LZog's Nest

In keeping with our avoidance of the conventional pink and blue, and even the neutrals, green, grey, and yellow, we present LZog's Nest in the aesthetic that I have dubbed Accidental Vintage (™ pending). We have some new items for LZog, but most everything we either made, acquired as the repository for family furniture and all manner of hand-me-downs, or some combination thereof. For now we have a Pack 'N Play in lieu of a crib (thank you Grandma and Papa), as KZog hopes to make LZog's crib/bed his second major carpentry project. Otherwise we have kept LZog's space fairly simple. Yes, we do have a television in the nursery for me during late night feedings and soothings. We will remove it once LZog decides to sleep through the night.

As Much of the Nest As I Could Capture in One Shot

While we feel pretty good about how LZog's space has evolved, both KZog and I will claim more than a small amount of pride in our family photo project. No, I did not find an example of this on Pintrest, though I suppose I would not feign surprise if I found that someone had already done a similar display in more spectacular (i.e.: expensive) fashion. The most taxing part of completing LZog's Family Album proved compiling the photos. In the end, however, we have baby, or at least childhood, photos of each of our siblings, parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents.

Who Will LZog Favor?

Each row follows a branch of LZog's family tree. KZog, me, and our siblings have the bottom row; our  parents, aunts and uncles grace the middle; and grandparents, the top row. We also discovered photos of KZog's great great aunt and great grandfather who arrived in the United States in 1908 from Holland through Ellis Island. After scanning and printing each photo, I created frames for each (thank you to JHet for help configuring them) and tags with the full name, birthdate, and relationship to LZog. Any information about the photo itself - date, other people, location - I wrote on the back of the frame.

LZog's Family Album

I decided early on that I would prefer  to have a glider in LZog's room, but I did not prefer to spend the $400 or more it would cost for a new one. Luckily, due to our embrace of the Accidental Vintage (™) aesthetic, we already had two in the house for me to choose from. I settled on one that  KZog's family had long ago dubbed "Uncle Harry's Spider Chair." Though we cannot place an exact age on the chair, we have seen them in photographs from as early as the mid-1950s. Unfortunately, poor Uncle Harry's chair does not seem to have undergone any refurbishing since at least that time. Underneath the orangish-brown fabric, itchy and dated, the cushion material had begun to disintegrate. I landed on a gold fabric with a raised circle pattern to keep with the vintage-y vibe of the piece and ordered custom foam cushions to replace the icky ones. The frame of the glider also underwent some rehab, namely the detachment of the complementary orangish-brown ruffle from the bottom and a rub-down with Murphy's Oil Soap.

KZog Disassembling the Ruffle

The Original Fabric

Honestly, this project took me far, far longer than I care to admit. I only followed a pattern in the sense that I deconstructed the pieces from the old cover, and I worried that it wouldn't all quite go back together. In the end it all turned out better than fine, though not without repeated stabbing of my fingers with the pins holding all the layers of fabric together.

Hooray for a Sunny, Comfy Glider

I also made an ottoman to accompany my "new" glider with fabric from my ever-expanding stash and over fifteen pounds of stuffing.

Feet Propper Upper

So, LZog, we have the necessaries for your homecoming - a place for you to sleep, places to hold your clothes and other accessories, and a place for us to rock, feed, and read to you. We won't say we're "ready" for you, whatever that means, but we are ready to have you here with us.

XO,
JZog
Click Here if You Would Like to Check Out LZog's Registry

The Waiting Game/Pregnant and Public Property

Considerably less fun than the name game is the waiting game. Despite all my attempts to distract myself, I find myself obsessed with when LZog will decide to debut. Now? Maybe now? And what about now? Avoidance behavior worked far better when in relationship to the dissertation . . .

Everyone knows we are waiting. And most everyone has something to say about it.

Take the following dialogue, which happened late last week between myself and a seventy-year-old-ish woman with whom I have exchanged maybe twenty words over the five years we have lived two blocks away from her (not out of spite, only a matter of interest and convenience, I suppose). As I may have mentioned before, something about having a pregnant belly renders people senseless in conversation. Also worth noting, this entire exchange occurred with me in the street walking Pepperoni Pizza the Wonderpup and she shouting at me from the confines of her garage.

Garage Lady: "Haven't you had that baby yet?"

