Amanda van Scoyoc

Cerulean Pumpkin Van Zoeren has been a part of our daily lives for a little over six months now. She was our first foster dog and we completely failed to ever give her back, shirking our duties. She spent the first four months of her life in a meth van in Oregon with a couple of people and quite a few of her dog relatives. We have been told that she was meth addicted from licking the powder off of her paws and initially was quite aggressive. This could be true, or it could be an Oregon tall tale. We’ll never know. She was never nervous with us. The only remnant of her past seems to be a profound lack of trust for scruffy looking men, which is actually quite useful at times. We tend to mostly not trust the same guys who come knocking at the door. However, she does not trust the postman. This I do not understand. He is nice guy, is not scruffy and is a constant visitor. I cannot reason with Cerie about certain things.

Her name was Pumpkin, which needed to go. Eli and I settled on Cerulean, and we call her Cerie. I had always thought that Cerulean would be a great kid’s name. It is the name of the color of the sky, and as a painter, cerulean is my favorite pigment. Cerulean hue, the cheap mixed form of the pigment, is made from cyan and white. It is an overpowering chalky mixture that blends terribly. Until late in college, I didn’t understand the differences in hues and pigments. I always had fairly cheap oil paints. Then a painting professor of mine made me go out and get the real stuff, the cadmium red and yellow, the lead white, the alizarin crimson, and yes, the real cerulean. I remember that first nude portrait with new paints learning just what cerulean can do. See, it blends away into skin’s shadows. It is a clean light blue with no white, an unsaturated pigment that allows shadows to mellow to blues or purples the way that they really do. It is a secret color that is infused in my paintings, but you would never know because you won’t see the blue, just the darkening, the coolness, the depth.

I imagined one day having a child that would be like the color cerulean. It would be able to blend into different places and situations, softly, silently, making them more beautiful, making them just right. This was the meaning behind the name. Eli rejected it and to be absolutely certain that I wouldn’t continue to fight for our first born son to be “Cerulean,” he suggested that Pumpkin become Cerie, and now she is.

Cerie is not subtle. She bounds into rooms and overtakes them. She hurdles her body about and overwhelms people. The name in no way suits her, but it is hers.

We didn’t think that we were ready for a dog, but then there she was, this unmistakable part of our lives that we couldn’t possibly return to the shelter. With last year being quite a difficult academic year for me, we were trying to focus on creating a life for ourselves. We were lonely in this new place. I felt lost without the artistic community that I had in Durham, in Boston, and Philadelphia. At times I felt like I was heading down an endless path towards a life of a statistician, when all I really wanted was to go back to doing things that I cared so much more deeply about. And then suddenly on another rainy cold Oregon day (which is all days for 9 months), Cerie was there trying to convince me that this morning was going to be the best morning yet. She was there so happy to have us, and perhaps last year, that was exactly what we needed.

I still find it strange to think that she has never been to the east coast. She was born out west and this is her home. I still feel transient here, but she is completely at ease, and in her element. I see how comfortable she is with us and I realize that somehow Eli and I have made this yellow half-of-a-house her delightful home. She has nothing to fear here except for the occasional scruffy-looking man, or the nice-looking postman. Besides that, life here with us is pretty great. Watching the ease at which she lives her life with us, little by little she is convincing me that things here might just be alright as well. Maybe that is the little bit of Cerulean hidden inside of her.

Andrea as a beautiful flower girl

Today Andrea turns 3. Three years ago I was in Boston in a hospital room with my cumbersome Hasselblad taking photos of her mom in labor.

So much has happened since that day in the hospital. I would never have anticipated this life that I have now, but yet in a way it all stems from that year. Who I am now, in some way emerged that day, in that room, with that family. That day I was there as a photographer, researcher, and student, but I became a vulnerable observer. I remember holding back her leg as she pushed and crying seeing the pain that she was in. It was impossible not take part, and that changed the relationship that I now have with photography and the relationship that I want to have with research. Not to over exaggerate, but it changed my relationship with life. I am still searching for those moments that stick. I want to be pulled by relationships and vulnerability. I want it all to be a part of this circular experience of life. I want everything to fold back together in the end. I want to demand this of life.

Doesn’t it seem right that clinical psychologists should be vulnerable? Anthropologists so frequently are. It is a tenant of how they work with people. If you are asking someone to let you in, shouldn’t you give enough of yourself to be vulnerable? As a psychologist we work in such tenuous situations. Should we be vulnerable? What is this professional relationship. Sometimes I think that maybe I just wasn’t meant to be a professional.

