As a mom of 2 with thoughts and opinions and things to share, I am an avid user of social media. I haven't quite gotten the point of the Twitter thing, but I'm on Facebook more than I'm not on Facebook. Facebook probably heaves a sigh of relief when I fall asleep, my iPhone lying dormant on my bedside table, ready to be snatched up the moment my eyes open in the morning. Sometimes I even check Facebook at 3am after reassuring a frightened child that, no, bears can't live in your closet because it's too small. So, yeah, a lot of my time is spent scanning Facebook status updates and hanging out in my Facebook mom's group. I even belong to a work out support group on Facebook, because clearly I can't be relied upon to do my squats and crunches without a group of like minded women verbally kicking my ass to do them.
Yes, it is the era of social media, we GET IT, my reader(s?) screams. Get to the part of your blog where you have that epiphany that you're missing out on valuable time with your children, and how you now know that you need to put the iPhone down and watch your daughter go down the slide for the 4000th time, and how you need to leave Facebook for a month so you can devote your energy to playing blocks with your son and really savoring these moments of childhood before they're gone.
People, this is not that blog post.
I don't have epiphanies about my parenting. My epiphanies tend to run along the lines of, "We should totally do a mom meetup at the roller rink" and "I don't care if it's kid food, I'm eating english muffin pizzas for lunch because they're GOOD". I'm seriously not that complex. I've managed to keep one child alive for nearly 5 years, and the other for a good 17 months. I'm winning. And, yes, I totally understand those "I put down the iPhone and gave up social media because I was missing out on the important things in life, and now my children are happier and healthier and I'm a better mom and I'm awesome" posts. I also understand the "I thought I had to be this one kind of mom and fit into this box, but now I do what works for my family and my kids are happier and healthier, and I'm a better mom, and I'm awesome" posts and the "We've all been too caught up in the Mommy Wars, so now I ignore them and love and support all forms of parenting, and my kids are happier and healthier, and I'm a better mom, and I'm awesome" posts. They all come from a good place, and I agree with a lot of the sentiments expressed. It's just that they're expressed so...often. In different ways, from different people, at different times, but they're all basically the same epiphany. "I thought one thing about parenting, then I started raising children and learned other things, so now I do the other things". It's the epiphany that parents have had from the moment of the first cave baby's birth, and that they will continue to have when babies come from giant pods. But because we basically parent publicly now, thanks to social media and the rise of the blogger (hi!), this epiphany gets expressed over and over again in blog shares and status updates and links. In my moms group on Facebook, there's usually at least one link per day to a parenting epiphany blog post.
So, why do we keep reading them? Why do we click the "share" button? (Which, hello, could happen to this blog once in a while. Or ever. Come on reader(s?)!) I have some theories. Because we agree with the writer's epiphany, and want others to know that we agree. Because we wish we'd had that epiphany before xyz happened, and we want others to avoid xyz. Because we just really admire the writing, and want others to admire it as well (that's about 90% of my reasoning when I share links to blogs. In case anyone was wondering). Because we sort of feel like we SHOULD agree, since it's been shared about 45,000 times, and we don't want to be the mom who doesn't want to put down the iPhone. Part of parenting publicly is making sure that the public (meaning your Facebook audience) sees the best parts of your parenting, not the part when your kid falls off the swings because you were liking someone's status with one hand and pushed too hard with the other (this may or may not have happened to me). Anyone who has ever seen my Facebook posts will know that when I talk about my kids, it's usually about something funny they said or did. I don't usually share the "real" stuff, like punishments, and meltdowns, and when I yell. And yes, I've seen the latest viral blog post about the mom who yelled a lot, and then she stopped, and now her kid is happier and healthier, and she's a better mom, and she's awesome. So we share those viral parenting epiphanies because we want others to know that we totally relate to the "newer, better mom" who has emerged from the epiphany, fingers poised to share it via social media (and occasionally HuffPost or Slate). We've had our epiphanies, we've learned our lessons, and now we nod in agreement at the latest viral epiphany, and we send it back out into the world to educate others and subtly remind our friends that we've already assimilated the blogger's wisdom into our own parenting.
Now, all that said, there is nothing wrong with sharing your "aha" parenting moment. Why not? It's the age of public parenting, so of course you want to share your new found wisdom with your dearest friends, old high school buddies, your dental assistant, and the woman you met at a temp job you had for 5 minutes, 8 years ago. They NEED to know, so that they can stop torturing themselves over X and start doing Y, because it will make everything so much better. I totally get that. I mean, I can say til I'm blue in the face that I blog for ME, because I like writing, and it's sort of like a not at all private journal of my thoughts, but if that were the whole truth I'd be scribbling away in a diary with a tiny lock and an even tinier key that I hide under my mattress. We blog because we feel like other people might like to read what we think, and because, let's face it, we like the validation. We need someone to say, "YES! I think that too! I had the same epiphany! I also put down the iPhone! YOU ARE SO RIGHT AND YOU HAVE SAID EVERYTHING I THINK." Nothing excites me more than a comment on my blog, and since I've only gotten like, one, you can imagine what a thrill that was. SOMEONE READ THIS AND IT MADE THEM THINK SOMETHING! I MADE SOMEONE THINK THINGS! So it makes perfect sense to me that if a blogger has a parenting epiphany that made her think things, she would want to share and make other people think things.