Me - Internal Monologue: Well clearly, no, I haven't. Either that or I have replaced my pregnant belly with a cyst the size of a watermelon. Perhaps I should look down at my belly and start screaming "Oh my gosh! There's a baby in there?" Or maybe, look down and say, "Yeah, I left him at home. It's too difficult to walk both the baby and the dog." Instead it proceeded this way:

Me: "Nope." 

Garage Lady: "When's it gonna be here?"

Me: "Whenever it's ready."

Silence. Not the answer she expected, I suspect. Of course, since I have not scheduled an induction or c-section, I have no idea when LZog will be here. I could have toned down the snark a tad. However, the inanity of asking whether or not I have had LZog when it seems quite obvious that I have not, affects me even more deeply as we see the lights flickering at the end of the tunnel, er, canal. For future reference to all of you who may encounter a pregnant woman ever: no matter how clever you may be or think you are, refrain from commenting on said woman's size, state of mind, or arrival of the little one. She may or may not react mildly.

But, this encounter proved nothing compared with the borderline assault the next day during the puppy walk. I thought I would be so, so smart and take a different route. Lesson learned.

In what at first appeared a redux of the previous day, it began with a different seventy-year-old-ish lady hollering at us (did I neglect to mention that KZog got to enjoy this one live and in person, too?) from her front yard while we walked the dog.

Yard Lady: "I'm ready for you to have that baby."

Me - Internal Monologue: Lady, I hardly know you from Adam. I've not shared a beer with you, and you don't know how to say or spell my last name. We are not friends.

Me: "Ok."

Yard Lady: "Is it a boy or a girl?"

KZog: "We decided to wait to find out."

Yard Lady: Gaining speed out of front yard, towards us. "Oh really? Looks like a boy to me." Still lumbering towards us.

Me - Internal Monologue: Holy crap, why is this woman scooting towards me with her arms out! Pepperoni Pizza, you better jump all over her so I can move out of the way. I should really not allow my eighty pound labrador to knock over an older woman, but . . .

Me: "The baby's already dropped, there really isn't anything to - - -whoa, whoa, whoa, Pepperoni . . . " (I attempt to waddle away, while my dog wiggles towards Yard Lady to lick her. This woman really, really wants to touch my belly, and I really, really want to run away.)

Yard Lady: "Well if I just - - - -"

Me: "I really don't like people touching my belly. And Pepperoni Pizza doesn't like it either."

And where did I find KZog during all this? Watching in amazement. I really cannot blame him, though.  I wouldn't have believed this entire event had I not experienced it.

Seriously. That I should have to explain that I don't want people I know not well palpating my very pregnant belly and, really, therefore, my kiddo, completely baffles me. When LZog arrives, I will bodily harm random people who run up and squish his body parts, so guess what, they don't get to do so now. Also, a question to well-meaning but misguided neighbors, random people in retail shops, and grocery store checkers of the world: what exactly do you win if you correctly guess, unsolicited, the sex of my kiddo, who you will likely never meet? Congratulations! You just made a prediction with a 50/50 chance of success! Impress me by predicting where LZog will go to college or something.

We have fewer than two weeks until the "official" due date, which means LZog could arrive any time or three weeks from now. I have much updating needed here on all the lovely gifts you have sent for LZog as well as photos of the nursery and more of my many mini projects. In other words, plenty of posting to keep me busy . . .

XO,
JZog
To Take a Look at LZog's Registry, Click Here!  

The Name Game

Zog, Zog, Bo Bog, Fa-nananana, Fo Fog, Me Mi Mo Mog - Zog!

Shirley Ellis - "The Name Game"

With LZog now at over 37 weeks (and me at over 37 weeks of enormous, oy!), the name game reigns as the favorite in the Zog household. As I imagined, we have not landed on the magic name that all our friends and family like, but we have what we consider a few solid selections for either LittleBoyZog or LittleGirlZog.

I have struggled with whether or not to share full names and/or photos of LZog on the blog, as I have serious reservations concerning the over-use of social media. For about four years I participated in Facebook; however, I deactivated my account in the summer of 2012 upon acknowledgement of my utter lack of self-control in checking it, along with my realization of greater need for discipline if I wanted to ever finish my dissertation. Also around that time that Facebook began changing and minimizing privacy options every few months. While I recognize the blog (and Facebook, Twitter, etc.) as valuable possible ways to share photos and information about one's life, I worry about posting much specific information about my kiddo. Slightly paranoid? Perhaps. Conspiratorial? Maybe.

