I am working on one of those deep, thoughtful posts, but I just had a quick announcement I wanted to make:

I am in love with Corinne Bailey Rae.

If she weren’t much younger than me, totally out of my league, and, well, female, I would totally have her children – I mean, if I could still HAVE children, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Sigh.  And I thought I was too old for girl-crushes.

I finally, FINALLY, get to take a few days off, and I just have to go and catch a cold.  Why could I have just PREDICTED this?

Sunday I took a handful of OTC cold medications, and in a couple of hours I felt human enough to take my son to see a matinee of the movie “Enchanted” at the dollar theaters.  I love dollar theaters.  Ours even has a half-price “matinee”.  When you only pay $1.50 for a family of three, you don’t care if you splurge a bit on the popcorn and drinks.

Halfway through the movie (which is about a cartoon princess come to life in Manhattan, if you are among the uninitiated), my son climbed up into my lap,  took my face in his warm, sticky, popcorn-scented little hands, and maneuvered himself completely between myself and the screen, just to be sure he had my complete attention.

“Mommy?”

“Mmm-hmmm.  Yes, Harry?”

“Mommy?  Are you a Princess?”

SLOOOOOOSH.

That sound, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, was the sound of an average-sized middle aged woman melting into a pool of mommy-goo on the theater floor.

As I am home on a little comp time, after having no days off for almost a month, I guess it would be a good time to answer A.M.’s question:

So what motivated you to get a Phd and NOT teach? (I’m headed that way, but I’m definitely in the minority in my program.)

Welcome to the minority all over.  It seems like we churn out PhD’s in all disciplines for the purpose of churning out even MORE PhD’s.  The only excuse I have for my field (I am a biochemist), is that we are generally expected to turn out useful research in the process – research that ostensibly benefits mankind.

Truthfully, I didn’t have a career path in mind when I got my PhD.  I got my PhD purely because I loved what I did.  I loved science, I loved research, and I didn’t want to stop.  I swore I would keep going to school as long as I could get somebody else (in my case, the NSF, and the “Food for the 21st Century” program) to pay for it.  My original research program was into the mechanisms of host-microbe interactions.  I am fascinated by life at the interface.  I started out in plants, researching ways to co-opt plant-bacteria relationships to increase plant yields.  I ended up, through a twisty path, researching the mechanisms of Staphylococcus aureus virulence, to understand ways to combat MRSA infections.

But ultimately, my career path kind of chose me.  It took me twelve years to get my undergraduate degrees.  I have two – Biology and Chemistry – and a minor in Mathematics. That’s part of the reason it took so long.  I am indecisive and interested in too many things.   By the time I started my graduate degree, which took me six years to complete, I was thirty years old.  You do the math.

Here I was, 36, divorced for two years, and starting life all over again.  I gave up every financial asset I owned in the divorce by choice and I was looking at middle age with no preparations for my financial future.  As much as I loved to teach, I was looking at five to six years on underpaid post-docs, followed by a tenure race while I was in my forties. In the face of another several years of ramen noodles and a zero-balance bank account, academics really lost its luster.

So I applied for post-doc positions in industry, government, and research-only institutions.  They tend to be higher paid, and lead more directly into positions with security and real money.  I landed two post-docs in a row at the Southern Regional Research Center in New Orleans, and, to my surprise, got an offer for a teaching/research position at a small college in northern Louisiana. I might just have ended up in academics after all.

And then, two things happened rather rapidly.

First, I became pregnant, against all odds, at forty.  The assistant professorship I was offered wanted me to start two weeks after my son’s due date, and was not able or willing to be flexible about it.  I had to send them my declination, with regrets.

Then, on the day I was to return to my post-doc from maternity leave, Katrina struck New Orleans and my life changed completely.  The research program I spent over three years building was gone, my house was destroyed, and  I was in evacuation 450 miles from home, with a two month old baby, and a dubious employment and financial future.

When the offer came to jump careers one more time, I couldn’t leap fast enough.  I was given the rare opportunity to start over without starting from square one.  My job pays well enough that I can put a little away for my son’s future, and my own, if we live modestly.  It has the flexibility to give me a career, and still have time to be the mother to my son that I want to be.  I really couldn’t have dreamed a better situation.

So, there’s the long answer.   The short answer is that, contrary to my reputation among my friends as an, ahem, “detail oriented” planner, I have pretty much just let life sweep me where it took me, with a generous dose of prayer and a wink to the Supreme Being.   And somehow, it has always taken me where I needed to be.

I currently have three to four of my coworkers gathered in an office, assembling four 11-volume copies of a 500+ page report, the culmination of about a month of non-stop work and the associated stress.

And the sound of shuffling papers is punctuated regularly by giggles wafting down the hall.

I have the best employees EVER.

“Theres a liiiiiigggghhhht!!”

 Back to real blogging by Friday.

 Until then, I leave you with another heart warming and illustrative anecdote.

I had to work late again last night, but I threw everything in the car just after 8pm, so that I could get home and steal a few more moments of quality time with my little man before he went to bed, and I could pick up where I left off while he slept.

