What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

OK, so maybe I'm a little sad

So I went to class last night and accomplished everything I set out to do: return old papers, collect new ones, take a vote for the top three student blogs (winners got extra credit), touch on money-making opportunities available in the blogosphere, and wrap things up with a discussion about blogging overall.

Except that last one happened not so much seeing as my students just wanted to get the hell out of there. I dismissed them after forty-two minutes.

I'm sure this makes me a big dork, but I was really hoping to facilitate a thought-provoking dialogue about what they gleaned from blogging, info they were most surprised to learn, their guestimates on how the medium will (continue to) affect other societal niches, and what they hoped to do with their own blogs long term. And there was a little of that, but getting my questions answered was not unlike pulling teeth, which, I'm not stupid, it was the last day, they knew they could end class faster by keeping quiet, but still. I've really liked having flesh-and-blood individuals in my life to jabber on about the Internet phenomenon that's had such a huge impact on my life. I'll miss that.

And I'll miss them. Some of these guys really were a lot of fun to have in class, and most of them were quite gracious to me while I struggled to find my academic groove. Knowing I may never see them again tugged on my heartstrings a bit.

Luckily, afterwards I was able to console myself at Maia's, where we feasted on two servings of chocolate fudge pudding apiece. That was definitely a good thing.

You know it's a good day when Frema busts out the liquid foundation

Tonight is the last session for my blogging class at Saint Joe. Thirteen weeks have passed since the first time I took my place behind the front desk and wondered how in the hell I was going to fill up two and a half hours when all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. I was nervous about not sounding smart, afraid that either my students would withdraw upon hearing the logistics or stick it out and laugh behind my back. To be honest, I suspect a few of them actually do that, but I did it to some of my professors, too , so I guess it's just par for the course.

When I first learned I was pregnant, one of the first things that came to mind was this class. I knew I'd be cutting it close in terms of my due date, and I worried it would be too much for me to handle. Now that I'm on the other side, though, I'm so happy I stuck with it, because even though it's been time consuming and hard and more than a little frustrating at times, it's also been a lot of fun. My students are very interesting people, and I've loved discussing their views on all the different blogging topics we've covered--when they actually decide to talk. It was also a great distraction when the less-than-stellar aspects of gestation started to take its toll and all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. Again.

Teaching has taught me a lot of things; I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up learning more than my students. Did you know that sitting in the back of the room doesn't make you're invisible? And those "discreet" eye rolls we used to share with our buddies when we thought the prof wasn't looking? Turns out, not so discreet after all, and boy, I bet that made the poor guy feel like an asshole.

Not that anything like that's happened to me. And if it did, I'm certainly not bitter.

Also, grading can be really, really hard, especially when the point total is low and the student is a pleasure to have in class.

In the long run, I know my sensitive nature is probably not cut out for teaching. However, I'd love to one day have a job that involves more interaction with young people. I'd laugh a lot more and waste a lot less time in meetings where my behavior consists mostly of nodding and smiling and feigning interest in the latest company PowerPoint.

I really enjoyed this experience, and I'm proud of myself for trying something new. I'll miss my students and my weekly sleepover at my friend Maia's house. But I'd be lying if I said I was sad. I've had an extra skip in my step all day long, because tonight is the last night Luke has to tape The Office for me. It's the last night I have to spend away from him before the baby comes. It's the last time I have to force myself to stay alert for the ninety-minute drive to Rensselaer. And tomorrow morning will be the last time I have to pull myself out of bed before seven o'clock to get started on the drive home.

I'm happy, and I know it. Clap your hands.

Forget the epidural; why doesn't anybody warn you about the IV?

It's been a long few days.

Those of you who follow my Parents blog already know about last Thursday's ER scare; those of you who don't? Well, you really should follow my Parents blog.

Just kidding. (Except not really.)

Here's the story: Almost two weeks ago, I showed signs of my third pregnancy-related yeast infection. I began treatment and took my last dose this past Wednesday; the following morning, I awoke to mild irritation in my vaginal area. Initially attributing it to an ill-timed poke with the Monistat applicator, I drove to Rensselaer as usual for class because my friend Jackie--fellow BlogHer attendee and seasoned PR executive--was scheduled to give a presentation about her experience with blogs in the marketing world. I didn't want to waste her time or cheat my students, and anyway, I figured the discomfort would fade away as the day wore on.

Only it didn't. Two hours before class, I was crying to Luke about the pain, my God, THE PAIN, in my special place and now my stomach, too, wondering how the hell I was going to make it from six to eight-thirty without running to the bathroom, pulling my pants down, and trying my damndest to relieve myself, as by that time, my symptoms were comparable to the worst urinary tract infection imaginable.

As it turns out, I didn't make it. Hell, if you ask my students, I barely made it the first thirty minutes. Five minutes before class began, I called Luke to tell him I needed to get to the hospital. I knew I couldn't drive back to Indy in my condition, so the plan was for him and his brother to meet me in Purdue country, enabling my husband to take my spot behind the wheel without leaving behind a second car. I figured Jackie could make her presentation and I could end class shortly after to get started on the forty-five-minute trip to Lafayette.

