Good News, Bad News

The good news is that I got the job!! Beginning this fall, I will be a Part-Time Lecturer in the Department of Women's and Gender Studies at a branch of New England State University. I only have T/Th open in my teaching schedule right now, so I can only teach one course in the new department, but this will change in the spring. For the fall term, I'll be teaching a special topics course, one that I get to build from the ground up, and they're looking for me to continue doing more of this in the future. I learned quite a bit from the interview last week, and it looks like the department has a good deal of administrative support. This is a great opportunity for the present, but an even more amazing job because of the potential it offers for the future. If things go very well, and I am patient and can prove myself indispensable, successful in the classroom, a team player, and effective at securing additional financial support for work the department does, this spot could turn into a full-time--if not a tenure-track--position. I'm grateful and excited about this new direction, and even more thrilled that it will allow (also require) us to move to 5-day/week childcare! Yay for the chance to work every day!!

The bad news is that I have uterine (endometrial) polyps. Almost two weeks ago, I noticed some spotting after Hubby and I had sex, and when light bleeding continued the next morning, I just thought it must be my period starting a bit earlier than usual. During church, I noticed that I needed to rush to the bathroom to attend to...ahem, some lady business. Not only was the bleeding heavy, but I passed a clot so large (bigger than a golf ball) that it felt like I was delivering something (-0- chance of pregnancy). The bleeding and clot passing continued for the next 48 hours, with me going through the heaviest tampon and pad they make every 60-75 minutes, sometimes bleeding through both and my clothes. I was left to pretty much lay in bed, sometimes not even having the energy to go up and down the stairs. I saw my doctor on Thursday, and she ordered some blood work, then my ultrasound was yesterday. The radiologist has not given the official results, but the U/S technician was able to show me at least one polyp and measure it.

The usual treatment, according to my doctor, is a D&C. I've never had one of these, but I know they're relatively common. This, however, doesn't make me feel any better. It still requires general anaesthesia, a half day in the hospital, and extensive cramping. I just feel like this is one more thing added to a very long and growing list of shit--medical or otherwise--that I have to worry about and deal with. I'm supposed to build a brand new course from scratch, prep for a course I've never taught before, stay home with the girls each day (except Tuesday), figure out when I'll have back surgery, help out with our church's vacation Bible school in a couple weeks, get Eliza ready for kindergarten, take a one-week trip to Home State to visit both my mom *and* my biological dad (in neighboring state), etc., etc. I'm just overwhelmed with everything, and I feel like I have absolutely zero time to get anything accomplished. One day, the semester will begin, and I'll be expected to have all my shit together, and I just don't know how that's going to happen.

I've reached that point...

where I completely resent the situation I'm in. Let me be very clear about this. I do not resent my husband. What I resent is the fact that I'm underemployed.

Why? Because this fact means that we cannot afford full-time child care. The girls only go 3 days a week (MWF), the days that I have to teach, and I stay home with them on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There are times when this is enjoyable. Today, however, was not one of them. Today, it felt like a reminder that I have failed to get a full-time academic job. It was a reminder that I'm not SAHM material, nor have I ever wanted to be a SAHM. It was a reminder that I will very likely have to make a decision soon about whether or not to leave academia (even though there's absolutely no reason to think it will be any easier to get a job outisde of academia). Ultimately, it was a reminder that I'm in this position *not* by choice, but by circumstance, and nothing grates on me worse than feeling like I've been forced into something.

I understand that there are just some bad days occasionally. Yes, today was one helluva bad day. One simple fucking errand--to exchange two pairs of jeans for the correct size at Kohls with all three kids in tow--turned into me sobbing while driving down the road. Eliza was patient as she tried on three pairs, making sure we got the size that fit, and it all went down hill after that. Amelia climbing out of the child seat on the cart, running around the check-out area, grabbing stuffed animals, flailing on the ground, only then for me to realize I grabbed the WRONG size off the shelf. Customers behind me staring, but nodding understandingly, the cashier realizing how full my hands were, and me having to go back to the children's aisle again. Then, standing in line to try a second time for the exchange, while I hold a screaming, kicking Amelia and everyone around stares at me. Hannah was with me, and she did the best she could to help out, walking away with Amelia and keeping her occupied while I finished up. But, the damage was done.

By the time we left the store and headed home, I'd had enough and I just burst into tears. The girls rarely see me cry, so it was a bit of a shock to them. Amelia was still crying, but even Eliza tried to calm her down. We continued with our plans for the day, but by the time Hubby got home at 2:30, it was all I could do not to pack a suitcase, head out of town, and book a hotel room for a few days.

Because of the new Shakespeare classes, I literally have more work (class prep and grading) to do this semester with less time to do it. This doesn't just affect work load for teaching, but it completely eliminates ANY possibility of doing my own research, another thing I've come to resent.

