Suburban Matron, Ph.D.

Y'all! I finally finished my Ph.D. in British Literature. I filed my dissertation last Friday. That errand was the reason for my sudden trip to California last week. It just all came together: my professors approved it all right as the deadline for a September degree was approaching, so I saw my chance to skedaddle out there. Did you guys know I was working on a Ph.D? Probably only if you've been around here a while.

And even though it required crazy last-minute travel arranging and logistical wrangling, somehow it all worked. I had to meet different professors in different cities at different times and using different modes of transport. I had to collect their precious Original Signatures for my title page, in accordance with the extensive, subtle, and baroque thesis submission guidelines set out by the UC graduate system.

It's my diss in a box!

My awesome friends in California helped me at each point in the mission, providing schlepping, gossip, advice, lodging, encouragement, and then, after it was a done deal, champagne.

Oh yum.

And lucky candles can't hurt.

And why not a celebratory wig?

Friends, would you believe me if I told you that I started that Ph.D. program just shy of nine years ago? Laura was a baby. I so clearly remember being anguished about leaving her with a baby sitter so I could go to my classes. And now she is a big tall sassmouth. Amazing. Actually, if you know anything about the stats on Humanities Ph.D.'s, you know that nine years isn't that long, but it has been a whole season of my life. A whole, full, joyous, complicated, formative, and crazy season.

My friends who have finished their degrees warned me that the actual moment of turning it in would be anticlimactic. You hand your dissertation to a person in an office and then you walk out the door. There is no brass band to play you on your way. But I just felt pleasure, pure relief and contentment. The campus of UC Santa Cruz had never looked so gorgeous or seemed like such a charmed place. It was a happy day.

Now I'm back and I think it will take a while for my brain to figure out that I don't need to feel slightly guilty at all times that I'm not working on my dissertation. So what am I going to do now that I'm not? I'm going to celebrate for, like, a month. Bring on the dancing girls! Then I'm going to:

• Watch the entire series of "The Wire," which I've never seen
• Play Lego Harry Potter on the xbox with Hank, without feeling like I'm wasting time
• Pick back up a needlepoint project that I started early in the summer as a last ditch procrastination tactic
• Put more energy into this here blog
• Read a ton of stuff for pleasure
• Do some deep organizing of a couple rooms in my house
• Read books that Laura is reading
• Watch HGTV like it's my job
• Look for an actual academic job
• Drink more champagne
• Maybe start a book club, either in my 'hood or on this blog or both--interested?

So that's what's going on over here. Holla!

If you want to come help me watch "The Wire," drink wine, and/or shred, please notify me at your earliest convenience.

That Bar of Soap Birthday Party

Well, sometimes you start a story and life intervenes and then it's a week later. Thanks, Amy, for popping in to post while I was in California. More about that trip in the next post. (Ha, see what I did there?)

When last we were together, Laura had just returned from a Frenemy family birthday party with a full sized bar of Ivory soap in her goody bag. This was a source of great entertainment in my house. My mother-in-law's eyebrows went up into her hairline, and I thought (for the eleventy hundredth time), "Thank the SWEET LORD I have a blog."

You guys were geniuses at coming up with party themes for which the bar of soap would be fitting: scrimshaw party, bath products party, green party, etc. But I knew that the real theme of the party was Absolutely Last Minute and Cheap as Hell. Check it out.

Now, the party was a Sunday afternoon. That Thursday night, I had gotten a text from Frenemy. Obviously she had sent it to a group. It said:

Would ur daughter be avail 4 a surprise bd party 4 P? Either Fri afternoon or Sun aftnoon? About 1 hr. Thxs.

Yes, this was Thursday night. You may recall (if you are a very, very attentive reader of this blog), that last year Laura missed P's birthday entirely because Frenemy texted us Friday night to plan a Saturday afternoon pool party, and we had gone to the mountains. It was a bummer, they are good friends.