For now, I will divulge that we have chosen names solely from our family tree. Since we have managed to trace each of our respective branches to the mid-1700s, these boundaries provide us with myriad, though not infinite, options. We have fairly settled on TZog for LittleBoyZog, though the middle name remains undecided; LittleGirlZog will likely either be LZog or MZog.

The "T" hails from KZog's side of the family, as a derivative of the middle name of one of the earliest Zog arrivals on American shores. "L" comes from my family - the maiden name of someone very important to me. "M" covers both sides, though I favor it because of a particular great-aunt with whom I share an affinity for learning. "T" and "M" fall into the category of more traditional names, while "L" qualifies as the most unique of the the three. Of course so far we've/I've changed my mind about the leading names once every two weeks. So, depending on how much longer LZog decides to kick it in womb land, we may have another completely different set of names . . .

XO,
JZog

Now Presenting . . . Dr. Zog!

One semester in the Middle East, two years of course work, three years of writing, six research trips, wading through the collections at twelve different archives, and culling over 8700 images from those archives have resulted in 266 pages worth of dissertation, one academic article (so far), over a dozen presentations, relationships with friends and faculty that will last a lifetime, and one very happy, almost mama, PhD.

KZog Caught Me By Surprise in My Special Spot Before the Big Show

Given my quite advanced stage of pregnancy (though no one need worry - I still feel great, only a tad unwieldy), I benefitted from accommodations for the commencement ceremony. Typically I have trouble asking for dispensation of special treatment, but Texas A&M particularly pushes that all graduates remain for the duration of the entire proceedings. If one leaves the floor early, an usher withholds your diploma; if you do not return, you must pick up your diploma at a later date. As good as I feel, I knew that at 37 weeks along with LZog three hours squished into a chair among my fellow graduates with neither food nor toilet would not work out in anyone's favor. The office in charge of such things proved wonderfully amenable (I am surely not the first requiring such assistance) and gave me several options. I decided to forego the processional (too long to stand in the holding pen) and instead sat at the side until they filtered me into my appropriate place in line (hence the photo above). Those watching would have a better sense of my success in waddling across the stage, but nary a teeter did I sense as I shook the many hands and as one of my fantastic committee members hooded me. I also received permission to leave the floor after I secured my diploma, of which I also took advantage.

Officially Dr. Zog!

The robe does nothing to flatter my 37-week belly, but it I think it accents my new status - no?

A Little Goofy, But Very Happy

Beyond the sheer excitement of recognition of the attainment of my PhD, KZog succeeded in rendering the entire day memorable. He managed all of our guests seamlessly and planned a perfect afternoon following the ceremony. Several family members and friends generously gave up their Friday to attend graduation and celebrate with us over a wonderful lunch KZog organized at Veritas, which I highly recommend to anyone whether for a delicious mid-week dinner or a special event.

One major life event for this month down; one to go!

XO,
JZog
LZog's Registry Link May Be Found By Clicking Here.

Happy Blogiversary to See Zog Go!

Well, I'm nearly two days late, but Happy Blogiversary to See Zog Go! 

Thank you to all who have stuck with me and my phasing in and out of the blogosphere over the past year. Though the pace of life and the lack of sleep promise to pick up again soon, I plan to keep my little corner of the inter webs running, if for no other reason but to inundate everyone with adorable photos of LZog with Pepperoni Pizza.

But really, the lives of the Zogs seem to hold only more and different adventures in the near future, so I cannot stop writing about them yet . . . 

XO,

JZog

For LZog's Registry, Click Here!

Made With Pine and Love

I knew that we needed more storage in LZog's room. Currently we have a dresser and only a small closet that really belongs to KZog. Living in a hundred-year-old house teaches and reinforces certain lessons about architecture and conspicuous consumption. We have no walk-in closets, a luxury that accompanied growing wardrobes and the economy in post-WWII America, it seems. After searching for a suitable, similar case for purchase, KZog decided that rather than pay for particleboard, he would try his hand at carpentry. I can assure you that he had previous experience with the necessary tools - saw, drill, square - but as far as following plans for a functional piece of furniture, this was a first.

We downloaded free plans from this site, which I believe KZog found accurate and easy to follow. At least the process involved little cursing or throwing of things. Like the nursery repairs and renovations, I mostly supervised and peered over shoulders during its construction. I lent some muscle to the staining process - which we will never, ever do again; painting or natural-look wood only - and quickly filled it up once placed in LZog's room. Ultimately, the building of the shelf took relatively little time; the finishing - sanding, filling, staining took far longer than the building.

