Punctuation

As seen at Seeking Solace:

You Are a Question Mark

You seek knowledge and insight in every form possible. You love learning. And while you know a lot, you don't act like a know it all. You're open to learning you're wrong. You ask a lot of questions, collect a lot of data, and always dig deep to find out more. You're naturally curious and inquisitive. You jump to ask a question when the opportunity arises. Your friends see you as interesting, insightful, and thought provoking. (But they're not always up for the intense inquisitions that you love!) You excel in: Higher education You get along best with: The Comma

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

Seems fitting for a researcher.

Name That Boy

***update: Reasons and rationales for the current name choices:
Angel - Boy's suggestion and I have no idea.
Drama - A monikor boy has used previously
LOL - Something I came up with in the moment in an attempt to annoy/embarrass Boy
Mr. Mister - What we called Boy when he was a baby and his real name didn't fit yet.
Harvey - The invisible rabbit.
[Thanks K8]

Last week Boy was in my room as I was blogging about our beach trip. Now Boy has known about my blog from the start and does not mind me blogging about him or, as it turns out, including a photo or two. (BTW blue milk has an excellent post on blogging your children) However it seems that he does mind his monikor. Unbeknownst to him, I had been thinking "Boy" really wouldn't fit once he was in college.

We brainstormed a few alternatives but did not reach a consensus. So I've included a poll on the sidebar with some of the choices. I'll leave it up until his departure day (August 20th for those of you keeping track) and then announce the winner. Please vote your choice. I'm also open to suggestions if you have any.

Awards! Awards!

deb is swelling my head to enormous proportions. She has awarded me my 2nd award and this one is for brilliance--of all things. Here it is:


Like all things bloggy, there are rules. Here they are:

1. Put the logo on your blog.
2. Add a link to the person who awarded it to you.
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs.
4. Add links to these blogs on your blog.
5. Leave a message for your nominee on their blog.

While nominating 7 bloggers may seem like a daunting task I am blessed with reading many many brilliant blogs (including the divine miss deb). But for today I am nominating:

K8
blue milk
khora
Wayfarer Scientista
Amanda
Dr. Bad Ass
Hilaire

Go forth and continue your brilliant blogging.

Transitioning

This month's Scientiae Carnival is on transitions. I'm all about transitions. It is hard for me to find a solid chunk of my life where I wasn't transitioning in some way or another. I live transitions and I study transitions.

Transitions are times of vulnerability and stress but are also windows of opportunity for positive change. In the behavioral sciences we like to study people as they transition and, for those of us who are applied researchers, to intervene.

Many transitions occur at specific measurable points in a person's lifetime, puberty and menopause being prime examples. Some transitions we plan for--obtaining a doctorate--and others can catch us by surprise, such as divorce. Transitioning in sync with your cohort is a vastly different experience than a solo transition.

All are fascinating to me.

As my regular readers are aware, my family is in the middle of a transition. Boy leaves for college in less than a month and is actively trying on new identities before he goes. Once he is there he'll be with a large group of people who are all making the same transition together. For me and b, our role as parents will definitely undergo a transition. While we have friends and family members who have already faced this particular transition, there is no one in our lives who will be going through it with us.

Transitions affect the people around you and can cause a ripple effect. Although the three of us will have very different perspectives on this transition--which we will experience as individuals--we will end up transformed as a family.

Transitions affect other areas of your life. How I work now, as a mother of a semi-independent son, is vastly different than how I worked as a mother of a young child. I suspect more changes will occur in how I work (and possibly what I work on) once the nest is actually empty.

My research agenda has already gone through a tremendous transition in the past several years. My previous work was with large-scale behavioral experiments in real world settings. All my data were numerical. I proved things. Now, although I'm still in real world settings, I work on a much smaller scale. Experimentation is an element of my work but not the prime focus. My data is mostly textual but occasionally sprinkled with numbers. Now I strive to understand things.

I suppose what fascinates me most of all is that in spite of the numerous, complex, and often overlapping transitions we make throughout our lifetime, there is so much consistency in who we are. The more I change the more I become the person I was. Perhaps it is our passions that keep us grounded. I may transition in and out of roles, experiences and identities but my passion for my family, for my research, for living both a physical life and a life of the mind, centers me in the here and now.

Grandmothers Part II

As per Julie's request, here are two of my poems my grandmother (GR):

Grandma Had a Garden

Grandma had a garden;
pansies,
tulips,
marigolds,
and morning glories.

