International Man of Mystery

Sometime back in August, we saw an announcement that a new language school at Truman was looking for families to host students in their intensive English program. Basically, they were advertising that they needed people to house, feed, and drive to school various international students who were coming for their four-week program, the first session of which started in September. This seemed like a good opportunity to introduce our kids to the idea that not everyone looks and talks like them. And we figured that we have an extra room, eat regular meals, and drive past the university at least once a day already, so we filled out an application. Soon after, we got a call telling us that we'd probably get a student sometime in mid-late September, and that details would be discussed at that time.

So imagine our surprise when, a few days before Labor Day, someone from the program called to tell us that our student would be arriving in three days. The day after that, the program representative came to meet us and have us sign some forms. During this meeting, it came up that the student we'd be hosting actually didn't speak or write much English at all and would probably need a semester's-worth (minimum) of 4-week sessions before he was ready to move on to university level. It also came up that he was from a conservative Saudi Arabian family, and that maybe it would be better if Kyle did most of the talking and we maybe should make some hearty side dishes if we're planning pork for dinner anytime soon. So now imagine our super-duper surprise.

When the day came and Faisal did arrive, though, I was pleasantly surprised at how young and nervous and altogether not-intimidating he looked with his big, messy hair, braces, and shiny designer tennis shoes. We really had an easy time getting along right from the start, despite the significant language barrier. All the things I had been nervous about seemed to be non-issues: he has sisters Daniel and Eva's ages and therefore does not find living with two small kids' noise that shocking; he actually came with a good knowledge of the English alphabet and a helpful translation program on his iPhone; and he seems to have fairly Western ideas about gender roles and no real problem interacting with me at all.

A month has passed now, and really the most surprising thing of all has been how quickly a person can just feel like a part of our family. Kyle and Faisal sit in the family room contentedly not-talking, each with his headphones and laptop. Eva is very enamored with Faisal, and wants to know where he is at all times. He is determined to help Daniel improve his soccer skills, and Daniel just eats up the extra attention. And I have a fellow connoisseur of fine caffeinated Coke and coffee products in the house.

The hardest part of the adjustment for me has not been anything relating to language or culture, but to the shock of suddenly having an 18-year old in our house. I worry about him when he's out late with other students, about whether he has enough cash and a safe ride home. I consider whether all the half-eaten chips and Coke in his room will attract ants, and wonder how one guy can so dirty up a bathroom in a week. We have to pry him away from all the instant messages (and Skype, and facebook, and email, and YouTube, and downloaded movies) for dinner. Kyle went to bed with a pillow over his ears tonight to be able to sleep through the late-night cell phone conversations.

It would be impossible for me to recount all the fun and funny things that have happened to us this month, but there are a few I carry around in my head. Like Faisal's frustrated attempts to get us to tell him the name of that actor he likes from the movie Speed and Anger (actually called The Fast and The Furious here in America). Or nights at dinner where we trade food vocabulary, and Faisal laughs at our attempts to pronounce Arabic words. It has been fun to introduce someone to new foods, new words, and new experiences. We are looking forward to celebrating the heck out of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas this year.

None of us knows how long it will take Faisal to complete the program and get to college-level proficiency with his English (not even him). But in the end I think we're all okay with that. I'm sure Faisal misses his real family (surely not even several phone and Skype conversations a day substitute for the real thing), but he seems pretty chipper and happy-go-lucky so far. So for now we're the Sterups- that family with the four blond people and the Arab guy.

