Kids vs. dogs (or kid owners vs. dog owners)

It occurred to me the other day that I have never seen a puppy sonogram posted as a facebook profile picture.

GMP recently wrote a post entitled, "Of Dogs and Kids and Judgement Abound."  It might be my favorite post ever.


I don't have kids.  I don't particularly plan to have kids.

I *do* have a dog.  I do refer to my dog as my child, largely to remind my kid-owning colleagues that yes, although I am sans children, I do not always need to be the one representing the department at evening or weekend college events.

So who are more annoying: people with dogs or people with kids?  Is it ever okay to consider your pet your child?

Unplugging to preserve my sanity

Geekmommyprof recently posted about the question that seems to plague all academics on vacation: to unplug or not to unplug?

I come from a very, very long line of workaholics. Some were famous in their academic circles. Some weren't. And some went bonkers (literally!) from their need to constantly work.

I attended a very rigorous liberal arts college for undergrad. As a student body, we worked extremely hard Sunday through Friday morning... and then binge drank Friday and Saturday nights. This is in stark contrast to my PermaU students. They only go out on the days that end in y. At my undergrad, virtually no one went out during the week. It's still a toss-up as to what I was closest: Cuervo or Kant? Vodka or Voltaire? Scotch or Smith? (Just kidding. I hate scotch.)

In graduate school, I was in a brand new research group. Being in the first crop of grad students of The Boss meant lots of one-on-one interaction (whether we wanted it or not). It also meant a lot of pressure to obtain grants. We submitted seven R01-type grants (and dozens of smaller grants) while I was in the group. In addition to getting preliminary results in the lab, graduate students were responsible for making grant figures, writing portions of the text, navigating the grants and contracts office, and making the FedEx runs. I can count on my hands the number of times Monday-Friday I was home before 7. And I left the house by 7 am. During the typical week, I worked 7 days and averaged 70-80 hours per week. During grant times, I never worked less than 14 hours straight. One memorable submission required two weeks straight of 16+ hour days. No food breaks--- meals were delivered or fetched by an undergrad.

Looking back, I am proud/shocked/sad that I pushed through it all.

Fresh out of grad school, as a visiting ass., I still did not know how to reign in my workaholic tendencies. I worked straight through weekends. During the week, I was on campus by 8 am and rarely left before 10 pm. I told myself I worked hard because I had to. Really, deep down, I knew I worked so hard because I wanted to. I felt compelled to pull such insane hours.

Then I moved and got on the tenure track. I got a Puppy. I was reunited with N.A. I knew that in order to maintain a long-term relationship AND keep up with Puppy, I would need to approach my work time in a very different manner. I could no longer pull such insane hours.

More importantly, I recognized that I didn't have to pull such insane hours. By being smarter about my work allocations during the week, I could tend to the house, the Puppy, and my life on the weekends.

So I self-imposed a no-campus policy on weekends. That is, I do not go into campus Sat/Sun. No matter what.

Being at a PUI allows me to do this. Also, my research is not such that I have to check on reactions each day. And my students can certainly survive with just email contact from me. The world will not end if I only work Monday through Friday.


At least that's what I'll keep telling myself until the senior members of the department notify me otherwise.

Who's afraid of the dark?

Yes, I am a grown woman. With a Ph.D. And I'm afraid of the dark.

I'm afraid of things that go bump in the night. Plus, Puppy Freaks! Out! when the power goes out.

Which it did. Tonight. With N.A. out of town.



To remedy this, I lit all the candles in the house.

Unfortunately, they all are scented. The power is back on, but my house smells like lemongrass-pineapple mango-fresh grass-sand&sun*.

Yum.



*For the record, N.A. bought the sand and sun candle. For reals.

Another reason my puppy is better than a kid

Today I gave Puppy a new toy in honor of his birthday. It is a stuffed, squeaky piece of cake. Quite fitting, I think.

He gets so excited when something new is presented to him. He totes it around proudly, high stepping around the couch. After he has shown it off, he takes his new prize back to his room. And plays. Quietly. By himself.