When we first learned of the pending arrival of LZog, in his mind KZog leap-frogged basic bookcase building to wanting to build a crib that would later transform to a bed. I don't think I am the only one thankful that he took at least this one intermediary step. Though he sometimes hopes he had learned more about the practicalities of woodcraft from his Pa Pa, who practiced carpentry all his life, this first successful project has inspired him. What better way to spend one's time than creating something with his hands that recalls fondest, earliest memories of time spent with a loved one? We may end up with a crib/bed yet . . .

Anyone have a table saw we could borrow?

XO,
JZog
For LZog's Registry, Click Here!

Hurdles Cleared

For three years I have held the dubious academic designation of ABD - All But Dissertation - an assignation something like 50% of graduate students never surmount. Now, with only one more hurdle before TAMU officially recognizes me as PhD - successfully waddling nearly 37 weeks pregnant across the graduation stage - I find myself in another phase of ABD - All But Diploma.

Believe it or not, during high school I spent three years on the varsity track team (I even won MVP my senior year), bouncing between such events as the triple jump, long jump, all of the sprints (100, 200, 400 yards), and even the high jump (before you laugh too hard, I could clear more than my mere height). By the end of my first season, the coaches settled on rotating me through the high jump (keep on laughing!), a series of 400 yard races (anchoring the 800 medley and the 1600 relay; sometimes the open 400), and . . . the 300 yard hurdles.

Given my years of dance training and reputation as a quite decent jumper as a dancer, my track coaches determined that hurdles might suit me. As one might suspect, clearing hurdles requires some finesse and technique. Running up to them and jumping over rarely results in success. During practices I mastered the art of counting strides to the first hurdle and eyeballing the appropriate takeoff point to send my lead leg straight over and allowing my trail leg to follow through. Learning how to hurdle usually involves some crashing and burning. In addition to several skinned knees, I once managed to skid belly first on the track after catching the hurdle with my lead toe. My dance training did help me clear the hurdles, usually over-clearing, a habit that did not help my speed any as I battled my short stride. Luckily, track and field events do not award style points, so I found a degree of success as long as I completed the race and left all my efforts out on the track.

After I defended the dissertation way back in May, the wash of relief soon replaced itself with a frenzy over the bureaucratic hurdles necessary to clear before graduation. Silly me, believing that six years of research to write 266 pages with over 500 meticulously crafted footnotes and four appendices would prove enough to satisfy the TAMU graduation gods! I needed to apply for graduation (at which point they levy a charge for your diploma); order my cap and gown (of course, doctoral regalia costs more than all others - must be the velvet stripes); and, most importantly, clear my dissertation through the thesis office (for yet another fee). This feat requires copious paperwork and adherence to a series of strict deadlines, including copyright statements; approval documents from the dissertation committee - not only one from the defense, but a second confirming their approval of the dissertation; completion of surveys concerning one’s half a decade in graduate school; and the correct formatting of the dissertation according to a forty-page manual. In fairness, I understand that perhaps allowing the thousands of graduate students each year to turn in their projects in whatever form they so desired might end in disaster. Regardless, the process remains a soul-sucking exercise in hoop-jumping, er, hurdle-clearing, at a point by which it proves difficult to assemble the mental and physical wherewithal to complete these tasks. For instance, the act of securing committee signatures not once, but twice, may take days if not weeks, especially if one has a retired member, members actively pursuing research, or members generally busy teaching and administrating. Furthermore, the required formatting of the document leaves little room for creativity, though I suppose that is usually the first victim of bureaucracy, along with individual initiative.

What I found true of my high school track days holds true of completing the PhD.  Persistence pays. Did I need to be the most brilliant track athlete to win my team's MVP? Nope, but I showed up for and completed all of my events, compiling them into a tidy number of points and a not-too-shabby record by the end of the season. I have little sense now about the "score" of my work as a graduate student, but I do know that it is over, finished, done. As one of my fabulous dissertation committee members reminded me repeatedly: "Success is in the completion." So it was with track, and so it is with the PhD.

In two weeks, one may officially call me "Dr." Until then I wait, all hurdles cleared, everything "left on the track," as All But Diploma. 

XO,

JZog

For LZog's BabyList Click Here