Grandma grew tomatoes;
big,
fat,
sweet,
juicy,
bursts of joy.

But mostly,
Grandma grew
roses.

The sun would leave
it’s scent
on grandma’s dress
as I wrapped my arms
around her world.

Heritage

When I heard the story
it was Granma
who bought the house.

A baby
was on the way and
Granma knew
babies need a home.

When I heard the story
I imagined Granma walking up the block
her arms wrapped around
two big brown bags
filled with groceries and
balancing on top
was our house.

When I see Granma I know
my arms can carry
a home.

Grandmothers

I, like most women my age, catch myself channeling my mother with greater and greater frequency. This is distressing--as I'm sure it is for most women. However every once in a while I channel one of my grandmothers and this is usually not disturbing but actually rather comforting. I think this must be the beauty of the grandmother-grandchild relationship. Grandparents have that extra degree of distance that I believe is necessary for successful channeling.

My earliest years were spent living in the same house with my paternal grandparents. My grandmother (GR) was a short and stocky woman with a very large nose. She was no great beauty and she knew it. She was also not an intellectual giant. I don't mean she was stupid, she wasn't, but she didn't live a life of the mind and was good with that. She was strong and loyal and devoted to family and friends. In her youth she was a bit of a tom-boy and had plans to be a "career woman." Those plans ended when she met my grandfather. He was a little younger, very handsome and smart. She thought she won the lottery. She never stopped thinking that. She doted on that man until the day he died--way too young and only a year into his retirement.

Everyone on our block loved her and I would sometimes follow her as she made her rounds--to the butcher, to the elderly shut-in next door, to church to pray. GR was loud--she talked loud, she laughed loud, she yelled when she was angry. She was not a particularly good cook but an amazing baker. She would give me a little piece of dough to knead besides her as she made her famous bread. GR had a heavy hand. She literally didn't know her own strength and she made that dough suffer. GR loved her garden. She grew tomatoes and cucumbers and morning glories and marigolds. She loved her rose bushes with a passion. It is GR's hands I use when I bake. It is GR's hands I use when I grow flowers and vegetables. It is GR's hands I use when I hit something (or someone) really hard....and I smile.

My maternal grandmother (GK) was a very small woman. She didn't quite make it to five feet. GK was a lady. She was quiet and reserved and liked to have things a certain way. She loved art and taught herself how to paint in her 50s, although she never learned to drive. She created an art studio in the little sun room right off of the living room. She reproduced famous paintings and hung them all over her house. GK was an early morning person. She liked to be up before anyone else to have some time to herself. GK drank tea and had a small dog that followed her everywhere. GK hated raised voices. She always wanted things to be "nice." If GK got mad she got quiet.

GK loved the beach but she wouldn't go in the middle of the day. She was never in the sun and didn't wear a bathing suit. Instead she would walk the beach in the early morning and again at dusk--her little dog trailing behind her. She collected shells and pebbles and driftwood. GK had dolls and she made them clothes but you couldn't really play with them. Instead GK would sit down and have tea and talk with you. I channel GK when I'm alone in the house and loving my solitude. I channel GK when I wander off by myself on the beach. I channel GK when I take delight in organizing my glassware just so. I channel GK when I'm quiet. I plan to take-up pottery in my 50s.

The Beach

Boy and I have taken many beach vacations together. We've done The Hamptons, Cape Cod, The Outer Banks, Puerto Rico, and Cape Town, South Africa, to name a few. We usually go for a week. This time we hit a new beach and condensed the entire itinerary into two days. I'll recap the highlights.

Driving Out

Boy is an amazing travel companion, in part because he is so incredibly laid-back and agreeable--not something I ever would have imagined having survived toddler hood with him. I woke him at the crack of dawn (well 6:30, which is pretty close to the crack of dawn to a teenager) and he was up, dressed and in the car in a flash. He loves stand-up comedy so we listened first to his current favorite and then one of our old stand-bys. We stopped only briefly to eat egg sandwiches.

Arriving

We arrived at our destination just as the sky had opened up. It seemed we were in for a day of intermittent thunderstorms. Our room was large and comfy with a nice flat screen TV over what became Boy's bed.



Of course it was now time for lunch so we were off to "town," or the strip of street that served as a town, in search of food. We found it, in all it's fried glory. Lunch was quickly followed by a trip to the supermarket for all the extras Boy usually requires--in the form of Doritos, Chessman cookies, milk and beer (Guinness for Mom, of course).