Educating young minds without sacrificing my need for immediate medical attention. Everybody wins!

Jackie eventually transported me to the local ER.*

I didn't know what to feel. On one hand, Freka's activity level hadn't changed at all, and I wasn't leaking any fluid, so a phone call to my doctor reassured me I probably wasn't in labor. On the other, I was also experiencing irregular contractions and a physical strain so intense I could barely walk. All I could think about was parking my ass on a toilet and willing it out of my body.

The ER nurses loved hearing that. "Don't push, don't push!" one of them barked when I explained my urge to pee. "We don't want to deliver a baby right now!"

Me, neither, lady.

Thankfully, I wasn't in labor. I was, however, badly dehydrated, and apparently lack of fluid was to blame for the contractions and that horrible pain. I received my very first IV feed, and it hurt like a sonofabitch. A non-stress test confirmed the baby's heart beat was strong, and three and a half hours later, Luke and I left the hospital with the results of my urinalysis and strict instructions for me to get more rest and drink lots of water.

The fun part? A follow-up appointment with my ob/gyn the next day showed that our little Freka is sitting way lower than normal for this stage in the game; also, my cervix has already begun to soften. Even though there's still seven weeks to go until my December 10th due date, it's not totally off-base to think my Christmas baby might be here by Thanksgiving.

At least she's head down.

Things are OK now; I had another "episode" on Saturday night, but I'm thinking the six hours Luke and I spent running through the aisles of Babies R Us and Super Target in a frantic attempt to stock up on the last of our baby essentials had something to do with it. Once again, copious amounts of water saved the day.

...And consider yourself officially caught up on all matters related to my uterus. Don't you feel special?

In other news, my sister's post-wedding wedding shower is set for November 18th, but in light of recent events, there's no way I can in good conscience commit to a trip to Chicago. Ryan was extremely understanding, and she promised to visit with Jason while he's on leave, but still, knowing I have to miss one of the few marital milestones I could've actually participated in for her doesn't have me jumping up and down for joy. (Their elopement, by the way, was rescheduled for this weekend due to outrageously priced air fare, so she still has another few days of living life as a single woman.)

Tune in again on Wednesday to see all the progress I've made on my prenatal to-do list. You'll be amazed, I promise.

* Words can't express how grateful I am for all Jackie did that night--taking over my class, driving me to the hospital, staying by my side until Luke arrived.... I couldn't have managed on my own, and she made it possible that I didn't have to. Jackie, thanks so much for being such a good friend. It means more than you know.

Fall was made for pregnant women; also, I just picked up a Twizzler off the floor with my toes and ate it

The last couple of days have been absolutely beautiful. Sunny skies, cool breezes--perfect for a 27-weeks pregnant woman who, by the end of the night, is lounging around her apartment in a tank top and undies. I knew this baby business would crank up my temperature a bit, but holy crap, people, I am hot all the time. The air is on 24/7, I need a fan to sleep, and it's probably time to abandon my tanks altogether, seeing as there's no possibility of them covering my belly now, so all they do is get tucked beneath Thing One and Thing Two like a second bra, thus showing off the glorious stretch marks currently spidering below my belly button.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, Luke is quite lucky to be married to a sexpot like me.

As usual, the level of activity in our household is high. This weekend was spent running errands, cleaning the apartment, and making another trip to Babies R Us to change our registry a bit. After reading your comments and doing some research, I decided to remove the Medela pump and all its essentials from my registry and instead rent a hospital-grade pump for the first few weeks after the baby's birth, while I'm getting used to the whole feeding-a-person-with-your-boobs thing. If all goes well and I need to buy a pump, I'll probably go with an Ameda one, which seems to be a favorite among online moms and is also not three hundred and twenty dollars. Always a plus.

However, now I'm confused about whether or not I'll even need something as efficient as a double-electric pump, because due to lack of space at the lab, I've been given permission to work more from home. (Translation: good-bye, spacious office, hello, cramped cubicle.) This arrangement will stay in place after my maternity leave, so I'm left wondering how often I'll need to pump to begin with. When I do make an appearance at the office, it'll probably just be to attend a meeting, interview someone for a story, or take care of paperwork; under those circumstances, there's no reason a manual pump wouldn't suit my needs just fine. It's not like I'm this hot-shot executive who puts in twelve-hour days or travels outside a twenty-mile radius.

And...that's enough about my breasts for this week, thank you very much.

