Since you've all been dying for more classroom/babyroom posts, I've finally decided to cave.

Yesterday my students turned in their final portfolios for the semester, so all that lies between me and almost four months of summer is a mountain of (my favorite!) grading. 

Ever since Jacob started working again I've been bringing Jake to my office hours. He chews on wires and binder clips, opens every drawer he can reach, takes off down the hallway whenever the door opens, and spreads the contents of his diaper bag everywhere. He only peed on the floor once (sorry Wendy...) When students visit I try to maintain some level of authority as he sucks on my face or pulls down my shirt.

Deceptive innocence

The classroom became the baby's room once when my babysitter bailed and I had to bring him into class strapped on my back. Jake fussed whenever he couldn't see the students, so I taught the entire class facing the side of the room.

Yesterday was full of goodbyes, lots of handshakes, and two hesitant hugs. 

One girl - my sweet little airhead - came in, handed me her work, and said: "Just the portfolio, right?" And I said yes and smiled, but I was thinking: "Yes, just ALL the written work you've done in the course." This is the same girl who once in a sentence accidentally wrote "internally" instead of  "eternally," and when I asked her which she meant, she replied: "Well..which one works better?"

That was one of the more memorable moments of my semester (riveting! I know!) until the following incident. 

One of my baseball players came in extra flustered at the cut off time for portfolio collection. He had been a decent and respectful student all semester, and he had thus almost redeemed college baseball players in my mind despite multiple negative experiences teaching them over the years. He handed in his portfolio and took a deep breath. Slightly concerned, I asked how finals week was going for him, and he said he was stressed out because his girlfriend was in surgery and he was hurrying so he could be there when she got out.  

I expressed an appropriate level of concern.

Then the 19 year old proceeded to plummet from all my good graces as he shrugged his shoulders and, with a bit of a smirk, said: "She's just getting her boobs done."

The awkwardness cannot be overstated really. I managed to raise my eyebrows only a little, keep my face-twitching to a minimum, and say something like "Ah-oh-uh." 

Then there was silence as we watched Jake rip paper. 

He told me how much he loved kids. 

I nodded.

Then I crossed my arms over my chest because I had started letting down...which always happens to my still-lactating-self whenever I get embarrassed.

Conversations with a 10 Month Old

Right now Jake and I have two recurring conversations. They go about like this:

Conversing with a Ten Month Old I from therhodeslog on Vimeo.

Conversing with a Ten Month Old II from therhodeslog on Vimeo.

In other news.

We harvested some of our purple potatoes. So we have enough for...one breakfast...

I'm instagraming all the time.

And Jake - despite appearances - is still working hard on his eyebrows.

Happy Sunday!

Minor Catastrophe and Obligatory Superfluous Baby Photo

So...I started a fire in our oven the other evening.

Let me preface this by saying that everyone is alive, so all you lovelies and Michael can stop worrying.

Jake was in the tub, and I noticed that the kitchen was smoky. I figured some spiders were burning. Is that a strange thing to think? I think it whenever the oven seems a little smoky - I have no idea why, and it is probably utter nonsense.

Anyhow...back to the action. I finally figured out where all the smoke was coming from. A pan we (brilliantly!) had stored underneath the oven had been dislodged in a way that its handle was in contact with the flame. The rubber of the handle was on fire. I couldn't pull out the drawer it was stored in because the pan was keeping the door stuck. So there I was. Oven burning. Baby bathing.

My calm, collected self was juggling my limited options:

Death by water or death by fire.

Thankfully in our funky house, the kitchen is right next to the bathroom, so I forced myself into a more creative solution and grabbed a glass of water from the sink and literally began flicking the water through the crack I'd managed to make in the drawer while running back and forth from the bathroom whenever a second lapsed without some baby chortle.

Eventually after a few carefully aimed water flicks, I was brave enough to jostle the drawer, open it, and liberate the offending pan. A couple splashes of water didn't get the flame out completely, so after a split second decision against dunking the burning handle in the toilet, I ran outside with it and doused it. By this time I was very nervous about all the whoknowswhatsinit smoke we'd been inhaling, so I wrapped my naked baby in a towel, flung open every window I passed, and went out onto the porch to wait for Jacob who was almost home from work.

We sat for five minutes or so and watched the smoke trickling out of the house and the crows waddling on the roof of the apartment building next to us. The quiet after the averted crisis settled on me. Jake yelled at the birds.

Jacob got home and was very encouraging about how I'd handled the situation, made me feel less stupid for storing our supposedly oven proof pan under the oven, and even finished making dinner. It was all very sweet until he said he was STILL going to work on the boat!! Despite my emotionally tender state and all the subconscious extremes I went through to get him to stay home, he still went to work on the boat. Have I ever mentioned how much I don't like this boat? Oh, yes, I wrote an entire post about it...

So, Jacob left, and I convinced myself not to open and drink an entire bottle of wine by myself. Instead I watched a TED talk with lots of pictures of little children with smallpox.

A delightful evening if ever there was one.

Oh, and here is Jake, engaged in his newest favoritest activity.

Sucking on the mirror, Narcissus-style.

Important Things Happening at Trader Joe's

I'm not quite sure what they are...but Jake is.


On his Soapbox at TJ's. from therhodeslog on Vimeo.

Jacob's Mistress

Yes. Here I am, a single mother, a victim to that great widow maker, for I've lost me husband to the sea. 

Well actually Uncle Johnny bought the nameless sailboat for _00$ dollars. Now the boys spend every free minute taking it apart and putting it all back together again while Jake and I sit listlessly at home watching the bees and staring at my class ticker.

 

Once my sailor takes me to Catalina for the weekend and I'm sunning on the deck with my Prosecco icing in a bucket next to me, all will be forgiven, but until then I will inscribe bitter diatribes on this log against boat X and we will remember this episode of WIFE&CHILD vs. VESSEL none too fondly.

Now that they have successfully rid the thing of its former owner's crack paraphernalia, I give you some unflattering pictures of the barge which I reproduce without permission from either of the Rhodes Bros.

 

Bon Voyage, my pretties!

I Really Like Back Rubs

Just a little of what the Rhodeseses are logging today.

You see, my mother-in-law had us all do a test two Christmases ago to discover our Love Languages. Mine is back rubs. 

No time to waste! I have to go a-grading!!

Snapshot from a Sunday

I participated in Snapshots from a Sunday over at Clan Donaldson today. So head on over to see Jacob and the Jake Cub candidly captured at 6:51am yesterday morning. The part of the day where the husband and I do everything possible not to open our eyes and parenting looks like holding onto a chubby baby ankle.