How I Love Those Alpha Gams

The week before last, I participated in Truman State University's Panhellenic Formal Recruitment for the fifteenth time. Though most of these years I have played the role of advisor, I have also been a helpful local alumna, a member of Panhellenic Council, a sorority member, and (originally) an unaffiliated student looking for an organization to join. By this time, one might think that I would be tired of standing in a line, wearing a matching outfit, chanting songs while waiting for the doors to open and the herd of potential new members to file in, but the truth is that I just am not. I heard someone say this year that there are few organizations where a person can expect the above scenario to take place, and those are mostly convents, the military, cults, and sororities. Despite all its weirdness, I have to admit that I love sorority recruitment. I think the fact that I joined Alpha Gamma Delta at Truman soon after it was founded makes me feel extra invested in ensuring it continues long into the future through recruitment of quality members. This post originated as a simple update for alumnae of the sorority; a way to report back to all the people who donated this year all the wonderful success we had. But, alas, I am a long-winded person, and always one for a story, and as I thought about what to write it seemed that there's a lot more that needed to be said.

The thing is, I regularly run into friends and family who (with varying degrees of directness) argue that, as a grown woman with a family and a church and a job, my continued participation in sorority life as an advisor represents a gigantic waste of time. And I have to admit that, when I'm forced to explain out loud that, for instance, I'm meeting with someone to conference about the importance of wearing pants or of not throwing beer cans at others, it does sound kind of frivolous. Many people are not into the whole matching-outfit thing, and on a lot of levels I get that. But the reality is that there are a lot more instances where I'm meeting to encourage someone to become a better leader by being more considerate or more assertive, to teach them how to plan a large event while staying on budget, to model time management or accountability or responsibility to others. So many college students are standing at the crossroads between childhood and maturity; figuring out who they are, experiencing adult freedoms and relationships, and learning work ethic and job skills... To me, it's hard to see how an investment toward college student development is ever wasted.

As a student, I gained so much from all the organizations I joined, especially my sorority. I am a Christian today because my sister Melanie Duran Kleimola cajoled me to a Bible study, encouraged me to stop blaming Jesus for the faults of his followers, and started me on a path to work out my faith. My sister-daughter Madeline Herrmann Nash was present at my wedding, the births of both my children, and everything in between. As adults, Kyle and I have tried to keep in mind those groups that gave us a lot when we were too poor and too busy with school to return the favor. If I were to pay back all that I owe to AGD, even just for my continued friendships with Melanie and Madeline, I would be advising for a long time.

My favorite Alpha Gam song is one called Today, and my favorite line says “...a million tomorrows shall all pass away, ere I forget all the joy that is mine today.” Every time I sing it, I think of all the “todays” that I have sung it before, and all the joy that has been mine over the years. Some of it was while I was in college: screaming the lyrics to Karma Chameleon at a date party, packed together so tightly with my 100 closest friends that I couldn't move; living in Brewer Hall and proving once and for all that you can fit three women and a box of Cheez-its in a twin-sized bed. Some of it was on days when I didn't expect any joy to be mine: when my college boyfriend was horribly ill and went home for the semester, and my pledge class all pitched in to buy me a phone card then showed up together to deliver it to my apartment; when our sister Kelin died of cancer before finishing grad school, and we all sat in Applebee's for hours after the funeral, talking and laughing and telling stories about her. Lots of it, though, has been as an advisor: all the girls who told me I was a cute pregnant lady or that my kids are adorable; the hundreds of personalities and jokes that have made me laugh and laugh over the years; and all the times I started writing a simple letter of recommendation and realized what an awesome person I knew. I have a lot of time to go before a million tomorrows pass away. A million's a lot.

Finally, it really should go without saying that any group with a secret handshake (and knock, and password, etc.) is kind of fun to be a part of. This summer at Alpha Gamma Delta's International Convention Madeline and I were given awards for our years of service as advisors, and there was a super-cool secret ceremony that went along with that, too.

Though I have friends who would say that in college they were too intellectual or too mature or too religious to spend their time on Greek life, I can't deny that I was a part of it, that it's where I come from, and that I really loved it. At that convention this summer there was a woman who was recognized for attending twenty-six times (on a biannual basis). As the room applauded her I couldn't help but think that there is something to be said for dedication like that, for being willing to stick with something her whole life, even as that kind of commitment becomes increasingly rare in our culture. For those of you reading this who are AGD alumnae (or any other organization's alumni), I would strongly encourage you to volunteer as advisors or just as helpful alum to your local chapter. It really is worth your time and effort.