The professors that inspire me are the ones here whose vulnerability has slipped in to their lectures and stories. It happens infrequently here, but when it happens, I hold on. I wonder how many people here are driven by some deeper experience. For me, I can tell you about those small moments that replay in my mind like scenes in a movie to motivate me and remind me why I am here. I sometimes wonder if this is what has made this year so difficult for me. I read articles and run stats and all of this is a method of learning devoid of those moments. The moments are insignificant here in comparison to the bigger picture of trends and analyses.

I’ve read extensively on teen parenting, but I am still motivated more by that moment in that hospital room three years ago than the fact that the United States has a teen parenting rate nine times that of western Europe.

Both of these things are important, the stats and the vulnerability. Now I only need to figure out how to hold on tight to stories when the waves of ANOVAs and linear regression wash over me.

For now, with all of that in front of me, on Andrea’s third birthday, I’m enjoying just thinking about Andrea. She has been a part of me since the moment she came to exist.

This year, she was the little flower girl at our wedding who gingerly handed flowers to each person as she meandered down the aisle. I feel so fortunate that I’ve not only gotten to be there for some of the big moments in Andrea’s life but she has been there for some of the more glorious moments in my life as well.

Nothing too insightful to write today. This second trimester of grad school has been relatively uneventful so far and I’m finally nearing the half way point. Interview day for our clinical psychology program was yesterday, and seeing all of the incredible young people who would love to come to University of Oregon made me feel appreciative of where I am. Coming to Oregon is beginning to feel more and more like the fated right decision.

There has been sun in Oregon recently. It’s going to be 50 degrees and sunny all week. I’m not sure that I quite understand the weather. It is just so damn fickle. I’m confused and the plants are confused, but we’re all still enjoying the sun.

Here are a few of my favorite recent pictures… a few of my favorite small moments.

Annabel hiding

Annabel in Durham, NC over Christmas

Erin and Annabel at the carousel

Eli eating thanksgiving dinner in Oregon

Something that the ocean coughed up onto the sand

I live in Eugene in half of a yellow house that has wood floors, two bedrooms, and a fireplace. We finally have pictures on the wall. We have hung Eli’s grandmother’s paintings, my paintings, Eli’s photography, and a few adored wedding presents from friends. When the walls were bare, it didn’t feel like home, but now it is getting close.

We finally found a sofa on craiglist. It is now overlooks the fireplace and Eli and I sit there in the mornings and in the evenings working on our respective projects. Eli builds fires at night. After a long day, I bike home (often in the dark and in the rain), and I still have more that I have to do. But I come home to Eli, and dinner, and late night fires. So far, he hasn’t quite got it down. The fires die out rapidly. We blow on them. We feed them paper. But, still they only linger so long.

The first trimester of school is almost over (University of Oregon has three terms a year). It has not been an easy trimester. I think that it has been filled with grief. I have been grieving for North Carolina, for sunshine and endless days, for a home that really is home and not this yellow half of a house, for art and creative people, for friends, family, journaling, kids I’ve known since they were born, and the feeling that anything could happen today, tomorrow, and the next day.

Here everything is predictable. Each day is fairly planned out. I know what books I will read, what papers I will work on, what stress will be lingering. Today, for example, I’m taking a moment to write this, then there will be statistics homework, then I will look at a dataset, then I will continue stats homework, then I will finish some reading and write some questions, then I will be done, take a bath, kiss Eli, and feel that I have worked another day. Only after about 9PM can I have a glass of wine and wonder, “now what?” Then maybe I will bring out a journal and write and literally explode with delight. Maybe I will listen to This American Life and try to crawl inside of my computer screen and curl up with Ira Glass and all of the people there that are always available to be listened to.

I am trying to think of this year like a pregnancy. Three trimesters. The first one has been filled with some nausea, some discomfort, an overwhelming feeling of, “What have I done?” and “How in the world is this going to work?” I’m hoping the second semester will be filled with more acceptance, more relaxation, more time devoted to the things that I love. Then in the third trimester, I’ll finish up this year of coursework, and it will end with a big finale. It will be almost as exciting as birth. It will be the end of Amanda having to take math classes in graduate school. There will be a party, announcements sent out, lots of self-fulfillment. And then the summer will be beautiful. There is no doubt of that.

