1. I get to call myself a writer
2. I get to read quality papers on a variety of subjects
3. I get to write about these papers
4. I get some control over the papers I cover
5. I get a salary and benefits
6. I get to live in a larger city
7. I have a real boss that is mostly around and provides feedback
8. I get to talk to adults about interesting topics
9. I have the opportunity to meet and talk with some pretty interesting people

Not as nice things about my job
1. I get little personal recognition for my work
2. I have to write according to a set style
3. Sometimes the papers are incredibly boring
4. Strict word limits
5. Fairly strict deadlines
6. I miss my kid
7. I had to move away from a larger support system
8. I wish I had more opportunity to meet and interact with interesting people
9. I don’t get paid as much as I could at another job

So here goes:

Things you do:

You see wonder in the world around you. You point out birds, and trees, trucks, airplanes, sirens and flowers. You marvel at rocks. You show me, force my face upward, to look at how the wind moves the leaves in the trees. You grin in the middle of a popsicle. You demand I order a rabbit back into our yard.

I suggest that we head to the park, and you throw your hands in the air. “DAAA!” you say (the best form of yes), grab my hand and lead me to the door. You know that 10 minutes is longer than 5 minutes and 5 minutes is longer than 1.

You kiss where I am hurt. You hug my leg. At night you ask me to sing to you, and sometimes you sing along. You love trains and especially their signals. You make high-pitched car noises as you move a car along the couch and quietly woo woo whenever we drive by the tracks. At night you rest your head on my shoulder. You put my hands back in place if I try to move them. You giggle and play and make up jokes. You run down hill. (Uphill you like to be carried.) You listen and respond to explanations. You sneak you dinner to the dogs. You splash in puddles and ask me to splash too. You talk to me. You ask me questions. You want me near.

I see you learn and grow. I watch you think. You are sweet and good, kind and strong. You like mischief. I tell you these things in the dark. I whisper in your ear. You are a joy to me. When you are happy, I feel happy. When you marvel at the world, I marvel with you. I have replaced my former life with a life with you. You make this life better. You are a gamble that I won.

Kid: Hi!
Me: Hi!
Kid: What’s your name?
Me: My name is PA? What’s your name?
Kid: My name is “Kid.” What’s your favorite color?
Me: Blue.
Kid: Mine is purple.
Me: That’s gross.
Kid: What would you ask for if you had three wishes and you couldn’t ask for more wishes?
Me: A magic carpet, the ability to fly, and to find a four-leafed clover.

I don’t know why I would need a magic carpet if I could already fly. On retrospection, that was poor planning on my part, but I did find that four leafed clover. It resides inside a hard-bound copy of the works of Rudyard Kipling. My mother, not too long ago, donated all my old childhood books to a local library. I wonder if anyone will ever find my four-leafed clover stuck to a page in a collection of “just so” stories.

I was, and remain, pretty proud of that discovery.

I find myself engaged lately in considerable self-reflection. Where do I want to go from here? I ask myself. What should I work toward? Will all my hours spent poking around the internet and watching Big Bang Theory prevent me from achieving some of my goals? I need to start working on my next goals. What are my goals, really? HOW DO I KNOW IF I AM REACHING MY GOALS?

This is what happens when you reach big goals. You start making more. (You being me, here, of course.)

And while self-reflection is a good thing, a NECESSARY thing, sometimes I begin to feel overwhelmed by number of things that I want to do, that perhaps someday I COULD do, that I have not yet even THOUGHT to do, but I am not doing right now. I am not doing things right now that I want to do but I don’t know what they are. Ahh!

Well, thanks to Karen Walrond over at Chookooloonks, I have been inspired to make a list. She does that, that Karen Walrond. She inspires.

1. My kid is now almost 2 years old. Can you believe it? Oh, he is SO fun. Occasionally exhausting but really fun. I am hoping to chronicle more of his growth and hijinks here. PS: Spell check suggested I change the word to hijacks. Yeah, hopefully not.
2. I have a new job. Get this – I am an official Science Writer!! I now work for a major science magazine and have a real title and everything. So. It really CAN happen.
3. I moved to new city for my job. It was scary. I did it anyway. I am hoping that this is a good thing.
4. After spending (and loving) 1.5 years at home with my son, I now have a good dose of working mother’s guilt at going back to work. Sometimes I really wish I was still with my son. Maybe I should have just moved into a smaller but still nice house so that I could stay with him for these next few years and be able to buy a few things and save too and do this writing gig later, you know, when I will have all kinds of time. Instead I am in new city away from friends and family with more expensive housing and doses of guilt. These are the things that keep me up at night.
5. But, I love this job and I love the directions that the job will allow me to follow in the future. I figure that it’s only fair that I bring you along with me.