Everything else is going well. Tomorrow marks week four of my class, which seems to be moving along at a strong pace, even if I still feel out of my element sometimes. Last week we focused on the idea of community, how communities are built online, and possible issues such communities face. I will be forever indebted to Liza for passing along the link to BlogRhet, a site maintained by women eager to explore issues like identity, inclusion, gender, race, culture, and a slew of other topics that affect us both in the blogosphere and beyond. Students were instructed to select an article from the Web site and talk about it in class, an exercise that turned out to be much more capable of inspiring discussion than the assigned reading. In case you're interested, here are the articles they chose. Some of them are quite lengthy, but if you have the time to go through them, they make for some juicy reading. Especially the comments.

and now for something completely different...

more facebook, with class

Blogging: redefining friendship in the 2.0 world

To Market, To Market We Go

What I Write is Mine, Isn’t It? Blogging, Intellectual Property, and Identity

Race and Ethnicity: It Matters

Lifting the Veil of the Inner Blogologue.

Does Blogging Help You As a Writer?

Am I In, or Am I Out?

I continue to enjoy the writing I do for Parents.com and hope you guys do, too. It's a bit different from my style on this blog, more column-like, I think, but it seems to work well. Whenever I feel guilty about not posting here as much as I'd like, I remind myself that at least there's another place on the Internet where you can subject yourselves to my delusions of grandeur. I am very interested in holding on to this gig after Freka's born, so cross your fingers that my editor ends up feeling the same way.

In other news, Luke and I aren't the only ones in high gear; this baby has stepped it up a notch (or SEVEN) with her movements, and while watching O Brother, Where Art Thou? last night, we spent a good ten minutes just staring at the ripples she made as they rolled across my stomach. She's gotten more active at night, specifically on whichever side I happen to be sleeping on, and throughout the day I'm constantly being jabbed, poked, kicked, etc. Therefore, it's no surprise to me that I'm more tired than ever. It's like I'm reliving my first trimester all over again, when even the simple act of blow-drying my hair left me winded for a good hour afterwards. Working from home is extra delicious right now, because on those days, all I do is shower and throw on pajama clothes. No mousse, no gel, no make-up, just tied-dyed shirts, a comb-through and a ponytail--you know, to really show off the pimples taking over my neck--and I'm good to go.

I know, I know, again with the hotness.

If the physical toll of carrying this child weren't enough to knock me out, sorting through our finances as we get ever closer to losing one of our incomes would definitely do the trick. Last night I took a quick inventory of what we had stashed away in the bank, money that was on the way, bills that need to be completely eliminated before December (GMAC, I'M TALKING TO YOU), and expenses our savings account will be responsible for, like life insurance and cloth diapers and eye exams and a Roth IRA for Luke and possibly our wedding photos because if we don't order them now I'm afraid we'll never do it and holy crap, I guess we won't be getting that 3D ultrasound after all.

Parents editor, did I ever tell you how pretty you are? Your hair, it is like gold!

Ten out of twelve ain't bad

After checking my campus mailbox yesterday, I was a little sad to see I'd lost two students during last week's add/drop period. The class must've varied too far from their expectations, which I completely understand, but still, wah.

It's so different being on the other side of the academic fence; as an undergraduate, I never gave a thought to the personal feelings of my professors. They always came to class prepared to share some big-picture insights about the world around us, and for the most part, I trusted their direction. How odd to think they must've started out the way I am now, navigating through material I have yet to master, trying to create an atmosphere conducive to thoughtful participation, worrying about filling class time. Which I did, by the way, and let me tell you, the time between 6:00 and 8:30 literally flew by. I only glanced at the clock on my cell phone a few times, and at one point I actually questioned whether or not we'd make it through my entire lesson.

Of course, I'm still discovering the many ways in which I can improve my teaching style. This week, I prepared for class the way I might've in graduate school: read, read, read and take lots of notes, with some extra attention paid to forming possible discussion questions for each chapter. However, being a diligent note-taker does not an expert make, so sometimes I'd repeat a concept or definition several times until I found the wording that seemed to make the most sense to my students, and even then I sometimes realized that my understanding of an idea wasn't as rock-solid as I thought.

This week was probably a bigger challenge than most will or should be, seeing as we primarily focused on technical resources available to bloggers, and my acquired knowledge in that area is self-taught and fair at best. There was an awkward moment when a student asked to see an example of a TrackBack and I didn't have one to show him. Normally I'd just pull up a Web site that featured what we were talking about, but you so rarely see this function used in the blogosphere--at least on the blogs I read--that finding one on the spot wasn't an option. Next came the brilliant idea that oh! I'll just log in to my TypePad account and create an entry with a TrackBack right now! Only that didn't work out, either, because apparently I'm an idiot. I'll definitely become better acquainted with TypePad's stellar customer knowledge base before next Thursday, because by George, I WILL make the TrackBack my bitch.

Despite my rookie mistakes, I consider last night a success. Teaching this class is a wonderful way to keep my mind occupied as my stomach continues to grow at an alarming rate, and it's hard to believe that by the time we wrap things up, Luke and I will be one month away from meeting our baby.

Here is The Belly at 25 weeks. No, I'm not carrying twins, thank you so much for asking and making me feel like a big fat cow.

But wait! I have more graphic goodness to share.

