Another term end is upon us and the dining room table is once again groaning under the weight of essays, seminar write-ups and final exams. Or that might be me groaning. I like reading students’ work: I’m just not fond of grading it. What makes the already onerous task a little tougher is Sam’s puckish presence. I have quite a few photos of babe insinuating himself into my workspace—evidence of the dual pull of the working mom. In one, he is just 2 weeks old and resting comfortably on a stack of examination booklets; in another, he’s perched on my chair, the nub of a red pen pressed thoughtfully to his pursed lips in impish imitation of his professor-mommy. In this one, he’s making an over-the-top bid for my lap, having been repelled on all other fronts.
Yes, Sam has long won the battle. And this year he’s also finally won the war. I’m hanging up my cap & gown after 15 years of teaching literature courses. It’s just too hard to carve the time out of my precious few home hours. And, seriously, who can ponder the relative complexities of Atwood’s and Roy’s investigations of the adolescent journey to self-knowledge while sitting within earshot of Bob Cole and Harry Neil calling a playoff game? High time to indulge in some other April traditions.
Sam was delighted to find “the whole family!” (Huddie included), perched on the couch for the hockey game last night. While Mommy & Daddy watched (thankful for the pause button), Sam was half tuned in to both the world of N.H.L and the world of S.A.M. Though he happily dashed upstairs to ring a celebratory doorbell when it was called for, he was more intrigued in his own play than in that of the Senators. Using his coloured magnets and an invisible set of "contructions" (instructions), he built a jewel, a computer, a spaceship, the dwarf planet, an ant head, and a ‘long string of power.’ Spotting my light dumbbells near the tv, he decided to break for some pumping—pausing between sets to check out how strong his elbows were getting (missing the point of the bicep flex). We had to stifle laughter when, seated cross-legged on the floor, he raised the weights recklessly to shoulder level to emphasize a point and tipped right over backwards. He then combined the weights and magnets into a private game that featured the high-pitched warning: “The blender machine is dang-er-rous; it’s chopping you… CHOP-PING YOU … arghguhg.” Suddenly, Sam’s another Hudson and crawling all over us for ear scratches. Then, once Daddy showed him how to hide his arm in his shirt to fool people into thinking he was a one-armed bandit, he ‘fooled’ us 5 times in a row, howling with laughter at each squeeze of his empty sleeve in mock horror.
Somewhere in there, Heatley, Vermette and Kelly scored, Emery recorded a shut out, and the Sens capped a first round victory over the Piss-burgh Penguins (Sam’s pronunciation).
I expect I’ll be a little wistful at the loss of lectern come fall, but for now it’s just too much fun to throw over those professorial duties and watch Sam (and the Sens) play.
Yes, Sam has long won the battle. And this year he’s also finally won the war. I’m hanging up my cap & gown after 15 years of teaching literature courses. It’s just too hard to carve the time out of my precious few home hours. And, seriously, who can ponder the relative complexities of Atwood’s and Roy’s investigations of the adolescent journey to self-knowledge while sitting within earshot of Bob Cole and Harry Neil calling a playoff game? High time to indulge in some other April traditions.
Sam was delighted to find “the whole family!” (Huddie included), perched on the couch for the hockey game last night. While Mommy & Daddy watched (thankful for the pause button), Sam was half tuned in to both the world of N.H.L and the world of S.A.M. Though he happily dashed upstairs to ring a celebratory doorbell when it was called for, he was more intrigued in his own play than in that of the Senators. Using his coloured magnets and an invisible set of "contructions" (instructions), he built a jewel, a computer, a spaceship, the dwarf planet, an ant head, and a ‘long string of power.’ Spotting my light dumbbells near the tv, he decided to break for some pumping—pausing between sets to check out how strong his elbows were getting (missing the point of the bicep flex). We had to stifle laughter when, seated cross-legged on the floor, he raised the weights recklessly to shoulder level to emphasize a point and tipped right over backwards. He then combined the weights and magnets into a private game that featured the high-pitched warning: “The blender machine is dang-er-rous; it’s chopping you… CHOP-PING YOU … arghguhg.” Suddenly, Sam’s another Hudson and crawling all over us for ear scratches. Then, once Daddy showed him how to hide his arm in his shirt to fool people into thinking he was a one-armed bandit, he ‘fooled’ us 5 times in a row, howling with laughter at each squeeze of his empty sleeve in mock horror.
Somewhere in there, Heatley, Vermette and Kelly scored, Emery recorded a shut out, and the Sens capped a first round victory over the Piss-burgh Penguins (Sam’s pronunciation).
I expect I’ll be a little wistful at the loss of lectern come fall, but for now it’s just too much fun to throw over those professorial duties and watch Sam (and the Sens) play.
1 comment:
Finally! So happy for you :)
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