<catching up> A defense

I may have complained to (everyone) a couple people once or twice during the past six months as I’ve written my doctoral dissertation.  I had a somewhat bad attitude since… well… nobody is ever going to read it again, and it took up a great deal of my time.

My project has really been three projects, which means three chapters, three lengthy introductions, three very distinct discussion sections.  I tried to get away with doing the bare minimum, but my advisor (to her credit) made me put forth an effort and do a good job.  And now, I have to say, I’m pretty proud of it.

Screen shot from the introduction to Chapter 3 of my dissertation.

At last I turned it in and presented my work to a room full of tomato-throwing, hateful, skeptics.  They went easy on me (because actually they were mostly really nice people with whom I have good relationships, and none of them actually brought tomatoes). 

Tim flew back from Utah (where he has been doing a visiting pathology rotation at ARUP laboratories, and Erin flew back from Rochester, NY (where she took a post-doc position and now studies RSV in a funny twist of fate).  It was so, so, nice to have both of them there, along my sister Cami, my brother Lance, and my good friends Daniele, Chadene, and Nora, and other departmental or medical school friends.  Lots of friendly faces to look for in the audience.

I gave my talk:

And then spent an hour and a half being grilled by my dissertation committee, during which I had a hard time remembering the functional significance of lungs (i.e. that they are useful in obtaining oxygen from the air).  I was a little frazzled at first, but recovered, at least enough to convince the committee that I should graduate.  They asked me to leave the room, and then finally called me back in.  My department chair stood up, shook my hand, and said, “Congratulations, Doctor Dickey.”    I (barely) held back tears of relief as I shook everybody’s hands.

When I came home, Tim’s mom and Amelia surprised me with a lovely cake  from White’s bakery that had a lot of icing from which a certain toddler could not help herself from snitching pinches.

I had a nice talk with my advisor, during which she promised me a solemn promise that nothing in my career would ever be as stressful or time-consuming as the process of writing a doctoral dissertation.  I have to say it was ever so much more painful than I imagined.

In a nutshell: 5 tables, 61 figures, 277 references, 289 pages, and 49, 968 words that NOBODY WILL EVER READ AGAIN. 

But… it’s done.  6 1/2 years, 5 apartments, one husband, and two babies later… it’s done…

HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!!!!!

<Catching up> A match

On March 15, 4th-year medical students across the country took place in what is called “Match Day.”   After months of residency interviews, students and residency programs rank each other using an official computer program toward the end of February.  An algorythm is then used to match students based on both their and residency programs’ rank lists. 

Match day is a big deal.  The BU medical school provided breakfast, a program, an award ceremony (during which Tim won a big award, but barely mentioned it as per his nature), lunch, and champagne.  Fifteen seconds before noon, the students counted down together and then received envelopes delineating the next four years of their lives.

I joined Tim for the last part of the morning.  Below, Tim and two of his good M.D./Ph.D. friends (Kathy and Lauren) patiently (not really) wait for their envelopes:

And finally the big moment came.  Tim got his envelope and I held my breath as he opened it.  I should mention that Tim is an excellent candidate, and has been heavily pursued by the several of the top programs in the nation. 

He ranked the University of Utah (which has an outstanding pathology program) first – for me, knowing how homesick I’ve been for mountains and family and friends and red rocks.

He got his first pick.

And so we are moving to the great Salt Lake for the next four years.

Inevitably, I am both elated to be returning to my mountain home as well as devastated to leaving my family and friends in Boston – especially Lance and Cami and their families, and the awesome friends I’ve made in Boston.  Thank goodness for internets, and airplanes, and Burning Man festivals.

Friends of Friends of Friends

Sometimes I find myself feeding my Lily girl in the middle of the night (read: every night, several times).  She saves her best eating for when she’s mostly asleep.  This doesn’t bother me – I love nighttime baby moments, maybe because I work full time, maybe because I don’t sleep that well anyway.