I applied for several local community college jobs, as well as an administrative job at our school, all with no luck. I've never felt so demoralized, anxious, and uncertain as I do now. The academic job market in my field has completely dried up for the season; there is no more "Spring market." So, now what? I'm guessing running away isn't the answer, but the conference trip I have in a few weeks certainly couldn't come at a better time.

**Note: this was drafted last Tuesday, but I'm just now getting to post it.

The Silence is Deafening

Oh people....how I long to hear news of an interview request.

Surprisingly, I have been completely unaffected by the jobs I see vanishing into Wiki thin air (as in they've clearly moved on with other candidates). No big deal, I just check them off my list. The torturous part is that the two schools that requested my dossier still have yet to schedule MLA interviews. GAHHHH!!! It's the end of the semester, already. What else are you people doing if not trying to figure out who to interview?!

I haven't yet been obsessive about the Wiki or the interviews, but I'm starting to feel a bit anxious about a Plan B. That is, I think my chances of landing a job in the spring market are even worse (for various reasons), which leaves us with two options: go home and *hope* something pans out over the summer or stay here for another year and *hope* we have better luck on the market next year. Yeah, um, neither of those sound appealing to me. I know we'd save lots of money, have plenty of time to focus on our work/research, and we wouldn't really be "expired produce" yet. But I want to have a HOME. A home that is mine, one that I can tear down, build onto, paint the walls of, pick out furniture for, and raise my kids in. I'm ready to put down roots and return to our "normal" American lifestyle. I feel like we've paid our dues, fulfilled our contracts, and achieved our professional goals for the time we've had here, and now it's time for the rest of our plan to fall into place: get jobs back home!

I'm making slow but steady progress on the essay that's been accepted for publication, but a sick toddler has taken up some of my work time. We leave in 9 days for the States, and I still have to finish a rough draft of this essay (I'm 1,300 words away) before next Wednesday, grade the final papers for my comp class, purchase the two "big" gifts we're getting the littlest ones, and start a packing list. This is all overwhelming right now, but if I just had some good job news, I think I could take everything a little bit easier.

The Ball, The Aftermath, and London

So, the day of the Ball came, and I was all prettified with a fabulous updo and the best make-up job ever! Truly, Debi at the MAC store did an amazing job, and it was worth every penny to feel beautiful, if only for the night (well, part of the night anyway). The dress fit like a glove, thanks to my diligence in watching what I ate in the days preceding the event. Hubby and I arrived, had a glass of wine, watched all the pomp and circumstance of the cake presentation, etc., and then settled in for the buffet dinner.

I have to pause here and remark upon how conflicting this was for me. On one hand, they played the Star Spangled Banner, something that is rarely heard where we live now and has taken on somewhat of a new meaning since we’ve been living overseas. On the other hand, I'm against both the war in Iraq and Afghanistan; in fact, I’d call myself a pacifist. I found it hard to balance the recognition of the sacrifice and loyalty of service of the Marines, while firmly believing that so many are still being senselessly injured and killed in what I consider one of the biggest foreign policy fuck-ups in US history. Nonetheless, there I stood, with my heart over my hand, proud of my former-Marine Hubby and those who’ve been willing to serve, no matter the cost.

We sat at a table with two other lovely couples. The first are the parents of one of H’s schoolmates, and the second couple has an Education City connection, so we were able to talk shop a bit. The food wasn’t great, and I started getting chatty very early because apparently that’s what I do when I’m drinking red wine on a deadline. You see, we’d already booked the driver to pick us up at 10:30, so when dinner was over at 8:00 (and I’d barely eaten anything all day), my thought was, “I need to make sure I drink plenty of wine before we have to leave!” Clearly, I’m a moron, who equates obnoxious drunkenness with fun. It was a clear reminder of why I usually *don't* do the drinking thing. Technically, I didn’t drink *that* much….Okay, 5 glasses of wine (I think), in about 2 ½ hours. The real kicker came when a co-worker caught me at the bar and said, “Hey, you have to drink a shot of tequila....we all did it!!” Mind you, I haven’t taken a shot of tequila in YEARS. Needless to say, that put me over the edge, and the drive home wasn’t a pretty one. I must mention, however, that Hubby was a devoted, relentless caretaker, and I love him dearly for taking the bazillion bobby pins out of my hair for me.

Fast-forward to London. Despite a raging hangover, I survived the 7-hour flight and tried to re-hydrate myself. It was a loooonnnng journey from Heathrow to my hotel near the British Library, and I was exhausted and starving by the time I finally made it. I was also utterly displeased to find that my room was on the 3rd floor(!!), which can only be reached by several deathly flights of steep and narrow stairs. I’m entirely convinced I’ll meet my death carrying my luggage down those stairs on Thursday morning.

