I withdrew from my classes. I applied for the "Time Out Program" allowing me to take my year's leave. I discussed timing of my leave with my advisor, and promised her some good weeks before I left. She asked me if I knew of anybody who would want to become laboratory staff in my stead, who wasn't a student, and who could work 30-40 hours per week (I had only been working 20, on an RA stipend). After a few "duh" moments, I asked her why I couldn't be the non-student, paid-better, less-stressed, have-more-time-to-get-stuff-done person. She brightened and said, "Kiddo, it's YOURS if you want it!" (At 31, I rather enjoy the "kiddo" bit).

She asked me what I wanted from a job, and I gave her my list. I need to help pay family bills and get out of the student debt pattern. I need to NOT be in classes right now (already took care of that one)! I need to leave work AT WORK and come home and be present for my children after they get home from school. I need to have enough flexibility to be a mom and an employee, I need to have space to organize my thoughts instead of stepping on 4 other people's heads to reach the filing cabinet in our shared closet, and I need the feeling that I'm contributing in a positive way. And LESS STRESS. I didn't expect it, but she said, "Yes." Not only, "Yes," but "Of course!" too.

So, as of yesterday, I set up my new much-bigger-than-a-closet office (yes, with a DOOR) that is all MINE with only MY name on the placard outside of the door, hung my pictures on the wall and set up my files, computer, comfy chairs for my clients, striped area rug and little electric teapot. That alone was amazing to me, in a crowded department where even some senior staff share offices, and graduate students are stacked high and deep in whatever closets are left over. I am being compensated at a rate comparable to the IRB job I was preparing to apply for, with one day less per week that I need to be at work. I have the time I need to do things well and happily. Ironically, I will be doing more research and probably being published more than I would have as a doctoral student, and if I decide to come back later, would actually have a comps project essentially done and probably a rather obvious dissertation project that wouldn't take too much fuss to write up. My advisor was coming up with various suggestions for graduating me with my doctorate after I take my leave (maybe only one, instead of two doctorates, maybe without having to take any more classes that way) while keeping me on as her research staff indefinitely, as long as we remain funded (and as she said, she intends to remain funded forever, thank you very much). And she said that if I still wanted to leave for the IRB in a few months, that she would happily write me a recommendation and wish me well. But that she hoped I'd stay with her. Wow.

In other words, I may get to have my cake and eat it too. The one employment opportunity I could even think of within Boulder County has apparently been made available to me - there really aren't any labs in my field within reasonable commuting distance except for this one, which was the major part of my angst - what would I do when I left CU Boulder and had nowhere to go but too much education, and had accumulated enough student debt, lost time, and nervous breakdowns to last most people a lifetime?

Well, the impossible seems to have happened. Things are going to be okay. Better than okay. Really GOOD!

I've asked the girls to draw me special pictures for my office wall, which I'll frame and display proudly. I'm debating hanging my M.S. diploma and professional certificates, that's always felt slightly pretentious to me. But the kids' art should DEFINITELY be there, my kids are my best work. I think we may go to the zoo or something this weekend. Since I don't have studying to do, I CAN - woo hoo!

I'm withdrawing from the university - a decision that has been a long time in the making. On recommendation from my advisor, I am officially taking a "leave of absence," to give me the option of returning after a year without penalty. However, I doubt I'll be back. If I do go back, at least I'll know it's for the right reason then. I feel simultaneously relieved at having come to a decision, and a bit like I've been hit by a Mack truck at the same time. For anybody considering graduate school - sometimes you can have a 4.0 GPA, a research assistantship, your preliminary exam complete, a comps project in the works, a dissertation on the horizon - and you'll still need to leave. Just because you need to leave. Not because you can't handle it, not because you hate school - just because it's the best thing to do right then for your overall outlook. Because you realize you need to take a different path. Because every time you go in to talk to your advisor about your future, you start crying uncontrollably. Change is good at that point. The flip side: sometimes you have to repay thousands to the university for aid packages that are no longer available to you, you feel like a failure even though you know it's the right decision, and you eat too much chocolate.

If you're really lucky, your child can be diagnosed with shingles at the pediatrician's office the same day. Of course, there was no indication that Eleanor had ever had chicken pox in her medical file, but apprarently she did! Poor kid. So - calamine lotion, hand-washing, whining, more chocolate. Fork over a co-pay to a doc who says there's nothing to be done but wait and administer Tylenol.

My last week of school/work involves huge amounts of data analysis, scheduling of clients, and a visit from a Swedish research team who want to learn about our lab (i.e. we have to look REALLY good). Then, it'll be over for a while, I guess. I simultaneously want to weep and say, "Phew." Now what?

Of course, when I feel sorry for myself, I usually find some reason to feel guilty about that, too. For instance, I saw a Roto Rooter van parked outside of somebody's house on my way to the pediatrician today. Anybody with a Roto Rooter van in front of their house is having a worse day than I am. Actually, anybody who DRIVES a Roto Rooter van is having a worse LIFE than I am. And yesterday, there was a stabbing incident on campus near the union at CU. Some poor freshman kid got his throat cut his first day of class - holy cats, there's a way to start the semester! (He's doing okay, but is in the hospital, as is his assailant who stabbed himself in the stomach multiple times - yikes). THAT was a much worse day than I had, even though I had decided to leave the university. I was giving up a career, many years of graduate school, thousands in tuition and fees, my pride - but hey, nobody tried to kill me by slitting my throat. I'll take that as a plus.