There are moments here when I love life. I have an incredible advisor. I’m volunteering at a place that fulfills me. I have Eli to love and be loved by. Sometimes the sun breaks through the clouds and I’m riding my 1970s piece-of-crap bicycle, and I feel not just happy, but content. Suddenly I think that this is all part of a larger plan that really will put me where I’m meant to be, it just requires some side effects along the way. Sometimes, though I don’t feel that way at all. Sometimes the big picture is too far away (years and years away) to be seen anymore. Then, again, I try to think of this year like a pregnancy, knowing that the second trimester is always easier.

Some small Eugene moments that bring me happiness.

Eli with a leaf on his head.

Emily and Eli pretending to be robots in some shirts we silk screen printed.

Our lease for our apartment in NC ended 3 days after the wedding. I had envisioned us completely packing up the house before the wedding and being ready to set off on a romantic honeymoon right after leaving the goat farm. This did not happen. We did not hardly begin to pack up until Monday and had to be out on Wednesday. Fortunately we had lots of help from Eli’s parents and sister. We also had the entertainment of a left over and still partly full canister of helium.

We finally drove off on Wednesday afternoon after I said an almost tearful goodbye to the couch that we first kissed on (I actually told the woman who picked it up our story and made her take a photo of the two of us kissing for the last time on this couch… Eli was not happy about this.) The Uhaul was heavy and my car sagged a bit with the load. Our gas mileage quickly fell to about 16 mpg and Eli started getting stressed out about whether we were going to make it over the Rockies (we did). It wasn’t the easy post-wedding get-away that I had hoped for.

About halfway through the trip we decided that this was only the first honeymoon… there will be another that doesn’t require camping or hauling everything we own along with us. We ended up getting to a Salt Lake City campground at 9:55, 5 minutes before it was supposed to close. Apparently they closed the camp for the weekend. Then we went to an RV campground, but they weren’t open. Then we gave up and went to Walmart. The first Walmart was under construction and too creepy, so we went to another and joined a small group of car and RV campers. After spending the night sleeping upright in a Walmart parking, we decided that there will certainly be another honeymoon.

But other near catastrophes aside, it was lovely. The United States is beautiful. There was Appalachia, and the Great Plains, and then the Rockies, and the Great Salt Lake, and then suddenly Oregon, which is just about as beautiful as anywhere, really. It’s beautiful like Scotland was beautiful. The landscape feels tragic and then suddenly hopeful. The forests are green and wet with black soil and mossy goop sticking to anything that’s alive. It’s rainy most of the time, but when it’s not, the light is peach and lights up everything, if only for an instant.

Here are a few photos that I like of Eli during the first and expectantly less romantic honeymoon.

Eli inspecting the trailer in Appalachia

Eli and a mushroom in the woods

We camped by this lake somewhere in Missouri

Great Salt Lake and Eli

Eli and the super 8

Walking towards the lake and avoiding buffalo

It was lovely. I think that Mark Schueler’s photos show exactly how lovely it really was.

Eli and Tom

Isaac the littlest ring bearer

Amanda and Stu walking down the aisle

Getting Married

Avoiding Seeds

First Dance

During Tom's Speach about Eli's Childhood Imaginary Wife

Cutting Cake

Eli, Amanda, Goat.

Bridal Party

Families and Party

Eli and Amanda in a Goat Barn

Amanda and Eli

This summer has been filled with road trips and small adventures. It has been a summer where I have been really living life. I’ve been thinking about marriage and circles and life histories and the story-telling arch, and I am not ready for this summer to ever end.

Recently I went back to Chelsea, MA to find the girls that I got to know there (a small arch). I stayed with Damaris. Andrea is 2 now and I can count how long I’ve been away by how much she has grown. She can talk and run and be just a little bit bossy. I have been away for far too long.

I don’t have the energy right now to tell you all that I feel for this family. What I can tell you is that before I decided to go to Oregon, I called Damaris to ask her advice. It was the last thing I did before accepting a graduate program. I can tell you that I think we all need people in our lives who truly believe in us, and Damaris and I completely believe in each other. There are things that she is learning from me and there is so much that I am learning from her. She lives her life day to day enjoying the small moments. She never is afraid of the future or bogged down in the past. I battle with life and can become almost paralyzed with existential concerns. She finds out that she’s pregnant as a teenager and sees a beautiful family in her future.

Andrea in the grocery store in Chelsea.

Andrea's cousin doing her hair.

Andrea with her cousin's iguana.

Me and Andrea.

Andrea eating breakfast.

Andrea and Andres waiting for the bus.

Andrea with her family at the Boston Commons.

Andrea on a carousel.

Andrea feeding ducks.

Andrea and Andres on the bus home.

