Thanks MONEYPENNEY, for posting pix of the Chelsea Handler event. I'm almost famous yet again! My daughter, Iris, was definitely in the limelight (appropriately so.) I do think my legs look pretty nice in one of the shots, though LOL!
detroiter MOTORCITYBLOG.net motorcity motorcityblog detroit music art events: This Week In Moneypenny: Chelsea Handler
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
do i have to?
Sadly, I wish I was writing a pithy little post about my whiny three year old, but alas, this post is in response to my whiny students that simply act like three year olds.
Over the last several weeks, a growing number of students have asked the question, "Do I need to stay for this?" Other students will ask, "Do I need to come to class?" or "Can I leave?" or, "Will you tell me what we're doing on ______?
How does a teacher respond to these questions?
My response is generally one of surprise, dismay, and then finally, reluctance to reply. I usually say something like, "Do what you think is best. Of course you can leave class. I can't make you do anything. This is a college, not a high school. I am a teacher, not a jail warden." Their usual response, of course, is to flee the scene faster than a pack of chubby toddlers would chase after a spongebob squarepants DVD set.
At any rate, these questions depress me. When I was in college as an undergrad, I was scared of my professors. Not scared, like 'ewww, you're frightening," but generally sort of respectful of their rules and schedule. If I skipped a class (and boy did I), I would always return sheepishly, apologetically. If I missed an assignment, I knew I was screwed! There was no begging the teacher for an extension (though in retrospect, perhaps I could have).
Maybe it's me. I want the students to like me, because generally, I like them! I meet a lot of nice, interesting students, from all walks of life. But I think my teaching style is a little too close to my parenting style. I start out like a hard ass, all rules and regulations, and no missed papers, but in the end, I'm a big softy... Maybe I need to be a little more scary myself!
In the end, the students skip the class. I take them on a trip to the library for research, and while some seriously thumb through encyclopedias, while others carelessly grab a coffee and hang out with their friends. I say let's discuss our research papers for bonus points, and ten people leave the class because in their mind, the conversation wasn't mandatory.
In the end, the people that keep coming back will pass. Those that leave and skip assignments fail. Is it natural selection? Is it the dumbing down of society? Or, is it just sheer laziness?
Over the last several weeks, a growing number of students have asked the question, "Do I need to stay for this?" Other students will ask, "Do I need to come to class?" or "Can I leave?" or, "Will you tell me what we're doing on ______?
How does a teacher respond to these questions?
My response is generally one of surprise, dismay, and then finally, reluctance to reply. I usually say something like, "Do what you think is best. Of course you can leave class. I can't make you do anything. This is a college, not a high school. I am a teacher, not a jail warden." Their usual response, of course, is to flee the scene faster than a pack of chubby toddlers would chase after a spongebob squarepants DVD set.
At any rate, these questions depress me. When I was in college as an undergrad, I was scared of my professors. Not scared, like 'ewww, you're frightening," but generally sort of respectful of their rules and schedule. If I skipped a class (and boy did I), I would always return sheepishly, apologetically. If I missed an assignment, I knew I was screwed! There was no begging the teacher for an extension (though in retrospect, perhaps I could have).
Maybe it's me. I want the students to like me, because generally, I like them! I meet a lot of nice, interesting students, from all walks of life. But I think my teaching style is a little too close to my parenting style. I start out like a hard ass, all rules and regulations, and no missed papers, but in the end, I'm a big softy... Maybe I need to be a little more scary myself!
In the end, the students skip the class. I take them on a trip to the library for research, and while some seriously thumb through encyclopedias, while others carelessly grab a coffee and hang out with their friends. I say let's discuss our research papers for bonus points, and ten people leave the class because in their mind, the conversation wasn't mandatory.
In the end, the people that keep coming back will pass. Those that leave and skip assignments fail. Is it natural selection? Is it the dumbing down of society? Or, is it just sheer laziness?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Technology, Mothering, and Breast Pumps, Oh My!
As I sit here typing, I'm technically playing hooky from work. Unfortunately, the only reason I'm not at work is because I had to rush to my son's school in between jobs to pick him up. Alas, the poor lad vomited at school. I had no qualms about missing work. I suppose it goes to show that no matter what, I am a mother first, and professor second.
That being said, I sort of have to laugh at how I have to incorporate my mothering duties into my professional gigs. I've breast-fed all three of my kids. I'm used to it; I think it's much easier than making a bottle, and must cheaper, too. Additionally, it's better for the kids: body, mind, and [arguably] soul.