I had a great dinner at a local fish and chips shop that a friend recommended to me, and then I crashed. Sunday, the Library was closed, so I checked out the Tate Britain and the National Portrait Gallery. I was disappointed in both for different reasons. The TB had the rooms I was most interested in (Historical Britain) closed for some reason. And at the NPG, I was overwhelmingly struck at the sheer lacking of female portraiture in the early modern period. Aside from Charles II being surrounded by only a few of his lovely ladies, so many women’s faces are literally missing, and it’s not because they didn’t have their portraits made. It’s because nobody has thought of them as important enough to hang on the damn walls of the Gallery!! But I digress….

Monday (today) brought work. A bit delayed thanks to my forgotten reader’s pass, but back on track and in the manuscripts reading room for a good portion of the day. Then back to the hotel to work on the writing, which is currently not. moving. forward. easily. I don’t know what the deal was today, but I’m fairly certain it’s because I was working from the bed in my room instead of at a table or desk. So, in the hopes of being more page-productive tomorrow, I’m invading the dining room after breakfast to work. I have to make use of this time because when I get back to Doha, I’ll be swamped with catching up on grading, planning the last weeks of the semester, and preparing for my Thanksgiving dinner party next weekend.

For now, it’s past 10:00, and I can’t sleep…
1. I keep thinking about this essay, and how little progress I made on the actually writing today;
2. I miss my babies at home;
3. I’m lonely;
4. I’m worried about the job market and again feeling like, while I could take another year in Doha (if I HAD to), I can’t take another year in our compound;
5. The hotel is made of paper-thin walls, and I’m stuck next to a family who come in late and wake early (seriously, they are my alarm clock). For the proximity to the British Library, you can’t beat the place. But honestly, it’s my least favorite of the three places I’ve stayed when in London. The others (all comparable in price) were quieter, more amenable to my preferences, and one even had a real closet!

I’m hoping tomorrow is a better day.

Out of Tricks, Out of Energy, Out of Confidence

I'm officially at my wit's end with H. I'm mentally, physically, emotionally drained almost daily after arguing, asking, pleading, threatening, negotiating ad nauseum over homework, room cleaning, and her habit of speaking to Hubby and I disrespectfully, talking back, and sometimes, downright lying to our faces. We've had a couple notes from teachers regarding bad academic habit/work practices (which she has covered up at home). Almost daily she forgets something she needs for school (her planner, her math binder, her special thing she needed for science class), and then she calls at 8:00, as I'm on my way out the door with one of the other kids (and then to my office to actually work for the day), and she genuinely expects me to a) go find the lost thing and b) bring it to her at school, which is all the way across town.

I love my children--each of them--more than life itself. Raising them is the biggest joy of my life, and I thank God for having blessed me with three healthy, happy daughters. But, I feel like I'm drowning when it comes to H. I feel like nothing I do is right, no matter how many books I read, no matter how many coping strategies I try to implement (for her *or* for me). When I have to take two Valium just to cope with the frustration, anxiety, and stress of helping her with her homework, there is clearly a problem. When I make myself a bloody mary to help me calm down after the hour and a half long battle (and that is truly what it feels like), there's clearly a problem. I feel like a parenting failure. I feel like nothing I do with her is--or will ever be--good enough. Like I'll never be the mother she expects me to be no matter what I do.

Today, the thought actually crossed my mind: Is is possible she'd be better off living with her natural father? She seems to respect everyone else in our family except Hubby and me. Doctors have explained that this is natural because she sees us as the ones who will never give up on her, who will love her no matter what. But sisn't sending her to live with her natural father doing just that: giving up? -+But I'm out of ideas, and I'm out of energy. I feel like so much of my time and energy is spent dealing with the challenges that she faces, that I end up shortchanging my other two children, as well as my husband, and I won't even begin to consider myself. Utlimately, I sometimes I feel like I'm losing my damn mind and that's it's all my fault.

I feel like I have no support system, no human resources for dealing with these issues. Furthermore, I feel like I don't have the time it takes to do everything: teach, work on my research and writing, pursue the job market, spend quality time with my family, *and* figure out how to create a healthy, strong, trusting relationship with a daughter who is faced with a variety of ADHD problems (in addition to going through puberty). I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of professional, personal, familial, and emotional needs, and there is no life raft to be found.

Part of me wants to believe that things would be better if we were in the States, but I can't be sure of that. I just know that something has to change soon because I can't hang on much longer.

Crazy Pills

During the process of prepping for the interview I had at the end of the summer, I realized that I would likely go crazy this fall. Even though I spent two days preparing for every possible question, and even though I had answers prepared, examples ready to give, and good questions to ask, I lay awake at night wondering what else I might be missing. I literally lay awake until 4:00 a.m. one night, and that's when it hit me: this is what it will be like in the fall. This is what the job market will do to me. I will be a crazy (and sleep-deprived) person because I don't have the ability to shut my brain off. When there is uncertainty in my life, I get extremely anxious, to the point that I physically, mentally cannot stop myself from trying to think of all the possible scenarios that might play out.* I know that lots of people say, "Just don't worry about what you can't control," but easier said than done. I'm a control freak. Erego, if I'm not controlling things, I'm crazy.