Anyway, my plan for now is to be dead-broke while I theoretically take a rest (I say "theoretically" because Gennie will be home with me, limiting actual rest I can accumulate), and prepare to apply for a job sometime in the next weeks to months. I'm a wreck, so that will need to be addressed before a whole lot else gets done. I'll probably ignore the outside world for a while, pull the covers over my head, and suck my thumb. (Kids have a way of pulling those covers right off, though... oh well.) I can finish the girls' rooms and my work in the basement, and finish some garden work that hasn't been done. I can fix some leaky faucets. I guess all that doesn't count as resting, either, but it'll make me feel better. I can love my girls, and play with them in the evenings instead of trying to sneak in "5 more minutes" of university junk needing to be done. I can pet my cats, and try not to eat any more chocolate.

The world stopped... I'm getting off. For a few weeks, anyway.

I just dropped Eleanor and Sarah off for their first day back at school. Eleanor is starting first grade, and Sarah is in fifth (her last year of elementary)! I don't think they look particularly thrilled in these pictures; they've been happy and nervous and sulky and anxious to go back. I guess those half smiles sum it up.

Eleanor alternately reached for my hand and then wriggled out of my grasp. She was pretty stiff as she got into line with the other first graders, and made a point of looking for me only when I wasn't obviously looking at her. I wasn't sure if she was embarrassed because she was adopted, or because I was mom and within five feet of her (totally understandable), or both. Or she was just nervous and didn't know what to do - probably the most likely scenario.

We had checked the school's posted class lists last night, and Eleanor had asked at least a dozen times (most of them this morning) what her new teacher's name is.
"It's Mrs. Deines, sweetie."
"Dinah?"
"No, Deines - it has an "ss" on the end."
"Oh. Mrs. Deines. Deines."
She would then walk around repeating it to herself as if she was trying to remember a phone number, and come back for verification 15 minutes later. Dave once replied, "Her name is Mrs. Deines, and it sounds like the first part of Dinosaur. But don't call her Mrs. Dinosaur." I couldn't help but laugh at that one - my husband probably wasn't the first kid to figure that particular joke out. Poor Mrs. Deines. Fortunately, Sarah's teacher has an incredibly easy name to remember, which I won't post here, since there aren't any good jokes to make out of it.

I did my motherly thing, and fussed until I was swatted away, and took pictures of my kids who said, "Is that the last one, Mom?"

And I bit my lip as I left, realizing that Genevieve was at preschool, and would be at kindergarten next year. There was a couple walking behind me as we left the school grounds, holding a tiny toddler, and remarking, "At least this one still has four more years before she goes!" I had to bite my lip even harder, and blink.

School starts August 20th. For me too. I've been "off" work for nearly two weeks now without pay (theoretically because I couldn't find child care for that period, but really because I needed the time to avoid mental implosion), although the e-mails keep coming regardless. I have my e-mail account on auto-reply, with a "call me if it's an emergency" message; guess there aren't any emergencies 'cause nobody's called. I have, however, had a few messages along the lines of "Hey - hope your vacation is going well. When you have a minute, could you...." The answer to that "could you" question is no. Not until I come back. *IF* I come back. From my "vacation" where I get to be a stay-at-home mother to three children and five cats and try to cram in all the home projects I can, since I won't have time later. Yeah, break out the bon-bons. Supposedly I'm compiling data in my "spare time." Oh yeah, without pay. 'Cause doctoral students do that kind of thing. Like hell.

Last week I turned 31 and was in bed with the stomach flu, but this week has been pretty good. I've been trying not to be a brat about having a "quiet birthday," I'm 31 for goodness sake, I should get over the fact that turning 31 does not warrant fanfare, pony rides, or a party. I'm too petulant to buy my own cake, I admit. Dave did take me out to dinner, which was nice, and he deserves to be thanked by his bratty witch of an unsatisfied-birthday-girl date. Anyway, Sarah has had a pottery class in Boulder this week, which has forced me to get everybody out and about every day; the littler ones have to come along, after all. This has been good for everybody's disposition, and Eleanor and Gennie have been good and tired every night at bedtime after being at the park, or Pearl Street Mall, or the movies, or whatever. My little girls have been shiny and smiley and snuggly and generally good. With the occasional tattle, tease, whine, or tantrum, of course.

Today the van broke down in Boulder, though, and we had to come home before making it to Boulder Falls. Eleanor: "But Mom, how come all the other cars are not breaked? They all go. Why is ours all broken? And I don't WANT to go HOOOOMME!" I guess this is the 7-year-old version of "Why me?" Surely Mom and Dad don't REALLY want me to have fun, because nobody else's car is broken, and they sabotaged it on purpose just to irk me. Or else Mom really likes standing in blazing hot weather waiting for the tow guy. Waaah.

But even with the tattling, and the whining, and the histrionics over whose turn it is to pick a movie, and my recent election to the Nash Children Entertainment Committee, I really like being at home with them. I'm going to miss them when we all go back to our various places of education.

I'm exhausted, and truthfully, I want to quit my doctorates. I've been up until wee hours of the morning thinking in circles - I want to quit, but I can't quit, what about money, what about finishing what I start, what about sleep, what about the kids, what about my non-existent dissertation, what about wasting all that work I already put in, what about wasting all that student loan debt I've already accumulated, what if I just say to hell with it all and open a cookie shop or a bookstore or both..." I am told by everyone around me that all grad students want to quit, and that I should just pull through and eventually it'll be over, but I'm not sure that all grad students have quite the same stresses I do, to be frank. I don't know of ANYBODY in my department - student, faculty, or staff - who has three children. I don't really know what I'm going to do with my degree(s). But I suppose I'll get them anyway, since the kids will be gone during the day at school, and then what would I do with myself? Eat bon-bons? Not likely. I am determined to be the most educated cookie-shop owner you've ever met. What a swell plan.