At some point, though, I had my epiphany about parenting epiphanies (that they're all basically the same epiphany), and I developed epiphany fatigue. I rarely read the viral posts anymore, especially if the person who shares the post adds something like, "READ THIS. I feel the exact same way about xyz and parenting." Sorry, folks, can't suck me in with that anymore. I'm finally feeling like I've got the hang of this making and raising children thing, and I can't afford to read one more epiphany that makes me worry that maybe I'm doing it wrong. Besides, another viral parenting epiphany is waiting in the wings for all of us, and maybe it will take away milk shakes or something, and I just can't live in a world without milk shakes.
And I'm not putting down the iPhone, either. Except maybe when I push my kids on the swings.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Saturday, August 17, 2013
My daughter asks a lot of questions...and there's a study to prove it
I recently heard on the radio that, according to a study, the average 4 year old asks 400 questions a day. If that's the case, then my 4 year old is clearly above average. Not that I begrudge her inquisitive mind, but adorably curious questions such as, "Where does rain come from?" are met in equal measure by practically unanswerable questions like, "How did they make the sink?" or (and this is answerable, but I don't want to) "How did Daddy put my baby brother in your tummy?"
I know there are moms out there who hear those questions and say, "Why, what an excellent question! I don't know the answer, so let's go look it up!" And then they pull out their encyclopedia from between their beautifully put together family scrapbooks and their perfectly executed Pinterest projects, look up plumbing and sinks, maybe make up a song about it, and then head to a home improvement store to watch someone put together a sink, and then come home so this mom can make a healthy, gourmet dinner, with her inquisitive little angel assisting, never mind the mess, because life is about the EXPERIENCE.
That mom seems annoyingly perfect. She probably isn't, and after she's cleaned up from the EXPERIENCES of the day, she collapses on the couch with a really big glass of wine and tries to reassure herself that she's a good mom, just like the rest of us. Her "good mom" cred is just more overt. But I'm NOT that mom, and I'm far more likely to just, you know, make crap up when I don't know the answers. "How did they make the sink?" "Elves made it with magic tools." "Really?? Where do the elves live?" "Under the floor. They come out at night and make stuff like sinks and bathtubs and toilets. They're called 'Plumbing Elves'. Every house has them."
Yeah, I lie to my kids. They believe in Santa, and the Easter Bunny, and plumbing elves. My daughter thinks that thunder is how the clouds know when to rain so that the flowers grow. She thinks that her nightlight has a real ocean in it. She thinks that her Sheepy eats lunch while she's at school, and that's why he's never hungry. She thinks that her Daddy put her baby brother in my tummy by using magic. And sometimes, as I'm considering how to answer "What makes the car go?", I think, "Ugh, it would probably be better for her if we looked this up later, even if she's not really going to understand the internal combustion engine." As much as I think a little mystery and magic are an important part of my kids' lives, I also want them to learn. I promise myself that we're going to buy a kids encyclopedia, and we're going to look up the tough answers, and we're going to go out and illustrate those answers through EXPERIENCES, and maybe I'll join Pinterest and make handprint wreathes and other crap with the kids, and I'll let them help with dinner even though the mess will make me crazy, and I'll really be a GOOD MOM.
And then I say, "Engine elves. Every car has them."
I know there are moms out there who hear those questions and say, "Why, what an excellent question! I don't know the answer, so let's go look it up!" And then they pull out their encyclopedia from between their beautifully put together family scrapbooks and their perfectly executed Pinterest projects, look up plumbing and sinks, maybe make up a song about it, and then head to a home improvement store to watch someone put together a sink, and then come home so this mom can make a healthy, gourmet dinner, with her inquisitive little angel assisting, never mind the mess, because life is about the EXPERIENCE.
That mom seems annoyingly perfect. She probably isn't, and after she's cleaned up from the EXPERIENCES of the day, she collapses on the couch with a really big glass of wine and tries to reassure herself that she's a good mom, just like the rest of us. Her "good mom" cred is just more overt. But I'm NOT that mom, and I'm far more likely to just, you know, make crap up when I don't know the answers. "How did they make the sink?" "Elves made it with magic tools." "Really?? Where do the elves live?" "Under the floor. They come out at night and make stuff like sinks and bathtubs and toilets. They're called 'Plumbing Elves'. Every house has them."
Yeah, I lie to my kids. They believe in Santa, and the Easter Bunny, and plumbing elves. My daughter thinks that thunder is how the clouds know when to rain so that the flowers grow. She thinks that her nightlight has a real ocean in it. She thinks that her Sheepy eats lunch while she's at school, and that's why he's never hungry. She thinks that her Daddy put her baby brother in my tummy by using magic. And sometimes, as I'm considering how to answer "What makes the car go?", I think, "Ugh, it would probably be better for her if we looked this up later, even if she's not really going to understand the internal combustion engine." As much as I think a little mystery and magic are an important part of my kids' lives, I also want them to learn. I promise myself that we're going to buy a kids encyclopedia, and we're going to look up the tough answers, and we're going to go out and illustrate those answers through EXPERIENCES, and maybe I'll join Pinterest and make handprint wreathes and other crap with the kids, and I'll let them help with dinner even though the mess will make me crazy, and I'll really be a GOOD MOM.
