Hi, I'm alive; it's just really really busy right now.
I got my grant proposal submitted. You guys, it was SO MUCH work to get that puppy together. Twelve parts. Thirty-six single-spaced pages. A whisker under 12,000 words. As I was finishing it up I was thinking, "This proposal pulls together just about everything I have learned about conducting research." I was thinking, "This is about 97% of the very best effort I could possibly give."
Odds are good that 97% of my best effort will not suffice to get the funding. Grants are suuuuuper competitive and most of them go to R1 schools. But we'll see what happens.
Now I really only have two must-do tasks remaining in the spring semester: finish prepping this new grad class, and finish out the program in which I'm prepping my summer class. They feel like big tasks, though. This grad class is so intense: four afternoons per week, for 75 minutes each time, I need to provide new grad-level content. This week, in the wake of the big push to get the grant out, I am juuuuust keeping up. I mean, I'm staying on top of it, but only by dint of working ridiculous hours after the kids are in bed.
Huh, this is kind of a whiny blog post.
Pete has been asking me every day when I am going to blog again, and he will be disappointed if he wakes up tomorrow and discovers that I only told you about how much I've been working. He would like me to tell you about the missing Easter egg, I bet. So here goes:
Last Easter I hid 18 eggs and the kids found 17. We hunted high and low. We scratched our heads and invoked St. Anthony and looked everywhere we could think of. No dice. No egg, either.
This year I hid 24 eggs, taking careful notes about where they were going. Our tradition is that Easter eggs get hidden after Easter dinner is eaten -- no chocolate for breakfast in this house. This year, though, was a bad year for sending kids to the park while the Easter magic happened, because it was SNOWING. The kids were good sports, and went to the park for a while, but they returned before I had quite managed to stash 24 eggs and 7 baskets. The trouble was that I wanted to affix Joe's basket to the underside of the dining room table. First I tried to make a yarn sling for it (fail), and then I tried to use painter's tape (fail), and finally I resorted to duct tape (winner winner chicken dinner!). All of these machinations cost me egg-hiding time, so that I had one egg to go when the kids returned. "Oh, look, I will stash it in the outside pocket of this electric bass case," I said to myself as I whipped it open.
"Huh," I said to myself, "why does it smell like putrescing meat inside the outside pocket of this electric bass case?"
The light dawned: the heavy case had buffered us from the smell, but there was a year-old hard-boiled egg lurking inside that pocket. I hid the last egg in the outside pocket of the cello case instead, and told the kids in no uncertain terms to stay away from the bass case. Reader, it was thoroughly befouled. Or do I mean befowled?
Anyway. My bed is calling me. Think of me. It's a little wild just now.