So I texted back and said Sunday afternoon would work better. Then she texted back on Saturday morning:

Hey Moms! The surprise party will be 2:30 Sun @ my house. I'll hav door unlocked. When we arrive jump out with "SURPRISE."

Okay, so this was a sort of self-service surprise party. Then she left me a long voice mail asking if I would show up and go in with the kids and supervise them until they got there. I texted her back and said I would be happy to. It was just going to be Laura and two other little girls from our street, because P doesn't have any friends, because FN will barely let her breathe.

So at 2:20 on Sunday we were all ready. I'd pulled a cute present out of the gift stash (hurray gift stash! I don't know how I'd kept my own kids from finding those Zhu-Zhu Pets) and Laura decorated the wrapping paper. We set out and took Hank with us because Hank makes a party. On the walk up there, Normal Neighbor texted me. She said, "What is the deal with this weird plan? Should I come over there?" I said, "Yes, please do." She said, "Do you think FN will be late? I don't want to sit in their house for 30 minutes." I told her I was sure they'd be on time.

Oh ho! Normal Neighbor is no dummy.

Fast forward to 2:45. The four kids are in their places, having scoped out the best spot to hide. I text Frenemy, "We are ready!" She texts back:

We are running 15 minutes late. Thxs, it took us a little long @ lunch because we went 2 different restaurant. Thxs.

They were already fifteen minutes late, so I wasn't sure what this did to their ETA. I told Frenemy to give us a two-minute warning and I told the kids to stand down. I considered browsing in the fridge.

At 3:00, they roll up. We've now been waiting the exact half hour that Normal Neighbor predicted, and Hank has practiced yelling SURPRISE one hundred dozen times. But we hid, we waited until P walked in the door, and then we yelled "SURPRISE" one more time. She was really surprised and delighted, so I felt that it was time well-spent.

Then came the bar of soap.

Hank and I had stayed a few minutes more, long enough for Hank to have cake, and then we went home. When Laura came home later, she was clutching a recycled plastic bag from Justice. It contained the bar of Ivory soap, a little yellow highlighter pen, a pair of Halloween socks, a pencil, and a ring pop. And friends, it wasn't even a pristine bar of soap. You know how you get the big multi-packs of eight or so soaps, and then the ones in the middle have their wrappers all messed up from being stuck to the other bars?

It was like that.

So I asked the natural question: Did everyone get a bar of soap?

No. The story developed that Laura had actually traded to get that bar of soap. The other bags featured, as their centerpieces:

• a pair of Christmas earrings
• a fishing lure shaped like a rubber fish
• a wooden ruler inscribed with the Golden Rule and the name of a local Baptist church

Laura's first bag had contained the fishing lure, and she horse traded her way to the soap. My girl! And at this moment the soap is being used in the kids' bathroom.

So obviously, this has to be the most half-assed attempt at goody bags ever, as it seems to have involved Frenemy cleaning out the junk drawer in her office. The thing is, there is no law that says you have to do goody bags at all. A little cake and ice cream, a few games, and they're good. So why cobble together this collection of crap? It is classic Frenemy, that's all I can say about it.

And the last-minute nature of the party actually hurt my feelings a little bit on her daughter's behalf. I don't know why she couldn't plan something ahead of time? She has one child and she knows when her birthday is. Yes, I am sure she is busy, but other people are too. Everyone is busy. I don't get it, my kids talk about their upcoming birthdays for months, doesn't her child? P is eleven; she knows when her birthday is too, I'm guessing. And I'm no Power Mom, but I can manage to pick a day and time and invite other children a couple of weeks in advance. We had Hank's fourth birthday on my last day of chemotherapy and it was great. So how busy is she?

Not to get all busier-than-thou.

So THAT is the story of the bar of Ivory soap and how it was the perfect accompaniment to the whole thrown-together party. I mean, what the chuck?

I really wished you all lived here so we could have this conversation in person, with hand gestures and shrugging.