And then I say, "Engine elves. Every car has them."
Monday, June 24, 2013
The Lifestyle Variables Which Have Led to Corpulence...Or, Why I'm Fat
First things first. You may have noticed that I've abandoned my previous title style, which was a completely obvious, not the least bit subtle rip off of the chapter titles in any Winnie-the-Pooh book. I can't put my finger on why I did it, but I've decided that it sounds affected, and it annoys me. So, I'm over it.
Now, on to the actual post.
Ok, let me say that I'm probably exaggerating a bit when I use the word "fat". Yes, I am overweight, but I'm not obese (although in the interests of full disclosure, I was for about 2 years), and you probably wouldn't pick me out of a crowd and say, "What a cow." I'm not going to mention actual numbers here, but let's just say that there's a size I want to be, and I'm not that size. I'm close, but not quite there. I'm actually in that super fun limbo of being between sizes, when one size is too big and requires a belt, but the next size down is still just a bit too tight. So let us say that I'm a size and a half away from my goal.
Now, on to the actual post.
Ok, let me say that I'm probably exaggerating a bit when I use the word "fat". Yes, I am overweight, but I'm not obese (although in the interests of full disclosure, I was for about 2 years), and you probably wouldn't pick me out of a crowd and say, "What a cow." I'm not going to mention actual numbers here, but let's just say that there's a size I want to be, and I'm not that size. I'm close, but not quite there. I'm actually in that super fun limbo of being between sizes, when one size is too big and requires a belt, but the next size down is still just a bit too tight. So let us say that I'm a size and a half away from my goal.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
The Communication Abilities of My Children, or Lack Thereof
Communicating with small children should be a specialized scientific field, and I deserve a freaking PhD. I have two kids with vastly different communicative abilities due to their ages, and in the case of my daughter, her willingness to be understood. There are days when I go back and forth between wishing my son could talk, and wishing my daughter couldn't, and there are even days when I ban the word "Mommy" from being uttered in my hearing. Ever seen the episode of Family Guy when Stewie stands next to Lois' bed and repeats different forms of the word "Mom" over and over? TOTALLY. EFFING. ACCURATE.
My son is only 9 months old, so his main form of communication is screaming. He has various forms of screaming, from joyful, to interested, to angry, to upset, and even just to hear his own voice. His secondary form is Chuck Norris level karate moves to get to what he wants, and these usually occur while I'm holding him, and therefore am keeping him from getting to what he wants. And because I don't want him to ingest Barbie shoes or lick the dog bowls, I am regularly sporting bite marks on my arms or huge bruises on my chest. Communicating with babies is exactly like communicating with cats. You ask a lot of rhetorical questions (What do you what? What's wrong? Are you hungry?), and they ignore you unless they need food or attention. And no matter how many times you remove a cat or a baby from an area, if that's where they want to be, they're going right back. The cat is going to sit in the middle of your book, and the baby is going to try to climb the bookcase. Or vice versa.
Communication with a preschooler is a different level of frustration. My daughter will be 4 next week, and has been able to effectively communicate her wants and needs for about 2 years now. She's always been verbally advanced, with a wide vocabulary and very clear speech. Unless she doesn't want you to understand her. Then she adopts a new speech pattern, which sounds pretty much like she is speaking without opening her mouth. She usually saves it up for asking me questions to which the answer is 99% guaranteed to be "no". For example: "Mommy?" (this is the only clear word spoken, so that I am fully aware that she is addressing her mumbles to me) "CanIhavechiwennummesfalooon" Did ya get that? No? Shocking!! And here comes my response:
"I can't understand you. What did you say?"
"CANIHAVECHIWENUMMESFALOOON???" (because raising the volume helps. Like when people yell at non-English speakers. Screaming the words must immediately make them understandable.)
"A, I don't know what you're saying. I can't understand you when you mumble!"
"I'm asking about LUNCH!!!" (suddenly, she speaks as clearly and crisply as James Earl Jones)
"What about lunch?"
"CanIhavechiwenummesfaloon?"
At this point I retreat into a tiny corner of my mind, and scream that high pitched horror movie scream that I'm unable to produce from my throat due to my lower pitched voice. And then I say, "Ok, fine, whatever." And we finally get to the crux of the matter when I serve her a cheese sandwich and carrots for lunch, and she dissolves into tears and says, "I wanted CHICKEN NUGGETS!!" Because clearly she was asking, "Can I have chicken nuggets for lunch?" Obviously. Mom fail. Not really though, because, A. I didn't understand her, and B. the answer would have been "no" had I understood her. But because I gave up trying to figure out what she was saying and gave her a "Fine, whatever", she's now in a position to say that I gave her the wrong lunch. And I'm stuck with a miserable kid who won't eat.