Okay, so enough of that. Those of you who are alumnae surely want to know about how things went, and those of you who aren't... well, you can stop reading now or can indulge some bragging and pictures. This summer I wrote to many of our alumnae talking about how other groups on our campus have really been stepping up their recruitment efforts, and how last fall we had lower numbers than usual as we lagged behind that trend. Many sisters responded to my letter with donations of things the chapter can use for recruitment and beyond, like tablecloths and centerpieces and banners and their time.

I am happy to report that all of your support and the members' hard work paid off! We had some of the best return rates we've had in a long time for all the parties, and the best ever for the preference round (100 women!). Our return rates were so unprecedented that we had to run out for more food and flowers before preference party (a good problem to have)! In the end, quota was 36, and we matched the full quota through bid matching, plus an extra 7 quota additions. This put us way ahead of all the other groups, the next-most-successful of which matched only 37 members. As the advisor for a group whose recruitment success is almost always overshadowed by the other organizations', it felt really good to walk out of that bid matching session.

Here are some pictures:

Open had a zebra-print theme with red, yellow, and green accents. Those of you who contributed to the purchase of black tablecloths saved us the cost of rental this year and for many years to come.


Also of note are the fabulous easels, which Ashley Coleman Barton spent hours spray-painting in my front yard during polish (work) week.


Here are some pictures of the preference party and the centerpieces in action. We did receive exactly the number we had asked for, and everything looked gorgeous.


Here is a picture of the chapter on bid day, just before yell-in. Note the snazzy new banner, courtesy of Ashley Hoffman.


And last, but not least, are the beautiful new members!

Thanks again to everyone who wrote, called, donated, came to polish week, or came to recruitment. The chapter is very appreciative, and very excited about the fall semester. Recruitment was, as someone I know likes to say, the most fun we could have had with our clothes on.

Enough

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I realized I had no real obligations on the agenda for today. This kind of day is a very rare occurrence for me, and has been especially absent lately. At the time, I told myself that this would give me the opportunity to do things from my "backup to-do list" (the one that always lives in the back of my mind) like take the kids to the park, do some grading, or write on this blog about some of the things that have been keeping me too busy to post lately. I thought I might make some granola or a special dinner or dessert, or get ahead in my lecture planning. Ooh! Maybe I could clean the garage! Or have a nice run! What a wonderful feeling of accomplishment that would bring!

But this morning when I woke up, none of those things happened. Our house was messy; we've all been too busy to really do a good job of picking up after ourselves. We had loads of laundry hanging out in piles downstairs. It felt icky and chaotic here, and I finally reached the end of my very long willingness to keep going and going and going.

And so today I have done nothing of note. The kids watched a video this morning and then drew on the driveway with chalk. We didn't go anywhere, shop for anything, or do anything special. I did not do any exercise. I didn't make a fancy lunch, and I'm not planning a special dinner. The most accurate term for what I've done today is probably "puttering" around the house. Both the kids fell asleep during rest time this afternoon (which is like the Holy Grail of potential mommy productivity), but I talked to Maureen on the phone and watched some clips of The Daily Show on the internet. I have been leisurely working my way through our laundry and the stacks of mail and kids' drawings that are sitting all over our house.

And I must say: it feels really good. Unusually so. Mostly because I am a person who is always busy, and is prone to fill up these kinds of free days or weekends. I can always think of some extra project that could be done or some fun adventure I could have with the kids. Recently, though, I read something my friend Jennie wrote, about that feeling of always needing to be busy. She talked about what lies we tell ourselves when we believe that we can really "get ahead." Like if I just clean the house thoroughly enough, or plan out my lectures for the rest of the semester, or bolster the kids with lots of extra attention, that everything will be perfect and I will finally be able to rest. That next week will be an easy week. Her conclusion was that there is never an easy week, and that we waste our lives wishing for one.