This little guy is Roxy, one of two kittens recently adopted by my family. Our beautiful German shepherd, Styx, was put to sleep back in January (on my birthday, which I so appreciated), and since then my mother's been lonely for animal companionship; when they learned my grandfather's cat had recently given birth, my sister Ryan convinced my father to bring two of them home for her, which surprised us all, because for YEARS my mom's talked about how much she hates cats and they can't be trusted and let me tell you about the time when Samantha was a newborn and I found one sitting on her face.

Viewed in that light, I suppose her "distaste" was somewhat warranted.

As it turns out, my mother quite enjoys felines when they're not threatening to suffocate one of her children. The one above is her favorite, I think. She named him Church. As in, the resurrected cat from Pet Sematary. Because that's not disturbing at all.

P.S. Is nobody interested in summing up part two of TLF? The soundtrack you'd receive in turn would be totally awesome, I promise.

Head of a Class

So, I've been trying to decide how to write about my first teaching experience. The chances of my students finding this site are pretty high, seeing as I'll probably share the link with them this Thursday when they provide me with URLs to their flashy new Blogger blogs, and I'm worried about what they'll think of a professor who has to take deep breaths and whisper Stuart Smalleyisms like "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me" to herself in the bathroom before she can put on a happy face and introduce herself to impressionable young vessels thirsty for knowledge.

However, the class is about blogging, and part of blogging involves being honest with your readers, so I decided that truth trumps dignity. Lucky for you.

The class went much better than I expected, though I really did give myself a pep talk beforehand. I left work after lunch that day and spent my afternoon hours tweaking handouts, flipping through books, and mentally trying to estimate how much time each activity would take. Since the class'll wrap up the week before Thanksgiving, I'm already shortchanging them three sessions' worth of Frema-style wisdom, so I was totally paranoid about my notes only getting me through the first twenty minutes of class and sitting there twiddling my thumbs while I figured out what to do next.

And it almost happened! For the first half of class, I had planned to introduce myself, take roll call, get a feel for everyone's expectations for the course, and read through the syllabus. That'll get me through the first hour, I thought, no problem.

I made it to 6:35.

FUUUCK.

I called for a quick break while I ran to the bathroom once again to collect myself and repeat all the deep-breathing exercises I'd relied on forty minutes earlier. Turns out I was the only one who left the room, because who really needs to stretch their legs after a half-hour of what was essentially academic small talk?

The second half of class involved reviewing basic blogging terminology, surfing some Web sites, and going over how to set up a blog on Blogger.com. I held on to my handout for dear life and pointed out various features on sites like Dooce, Amalah, and PostSecret (you guys, I would've never forgotten about PostSecret). I opened my Google reader to demonstrate how RSS feeds and newsreaders work, and we all enjoyed a good laugh at seeing the black-barred, boobalicious picture featured in one of Carrisa's entries. And suddenly it was ten to eight, and I was breathing a sigh of relief over making it through my first night on the job.

I wouldn't call myself polished just yet. I stumbled over my words at times, jumped onto a second train of thought before completely riding out the first one, and I repeated myself some. But overall I accomplished what I set out to do, which was to give students a clear picture of what my class would entail (lots of reading, lots of discussion, lots of presentations) and a brief introduction to the world they'll be spending so much time in over the next thirteen weeks. I'm glad I did, too, because several of my twelve (TWELVE! Do you realize how impressive that is for a small, private college? And an adjunct course at that?) students envisioned a workshop format with in-class writing exercises and computer lab time and all that creative jazz. Which, no, but that sounds pretty cool, too.

After class I ordered dinner at the campus's snack shop and invaded the home of my good friend, Maia, the English professor who asked me to teach the class in the first place and once served as my mentor while I interned and directed the college's publications department. She and her husband have been kind enough to offer their guest bedroom to me on the nights I teach so I don't have to drive ninety miles home in a state of bleary-eyed exhaustion. Freka and I are forever in their debt.

Getting through my first class relatively unscathed makes it easier to think about the next one. In the meantime, I'm trying to create a schedule for my non-day-job hours that provides the least amount of chaos to my household and mental well-being. The weekend was spent visiting with family (and sitting on the expressway for, oh, TWO AND A HALF HOURS, thank you Chicago traffic and northwest Indiana flooding), and I was adamant about returning to Indianapolis at an hour that would allow me to give the apartment a good once-over. I updated my Parents blog last night, and this evening I intend to hash out the majority of Thursday's lesson plan, but not before enjoying an early dinner and (Blockbuster) movie with Luke. Specifically, pork chops and The Lake House, the latter demonstrating the true depths of my husband's love. In return, I've allowed the first disc from the first season of 90210 to remain at the bottom of our online queue.

What can I say? I'm a giver.

Back from hiding

On Friday night, I experienced a mini-freakout over my rapidly approaching teaching debut. On Sunday, I glued myself to the computer, drafting the first outline of my syllabus and scouring the Internet for articles on related class topics. Later that evening I dreamt it was the first day of school and I had only just remembered my offer to teach entry-level Spanish. You know, because of my obvious affinity for foreign language.