I'm not ashamed to admit that about 50% of the time, I give in and make her chicken nuggets. And the inmates take over the asylum, yet again...;)
My son is only 9 months old, so his main form of communication is screaming. He has various forms of screaming, from joyful, to interested, to angry, to upset, and even just to hear his own voice. His secondary form is Chuck Norris level karate moves to get to what he wants, and these usually occur while I'm holding him, and therefore am keeping him from getting to what he wants. And because I don't want him to ingest Barbie shoes or lick the dog bowls, I am regularly sporting bite marks on my arms or huge bruises on my chest. Communicating with babies is exactly like communicating with cats. You ask a lot of rhetorical questions (What do you what? What's wrong? Are you hungry?), and they ignore you unless they need food or attention. And no matter how many times you remove a cat or a baby from an area, if that's where they want to be, they're going right back. The cat is going to sit in the middle of your book, and the baby is going to try to climb the bookcase. Or vice versa.
Communication with a preschooler is a different level of frustration. My daughter will be 4 next week, and has been able to effectively communicate her wants and needs for about 2 years now. She's always been verbally advanced, with a wide vocabulary and very clear speech. Unless she doesn't want you to understand her. Then she adopts a new speech pattern, which sounds pretty much like she is speaking without opening her mouth. She usually saves it up for asking me questions to which the answer is 99% guaranteed to be "no". For example: "Mommy?" (this is the only clear word spoken, so that I am fully aware that she is addressing her mumbles to me) "CanIhavechiwennummesfalooon" Did ya get that? No? Shocking!! And here comes my response:
"I can't understand you. What did you say?"
"CANIHAVECHIWENUMMESFALOOON???" (because raising the volume helps. Like when people yell at non-English speakers. Screaming the words must immediately make them understandable.)
"A, I don't know what you're saying. I can't understand you when you mumble!"
"I'm asking about LUNCH!!!" (suddenly, she speaks as clearly and crisply as James Earl Jones)
"What about lunch?"
"CanIhavechiwenummesfaloon?"
At this point I retreat into a tiny corner of my mind, and scream that high pitched horror movie scream that I'm unable to produce from my throat due to my lower pitched voice. And then I say, "Ok, fine, whatever." And we finally get to the crux of the matter when I serve her a cheese sandwich and carrots for lunch, and she dissolves into tears and says, "I wanted CHICKEN NUGGETS!!" Because clearly she was asking, "Can I have chicken nuggets for lunch?" Obviously. Mom fail. Not really though, because, A. I didn't understand her, and B. the answer would have been "no" had I understood her. But because I gave up trying to figure out what she was saying and gave her a "Fine, whatever", she's now in a position to say that I gave her the wrong lunch. And I'm stuck with a miserable kid who won't eat.
I'm not ashamed to admit that about 50% of the time, I give in and make her chicken nuggets. And the inmates take over the asylum, yet again...;)
Monday, February 13, 2012
In which brief mention is made of my lady parts (sorry guys)...
So, I'm back. Oh, and pregnant. One really has nothing to do with the other, except that I blame morning sickness for part of the reason I haven't posted since October. The rest of the reason is sheer laziness. I warned you people about this. Sometimes I want to write, and then something shiny distracts me. Usually it's the sheen of a television not playing sports or Caillou. So yes, often Law & Order outranks the needs of my readers (I add the "s" in a vain hope that my one follower is not my only reader). Sometimes even Hoarders outranks you. Suck it up.
Anyway, I'm pregnant. And I'm excited about it. This was not unplanned, although the exact timing was a surprise. Bottom line: I'm going to be 6 months pregnant at my sister's wedding in May. I wanted to be much LESS pregnant at her wedding. I also did not want to be pregnant until the bitter end of August. J was forced to sleep in a parka while I blasted the air conditioning in May with my last pregnancy. Since then we had a new heating and cooling system installed that is energy efficient, so I can turn the house into a meat locker much more inexpensively this time. Yay technology.
Here's the thing: last time I had a baby, things didn't go exactly as planned. My water broke at 36 weeks, and it was discovered upon arrival at the hospital that A was breech. So I had a c-section. Which now gives me a choice to make: how do I want to deliver this baby? Gone are the days of the required repeat c-section. My OB is supportive of either decision, so I can pick (barring unforeseen complications) how I want to give birth. For many, many women this is an amazing and welcome development in OB care, and they jump at the second chance to have a vaginal delivery. I am not one of those women. When I arrived at the hospital to have A, I was terrified of both options (to quote a friend, "Is there a third option??"), but fully expected to have an uncomplicated vaginal birth. That means I also expected a lot of pain, as soon as possible a lot of drugs, and in the end, a healthy baby with a conehead and a lot of trauma to my lady parts. Other than the baby, I looked forward to NONE of those things (well, maybe the drugs. But since they came in a needle, it's questionable). Then I was thrown completely off balance with the news that A was chilling with her butt where her head should be, so I was having a c-section. Yes, I was freaked out about major surgery, but I was also sort of relieved to skip the whole labor/pushing/trauma to lady parts thing. And my c-section was a calm, peaceful, lovely experience that ended in a healthy baby without a conehead and a lot of trauma to my lower abdomen. But I healed quickly, and I wear my scar like a badge of honor: that scar gave my daughter a safe way to enter this world.
