So I should stop now. But thanks for giving me some space to think through all of my experiences with grad school. There's more to come, for sure.