My days since then have been spent tearing through books, finetuning assignments, and pondering how long it would take my students to find my blog and consequently gasp in horror at seeing a picture of their instructor donning Winnie the Pooh pajama shorts. That burden alone is worth tacking on at least two extra credit points to their overall grades.

Tomorrow is the Big Day, and I feel ready, except for one thing: I want to spend a little time showcasing some blogs to get everyone started, but I can't decide on which ones to include. My blogroll is pretty much limited to personal diaries, and I'd like to venture beyond that. Sure, I have books with pages and pages of suggested sites, and I'll refer to them if need be, but what do you think? If you were new to the blogosphere, which sites would strike you as best representing the genre?

I'll definitely let you know how class went (within reason, of course; privacy laws and my own comfort level prohibit me from discussing my students in any detail); I'll even post my syllabus for those who are interested, but since Friday equals the last TLF until 2008, I'm thinking Jenna, Michael, Kayla, Cassie, Kyle, and Katherine deserve to have the floor exclusively. We owe them that much.

Hopefully the diagnosis will be to eat a bowl of spinach dip and call back in the morning

Thankfully, thankfully, we're almost done with the organizing of the new apartment. Luke spent the first half of the day cursing at the elbow brackets and safety straps he had to attach to our new (Target) bookcases while I lay in bed with a pillow pressed to my stomach, crying from what I believe to be round ligament pain. My BabyCenter book was the only one that gave detailed explanations of what to expect, and it was the only reason I didn't leave a message with my ob/gyn's on-call doctor by noon. I was so afraid I'd done something to hurt the baby, replaying an incident on Sunday morning when I carried a sweater box into our bedroom and jabbed one of the corners into my right side. A warm bath helped a little, but today the pain is still there. Not constantly, but it hurts when I use the bathroom, when I pass gas, even when I get up from my chair. Like I said, I know this is normal (and possibly TMI for you), but to ease my mind, I placed a call to the office as soon as I got to work and left a message for the nurse, who'll call me before the end of the day.

I'll be eighteen weeks on Monday, and it feels like things are finally starting to pick up with this pregnancy. I can eat more (133 pounds, people!), I finally have a belly, we're on the cusp of learning the gender, and I should be feeling little Freke move any day now. I see newborns everywhere and wonder what ours will look like. My thoughts are occupied with which brand of breast pump to use, where to store dirty cloth diapers in our home, how long I want to labor without drugs, and when I should start writing in the blank journal I bought to document more private musings for the baby. If something happened at this point, when I'm almost halfway to the finish line, I don't know what I'd do.

Luckily, all of this brain activity is interspersed with jabbering to Luke about how much damn STUFF we seem to have.

The new apartment is working out for the most part, space-wise, but it's still a painful reminder that we've allowed ourselves to accumulate more material items than two people really need. More than half of our books are in storage, and the new media case we bought is smaller than the one we used in the old apartment, so all of our VHS tapes and a quarter of my CD collection has been designated to a plastic bin in Luke's closet, even though the majority of them haven't been played in at least a year. And much to his delight, we finally chucked every towel stained by one of my botched at-home pedicures. I've always prided myself on letting go of items that no longer hold any sort of emotional or practical value, so why was it so hard to say good-bye to a boom box that just gathers dust because we listen to all of our music on the computer? Why do I still own a copy of Soapdish?

Wait, I know the answer to that last one. The dialogue is funny enough to make me wet my pants. Plus, Robert Downey, Jr. is hot hot hot.

After this weekend, we should be completely settled, and I can move on to other phases of my life, like planning the curriculum for my blogging class. I've selected two books for assigned reading material, but I've only finished the first one. The more I think about this new venture, the more I worry that I'm in over my head; then I recall several of my own undergraduate professors and know with confidence that I can at least perform as well as they did. I won't be the most learned or most educated adjunct on Saint Joe's campus, but I'm enthusiastic about the subject matter and dedicated to present it in a way that'll hold students' interest even after the last class. That's a good start, at least.

Finally, because I know you totally care, I've decided to forgo a changing table. Instead, Luke and I are on board with getting our hands on a cradle for those early months, which will allow us to transport the baby into any room we choose and can also be used for diaper changings. Also, my mother- and father-in-law have graciously offered us the dresser they used for Luke when he was a baby, so we can cross that item off our list of "Major Things to Purchase," which seems to be growing longer every day.

And we love every minute of it.

Edited to add: Well, she didn't mention spinach dip, but my doctor returned my call personally to let me know everything I was experiencing was completely normal. We spoke for almost ten minutes. I love this practice.

Everything-But-the-Kitchen-Sink Wednesday

So, I tried on my swimsuit for the first time this year, and you know what?

I totally look pregnant in it.