So a repeat c-section doesn't scare me. Vaginal birth still totally does. Hey, I'm human, I'm afraid of the unknown. A c-section is not unknown, it's familiar and feels comfortable and safe. I know exactly what will happen, and I feel fairly confident in the result. But these days this is not a popular opinion among the "momfia". I refer to the growing online contingent of very vocal moms who know the "right" way to do everything and are quick to point out exactly what you, the inferior mom, are doing wrong. Vaginal birth is the "right" way (preferably unmedicated, and maybe even at home with a midwife), breastfeeding is the ONLY option, and how dare you even consider circumcising your son. Now, I am not disagreeing with anyone's choice to breastfeed (I did for over a year), or have a homebirth, or chose not to circumcise. But I also don't think it's my job to tell anyone that those things are the only way you can succeed as a mother. I have friends who had unmedicated births and had wonderful experiences. I also have friends who signed right up for the drugs. I have friends who breastfed for a few weeks, or months, or not at all. And I honestly don't know about the circumcision thing because it's never really come up. But it's not my kid's penis, so why would it be my business?
As I said, I'm human. As much as I'd like to pretend that I don't care what people think of me, that's not true (and can we please admit that it's NEVER true? Maybe serial killers don't care what people think of them, but the average person does. It's just something we say to justify questionable decisions or behavior). I definitely care what my friends and family think of me, and as much as I try to stop, I care a small amount what strangers think of me. It's why I brush my hair and use breath mints. So while I feel fairly certain that a repeat c-section is the method of birth for me, a small part of me is holding back. And what frustrates me is the realization that that small part is the part that is afraid of what people will think of me if I make that choice. I guess personal growth really is one step forward, two steps back...;)
Anyway, I'm pregnant. And I'm excited about it. This was not unplanned, although the exact timing was a surprise. Bottom line: I'm going to be 6 months pregnant at my sister's wedding in May. I wanted to be much LESS pregnant at her wedding. I also did not want to be pregnant until the bitter end of August. J was forced to sleep in a parka while I blasted the air conditioning in May with my last pregnancy. Since then we had a new heating and cooling system installed that is energy efficient, so I can turn the house into a meat locker much more inexpensively this time. Yay technology.
Here's the thing: last time I had a baby, things didn't go exactly as planned. My water broke at 36 weeks, and it was discovered upon arrival at the hospital that A was breech. So I had a c-section. Which now gives me a choice to make: how do I want to deliver this baby? Gone are the days of the required repeat c-section. My OB is supportive of either decision, so I can pick (barring unforeseen complications) how I want to give birth. For many, many women this is an amazing and welcome development in OB care, and they jump at the second chance to have a vaginal delivery. I am not one of those women. When I arrived at the hospital to have A, I was terrified of both options (to quote a friend, "Is there a third option??"), but fully expected to have an uncomplicated vaginal birth. That means I also expected a lot of pain, as soon as possible a lot of drugs, and in the end, a healthy baby with a conehead and a lot of trauma to my lady parts. Other than the baby, I looked forward to NONE of those things (well, maybe the drugs. But since they came in a needle, it's questionable). Then I was thrown completely off balance with the news that A was chilling with her butt where her head should be, so I was having a c-section. Yes, I was freaked out about major surgery, but I was also sort of relieved to skip the whole labor/pushing/trauma to lady parts thing. And my c-section was a calm, peaceful, lovely experience that ended in a healthy baby without a conehead and a lot of trauma to my lower abdomen. But I healed quickly, and I wear my scar like a badge of honor: that scar gave my daughter a safe way to enter this world.
So a repeat c-section doesn't scare me. Vaginal birth still totally does. Hey, I'm human, I'm afraid of the unknown. A c-section is not unknown, it's familiar and feels comfortable and safe. I know exactly what will happen, and I feel fairly confident in the result. But these days this is not a popular opinion among the "momfia". I refer to the growing online contingent of very vocal moms who know the "right" way to do everything and are quick to point out exactly what you, the inferior mom, are doing wrong. Vaginal birth is the "right" way (preferably unmedicated, and maybe even at home with a midwife), breastfeeding is the ONLY option, and how dare you even consider circumcising your son. Now, I am not disagreeing with anyone's choice to breastfeed (I did for over a year), or have a homebirth, or chose not to circumcise. But I also don't think it's my job to tell anyone that those things are the only way you can succeed as a mother. I have friends who had unmedicated births and had wonderful experiences. I also have friends who signed right up for the drugs. I have friends who breastfed for a few weeks, or months, or not at all. And I honestly don't know about the circumcision thing because it's never really come up. But it's not my kid's penis, so why would it be my business?