It would be great to pretend that I thought of all this at the beginning of the day and made a conscious choice to rest today, but the reality is that I just hit a wall, and only see the benefit of our inactivity in hindsight.

Much has been afoot at the Sterup household lately. I have lots of things I could write about; there is lots of news to share. Maybe tomorrow. For now I am just going to tell myself that one little post is enough.

My Genetic Legacy

So this morning I was watching Eva eat breakfast, giant Cars bandage affixed to her chin, and was thinking I could make my entire blog all about what a mess she seems to be. She always has something on her shirt, bruises all over her legs, two scars from accidents and at least two new sores on her face from where her hand rubs while she sucks her thumb at night. She has big scabs on her hands where she burned herself on the lightbulb from her lamp, as well as an inexplicable one on her chin that showed up on Saturday. She won’t leave any of these scabs alone, so they are taking a long time to heal. Finally, her hair is falling out in big patches from where she twirls it around her finger and gets it tangled. A good portion of the hair she does have left is broken off near her part line where she's tugged on her bows or pigtails.

As I considered this I also had this morning's Developmental Psychology lecture prepping in the back of my head. Today we talked about genetics, and about psychological phenomena we know have some genetic component (and how we study that, etc.). I was thinking about the heritability of personality, and how research suggests that one personality characteristic that seems to be very tied to genetics is neuroticism.

I then started thinking about the ways I am kind of a mess myself; all the little foibles and mini-crises I have created recently:
-While cleaning out the sorority's storage unit a couple weeks ago I managed to puncture a vein in my hand with a wire, causing a surprising amount of bleeding and swelling, and necessitating a tenanus shot.
-While using black spray paint for a project, I managed to color the undersides of my fingernails and all my cuticles black, resulting in a nice auto-mechanic look. I also accidentally spray-painted my wedding ring.
-While doing dishes the night before last my large dangly earring fell out and landed right in the garbage disposal.
-I realized at the end of one day last week that I had eyeliner on only one eye.
-I sent an email instructing a group of people how to look up something online, but directed them to the wrong internet address. I also gave someone directions to my house that didn't include my house number.
-I have had a number of Zumba wardrobe malfunctions, including wedgies, ill-fitting shorts whose pockets stick out every time I squat, and a pair of shorts I wore to class backwards (but luckily noticed before anyone else did). Let's not even discuss that one move I can do for the first 8 counts but then get totally off/lost on for the remaining 24 counts or so.
-Yesterday my boss sent out an email asking us to reply with what classes we'd like to teach next semester and when. I must have hit something on our laptop's mouse with my wrist, and accidentally sent "I'd like to continue teaching psych" before I was able to finish the sentence. I got this annoyed message back saying, "Which psych? How many sections? Day and time?"
-I cannot leave a voicemail message that doesn't include several awkward pauses and numerous "um... yeah"s.

Really, the list goes on and on. Feel free to comment if I've done something weird in your presence and haven't noticed yet.

When I think about it this way, it's no wonder my child cannot remain injury-free long enough for her last wound to heal. If my genetic material is what she stands to inherit, we can probably assume she's doomed to a life free of social graces. Or maybe we both need a little more sleep (or a padded house, or whatever). Either way, maybe I'll go a little easier on poor little Eva.

A Failure to Communicate

I've recently become aware of a number of things that seem to have gotten lost in translation between us and our daughter Eva. I'm not sure if this is something related to her age, or just something she's especially talented at...

I noticed the first one a few weeks ago, when we were reading one of our favorite children's books. It's called No No Yes Yes, and is basically a cartoon baby that, on the left side of the page, does something that is a "no no" thing. On each corresponding right side of the page, the baby is doing the more appropriate "yes, yes" version of whatever behavior is being addressed. So, for instance, on the "no no" page the baby might be dumping his food on his head, while on the "yes yes" page the baby is happily eating his food with a spoon.