So, hello all you all. I’m back!

Who can tell you it will be like this?
I have a camera for watching him.
I eavesdrop on his sleep, his soft quick breaths.
Sometimes I love him best this way-
Powered down.
When he wakes I can feel my heart quicken, my body
Warms with apprehension.
He becomes to me a hidden explosive.
Tread softly, I admonish others.

And yet sometimes I love him best just when he wakes.
I race his father to see him.
Hands on the stairs I push my way up
As an animal.
I lift him up and breathe his skin. I celebrate him.
I produce my hip for his seat.
I run toward him and yet away I pull always.
I love you, come here.
I am tired of you, let me be.
Others, watching me, must find me insane.
Perhaps, I think, they are not so incorrect.

This is now the second time I have received this letter. It reads:

Dear PA ,

I am writing on behalf of the international academic publisher, LAP Lambert Academic Publishing AG & CO.KG.

In the course of a research at the Library of YOUR UNIVERSITY, we came across a reference to your thesis on “ESOTERIC THESIS TOPIC IN THE SCIENCES”.

As we would like to make your work available to a larger audience, I am wondering if you may be interested in publishing your thesis in the form of a printed book.

Your reply including an e-mail address to which I can send an e-mail with further information in an attachment will be greatly appreciated.

I am looking forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely yours,
Kind regards

Bryan Narroo
Acquisition Editor

LAP LAMBERT Academic Publishing AG & Co. KG

Theodor-Heuss-Ring 26 / 50668 Köln, Germany

Fon +49 681 3720-310
Fax +49 681 3720-3109

b.narroo@lap-publishing.com / www.lap-publishing.com

Handelsregister Amtsgericht Köln HRA 26549
Partner with unlimited liability:
VDM Verwaltung Aktiengesellschaft
Handelsregister Amtsgericht Saarbrücken HRB 16777

Board of Directors: Dr. Wolfgang Müller (Chairman/Vors.), Christoph Schulligen, Jürgen Gerber,
Supervisory Board: Prof. Dr. Johannes G. Bischoff (Chairman/ Vors.), RA Thomas Bischoff, RA André Gottschalk

The first time I got this letter I was a little excited. I mean, they wanted to publish ME! Who cares if my dissertation is already widely available for anyone who ever cares to read it. They think it could be a BOOK! Like with real pages and binding and my name all big on the front and people will buy it. I was also out of a job and more than a little vulnerable. Of course, I did have some things going for me. First, I’ve done my fair share of publishing in good journals and have no real need to publish my dissertation. Second, I’m am deathly afraid of violating copyrights and going to “pound you in the ass prison” (or any prison, really). And last, I know how to use the internet. So I did what any good little researcher would do.

I googled.

And I found out that this is a scam, people. Don’t do it!

See here: http://hjhop.blogspot.com/2008/12/shady-academic-publishing.html
And here: http://littlecomputerscientist.wordpress.com/2009/06/04/investigating-lambert-academic-publishing-with-google-square/

They really do have a pretty website. But sadly, a good website is a (mostly) necessary but not sufficient condition.

I am remiss for not writing sooner. I feel guilt already for not getting down all those little moments that have changed you, changed us, really, the last few months. Those little tiny, insignificant, significant things that I fear will be forgotten forever. Do not think that this lapse means that I am somehow less in love, less interested, less enamored with you than with your first few months. Because the truth is that it is the opposite. I have not been pausing to document because I am too busy enjoying the moment. I have no idea when it happened exactly, but sometime in the last few months you have become a little boy. You have changed from the baby I loved, to the little boy who just makes my heart burst, and I don’t know how.

You crawl. You “talk.” You demand to eat our food. You grin at silly jokes. You squeal with delight. You find jumping hysterical. You laugh at the dogs. You snuggle me and hold me close. You rest your head on my shoulder. You arch your back and kick and scream. You say, “pshaw” but so far do not seem to know that it should accompany an eye roll. You smack your lips. You give kisses. You have a happy full face grin that comes with crinkle squished eyes. This is my favorite grin. You hold your arms to be picked up. You stand and try to walk. The world to you is an exciting place, and I am so happy to be there as you discover it.