As I said, I'm human. As much as I'd like to pretend that I don't care what people think of me, that's not true (and can we please admit that it's NEVER true? Maybe serial killers don't care what people think of them, but the average person does. It's just something we say to justify questionable decisions or behavior). I definitely care what my friends and family think of me, and as much as I try to stop, I care a small amount what strangers think of me. It's why I brush my hair and use breath mints. So while I feel fairly certain that a repeat c-section is the method of birth for me, a small part of me is holding back. And what frustrates me is the realization that that small part is the part that is afraid of what people will think of me if I make that choice. I guess personal growth really is one step forward, two steps back...;)
In which I talk about my lady parts (sorry guys)...
So, I'm back. Oh, and pregnant. One really has nothing to do with the other, except that I blame morning sickness for part of the reason I haven't posted since October. The rest of the reason is sheer laziness. I warned you people about this. Sometimes I want to write, and then something shiny distracts me. Usually it's the sheen of a television not playing sports or Caillou. So yes, often Law & Order outranks the needs of my readers (I add the "s" in a vain hope that my one follower is not my only reader). Sometimes even Hoarders outranks you. Suck it up.
Anyway, I'm pregnant. And I'm excited about it. This was not unplanned, although the exact timing was a surprise. Bottom line: I'm going to be 6 months pregnant at my sister's wedding in May. I wanted to be much LESS pregnant at her wedding. I also did not want to be pregnant until the bitter end of August. J was forced to sleep in a parka while I blasted the air conditioning in May with my last pregnancy. Since then we had a new heating and cooling system installed that is energy efficient, so I can turn the house into a meat locker much more inexpensively this time. Yay technology.
Here's the thing: last time I had a baby, things didn't go exactly as planned. My water broke at 36 weeks, and it was discovered upon arrival at the hospital that A was breech. So I had a c-section. Which now gives me a choice to make: how do I want to deliver this baby? I have two choices, either a repeat c-section or a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesaerean). Gone are the days when a repeat c-section was the norm
Anyway, I'm pregnant. And I'm excited about it. This was not unplanned, although the exact timing was a surprise. Bottom line: I'm going to be 6 months pregnant at my sister's wedding in May. I wanted to be much LESS pregnant at her wedding. I also did not want to be pregnant until the bitter end of August. J was forced to sleep in a parka while I blasted the air conditioning in May with my last pregnancy. Since then we had a new heating and cooling system installed that is energy efficient, so I can turn the house into a meat locker much more inexpensively this time. Yay technology.
Here's the thing: last time I had a baby, things didn't go exactly as planned. My water broke at 36 weeks, and it was discovered upon arrival at the hospital that A was breech. So I had a c-section. Which now gives me a choice to make: how do I want to deliver this baby? I have two choices, either a repeat c-section or a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesaerean). Gone are the days when a repeat c-section was the norm
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
I don't know the definition of "professional"...
I mentioned in my first post that I am a part-time SAT tutor. Well, I WAS a part-time SAT tutor. As of this evening I am a former part-time SAT tutor. A little over a year ago, I was laid off from my full-time job as an executive assistant, and while J and I decided that staying home with A would be my new full-time job, I knew I needed a little bit more stimulation on the side. So I searched Craigslist for something I could do a few hours a week that would offer me a chance to use my brain for more than PBJ sandwiches and laundry, and might net me a little pocket money. I found an ad for a local tutoring center that was looking for people with college degrees and high SAT scores to do one-on-one SAT tutoring. I sent an email, and moments later I received a response asking me to come in and take a practice SAT to see if I qualified. Two days later I had my first student.
I am not by training a teacher. When I was in college (and in fact until I took this tutoring job), I had NO IDEA what I wanted to be when I grew up. So I pursued the only thing that I knew I would enjoy studying for four years: History. Then I graduated and discovered that people with a B.A. in History make excellent executive assistants, but without a post-graduate degree or a teaching certification, can't expect to do much in the history field. I toyed with the idea of going back for my Master's or getting a teaching cert., but I honestly didn't know what I'd do with a Master's, and I wasn't sure I'd enjoy teaching. I tend to like kids on a case-by-case basis, and I wasn't sure whether I could like them enough to be surrounded by them for 8 hours a day. Then I started tutoring, and I knew I'd found my calling. I LOVED IT.
So for the past year, I've been spending between 2 and 6 hours a week doing something I really enjoy: teaching. I made the decision to go back to school next year and get my teaching certification combined with my Master's, and in the meantime I was loving the little taste I was getting of my future career. Then the Education Director at the center quit. She was an amazingly organized and capable administrator, as well as being a great teacher, so it's no wonder that she was stolen away to teach 3rd grade in Virginia, but losing her was a disaster for the center. Instead of replacing her, the Center Director, L, decided that she and her assistant director would take over her duties on top of their own. Suddenly, schedules were late, messed up, or non-existent, teachers were matched with students who needed tutoring in subjects they didn't teach, and vaguely hostile emails started flying around about things like not wearing sandals to work and using breath mints. My easy and rewarding little side project stopped being about going in and spending a few hours teaching and more about trying to decipher new schedule rules, figuring out if I was scheduled at all, and fumbling through a session with a student who needed Biology help (did I mention that I was a History major? I should probably also mention that I barely eeked out a B- in Biology). As we headed into month 3 of this confusing administrative mess, with no end in sight, I started to consider whether what I was putting up with from management was worth it for the couple of hours a week that I actually enjoyed my work. But I did still enjoy it on those rare occasions when I was matched with a student I could actually help, so I was putting off making a decision.