Often I find myself drowsy, however, and keep myself awake by browsing the internets on my phone.   Last night I decided to see with whom I had the most “friends” in common on Facebook.  I noticed right away (and it’s perfectly obvious) that the people with whom I shared the most friends were people with whom I interact in more than one context.  For example, social friends who are / were also coworkers, or family members with whom I went to church or school.

The results:

Julie (friend / cousin of sister-in-law / graduate school): 27 mutual friends

Erin (coworker / student / friend):  45 mutual friends.

Marsha (cousin / track team / college / friend):  49 mutual friends.

Jill (sister-in-law, friend, social hub): 61 mutual friends

Karen (sister / student wards):  104 mutual friends.

Cami (sister / co-Boston-er / high school):  132 mutual friends.

But the person with whom I share the most “friends” ???   ???? ???

My mom:  142 mutual friends.  

I have no idea what this says, other than we know (and presumably like) a lot of the same people, but this exercise kept me awake for at least five minutes.  And now you’ve wasted about two minutes. 

Yay Facebook. 

the birds and the bees, part ii

Tonight in the car we were talking about our upcoming move (we won’t find our where we’re going until March 15), and discussing what we were going to take, sell, give away, etc.  A lot of people have given us baby items the last couple years, and one couple kind of needs a few things back (because they apparently weren’t done reproducing, to their surprise and delight).  Squiggles was in the backseat listening.  Most of her toys were gifts, and we try to make a point of telling her who gave her what, so we have a lot of conversations about gifting.  Suddenly she piped up.

Amelia:  Mommy, who gave you your cute little Amelia?

Me:  You mean who gave me you?

Amelia:  Yes.  Who gave me to you?

Me:  Well, Daddy and I made you and you grew inside my belly.

Amelia:  You MADE me? 

Me:  Yes, just like we made Lily.  You grew inside my belly.

Amelia:  Did you make my eyes? 

Me:  Yes, Daddy and I made your eyes and hands and piggy toes.

Amelia:  And I was so sad in your belly.

Me:  Why were you sad?

Amelia:  Because I wanted to get out of your belly.

Me:  Why did you want to get out of my belly?

Amelia:  Because I wanted to see my mommy and ride in my polka-dot carseat.

Me:  Yes, well, it is fun to ride in your carseat…

Amelia:  Mommy, did you make my carseat and it was in your belly, too?

Me:  No, we just bought your carseat from the store.

Amelia:  No, DADDY made my carseat in his belly.  And you made me and Lily.  And Daddy made our car.

And that, folks,  is how automotives are born – glad we got that talk over with…

In which Lily will NOT be her sister’s valentine

I don’t care very much about Valentine’s Day, but I hate to spoil it for the kids… so…

Amelia and I baked cookies for the preschool Valentine party.  It was so much fun that I think we might have to make it a weekly tradition.  She is at the age where she’s not really helping yet, but she’s not really destroying anymore.  Well, mostly… we may have ended up with a bit of a mess when she decided to dump out the entire cup of flour I was using to roll out the dough.  She absolutely loved it though, and apparently was telling her friends and teachers all day about how she made cookies with her mommy.

We happened to have some red duds, so I staged a very successful sisterly-valentine photoshoot:

Lily was in a bit of a mood today.  Her caretaker Donna let me know that she was so difficult that she (Donna) felt like crying.  I’m pretty sure she’s still working on that second tooth, but she might just hate polka dots or bows on her head (thanks for the cute bow, Chadene!).

When we picked up Squiggles, she was all hopped up on sugar from the party.

And extremely excited about the Valentine-box-candy-inside-so-much-joy situation.

Also, Tim got us pretty flowers and sugary candy. 

In conclusion (I’m in dissertation-writing mode), happy Valentine’s day to all of our loved family and friends, even though I think it’s a dumb holiday.

Apron strings

My little Lily Love is 6 months old. 

We went to the doctor’s (see above pic) – here are the stats:

Height: 26.5 inches (50th percentile)
Weight: 17 lb, 6 oz (50th percentile)
Head:  I forget, but it’s the 50th percentile. 

