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… is anything. Radio silence. It never came up in graduate school. All the books told me to schedule writing and be disciplined. But what is discipline to my craft when caring first for my child, a growing, ever-evolving bundle of joy, creativity, and imagination?Write when he naps … What are naps to a 2-and-a-half-year-old? Write when he’s with the nanny or in school or at childcare … I am nanny. I am school. I am childcare. And at my choice. I want every minute of this wonderful life.What they don’t tell you is that writing while parenting a toddler will seem impossible to those who have never had to do it, or to those who did it under very different circumstances.What they didn’t tell me was that writing would come in sputters and scraps—notes scribbled on paper with crayon drawings of cars and trucks on the other side; voice memos recorded at the park, creaks from the swing and melodies of laughter as its soundtrack; random audio recordings during car rides on my commute to campus twice a month, stream of consciousness replacing satellite radio.They didn’t tell me that the creativity and imagination bursting from this little boy would awaken in me a fresh imagination to build new ideas like LEGO and shape and reshape recurring thoughts like the Play-Doh sent to us too soon for Miles to play with it. Keep it around long enough, my mom said, and he will grow into it.They didn’t tell me that when this little human inspires me, I will actually want to write. I will learn that I have things to say, things this human I am raising is giving me the confidence and courage to conjecture. What can I say that you would want to hear one day? What do you need to know that I can put on paper? If you see me writing, will you love words and ideas, too? Can we write together one day?What they didn’t tell me about writing while parenting a toddler is that this toddler will not always be a toddler. There are ideas and powers special to youthfulness that must be lived into while they are happening. So, let me tell you, in case no one has: Write the scraps. Record the memos. Watch them grow and allow yourself to grow into them in due time. Stay tuned.

Coming back from a semester of AI-generated slop assignment submissions isn’t easy. I left last term feeling more disheartened than I usually do, despite some wonderful final projects and great learning, in part because the world I teach in is changing and I can’t predict where it will go next.With that in mind, it’s been helpful for me to focus on the best and most exciting parts of a new semester, in hopes that these joys carry me into the first weeks of class with interest and ambition—and maybe those things will rub off on students as well!I’m about to meet some of my new favorite peopleEvery semester I see new names on my rosters (and usually plenty of familiar ones—I teach at a small college). Part of me is intimidated by knowing I’m going to have to memorize another round of who is a Hayley and who is a Kaylee, but I’m also so curious about who, of these new-to-me students, are going to be just the BEST people. There are always a few! Sometimes I can pick them out on the first day of class, but usually I don’t. I have 15 weeks to get to know these learners, and some of them—honestly, most of them—are going to have incredible “spark” moments when we read or discuss a topic that they connect to deeply. I’m always on the hunt for new Theology minors, but I’ve also had students for just one semester that I tremendously admire and keep track of after graduation. The possibilities are endless, but for sure I’m about to say hello for the first time to several strangers who will blow my mind and make me proud mere months after meeting.I have a captive audience, and I get to help them love the field I loveI never cease to be floored by the idea that I am getting paid to geek out about topics that I found so interesting that I needed multiple advanced degrees to enjoy them thoroughly. My students are literally paying for the privilege of hearing me go on and on about what I enjoy the most. It is, truly, a dream come true.But better than me getting to yammer about theology for hours each day, I have the chance to see if my enthusiasm is contagious. I have students who, mostly, would never have taken a Theology course if it weren’t required. What that means for me is that on day one I get to start breaking expectations and turning their anxiety and trepidation into interest. (For the many students who are fearful that academic Theology is just Sunday School Guilt Redux, it turns out that having purple hair and using the occasional swear word goes a long way.) I get to tell them that I want this class to be useful, and a break from the rote memorization that characterizes so much of their introductory courses in other disciplines. A nervous audience is very willing to be convinced that things won’t be so bad, and I get to come in with a big smile and a reassurance that this is going to be great. It always is.Everything old is new againLike many professors, I mostly teach a rotation of a few courses. While occasionally I’ll do a big overhaul to integrate new information or adapt to new assessments, mostly my courses feel like old songs—I know the rhythm and the lyrics by heart, and stepping back into the music feels a little like coming home. What keeps it fresh is that the students in my classroom have never heard this little ditty before, and I get to hear their first, halting attempts to join in.I love seeing the fascination on unfamiliar faces while I go through my usual spiel about how our program prioritizes the voices of women and people of color. I still get chills when explaining the idea of human dignity—the idea that people are fundamentally valuable and deeply loved—to learners who have spent so much of their lives scrabbling to be useful and relevant. I even get to tell the same terrible jokes and hear the obligatory pity laughs! The beat goes on, and I get to keep singing, but everything feels fresher with these new harmonies.What are your favorite parts of a new term?