Parading around my bedroom in front of our full-length mirror, marveling at the lessening gap between my gut rolls, I couldn't stop gazing at myself, couldn't stop rubbing my belly. I've taken the tests, I've heard the heartbeat, I've lost my dinner more times than I can count, and yet, it was like discovering I was pregnant for the first time. Like, oh my God, something is totally growing inside of me.

Needless to say, it's time for a new swimsuit.

(And since I'll be at the mall anyway, new underwear. My pants fit fine, but the skivvies are cutting off my circulation. When will Victoria's Secret wise up and start a maternity line?)

Things are at an even keel around here, as far as weight goes.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 129.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -6.2

Lunch is getting harder and harder to plan for, as soups of all textures and flavors currently turn my stomach and frozen dinners and sandwiches sound as appealing as chunks of cardboard, so I've been trying to make do with apples, nectarines, yogurt, and a Ziplock bag stuffed with pickles until it's time to go home. This afternoon I broke down and spent five dollars and ten cents on three cheeseburgers, an order of mozzarella sticks, and a small fry from White Castle, but two bites into my second burger Freke sent a stern message via my digestive tract advising me to make wiser choices in the future. Can this really be a child of mine? Next thing you know it'll be jonesing for seafood. I love this baby, but not that much, you know?

I've also been busy pouring through potential texts for my blogging class this fall, as you can tell by the endless list of Amazon links on my About page. I didn't take any education classes in college or grad school, so teaching is brand-spanking new to me, and I'm terrified I won't have enough material to keep my students engaged for two and a half hours a week for thirteen weeks. Worse, I'm afraid my tendency to stumble over my words and talk too fast in front of large groups will give these undergrads the impression that I'm a complete and total idiot. And I'm not, I promise you I'm not, no matter what your mom might tell you.

Here are some of the topics I plan to address:

• The origin of blogs
• Popular technical features
• Available blogging technologies
• How blogs have influenced politics, business, advertising/marketing, and communications
• Web standards
• Copyright protection
• Privacy/safety issues
• Blogging versus the traditional personal essay
• Creative writing versus blogging
• Money-making opportunities

If you were taking my class, what else would you expect/hope to learn about blogging? Inquiring minds want to know.

Let's see, what else can I blab about? Luke and I are still waiting to see a two-bedroom apartment on hold for us within our complex, an apartment that's been vacant since May 13th but for some reason still isn't presentable enough to view. Whether it's this unit or another one, though, we are set to move on the last weekend of the month, and every few days or so one of us questions our decision. On one hand, we can get rid of a few items in our current place and find room for a crib and a Pack 'n Play, but on the other hand, wanting to have a kitchen table isn't that outrageous a desire, is it? On one hand, it'd be nice to save the extra ninety-five dollars a month a bigger apartment will require, but on the other hand, how long can two adults and a baby live in 675 square feet without somebody requesting a divorce or parental emancipation?

Round and round and round we go with the whole discussion until we realize that we just plain want the extra space because car seats and strollers and dressers and cribs can't be stored in our hall closet, so we are moving and that's the end of that.

Of course, too much space could also be an issue, as evidenced by the movie First Born starring Elisabeth Shue, which Luke and I rented and watched on Monday night. I'm a sucker for films revolving around demon-baby plots, and since the DVD's cover art featued an upside-down cross in the title and a tagline of "Stay away from the baby," I thought for sure I'd hit the supernatural jackpot. Only not so much.

The movie is centered around a couple of ritzy city-dwellers who find out they're with child and move to the suburbs, in a house larger than your local Dominick's, to provide a safe environment for their budding family.

(Spoilers ahead, in case you care.)

Elisabeth Shue goes into premature labor after tripping over rocks in her lawn and receives an emergency c-section. The nurse who shows her how to breastfeed tells her "it's all downhill from here." Her asshole husband--who had previously PROMISED to take time off when the baby arrived--leaves for work at six in the morning and never comes home earlier than ten. She develops mastitis. She accidentally locks herself in the basement while her daughter cries in her crib upstairs. She runs to the store and forgets to take the baby into the house. The doctors she contacts for help cut off the ends of her sentences. She finds an abandoned doll on the subway and takes it home, but it has a hard time staying in the same damn place. And through it all we're led to believe Elisabeth's Shues troubles might be caused by spirits in the new house or a manipulative witch masquerading as a kindly, elderly baby-sitter.

In the end she buries her baby in the backyard, thinking it's the doll, so my bet is on post-partum depression.

Probably not the best flick to see when you're one week away from your second trimester. We should've gone with Fast Food Nation.

Communists, that's who.

Since being asked to teach a blogging class for Saint Joe this fall, I've been on the lookout for material to share with my class. And I've not been disappointed. There was the "10 Things Your Blogger Won't Tell You" article in my first issue of Smart Money magazine, a subscription Luke scored free of charge thanks to his generous accumulation of Coca-Cola bottle caps. The Indianapolis Star recently featured an editorial from a doctor who cautions readers about taking stock in medical advice from bloggers hopping on popular treatment bandwagons without conducting the necessary research. I've stumbled across books on blogging I didn't know existed, and I've taken a new interest in resources and features that normally wouldn't have inspired a second thought.