I’m at home in DC for the day screen printing napkins for the wedding. It is taking forever, but they will be beautiful. And in thinking about the wedding and in being away from Eli, I remembered a short story that I heard when traveling to Pittsburgh for an interview the day before Valentines day. It is a perfect short story that should be shared widely.

Eli isn’t here, and I can listen to stories over and over again without him complaining. I don’t really feel stories until the 4th or 5th time and by then, just when I’m excited about the design and smoothness of a story, Eli starts feeling like I am truly trying to torture him. So this morning I will listen to this story, and when I am done, I will listen to this youtube video and then I will do the same again and again. I will think of all that there is to create and of the beauty of love flying far away into the universe to be decoded maybe, perhaps… one day. I will decide again (as I do always after the 5th time I hear a perfect story) that I must do something with my life that lets me feel this arch of emotions. And I will decide again (as I always do) that in my life I need to find a way to make others share in this feeling.

Having worked with adolescent parents, I am very interested in why mothers choose to have children at specific ages. Now that I’m getting ready to start my PhD, I am increasingly surrounded by women who have delayed motherhood into their 30s and even 40s.

It reminds me of back when I was working at Roca with teen parents, and I realized one day that some of the girls had deduced that I must be infertile. I was in my late twenties, living with a man, and had no child. It seemed the obvious conclusion.

As the economic gap in America widens, so has the reproductive gap. In a way it is just as bizarre for women to be pushing parenthood into their 30s and even 40s as it is for women in America to decide to become adolescent parents. As teen pregnancy rates increase, so does in-vitro fertilization. This summer I am hoping to interview women on the other side of the economic/education/reproductive divide.

Rebecca, age 31, and Noah, 10 weeks

Rebecca Stein-Kunder has just finished her MD/PhD at Duke. She is about to begin her residency at Stanford with her husband, Chris.

Amanda: Why did you plan to have a baby at this point in your life?

Rebecca: I knew that I was going to have about four or five months off after medical school, and I thought that probably never again in my life would I have so much time off. The other thing is that my mother had said that she would take at least a year off to take care of Noah. I checked with her to make sure that she basically signed on the dotted line before I got pregnant.

Amanda: How did your colleagues in medical school react when you told them?

Rebecca: Everyone was really happy, but I think that everyone was worried. They asked, “Are you sure that this is a good time?” I understood their concerns, and I assured them that I had a childcare plan.”

Amanda: How has it been so far with Noah?

Rebecca: Just seeing him is incredible. It is something that is just so bizarre and tender to think that this is your child. There are easy days and joyful times and there are hard days and rough times as well. I enjoy him more and more each day as he interacts more with the world and with me. When he was about six weeks old he started smiling, and that didn’t happen a day too soon. I think we’re figuring each other out.

Amanda: Is it similar to what you expected?

Rebecca: I didn’t have very clear expectations. I knew it would be difficult. I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping very much. I think I didn’t expect how much fun it would be to just play with him, even when he’s so little. As my sister-in-law says, he’s in his pot roast stage. But he can be fun to play with, and I appreciate that.

Amanda: How do you feel about the upcoming move?

Rebecca: It is comforting to have some things that will be the same. Chris and I and Noah and the dog and the two cats are all moving there together. Even though it is hard to relocate that group of people and animals three thousand miles away, it’s comforting that we’ll all be together out there too.

Amanda: How do you feel, knowing that in residency you will have much less time with Noah.

Rebecca: It’s hard for me to say, because I haven’t spent that much time away from him yet. But, when I do spend time away from him, I’m very excited when I come back and see him again. I think that at the end of the day I will be pretty happy to see him. Although, sometimes he is pretty fussy in the evenings, so I think it will be unfortunate if I spend all day looking forward to seeing him, and he’s a fussy baby.

Amanda: Do you ever have pains of regret that because of your career choice, you can’t spend more time with him?

Rebecca: Well, he’s ten weeks old now, and knowing that if I had been in residency, I would have only had six weeks at home, that makes me definitely not want to have a kid during residency. It has been important for me to have this time. I don’t know how long optimally I would stay home with him. I think that at some point, I would go back to work, even if I didn’t have to. But, I think it will be difficult as he gets older and I’m missing out on things because I’m at work.

Amanda: How has having Noah changed your relationship with Chris?

Rebecca: I thought that having Noah would be much more stressful on our relationship, but the most stressful thing on our relationship right now is the move across the country.  Noah is something that we definitely enjoy together. I enjoy watching Chris with Noah. It has been good for us in that way.