Left us hanging by a soapy thread

Well, she's done it again. Becky's off to California for a few days. (This is Amy, by the way.)

I called her a couple nights ago. "What are you doing?" I asked. (Which is code for Why haven't you blogged?) "Watching Mad Men," she said. "Mom--would you pause that?" "Hey--I didn't know Mom and Dad were there," I said, surprised. "Yes," Beck answered, "I'm seeing our parents behind your back."

After I got over the shock and betrayal, I learned that Mom and Dad had come to ride herd on Hank and Laura because Becky had to go to California for a few days. That can happen, you know. The sudden urge to fly to California. Perhaps it's the guacamole?

Not to worry, though! She's flying home on Saturday, and when I talked to her today, she thought she'd be able to check in and update us sometime before then. It's a good thing, I told her, cause we all need to know what the deal is with the Ivory Soap. You can't just throw that out there and then leave.

I would never do that to y'all. I'm the responsible one. Or wait, maybe I'm the guilt-ridden one. I can never remember.

Anyway, just wanted to put you at ease. Becky is just fine, and all is well at the SubMat household!

Now, Beck--resume your post!

I Raced Right in To Tell You

Laura just came home from Frenemy Neighbor's daughter's birthday party. Her goody bag contained a full-sized bar of Ivory soap. Discuss.

I'll be back to tell you the whole story of this party later but right now I'm laughing too hard.

Date Night Y'all

Matt's mom has come to town to stay a couple of days, and this is the first weekend we've been home in forty forevers. We knew would get a chance to go out tonight, so Matt's proposal was these things in this order:

1) Go eat at the new taqueria near us, the one that has made our lives complete with its amazing chipotle-tamarind sauce.

2) Then go see The Other Guys. I have a soft spot for Marky Mark.

3) Then go to the gym for some late-night gymming. This could involve actual working out, reading on the pool deck, or just sitting in the hot tub. I think I could muster a half-hour on the treadmill and that would take the place of shredding. We'll see.

Be good and I'll see y'all tomorrow.

Friday Ended Twenty Minutes Ago

But Friday night keeps rocking on. What did y'all do tonight?

My short answer is that I did nothing. The long form is:

1) I chatted with the mother of a friend of Laura's. She came to pick up her daughter from a play date. I noticed for the first time what lush, thick hair this woman has. Ah, hair.

2) With hair still on the brain, I made Laura submit to a sock bun. Do you know of this sock bun magic? Oh sock bun, where were you when I needed you? The bun looked cute, but note: an orange striped sock isn't optimal for blonde hair. Maybe a tan sock next time.

3) I ate waffles with Greek yogurt and maple syrup for supper. So did Hank. Laura and Matt ate taquitos from Trader Joe's. You will all want to subscribe to my upcoming food blog. It will be so slatternly.

4) I played some Xbox Lego Harry Potter with Hank. I think that series might have jumped the shark. All the different spells you can cast--so fussy and getting farther from the pure Lego joy of smashing some things and building other things.

5) I stressed out about some stuff without doing anything about it.

6) I read a spy novel in Hank's room while he fell asleep. If 1959 called and needed me to run some agents in the GDR, I could step right into the job, I am not even kidding.

7) I hid from the weather. It is such a crazy thunderstorm here, and I think I was traumatized by our most recent tree unpleasantness. I went into Matt's office and said, "A tree is going to fall on our house. Don't you think?" He said, "Well, there is no tree in any position to fall on one of the kids' rooms." This closed the matter, as far as he was concerned. There are, however, a number of candidates for falling on the sunroom. I became superstitiously convinced that it was going to happen, and I pictured myself lounging on the couch watching tivo at the moment of my death by tree-fall. This isn't like me; I never worry about long shot stuff like this (ha!), but I went and sat in the dining room until the storm passed.

8) Now it is quiet and our house is in one piece. Matt has made his nightly stovetop popcorn, so all must be right with the world.

Signing off. Mwah!

