Soupcon

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Yesterday, I told Emily that we needed to do some errands.  Predictably, she balked.

"but Whhhhyyyyyyyyyy do I have to go wiiiiiiitttttthhhhh  youuuuuuuuuuu?"

I lay in my bed in the sunshine.

"Because I am dying to go spend another 150 bucks on uniforms for you that equals two pairs of pants and a shirt and you need to be with me when they hem the pants because if I am paying 50 bucks for a pair of pants for you then goddammit they are hemming them for free."

Silence ensues. The rabbits scamper.  Then I say:

" I also want to stop by your new school."

This gets her attention.

"What For?", she queries.

"Nothing really. I just have a few questions."

More Silence. Then this retort from my daughter:

"Nothing good can come from this."

Which made me belly laugh. Because my kid obviously knows me really well.

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We ran down to pick up the CSA basket tonight.  I swapped some of the melon for an extra kohlrabi and an extra spaghetti squash.  Em and I got home and I began to peel the kohlrabi for a quick salad.

Terrance appeared in the kitchen to pick through the basket and investigate this weeks bounty. He is on his way to some kind of rockem-sockem kickboxing class.

(aside: Oh, the moaning and complaining post-exercise. Thank god I don't share a bed with him anymore.)

He says: "What are you making?"

Me: "A quick Kohlrabi salad"

Him: "Hey, I was at a fancy restaurant in NYC last week and they served a Kohlrabi slaw with the meal. It was really good." He continues to expand on the amazing deliciousness of the salad at the restaurant.

I balefully turn and stare at him. This man who, for the past two months, has refused to eat my kohlrabi salad ( which is the SAME as this slaw he is raving over).

I ponder if this is how a certain percentage of husbands get stabbed in the kitchen.

He leaves and I finish dicing the kohlrabi. On the very last bit, I slice into my finger with the knife.

I immediately grab the kitchen towel, apply pressure, raise my hand over my head and finish dressing the salad with Lime, salt, pepper and a smidge of cayenne with my unmarred hand.

I serve Emily her salad and chicken.

Then I walk to the bathroom to attend to my cut.

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I had to re-pierce my left ear this year.

It was shocking because I have had my ears pierced since I was 7 and simply never considered that one hole would make an executive ear-decision to close after 34 Years.

I was trying to put earrings on in July when I found that it was a no-go. This found me then walking into stores that sell decent jewelry to find a pair of thin real-gold hoops.  I can not abide being poked by studs ( in more ways than one, my friends) so if I was going to commit to earrings, hoops it had to be.

Since I no longer wear jewelry - no rings (nope, no wedding ring), no earrings, no necklaces - it has been strange to get re-accustomed to the hoops in my ears. A subtle reminder of my much younger self.
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I am submitting my ethics applications this week. Finally the research plan and the millions of consent letters I have to write are all in place...ready to go before the faceless tribunal who exists - I just know it - to make my life miserable. I also then get to try to convince some childcare to let me use them as a  research site.

I had a moment the other day when I thought:

 "Fuck me, I am going to get in there and absolutely nothing is going to happen. I will spend three months and not prove a goddamn thing. What kind of pathetic dissertation will THAT be?  I will get to write a dissertation about how I didn't hear anything. "

After this minion of self doubt had finished snacking on my professional sensibility, I wrote to Maija:

"Remind me if I ever do another PhD to just do a fucking textual analysis of authors who are dead."

7 Baleful Regards:

Kate Dino said...

No one believes me when I say that I have had my ears pierced seven times because they kept healing themselves. I feel validated now.

Dawn said...

I believe you Kate.

Public Artist said...

My next PhD is going to be positivist. I have no idea what it will be on, but I don't mind selling out to the scientific method any more.

Dawn said...

Sing it, Sister.

This "got to prove something via doing actual research with living humans" suck serious ass.

It suddenly becomes clear why all those dumb fucks I mocked for having weak dissertations all have their PhD's while I linger in some previously undisclosed level of the Inferno.

Public Artist said...

Yes. Yes indeed on the dumb fucks who follow the a. Choose theorist to worship. b. choose place to apply theorist. c. write. Method.

Gurukarm said...

LOVED this: "Nothing good can come from this." Oh yes. She *does* know you so well. :-)

Dawn said...

Gurukarm - I can not tell you the last time I laughed so hard as when those words flowed from my daughters mouth.

Perfection.

 
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