And then this afternoon a new email arrived. It was more than vaguely hostile in tone, and the gist was that the teachers were responsible for the bulk of the scheduling issues, and more new scheduling rules were going into effect. I found this pretty ridiculous, especially since we hadn't actually gotten a schedule in 2 weeks and were getting our assigned hours by email the night before we were to work. How was this the fault of the teachers? We turned in our availability as required, using the document required, by the deadline required, yet they couldn't seem to get a weekly schedule together, and this was our fault? That made my decision for me. The people who teach at the center are dedicated, hard-working individuals who have made concession after concession in the wake of these administrative changes, and now they were being blamed for the problems. The center was no longer a place that I wanted to work. So I quit.
I was scheduled to work tonight from 6 to 8pm, and I arrived 15 minutes early so I could tender my resignation. I let the assistant center director know that this would be my last session, and thanked her for all of her help. A few minutes later, I saw that one of the center owners was at the front desk, so I wanted to thank her as well for the opportunity to work there. I went over to her, explained that this would be my last shift, and thanked her. She then asked me why I was leaving. I tried to gloss over my main complaints and said simply that the scheduling issues were too much for me with a 2 year old to find a babysitter for, and I just felt that it wasn't worth it for me right now. She said she understood, and then asked if there was anything in particular that was bothering me. And then I made a decision (probably a bad decision, but oh well). Most of the other tutors at the center are out of work teachers or others who need their job, so no one else was going to speak up about the accusatory email. The emails and other tensions were going to continue, and no one was going to be able to voice their complaints without risking their job. I had just quit. What were they going to do, fire me? So I dove in and told the owner about that day's email, and that I found it to be unfair to the teachers and very hostile in tone. The owner said she hadn't seen the email, but that I should understand that L is under a lot of pressure, and probably didn't mean the email to be taken badly. I agreed, but said that it was just the last straw for me, although I had really enjoyed working there nonetheless. The owner thanked me, and said that she hoped that when the administrative stuff got worked out that I would consider coming back.
I thought that was the end of it. My students arrived (another side effect of the regime change: sticking one tutor with 2 or 3 students because they'd neglected to schedule enough tutors), and I started working with them. Then 10 minutes later, L walked by and demanded to see me in her office immediately. I wondered, a little naively I admit, if after speaking to the owner she realized how her email was perceived and wanted to clear things up. I was wrong. She told me that there was nothing wrong with her email, that she'd made plenty of concessions for me in the past (A was sick and I had to call out a few times. It happens.) and I was incredibly ungrateful. I was also unprofessional for bringing up the email with the owner instead of coming directly to L. If I wanted to quit, then I could get my stuff and leave. Oh, and once again, I'm unprofessional. This was all said in a loud, carrying voice, with the office door open and parents outside waiting to see L. When she was finished her tirade about my unprofessionalism, she stared at me challengingly, as though daring me to object. I simply said, "Ok." I turned and walked back to my students, gathered my belongings, thanked the owner once again, and left.
Here's what I know I did wrong: I was honest. I was asked a question, and I decided to tell the truth, even though I knew it could be taken badly. I could have stuck with the "scheduling issues" line, and gotten out clean, able to finish my last shift without becoming a topic of gossip. And if they ever did get the administrative issues ironed out, I could have gone back and started working with students again, stigma free. I mean, who knows if my honesty made any difference for the other teachers? Clearly it made no difference to L; she sees nothing wrong with treating the teachers as one more annoyance in a long list. But I hope it at least opened the owner's eyes, even a tiny crack, to the fact that the atmosphere has become toxic and there are teachers willing to jump ship over it. I don't regret what I did. It ends here for me; I quit, I explained why, and I left with dignity. L demonstrated to a crowd of paying parents, and through the gossip mill 43 other tutors, that she would rather berate her teachers and tell them to leave than work through any issues. There were no winners here, but I sure don't feel like a loser. ;)
I am not by training a teacher. When I was in college (and in fact until I took this tutoring job), I had NO IDEA what I wanted to be when I grew up. So I pursued the only thing that I knew I would enjoy studying for four years: History. Then I graduated and discovered that people with a B.A. in History make excellent executive assistants, but without a post-graduate degree or a teaching certification, can't expect to do much in the history field. I toyed with the idea of going back for my Master's or getting a teaching cert., but I honestly didn't know what I'd do with a Master's, and I wasn't sure I'd enjoy teaching. I tend to like kids on a case-by-case basis, and I wasn't sure whether I could like them enough to be surrounded by them for 8 hours a day. Then I started tutoring, and I knew I'd found my calling. I LOVED IT.
