Raise a glass, ladies & gentlemen. As of yesterday we have one more official academic in the family. That's right - after a cool decade of tussling with the venerable U of T, the Boy is now the proud possessor of the magic piece of paper. He is a graduate with his Honours B.A. (Triple Minors in English, Philosophy and Biology. I know.) As you can tell, we're awfully proud.

I have to say, I doubted from time to time if this day would ever come. I grew up with uncles who took three decades or more to finish a degree, so a measly ten years seems a bit amateur in comparison. And I suppose I was a little drunk on the vanity of being the only degree holder in the house.

The entire week has revolved around yesterday's commencement, and even my diminishing teaching duties were shoved aside for one magic day. It started on Monday night, when the Boy & I hit the town for some appropriate clothes. I convinced the Boy to try on his first pair of light summer-weight pants (sometimes I wish he were more of an Anglo dandy, but most if the time I'm glad he's not). This was the first pair of pants I have ever bought that wasn't prêt-a-porter, by which I mean there were no leg hems. Interesting. Going back to my barely-expressed flanneur fantasies, I'm hoping to build his wardrobe a piece at a time until I can get him in a linen suit and brown leather shoes, fanning himself with a really classy hat. Well, a girl can dream.

For my part, I dragged him to Fairweather and power-shopped through $150. Man, do I ever need new clothes. Not only am I thicker than I used to be, but...well, that's it. I've gone up a size and I'm tired of pretending that I'll lose weight instantly, or at least before I wear something again. In any case, I got something lime & cream. I look like a big smart-ass popsicle, but I got to wear my straw hat so I'm happy. And it's very teachery, albeit French teachery if you know what I mean.

We both took the day off, so I was able to face my morning with an extra hour of sleep (always the best start to any Blake-enriched day). Everybody got dressed in their summer best (translation: cool and bright) and we headed on down to the campus. We spent an hour or so running around for tickets and my parents’ present to the Boy (a swank degree frame) before we were able to go for lunch at the local vegan café. There is something so comforting about eating in a grassroots collective restaurant – nobody minds if you use the microwave, everything is appropriate for infant consumption, and everyone cleans up after themselves. Although I was skeptical before we arrived, I was soon thanking the Boy repeatedly for suggesting this place. It was exactly the calming experience I needed after rushing around to get everything in place for the afternoon.

We spent the rest of our time together wandering around campus and taking pictures at various old haunts. If any of my pictures turn out, you’ll be able to see Blake at the dragon stairs, Blake at Croft Chapter House, and my personal favourite, Blake before the “Ferguson House Goat” artwork. (When I saw it I shrieked, “the Goat! THE GOAT!!” Blake caught on to my excitement and started yelling “the Goat!” everytime we passed that stretch of wall. He is the cutest thing ever.)

After the Boy left to gather with his fellows, Blake & I retreated to the shade of the Whitney Hall courtyard to nurse and play. The day was punishingly warm, so a half-hour out of the direct sun was vital. My parents soon showed up to take the Blake away; I found the Boy’s father; and the two of us went into Convocation Hall for the ceremony.

Things I enjoyed about the ceremony:

1. The Boy graduated!!
2. I got to knit for an hour
3. There were some excellent outfits in the crowd including a black and white hat that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Queen
4. The Boy graduated!!
5. Con Hall now has air-conditioning, a definite improvement from when I graduated in ’99
6. The Dean of Music (standing in for the Chancellor) lost his speech, and so “extemporised.” Fun, but even more so when the President stand-in announced that he had two speeches, one of which began “As the Dean of Music…”
7. And, um, the Boy graduated!!

Following the family tradition, we went to Mövenpick/Marché for after-grad supper. I gorged on Cornish hen, the Boy poured chocolate on top of German beer on top of sushi, the Boy’s father filled up on bar snacks and Blake threw food in a three-foot radius. It was excellent. Photos to come when I fix my camera.

In the "I can't believe grown people are making a big deal about this" department, I'm happy to report that Blake pooped in the big toilet this morning. Not only is this one fewer diaper to wash, but it's one teeny step closer to the no-diaper horizon line.

Speaking of new achievements, it's my sad duty to follow up the last major announcement with the news that Blake has "slept through" a total of three times: twice in a row, and last Friday night. He's still keeping me up at night, but the good news is that it's mostly the flailing as opposed to the nursing. So we're still working on it. This month is all about the crib, or as we call it, "the big boy bed." (Is there a more over-used appellation than "big boy [blank]"? It's the crack of toddler parents.)

I had my third evaluation last Friday, another reason why I couldn't keep in touch. You may remember that the last time I danced to this tune, there was a fair bit of shenanigans on the part of my evaluators. To whit: I had a positive evaluation with my Veep, my file was "lost" for four months, it surfaced with completely negative comments and was presented as valid. After I was forced to sign it, I was turned over to the Princesspal for a gruelling series of meetings regarding my "improvement," an intensive observation schedule including no fewer than 4 visits (the normal number is 1), and a final eval that was again more negative than positive.

This year I returned to work without incident. Two weeks ago I got a voicemail asking me to set a date for evaluation within the week. My heart rate soared; I called the union rep. Turns out they're allowed to call me in the last 3 weeks of school without warning and evaluate me. So I played along, did the paperwork, got evaluated last week, blah dee blah. My evaluation went fairly well although the room was as hot as Hades and the Veep spent half the period on the phone to the office. I was positively giddy by the time we really started rolling, and I had no idea if I'd made anything close to a positive impression. To make matters more tense, I've been waiting 3 days for my follow-up meeting. Again: blood pressure is skyrocketing and writing little smoke messages (haikus about anxiety for the most part).

I had the meeting today and apparently I'm better than before. (No kidding.) The part that kills me is that the Veep has asked me to find copies of my previous evaluations because they've been lost and they need to be keyed into a database. I have two responses to this. First is the me filing my nails option ("yup. I'm looking through all my stuff right now..."). The second is the Charlie's Angles option (forgery forgery forgery!!) Too bad I'm not the forgery type.

Teresa, by the way, is incensed. "It's like Watergate! How can they keep losing your paperwork!!" I am slightly amused by her outrage.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 6/15/2005 09:03:00 p.m.