Beaching I

Bathing suits and sunscreen on, beer in cooler, books, Ipods and hotel towels in hand, we finally made our way to the beach.


[Boy decided his tanning oil makes him glisten and strikes a pose.]

Luckily the hotel was right on the beach so it was a short walk.



Sun bathing--me reading and he listening to music--was interrupted by occasional sun showers but overall it was lovely and relaxing. When we finally made it into the water, it was perfect bath temperature and we played in the waves.

Fine Dining

We located the snootiest restaurant on the island and made a quick reservation. Boy was dressed in his newest look and I in my long flowing beach dress. The food was good (I made him taste some of the Gorgonzola cheese from my dressing just to see the look on his face) but not great; the ambiance comfortable but not casual; and the service impeccable. We decided to forgo dessert.

Miniature Golf

Yes we worked off our day of eating with a rousing game of miniature golf. I not only got TWO holes-in-one (one of which occurred in front of an entire family who was kind enough to let us play through) but for the first time EVER, won the game. (Ok, so only by 2 points and Boy was exhausted from only 2 hours sleep the night before, but still).

Sunset

Although the sun was setting on the sound side,

we headed over to the ocean and walked the shore, sharing the day and remembering other beach stories.



Beaching II

The next day Boy slept in while I headed over to the ocean. It was no longer overcast and already getting quite warm. I brought my trusty book--a totally junky true-crime--my Ipod (I like to listen to opera on the beach) and a truly bad cup of hotel room decaf coffee (because that is how much of a junkie I really am-and I drank the whole thing) and spent two beautiful quiet hours by myself.

Breakfast

When my stomach could no longer stand it, I made my way back to the hotel room to rouse Boy. Luckily the Hotel had an amazing late check-out policy and we could stay until 4 pm. So the plan was breakfast and then back to the beach. After several failed attempts we finally located a breakfast joint and devoured pancakes, bacon and grits (him) and a country omelet and grits (me). Stuffed to the gills we waddled out and back to the beach.

Beaching III

By the time we got there it was HOT....burning soles of your feet hot...can't let your legs slide off the towel hot...on the beach. I quickly buried my nose back in my trashy book while Boy first tried to read then went back to the hotel room for his Ipod then finally said he was going down by the water. I grunted affirmation from between the pages. Several chapters later I was beyond hot and decided to go down to the water and find him. It was crowded and he was no where in sight.

Now he's 18...has traveled out of the country on his own...is bigger and stronger than I am...is responsible and knows how to swim, but me? I go through a silent panic like he's 3 years old and lost in an amusement park. For about 15 minutes I'm walking up and down and in and out of the water trying to scan every tall skinny young white male who even faintly resembles my son.

He, of course, had taken a long walk in the opposite direction. I guess that mother worry never leaves you. I (wisely) neglected to tell him of my panic. Instead I suggested a dip in the ocean, which was much rougher than the day before, and we played and swam until our eyes burned from the salt and sand was deposited in our suits. We said good bye to the beach and headed back for showers and packing up.

Aquarium

Boy and I love aquariums, which is odd because we both hate museums. When he was little I used to take him with me on trips to conferences. Visiting an aquarium, if there was one, was always our first choice. So on the drive towards the beach we had noticed there was one near-by and decided to make a quick stop before we headed home.

I'm a big fan of turtles and there were plenty.





We also saw sharks and jellyfish and alligators and other scary sea creatures.





Boy has watched a lot of late night Discovery shows on fish and the sea, so he was much better informed than I and was able to enlighten me on many fishy aspects. He also has picked up the habit of reading the signs (I'm much more likely to go up to the glass, stare at the fish and make things up). When not discussing the more scientific aspects of sea life we were comparing which ones we like to eat.

It was a small aquarium so we were quickly on our way.

Drive Back

The minute we hit the open road the skies open on us with a torrential downpour. Unfortunately I'm driving at this time (I hate driving in the rain). Also unfortunate for me, Boy had ordered Dominos back at the hotel and is not hungry but I have not eaten since our mammoth breakfast. We drive for an hour, with the rain abating, and when I can stand it no longer we head into a store to buy sandwiches. Of course the minute we pull into the parking lot the sky reopens and we get drenched running the few feet from car to store. We shop in the frigid air conditioning with our wet shirts plastered to us and our hair dripping down our faces. The sandwiches take forever to arrive and are barely edible.

Boy drives us the rest of the way home and plays me his favorite music. I recognize none of it but like it and consider myself lucky, once again, to have him as a son.