So for the past year, I've been spending between 2 and 6 hours a week doing something I really enjoy: teaching. I made the decision to go back to school next year and get my teaching certification combined with my Master's, and in the meantime I was loving the little taste I was getting of my future career. Then the Education Director at the center quit. She was an amazingly organized and capable administrator, as well as being a great teacher, so it's no wonder that she was stolen away to teach 3rd grade in Virginia, but losing her was a disaster for the center. Instead of replacing her, the Center Director, L, decided that she and her assistant director would take over her duties on top of their own. Suddenly, schedules were late, messed up, or non-existent, teachers were matched with students who needed tutoring in subjects they didn't teach, and vaguely hostile emails started flying around about things like not wearing sandals to work and using breath mints. My easy and rewarding little side project stopped being about going in and spending a few hours teaching and more about trying to decipher new schedule rules, figuring out if I was scheduled at all, and fumbling through a session with a student who needed Biology help (did I mention that I was a History major? I should probably also mention that I barely eeked out a B- in Biology). As we headed into month 3 of this confusing administrative mess, with no end in sight, I started to consider whether what I was putting up with from management was worth it for the couple of hours a week that I actually enjoyed my work. But I did still enjoy it on those rare occasions when I was matched with a student I could actually help, so I was putting off making a decision.
And then this afternoon a new email arrived. It was more than vaguely hostile in tone, and the gist was that the teachers were responsible for the bulk of the scheduling issues, and more new scheduling rules were going into effect. I found this pretty ridiculous, especially since we hadn't actually gotten a schedule in 2 weeks and were getting our assigned hours by email the night before we were to work. How was this the fault of the teachers? We turned in our availability as required, using the document required, by the deadline required, yet they couldn't seem to get a weekly schedule together, and this was our fault? That made my decision for me. The people who teach at the center are dedicated, hard-working individuals who have made concession after concession in the wake of these administrative changes, and now they were being blamed for the problems. The center was no longer a place that I wanted to work. So I quit.
I was scheduled to work tonight from 6 to 8pm, and I arrived 15 minutes early so I could tender my resignation. I let the assistant center director know that this would be my last session, and thanked her for all of her help. A few minutes later, I saw that one of the center owners was at the front desk, so I wanted to thank her as well for the opportunity to work there. I went over to her, explained that this would be my last shift, and thanked her. She then asked me why I was leaving. I tried to gloss over my main complaints and said simply that the scheduling issues were too much for me with a 2 year old to find a babysitter for, and I just felt that it wasn't worth it for me right now. She said she understood, and then asked if there was anything in particular that was bothering me. And then I made a decision (probably a bad decision, but oh well). Most of the other tutors at the center are out of work teachers or others who need their job, so no one else was going to speak up about the accusatory email. The emails and other tensions were going to continue, and no one was going to be able to voice their complaints without risking their job. I had just quit. What were they going to do, fire me? So I dove in and told the owner about that day's email, and that I found it to be unfair to the teachers and very hostile in tone. The owner said she hadn't seen the email, but that I should understand that L is under a lot of pressure, and probably didn't mean the email to be taken badly. I agreed, but said that it was just the last straw for me, although I had really enjoyed working there nonetheless. The owner thanked me, and said that she hoped that when the administrative stuff got worked out that I would consider coming back.
I thought that was the end of it. My students arrived (another side effect of the regime change: sticking one tutor with 2 or 3 students because they'd neglected to schedule enough tutors), and I started working with them. Then 10 minutes later, L walked by and demanded to see me in her office immediately. I wondered, a little naively I admit, if after speaking to the owner she realized how her email was perceived and wanted to clear things up. I was wrong. She told me that there was nothing wrong with her email, that she'd made plenty of concessions for me in the past (A was sick and I had to call out a few times. It happens.) and I was incredibly ungrateful. I was also unprofessional for bringing up the email with the owner instead of coming directly to L. If I wanted to quit, then I could get my stuff and leave. Oh, and once again, I'm unprofessional. This was all said in a loud, carrying voice, with the office door open and parents outside waiting to see L. When she was finished her tirade about my unprofessionalism, she stared at me challengingly, as though daring me to object. I simply said, "Ok." I turned and walked back to my students, gathered my belongings, thanked the owner once again, and left.
Here's what I know I did wrong: I was honest. I was asked a question, and I decided to tell the truth, even though I knew it could be taken badly. I could have stuck with the "scheduling issues" line, and gotten out clean, able to finish my last shift without becoming a topic of gossip. And if they ever did get the administrative issues ironed out, I could have gone back and started working with students again, stigma free. I mean, who knows if my honesty made any difference for the other teachers? Clearly it made no difference to L; she sees nothing wrong with treating the teachers as one more annoyance in a long list. But I hope it at least opened the owner's eyes, even a tiny crack, to the fact that the atmosphere has become toxic and there are teachers willing to jump ship over it. I don't regret what I did. It ends here for me; I quit, I explained why, and I left with dignity. L demonstrated to a crowd of paying parents, and through the gossip mill 43 other tutors, that she would rather berate her teachers and tell them to leave than work through any issues. There were no winners here, but I sure don't feel like a loser. ;)
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