This book was very effective with Daniel; so much so that we would only have to say "What does No No Yes Yes say about picking your nose?" and he'd be off to get a tissue. Leslie Patricelli, you are a brilliant author and you deserve every penny you make off this book that contains only two words. I wish I'd have thought of it first.

The thing is, Eva does not seem as taken with the book, and it doesn't seem to have the same kind of sway with her behaviors. The other night, we were reading it, and I was, as usual, pointing to a picture and saying, "What is the baby doing here? Oh no, no! He's eating the dog's food!..." A few pages in, I noticed that Eva was saying things like "No No putting toys in potty. Here, No No going pee on potty. No no running from Daddy. Here, No No holding Daddy's hand." So it seems that Eva is under the impression that the baby's name is No No, and that he just does all kinds of random behaviors. No wonder this book is not effective as a to do/not to do guide to childhood.

Tonight, now, we were reading her Jesus Loves Me book, wherein some well-intentioned sadist crafted 10 or so extra verses of the song with some corresponding cartoon children depicting the lyrics. I have nothing against the song Jesus Loves Me per se, but after sing-songing the tune a dozen times in a row it really starts to lose its charm. About verse 6 or so, the children are outside playing ("Jesus loves me as I play, Outside inside every day...") and one kid has fallen and lost a shoe in the process. Both of our kids have always pointed this out during every reading, but tonight Eva informed me that "Look, Mommy! Jesus lost shoe!" As we went on, she commented that "Jesus has blue pajamas!" and "Jesus has big-boy bed!"

And so, it seems that Eva has identified the illustration character with the slingshot in his pocket as Jesus, and sees this very long song as a kind of "day in the life" portrait. You know, he's just hanging out, doing the usual Jesus stuff like going to preschool, playing legos, raking leaves in the yard, taking a bubble bath...

It kind of makes me wonder what her interpretation is of the rest of the things we tell her in a day.

Kyle, Me, and the WSOP

"Let's shuffle up and deal!!"

Despite the advent of the school year, I always look forward to August because it means one of my favorite television indulgences: poker (the World Series of Poker Main Event, to be exact). I don't know why I love it so; I just do. I am a terrible poker player myself, because I value my own money too much to really take a gamble, and because I tend to get bored with it pretty quickly and start doing sloppy playing. So it makes no sense, then, that I would find watching OTHER people playing poker so fascinating.

Very early in our marriage, Kyle and I stumbled upon this televised poker tournament, and for one reason or another we decided to give it a shot. For those who are not familiar with the WSOP, it really is the mother of all poker events; weeks and weeks of smaller tournaments (which are really too many to watch) culminating in the Main Event, a No-Limit Texas Hold-Em tournament with a $10,000 cash buy-in and (in some years) over 8,000 players. Oh yeah, and the prize for the winner is usually several million dollars, depending on the number of entrants that year. The actual World Series is held from the end of May until mid-July, but the Main Event is televised on ESPN at the rate of two hours per week (one hour usually equaling one-half to one day of play) from August until November. And we are a captive audience; you would think we'd have better things to do.

But there's just something comforting about seeing our favorite players year after year, following their ups and downs, celebrating or bemoaning the unlikely hands that sometimes come up. It's like a little poker soap opera for us- there are players we love, and players we love to hate. We would love to see a professional win, even though the number of amateurs is always a better bet, statistically speaking.

So here's who we're rooting for this year (every year, really) in the WSOP Main Event:
Generally speaking
-Almost any pro who is a quiet, tight player (someone who doesn't bluff super-often)
-Almost any female player, except those who try to flirt their way to wins
-A humble amateur with a low-paying job and a family to support who won their entry fee in some other tournament
Specifically
-Kyle is always rooting for Phil Ivey.
-I am always rooting for Howard Lederer (the first episode we ever saw followed him through some very good tournament play, and I cannot betray my first poker idol). I will also accept Annie Duke, Howard's sister (I even read her poker book).
-We both like Daniel Negreanu, who is almost creepy in his ability to call what his opponent has and who always knows the odds of his particular hand winning.