This evening he behaved quite like a four year old, I think. Puppy was walking around with his cake toy when suddenly, something caught his eye.

A cardboard box. Ooooo....a discarded cardboard box! Puppy gave me The Look. I gave him the okay and he was off! He tested it with his paw first. Then he tore into it with a vengeance.

Now I'm catching up on some reading as he destroys the box. Sure, I'll have to pick up all the pieces later, but it's a hell of a lot easier than chasing after a three-year-old.

pets as children, part 2

Puppy is my child. Coworkers, deal with it.

Despite referring to Puppy (mostly in my head, mind you) as my kid, I promise to refrain from the following behavior:


- posting ultrasound / the-second-after-birth pictures of Puppy on facebook

- entertaining (read: horrifying) my coworkers with Puppy's successful house training stories....or accidents

- giving the hour-by-hour details of Puppy's twenty-four hour bug

- bringing sick Puppy in to work because Doggy Day Care won't take 'em until 1 day without a fever

- discussing every behavioral milestone of Puppy's




(no offense if you have done any of the above. I guess my dog just isn't "child" enough to me to blast facebook/work/the bus with it.)

pets as children

I've been watching a lots of Weeds lately. In one scene, Celia mocks a neighbor for calling their pets their children.

I used to be like Celia. (If you've seen Weeds, you know how funny that declaration is.)


But now.


Oh, now.


Now, I'm one of *those* people. One of those obnoxiously pretentious people who refer to their pets as their children. Who talk about their milestones with their friends.

But before you judge, consider this: my coworkers get to leave to take care of a sick child, do a day care pick in between classes, or bring a feverish rugrat to work. No one complains.

Do I get the same treatment as a child-less prof?

Of course not.

So for now, I will continue to talk about my child, Puppy.



What are the odds I can start complaining about not having PermaU-provided Doggy Day Care without anyone batting an eye?

Instant human: Just add caffeine

You probably already know that I'm not a morning person.

In the morning, I'm on automatic pilot until I get my coffee. Which is at work. (Mostly because if I had coffee here, I wouldn't have much of a reason to go in, would I?)

I have a big problem. I live with a morning person. No, not N.A.


My dog.


My dog is more cheery than the secretary in Office Space. I have never seen a creature more excited about the morning. He bounds out of his crate, panting with excitement. I'm still trying to get my pupils calibrated against all the offensive light streaming in the windows. (Must invest in blackout curtains.)

Even though I've had the puppy for almost eight months, I'm still getting used to having something THAT excited to see me every morning.

If only I could transfer some of that enthusiasm for life from my dog to my students!

Finally, a vacation!

N.A. and I finally got to enjoy a day of post-semester vacation together. No parents. No extended family. No friends. No travel. No cooking. No neighbors. No leaving the house.

So what did we do?

Well, a whole lot of nothing. We played with puppy. We watched a House marathon. We ate lots of leftovers. I did laundry, and N.A. did the dishes.

All in all, a very uneventful, boring day.


It was wonderful!

A poopy post

Oh, yes, my bloggie friends. I've become one of THOSE dog owners.


One who has more facebook pictures of canines than people.

One who talks to and about the dog like it is a child.

One who, although would never ACTUALLY say this aloud, *knows* that her dog is smarter than many of her acquaintances' toddlers.

One who digs around in poop (with plastic bagged-hands) to search for recently ingested ear plugs. And puzzle pieces. And buttons.



Yes, I've become THAT kind of dog owner. (And yes, digging around in various piles of poop was my most strenuous activity today. So far.)

How to get an ulcer

While I don't actually have an ulcer, I am sure I'm well on my way. In addition to a whole pile o' unbloggable nastiness, here are some of the reasons I've been M.I.B (missing in bloggin') lately:

- class prep is totally kicking my ass

- a student had a mental breakdown in my class

- N.A. and I adopted a dog

- Said adopted dog thinks she is not house-trained and has a penchant for biting my toes.... and waking us up at 5 am. Every. Day.

- Did I mention all the unbloggable nastiness?

- N.A. and I bought a house


Hope to catch up with you all soon....