Like Technorati. I've seen those "Technorati Tags" featured at the foot of someone's entry every now and again, and from what I can gather, it functions as a search engine specifically for the blogging community, monitoring updates and tracking links made from one blog to another. Before I accepted this teaching gig, that level of understanding would've suited me just fine; however, now that I'm charged with introducing ten to twenty undergrads to the most current trends in the blogosphere, I can no longer allow myself to turn a blind eye. So this morning I registered for a Technorati Profile that will enable "spiders" to capture my blog and make the contents searchable to the masses. Part of that process involved posting a link to my profile on my blog, which is the only reason you're seeing an entry from me this fine Saturday afternoon. Because I posted my Tragic Love Friday entry so late in the day yesterday, it's only received six comments so far. I hate the idea of posting a new entry when the previous one hasn't received its fair share of "air time."

Technorati says I can delete this post once they've officially "claimed" my blog, so I may do just that. But probably not, seeing as at this point I've already spent a good thirty minutes online, and dagnabbit if I'm going to let it all be for naught.

Next up: widgets; video (the ones from my wedding don't count, that was all Molly); podcasts (what are your thoughts on hearing Luke perform the theme song I wrote for my short-lived Chicago Chicks Club?); RSS feeds; maintaining a list of blogs to share with my students that vary in style, content, and popularity, the majority of which will probably never earn a spot on my blogroll.

My students better appreciate this come August.

TLF fans, please don't forget about your latest fix. This week is really quite fun. Plus, there's a contest! To win free things! And who doesn't like free things?

Greedy or Not Greedy? (See Also: Could've-Been-Worse Wednesday, But We'll Get to That)

Last week I mentioned several topics I've been meaning to address in upcoming entries, and seeing as tonight I experienced a series of conniptions over a social worker's rejection of almost two hundred thousand dollars, this is the perfect time to discuss Deal Or No Deal, only the best game show to hit television since Ray Combs hosted the Family Feud.

Besides the charming, gloriously bald essence that is Howie Mandel, one of the reasons I'm so enraptured with DOND is that at any given moment, the life of an average Joe (or Josephine) can change forever--if you know how far to push your luck. You're delighted for the middle-class construction worker who can open up his own restaurant, for the Italian retiree who can finally pay off his home and arrange for quality medical care.

(Unless you're the twenty-year-old college student who settled out of the game for a pink Escalade, a vehicle whose value will depreciate faster than you can release your own urine, in which case you deserve every high-interest loan this world has to offer, you stupid, foolish twit.)

Whether the amount is ten thousand or one million, that money is a gift that holds the power to relieve burdens and rectify situations that otherwise might've taken decades to resolve. And of course, it doesn't escape your attention that, one day, that contestant could be you.

Every time Howie relays the banker's latest offer, I think about what I would do with that money, understanding that my priorities will change according to the rise and fall of the numbers. If it's twenty thousand dollars, I'd pay off the Cobalt and set aside the remaining dough for a down payment on a house, which when combined with Luke's and my savings would total that magical twenty percent. With fifty thousand, I'd spend ten on the house, ten on the car, and pay off my private Sallie Mae loan, whose monthly payment fluctuates every quarter and will soon be equal to the price of our new digital camera. With a grand, I'd put it towards the Visa and thank the Lord we didn't have to pull from savings to foot the bill. I don't even entertain the million because seriously, people, nobody on this show has ever gotten the million. You have a better chance of marrying your second cousin than you do winning a million dollars, which is exactly why I don't understand the contestants who turn down offer after offer after offer because they're confident the million is in their case. They're on a mission. They "deserve" this money, and they're going to get it.

Except when they don't. Emika, tonight's audience pick, was a social worker with a small son who admitted her salary was fewer than 50K a year. In the first round she knocked out five amounts smaller than fifteen hundred dollars, thus increasing her chances of toting a significant wad of Benjamins in her case, so she passed on twelve months worth of income. She did it again at sixty-one thousand, and sixty-eight thousand, and again at eighty-four thousand, and once more just for the hell of it at ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. Approximately four times her pay. The cost of one middle-class house. A mind-blowing retirement account that could reap immeasurable benefits via compounding interest. Paid tuition for her son to the best schools this country has to offer. But she said no. And why? Because a two-million dollar figure taunted her from its place on the tally board. Because her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and urged her to open one more case, even though the next highest amount plummeted to fifty thousand bucks. Because even though Emika was visibly sobbing over the thought of saying "No deal" to such a life-changing amount of money, according to her, "I came here to win."

So she opened one more case--the two-million-dollar case--and minutes later received an offer of seventy-five hundred dollars, barely the cost of a used car.