Last weekend we left you for the first time for several days. You have no idea how long or how much I agonized over this event. I planned and prepared and still never thought that I could really go through with it. I was afraid that it would damage you forever. I was afraid that it would damage me forever. How stupid I am. You had a fabulous time. I know because your aunt sent pictures showing how much fun you were having. When I got you back you crawled more, ate foods that you never ate before, and seemed more independent. You also slept through the night. So long in fact, that your father in I felt the need to sneak into your room to check your breathing. So, you’re welcome. Perhaps we should do you a favor and go on vacation more often.

Knowing this, I feel much better about another huge change that is likely soon to happen around here. Your mother has finally found a job. Or a job found her. It is not writing, the thing that she is pretty sure she wants to do in the long term, but it sounds important and fun and best of all will come (hopefully) with some real money. But my dear dear baby, this means that I will no longer be able to be the one who plays with you all day, the one who notices those tiny changes, who finds myself catching my breath at noon on a Wednesday at just how incredible you are. But I hope that I can still do these things with the shorter time I’ll have with you. And I hope that by working I will teach you that women can work and be mothers too, that we must each do what makes us happy, and sometimes having a bit more money in the bank is part of that too. I am excited but I will miss you. I am not sure whether or not I hope you miss me.

May you do those things that make you happy. May you have a life as full as mine.

Happy 11 months, my son. What a time we’ve had.

http://www.phdcomics.com/comics/archive.php?comicid=360

Also, I was bopping around the internet today and found THIS! Signed my little self up and everything.

http://www.scientificblogging.com/

Today, after sitting out the morning nap on the couch, I went hiking with my family of three. My son’s first hike was a steep mile long trek to the top of a mountain with a commanding view. Carried in a pack by my husband he made little noise, mesmerized by the new sights and sounds, the people with their dogs and children of all ages, older couples, younger couples, people for whom, like us, mother’s day meant a day outside. At the summit (if such a short “mountain” can have a summit) we looked out over the expanse of city we left behind. The city is always more beautiful from a distance.

I have contemplated upon occasion what animal I would choose to become were I to be banished from the species of human. I have considered puma and bear, horse and antelope. But what I would most like to become, I think, is a falcon. I would like to soar in the wind, circling, diving, eyes sharp as a telephoto lens. It must be exhilarating for a young chick to grow into the realization that she is a falcon. It must be incredible to realize that you can soar. Such gorgeous creatures. Such eloquent engineering. I have seen them fly above me and wondered how differently my world must look to a bird of prey.

Today just as we were thinking of beginning our decent we looked out toward the city spires for one last moment, and there it was, hanging. Just hanging in the sky so still that at first I absurdly thought it a kite. But then my mind saw it for what it was - falcon. She was riding the wind so perfectly, her movements so balanced, that she appeared to hang in the sky, weightless, more ghost than animal. I watched her several minutes as she floated. And then in a movement so swift and confident that I could not help but to let out a collective gasp, she folded her wings and dove. Down, down she dove with incredible speed before again unfolding her wings in the wind to ride the currents. It was truly incredible. I make an effort to consciously file wonderful moments away for times of loss or unhappiness or old age. The idea is that by doing this I might hold onto the memory for a little longer. I hope to keep this one for a long time.

Today was my first Mother’s Day. And though I hate hate hate to admit it, my mother was right. I did not understand her until I became a mother myself. Until I saw this baby boy of mine who smells of bath soap and baby hair, who smiles toothy grins and clings to me and adores me, and thought to the future when he will want his space, when I will be old and weak and embarrassing, until now, I did not know how vulnerable this job would make me. I did not understand how those times I fought to distance myself from her, she was remembering that sweet baby. The one who smelled of bath soap and baby hair. The one smiled toothy grins, who clung to her and adored her.

I will guard myself against the future with days like this, perfect days, days of incredible joy and beauty. I will show these things to my son. I will take him on more hikes. And maybe, just maybe, even when I’m weak and old and embarrassing, he will remember days like this, and he will need to pull away just a little less. Maybe he too will have held on a little to that sweet baby.

Today I took my baby on his first hike. I took him up a mountain to see the city. When I held out my hand he laughed, and grabbed for my finger. Today was my first Mother’s Day.