Knowing this about myself, and knowing that, in Doha (and in many Muslim countries) medical conditions like anxiety, depression, ADHD, etc. are all lumped into the category of mental illness and thus are pretty much ignored (certainly not treated by experts), I knew I had to do something before we left the States. So, while back in College Town for my graduation, I went to see our family physician. He'd seen me last year when I was having severe anxiety problems just before our move overseas. I explained that the anxiety had never really gone away. It would settle for a while (like after we got most of our major settling in done in Doha), but then it would come back with the next big "Thing" (i.e. the last push on the dissertation and the defense). But what I experienced before and just after the job interview was awful. I also told him how my expat experience has been overall--not the best, though I've survived. Ultimately, he believed it would be best to put me on a maintenance medication, something I take daily for the anxiety (and sometimes depression) that I've experienced since moving here. He also gave me a prescription for another anti-anxiety medication to be taken as needed, during severe episodes of anxiety (like the inability to shut my mind off from the worrying, planning, listing, etc.).

So there you have it....I'm on crazy pills. I don't like it, but I have to be honest and admit that they've helped. I truly feel better. I don't know that I've ever been a big believer in the power of anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication, but I know that my mood is improved. I feel like things roll off my shoulders a bit easier. It's taken some time to get over the fatigue the daily medication has caused, but the overall result is very positive. The bottom line is that I feel less stressed on a daily basis.

Now, this could absolutely change once the full swing of the semester hits and the job list comes out in a few weeks. But for now, I feel like a better, less crazy, me.

* The most recent example is me laying in bed, wide awake, a few nights ago, wondering when it would be okay to start boxing up some things...you know, for our repatriation next summer!

Not SAH Material

That's not a typo. I'm definitely Mother material, but I'm most certainly not Stay-at-Home Material, mother or otherwise. I like to say I'm Stay-at-Home-More-Often (SAHMO) mother material. Regardless friends, I am ready to once again participate in some sort of life outside this house. I love my new baby, and I love the time we've had together, just she and I. I know that she likes my voice, face, and touch better than anyone else's in the world. I know her better than anyone else, and I can comfort her when nobody else can. These are all wonderful things. Unfortunately, they do not satisfy my need to feel like I am making any sort of professional progess, either toward course prep for the fall or revising the dissertation (which I've been advised to shelve until I get settled in overseas).

After an argument with Hubby on Friday, in which I explicitly detailed *my* list of to-dos and compared it with *his* list, I think he finally gets what I've been telling him for weeks now: I'm fucking overwhelmed! While his comment that, "I've never seen you so overwhelmed??" made me want to rip his head off, I pointed out the obvious---I never HAVE been so overwhelmed. This is my first go around with three kids, a dissertation, and an international relocation. Some nights, I've stayed awake until 3:00 a.m. thinking about all the various plans and backup plans we need to have for random issues (travelling in the airports, vehicle arrangements in Qatar, teaching schedules, etc.). While I was in for my full medical exam on Friday, I talked to my doctor (the family physician) about the anxiety and insomnia, and for the first time in my life, I'm on anti-anxiety medication. I'm embarrassed about it, and I don't like needing medication to help me cope with my life, but things have reached a point where I had to do something. It's a mild sedative, which I'll only take in the evenings and only as needed in the lowest dose. In addition, Hubby and I have now worked out a division of at-home care with Amelia, which begins tomorrow. I'll work at the office on M/W, he'll work T/Th, and we'll split Friday in half. This comes after he met with his committee and they told him there are more revisions they'd like to see, and he won't be able to defend this week as he'd originally planned. They don't want anything extensive, just nit-picky things. He's confident he can finish the revisions before we leave in July, and then he'll defend in September via video conference.

Between the medication and getting some time in at the office, I think things will improve. My goal is to use my office days to work on course prep for the fall and use my at-home days to box things up for storage and garage sale. I'm hoping that if I can have those two categories of boxes completely taken care of, this will make it easier to relax and know that the moving company can handle all the other stuff we're taking with us. Part of my stress has come from simply looking around my house and seeing all our stuff everywhere. I don't feel *ready* to move with all my things still in their place, so then I start feeling anxious and unprepared. I can much more easily tolerate looking at boxes in the garage or stacked neatly in a corner than I can handle the stress of feeling like nothing has been done.

For now, I've gotta make use of the little time I have while the baby is asleep.....check that, she's awake now...didn't even make it 20 minutes.