Oh, was I mad, because I so badly wanted this woman to win her some money. I wanted to see her cry tears of joy when she realized she would never lack for anything again, that this money provided a platform on which to build new opportunities, a new life that didn't involve debating over generic versus name-brand products at the grocery store or fretting over how to finance her son's continuing education or even her own. But no. A hundred and seventy thousand dollars is a miracle, but not miracle enough. Thanks anyway, Jesus!

Lucky for her she still made a good deal, eventually accepting 15K before learning her own case contained just two pennies. It could've been worse; last month, some pervy dude from Alabama turned down two hundred and fifteen thousand dollars only to walk away with a fin. Here, buddy; enjoy this White Castle sack with NBC's compliments.

This may sound incredibly naive, but I would never want to win a million dollars, mainly because it'd create more problems than I'm equipped to handle. When you have that much money at your disposal, how in the world do you spend it? Which charities do you support? Which requests do you honor? Should every single relative on both sides of the family get a small cut, even if they already make a comfortable living, or do you reserve it for the ones in danger of having their heat turned off? Will Grandma Ethel bitch about her five thousand because she knows it could've been fifty? Will any amount you offer ever be enough?

I once read in a magazine that it makes Howie physically ill to see so many people casually dismiss six-figure amounts in search of the elusive mill. Well, Howie, if I ever make it to the show, I won't even think about the damn million. If I could get the Sallie Mae monkeys off my back, I'll call it a day and let you touch my breasts and then invite you to live with Luke and me in our new villa in France. As a strictly platonic token of my gratitude, of course. As long as you stay bald.

Not that he's on my top five or anything, or that I even have a top five.

(However, in case you follow the link, know that my last (hypothetical) spot is currently being filled by John Krasinski of Office fame. We could be Frim!)

In other news, thank you all so much for your supportive comments regarding my upcoming leap into academia. So far, it looks like I'll be teaching for two and a half hours on Thursday nights from late August to mid December, with one week off for Thanksgiving. In the meantime, I spend the majority of my waking hours devising the class syllabus and determining my overall goal for the course, which so far is to compare and contrast current blogging styles to personal memoirs and essays and give students a taste of the current blogging culture. I also want to demonstrate the practical application of blogs in fields like marketing and business and their ability to generate income through ads, merchandising, and paid writing gigs. I already know I'll require students to maintain their own blogs and explore non-literary features that can enhance the blogging experience and their place in the blogging community--photography, videos, podcasts, widgets, etc. This means I'll be doing a lot of research and mucho head-banging against my computer monitor because I'll be damned if I even know what a widget is. But that's what books are for.

I'll be especially eager to pick your collective Internet brain. Who are your favorite personal essayists? Favorite bloggers? What attracts you to someone's site? What can turn you away? Be on the look-out for future posts on all of these topics and more as I attempt to tackle blogging in a way that validates its credibility and elevates it to a more sophisticated level. (In your face, MySpace!)

Finally, lest it think it's been overshadowed by a hottie game-show host or trendy online phenomenon, it's Weight Loss Wednesday. (At least it was two hours ago when I started this entry. Whoops.)

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 135.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12

Normally I'd be more upset over my set-your-watch-by-it lack of progress, but I received a couple of esteem-boosting compliments from Saint Joe friends over the weekend and Luke complimented my knack for filling out Banana Republic turtlenecks, so I'm gonna take the numbers for what they're worth and appreciate that my husband thinks I'm hot. Whatever helps you sleep at night, you know?

What a Difference a Weekend Makes

Three days ago I was a lukewarm Bears fan with a dream to enlighten unsuspecting undergraduates in the culture of blogging. By 10:15 last night, I was cheering for the Indianapolis Colts as they won their first-ever Super Bowl and mentally sifting through potential discussion topics and workshop ideas for the blogging class I'm now slated to teach this fall. I've even coined a catchy new vocabulary word sure to spread like wildfire at Saint Joe: bleaching! Because blogging plus teaching equals....

Well, maybe not like wildfire, but I just might find a way to sneak it into my syllabus.

I'm going to be a teacher. An adjunct professor. Me, who can't make it through even one staff meeting without frantically searching for the "Pause" button on my Real Life DVR remote so I can jot down a rough outline expressing intelligent, thought-out responses to spontaneous lines of questioning because I'm afraid of accidentally complimenting somebody's bra. I shared the good news with several colleagues from the college's alumni volunteer board and flapped around like a fish out of water when one of them commented, "That's going to be hard. I mean, has anything academic even been published about blogging?"

I received official word on Friday, when Luke and I made the trek to Rensselaer for my quarterly alumni board meeting, an hour and a half before midnight, within minutes of hugging my good friend Maia, who once mentored me through a year-long publications internship with the college's marketing office and saw me through an abrupt transition from intern to employee. I'm honored that the department is willing to entrust me with a classroom full of impressionable minds and hope my course meets their expectations; at the very least, I'd like to refrain from vomiting before I have the chance to introduce myself. They'd probably appreciate that, students and faculty alike.