Here's who we are NOT rooting for:
Generally speaking
-People who are really loud and disruptive
-Celebrities (except Jason Alexander, who is fun to watch, a good sport, and consistently a good player)
-People who are whiny babies when they lose a hand or who make fun of or bully their opponents
-Guys who just turned 21, and who got all their practice playing online instead of going to class at their (soon to be former) respective colleges
Specifically
-Phil Helmuth and Jamie Gold

So here's to August, and to the WSOP. Maybe one day we'll outgrow it, but this year you'll still find us, two mild-mannered, financially cautious Midwestern homebodies watching everybody in Vegas play for the bracelet and the really big money. What are the odds?

Our Vegetable Adventure

So here it is, folks:
One example of the only kind of meal we're likely to make from our garden this year, considering all we've managed to grow is tomatoes and lettuce. There are still a few living pepper and zucchini plants out there, but they all seem to be really good at producing flowers that fall off before any real vegetable forms, so I'm not holding my breath. I think the kids had fun with the experience of planting, and Eva surprised us all by practically eating her weight in lettuce tonight, so I think we're at least minimally satisfied with the outcome. Still, I'm really hoping this will be a learning year in preparation for some more success next summer.

I had a small row garden here before the kids were born, and got a few good vegetables from it each year, but I never seem to be able to consistently raise anything well. This is probably because I have NO idea what I'm doing, and even less experience, and have tried to teach myself with books. We revived the garden again this year with the square foot gardening method. Despite thinking it was going to be the answer to all my problems, the reality was that many of them were still there: the bunnies gnawing away anything leafy and green, those strange black polka dots that take over the leaves of my tomato plants in July, and my general inability to decipher when and how is best to plant and pick things.

You'd think that with all the resources available on the internet I'd look some things up and figure out solutions to these problems. But for some reason this is just the kind of task I tend to avoid. Maybe it's that I get overwhelmed with all I don't know, or am afraid to look like I don't know what I'm doing. These people who know about gardening, where did they learn? Did they have parents who gardened? Did they have several years of mediocrity before becoming good at it? It's funny that I tackle with gusto things like sorting through health insurance run-arounds or choosing and buying a new car, but totally drag my feet to figure out how to prevent all the roots of my plants from becoming exposed. I do seem to eventually make small amounts of progress here and there, and this year was no exception. For next year I at least have the boxes and soil already prepared, and a big roll of garden cloth ready to block the bunnies' access next spring (thanks to my neighbor's suggestion). We may try planting a few fall crops, but will have to commit to that project fairly soon, so we'll see if I get there in time.

Our backup plan for fresh, locally grown produce, though, is only just beginning. Tomorrow we get our first installment of the vegetable subscription we purchased a month or so ago (basically a CSA where we pay a more successful gardener/farmer a fee up-front and then collect part of his harvest each week). The guy we've purchased from seems to be a nice, kinda chatty older man who refers to his program as “the Vegetable Adventure Plan.” Since he chooses each week what will go into our box, and the box is actually quite large, we will surely have plenty of chances to try some new foods. Our friends Madeline and John have been “adventuring” for the full summer, and thus became very acquainted with the many varieties of lettuce earlier this season. I can only assume from talking to them that it is a good thing I learned some basic canning skills last month, as I understand an event called something like “tomato extravaganza” has been foreshadowed in the weekly flyer that comes with the boxes.

Now, I am a particularly planful cook who hashes out a meal list well in advance, so rolling with whatever is in our box each week will really be a challenge for me. In addition to being more relaxed with the planning, I will probably have to look up some vegetables (like what is purslane, anyway?), and push myself to learn how to chop and cook and serve things I've never seen before. In the end, then, the produce subscription will be much like the garden in that it will make me learn to solve food problems I know very little about in a time-sensitive manner. Because the only thing I hate worse than having to teach myself a new skill is wasting good food...