B

The 30 Day Shred, Day One. Again.

Remember the hazy days of late 2009? Those were innocent times. President Obama's approval rating was above fifty percent and I began doing the 30 Day Shred workout dvd. Several of you started doing it too. Sometimes I shredded with Matt, sometimes with Pretty Neighbor in her basement.

If you weren't around then, there was much self-congratulation, ostentatious sweating, and asking people if they wanted to feel my glutes.

I hit it hard from October through December, then somewhat spottily after a looong Christmas break, then not at all since my mastectomy at the end of March. I would say that since recovering from surgery, then through having chemotherapy, I have been active, but I haven't been doing a regular workout.

I was also counting calories through that time, and I've kept off the weight I lost, but I'm definitely not as strong and fit as I was. Pretty Neighbor has never stopped shredding. Girlfriend is, yes, shredded.

Then yesterday Matt announced that he is the new Exercise Captain for both of us. I said, "Okay, I wanna start the shred again." I really do think it is a good workout: it's quick, it's tough no matter what your fitness level, and I know it gets results. So we moved the coffee table out of the way in the sun room and the whole family shredded. We did the level one workout. Hank slacked off somewhat but the rest of us gave it all we had.

Twenty four minutes after we began, it was over. I lay on the floor and said, "It wasn't that bad." Then I crawled to the couch and stayed there while Matt put the kids to bed and I watched an episode of "Sarah's House." That's my cool-down.

The funny thing is, I think I'm in better shape now than when I first started the workout back in October. It could be because I'm twenty pounds lighter, or it could be because I remember the moves and the whole thing just doesn't feel as hard. The biggest losses were cardio stamina and upper arm strength. The arm strength comes and goes really fast, in my experience.

So we're back on the Shred Wagon, friends. Anyone want to join in? I had also forgotten the feeling of righteousness I get after I've worked out. Self-satisfaction is my drug of choice.

BlogHer 2010: In Which I Tire of My Wig

I know, another post about the BlogHer conference. I mean, move on already, you've been back for a week! I know, this is the last one. I just have some snips and snaps to share.

In addition to my ladies up there, Keely, Jenni, and Gretchen, I got to meet:

Kim Tracy Prince, total sweetheart.

Casey, as hilarious as you'd think.

Carrie Kirby, the Frugalista, I've been reading her since I started blogging.

One upshot of all this photo snapping and seeing myself in photo after photo was that I became heartily sick of Codi. Codi is fine but she never changes. She is always just sitting there being a wig.

I met Jenny the Bloggess, who famously wears "confidence wigs" to these conferences, though this year she went with a fake ponytail, which was cute as a bug. I was starstruck. Anyway, she was as friendly as could be and she complimented my hair, and I was all, "Thank you but it's a wig because I had chemo this year and I'm going to be fine but I'm totally sick of this hair." To her credit, she did not say, "OMG, what can of worms have I just opened?" Instead she told me that I need several wigs. Six, she said. So I guess I am doing this wrong and I need more wigs. They can't all cost as much as Codi though. I need to track down a source of fun but cheap wigs. There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.

I am also growing to embrace the hat look more. It feels less fussy. And anytime there will be sweating involved, I leave the wig at home. In NYC, it occurred to me that a bald lady doesn't attract the attention on the streets that she does in my burb. It is really hard to attract attention in NYC, there is one of everybody there. So one day of the conference I declared to be wig-free day.

Bald girl in the ci-tay! More pics of the whole affair are here. Oh, and Gretchen showed me that little Hipstamatic app for the iphone. I like the snaps it takes.

The cafe at MOMA was very good, and not really expensive, considering. Thanks to Femme Follette for that pro tip.

And this impressed me (last pic, I swear):

The high chairs at MOMA are Stokke Tripp Trapps. I like all the different colors they have. And these are much cleaner than the one at my house. That's what impressed me--that a high chair can be clean. Maybe they have a lot of beagles that lick them, I don't know.