He asked for his favorite Backyardigans video (“Super Spy” who likes his juice boxes shaken, not stirred). Harry tucked himself under my arm as we sank together into the soft leather of the couch to watch “The Lady in Pink” get foiled again.

He looked up at me, put his hand along my face, and intoned gravely “Mommy, I am glad you are here.”

So am I, Baby, so am I.

We awoke this morning to a little March surprise from Mother Nature:

He is more excited than he looks.  Really, he is.

The first thing he wanted to do was to “Build a Frosty!”  So in March, in a state where it almost never snows, my son and I stood on the deck, with wet and cold-reddened hands, and built Frosty.  Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.  We didn’t have an old-silk hat, so a Mr. PotatoHead cap had to substitute:

Okay, so we didn’t have coal either.  His eyes and nose are cinnamon dots.  Hey, if they were good enough for the Gingerbread Man, they were good enough for Frosty.  Except cinnamon “heat” is more than metaphorical, because within minutes, Frosty had red, sunken eyes.

Apparently a Mr. PotatoHead cap does not have the same magical cachet as an old silk hat, because he didn’t exactly get up and dance around either.  But, then again, a Dancing Frosty with hungover red eyes and a dripping red mouth cavorting in our backyard was more likely to bring nightmares than joy, so I expect it’s all for the best.

And it was The Best.  It was a welcome break from three weeks of bonebreaking work and parental neglect to spend a few stolen moments making memories, and one very scary snowman, with my son.

Priceless.

I have one and only one reason that I have not finished answering all your lovely questions yet.

My work is kicking my proverbial-and-ample-you-know-what.

I can barely sit down.

 Love and Kisses,

Me.

Five Little Monkeys, jumping on the bed,

One fell out and bumped his head,

Went to the doctor and the doctor said:

NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!

Because sometimes the world needs a little gratuitous cuteness.

Okay, ready to tackle an SCA question.  My non-SCA readers can now put their fingers in their ears and say la-la-la-la, or read on, because the following has applications in the real-world.  It’s kind of along the lines of mentor-student relationships, role models, and personal authenticity.

 Kat asks:

 OK. I would love your take on a thought I posted on my own blog a bit ago…

“…are you acting like a Peer, or acting like your Peer? Are you best trying to improve yourself in the quest for enlightenment and better judgement, or just emulating someone who already has the accolade?”

 This answer will come from two perspectives.  First, as a Peer, and then as a squire to a Knight.

The first is easy – I had absolutely no intention of ever being a Pelican, and I made no conscious attempt to emulate one.  As a point of fact, it took a couple of heartfelt talks with people I respect immensely to convince me that it was even a good idea to become one.  I became a Pelican simply because there was work in front of me that had to be done, and I was capable and willing and inspired to do it.  Not for the recognition in any way, shape, or form, but honestly, truly, and completely because it gave me a warm feeling to help other people have fun playing the game.  It made me feel good to be able to “make it so” when my Crown asked me to “make it so”.  I enjoyed showing people that THEY can really ask “why not?” instead of “why”.  I like to empower others.  It’s the core of my deepest satisfaction.  I am truly a teacher and a mom at heart.  And ultimately, isn’t that what a Pelican is?  A teacher and a mom with a little bit of corporate organizer thrown in?

So here’s the thing – I didn’t become a Peer by trying to make myself better.  I became a Peer by trying to help OTHER people be what they have the potential to be, and I learned about myself in the process.

Now, as a squire to a Knight, the answer is a bit more complicated.  First,  not to beleaguer the obvious, but there aren’t a lot of role models out there that fit MY particular situation.  Not that I put a lot of emphasis on that, but frankly I have to be the knight I can be as a woman.  I cannot change what I am, but I cannot ignore the fact that it comes with its own particular set of challenges and baggage.  That being said, I chose my Knight because he was the Knight I wanted to be.  He had the qualities that I believe are Knightly.  I do not try to emulate him.  I do not try to BE him.  But I absolutely take encouragement from him, learn from him, and keep his actions in mind when I choose my own.

But ultimately, I have to be the Peer that I can be.  Me – the individual me.  When I was on the throne the first time, several of the “Old Dead Queens” gave me some fantastic advice.  All of it was good.  But I couldn’t follow all of it.  Why?  Because I am not them.  If I try to be something I am not, it WILL ring false.  The average person is remarkably good at detecting authenticity in the long run.  I could only be the Queen I knew how to be, and pour my entire heart into THAT vision.  Not somebody else’s.

You cannot become a Peer, in my opinion, without become intimately acquainted with your own strengths, and particularly your own weaknesses.    I say particularly your weaknesses, because only by recognizing them and embracing them can you really grow as a person.  You have to be willing to poke and prod those more painful parts of your character, and understand your own motivations and skills, and base that understanding not just on the parts of yourself that make you happy. 

If you manage to get the accolade without doing this, it’s just so much more jewelry you have to haul around.

Please, please, PLEASE, if you are going to have live chat customer service (which is a dandy idea in my book), please hire people with a higher typing speed than I have.

Please.

Thank you.

A loyal, if impatient, customer.