She cut her first tooth last night!  There is at least one other on the cusp of breaking through – hopefully she’ll start sleeping a bit better.

I figured out soon after becoming a mother that I got a lot more sleep by keeping my baby with me at night.  It’s much easier for me to go back to sleep after a feeding if I’m not walking back and forth between rooms.  Plus, with the baby near me, I don’t have to go in and check on her dozens of times a night to make sure she’s still breathing.  (I’m freaked out like that.)  Lily has called this co-sleeper her bed for the past few months.

And to be honest, there have been many nights when she’s gotten cold (or I’ve gotten lazy) and she’s ended up snuggling with me in our bed. 

But, the babe has grown, and no longer fits safely in the cosleeper.  

So we put together her crib, where she has been content.  Sigh.

The end of an era.

Oh come on, you knew I wouldn’t actually kick her out of the room yet. 

P.S.  Thank you for all the comments, phone calls, and e-mails regarding the last post.  I really appreciated the encouragement.  I’m feeling a lot less overwhelmed this week.  My stab-victim friend stopped by work today and gave me a hug.  He’s okay.  We’re okay.  The babies are okay.  I’ll post a video soon of Squiggles making pizza with Tim.  Cutest dough-tosser ever.

P.P.S.  The crib is tied securely, with a thousand or so knots, to my bed frame.  It’s not going anywhere (i.e. the baby won’t fall out…).

Hard things

• This week I set a date to defend my doctoral dissertation (March 19, 2:00 pm – all are invited).  In an effort to get said dissertation finished in time to get copies to my committee members, I’ve been writing around the clock. When Lily wakes up to eat at 2:00 am, I type out a few sentences with my free hand and insert the relevant references.  When Tim drives our family anywhere, I format figures in the passenger seat while singing songs for the babies in the backseat.  Every spare second is spent writing. I have about 150 pages so far, with 50-75 more to come.  It is hard.  I am utterly exhausted, subsisting on between 3 and 5 hours of sleep per night.  But I can do hard things, said my mother.  Keep on keepin’ on, said Mr. Dylan.
  
• A good friend of ours was beaten, stabbed, and robbed the other night.  I am so sick about it.  He is going to be okay, but his family is frazzled (understandably, obviously).  They have two daughters that are the same ages as our little girls.  In my time at BU, my boss has been mugged (with minor injuries), a dear friend was violated (in a most-serious manner) in a nearby neighborhood, another friend was attacked at a bus stop, and now this.  We witness drug deals and drug busts on a regular basis at the bus stop near our school (we go to school at the city hospital, which is not in the safest neighborhood).  I don’t like to be scared of the world.  I haven’t been, really.  I moved to Thailand to take a job site unseen, and spent every weekend exploring one of the most dangerous cities in the world, often alone.  But now things are different – the stakes are higher.  I am feeling less and less comfortable bringing my girls into the city, and am looking forward to moving to a place where I feel comfortable running at night.  Maybe that place doesn’t exist anymore?
  
• I’ve been listening to Stephen Sondheim musicals while I’ve been writing.  This week it has been Sunday in the Park with George.  I’m not sure why, but the songs keep eliciting real tears… probably because I relate to both the work-obsessed, emotionally unavailable artist intent on getting his work just right, and to his attention-seeking lover.   And I’m so sad about my kids the last couple weeks, who show signs of feeling the effects of having over-stressed, over-worked parents.  We love our kids and family more than anything, so much more than our careers.  But deadlines and angry bosses and demanding attending physicians can be more compelling, even though they shouldn’t be, than small arms reaching out for us, two sets of beautiful blue eyes desperately begging us to be present.  The hardest part of writing my dissertation has been knowing that my kids are paying the price. 
  
• So.
  
• Changes are on the horizon.  I don’t know what lies in store for me and my career, but I do know that whatever it is, things will be different. I will have more time with my kids.  I will be present.  We will run through meadows and have picnics by the lake and bake cookies and build forts.  Every day.