At any rate, I have to pump my breasts at each of the colleges I work at. I'm sure if I approached any one of my bosses about finding a suitable location to do such, they would grant me access to some small coat closet or dingy janitor's room to perform my lactation rituals. Alas, I am too much of a baby myself to even ask them. Sorry, but something about approaching my big, burly boss man at college A, or even my passive, ultra quiet boss dude at job B is just too overwhelming for me. I think if once I mention the B-word in front of either of these two guys, that's all they are going to think of me when we run into each other in the hall. Like, hey, there goes boob-pumping lady. What's her name again? Damn, her boobies are big...is she leaking? What is that?
So, I've resorted to pumping in the john. Yes, nasty, I know. Not the most cleanly of spots to be preparing my beloved infant's meals. I've had many a malfunction...dropping bottles and breast shields into the no (wo)man's land of bathroom floors. Icck... But, what do I do? A woman I met told me she used to sit in her car, drape a coat over her chest, and pump in the college parking lot. It's far too cold for that here in mid-Michigan.
As I sit here, waxing poetic about pumping and waiting for my son to purge in the bucket, I can't help but think how far I have come.
That being said, I sort of have to laugh at how I have to incorporate my mothering duties into my professional gigs. I've breast-fed all three of my kids. I'm used to it; I think it's much easier than making a bottle, and must cheaper, too. Additionally, it's better for the kids: body, mind, and [arguably] soul.
At any rate, I have to pump my breasts at each of the colleges I work at. I'm sure if I approached any one of my bosses about finding a suitable location to do such, they would grant me access to some small coat closet or dingy janitor's room to perform my lactation rituals. Alas, I am too much of a baby myself to even ask them. Sorry, but something about approaching my big, burly boss man at college A, or even my passive, ultra quiet boss dude at job B is just too overwhelming for me. I think if once I mention the B-word in front of either of these two guys, that's all they are going to think of me when we run into each other in the hall. Like, hey, there goes boob-pumping lady. What's her name again? Damn, her boobies are big...is she leaking? What is that?
So, I've resorted to pumping in the john. Yes, nasty, I know. Not the most cleanly of spots to be preparing my beloved infant's meals. I've had many a malfunction...dropping bottles and breast shields into the no (wo)man's land of bathroom floors. Icck... But, what do I do? A woman I met told me she used to sit in her car, drape a coat over her chest, and pump in the college parking lot. It's far too cold for that here in mid-Michigan.
As I sit here, waxing poetic about pumping and waiting for my son to purge in the bucket, I can't help but think how far I have come.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
no one said parenting is easy
i recently watched an evening news special on adoptive parents "returning" their Russian children back to their motherland. Children are not a pair of shoes to be taken back to a store. They are not an impulse purchase. They are human beings, and as the cliche goes, no one ever said being a parent is easy.
I understand that many of these Russian children are not "perfect." Many have a host of mental problems including ADHD, ADD, and fetal alcohol syndrome. This is all the more reason to the love them.
During the special I watched, an adoptive parent videotaped her "daughter," who was obviously in distress, as the young child cried and paced 'round the house. It was obvious that the girl needed comforting, yet the parents taped the incident like you would record the noises a lemon car would make. The parents said, "we wanted proof of how terrible she was acting." What I didn't notice in the video was compassion or a parent entering the frame to help settle the child down. The child was clearly have a panic attack and needed help, not labeling or documentation to show what was wrong with the parents' "purchase."
The news report (I'm pretty sure it was on DATELINE) showed a variety of other adoptive parents saying how rough its been with their adoptive children. Parenting them is such a challenge. The kids have meltdowns. What I wanted to scream back is that, parenting is difficult whether you adopt the children or birth them yourself. There is no perfect child. All kids have meltdowns, regardless of age. Again, I realize that these children suffer from a plethora of problems, but what did the American parents think? Did they assume that they would whisk these children away from Russia and all of their old wounds and fears would simply vanish? Did it ever occur to the adoptive parents that perhaps the children might be scarred from spending their formative years in a cold institution?
These parents seemed to think because these adoptions had high price tags that they were guaranteed the perfect child. How ludicrous. It seems our capitalist ways have even affected our parenting. Buy the perfect child. If it doesn't meet your needs, take "it" back.
I understand that many of these Russian children are not "perfect." Many have a host of mental problems including ADHD, ADD, and fetal alcohol syndrome. This is all the more reason to the love them.
During the special I watched, an adoptive parent videotaped her "daughter," who was obviously in distress, as the young child cried and paced 'round the house. It was obvious that the girl needed comforting, yet the parents taped the incident like you would record the noises a lemon car would make. The parents said, "we wanted proof of how terrible she was acting." What I didn't notice in the video was compassion or a parent entering the frame to help settle the child down. The child was clearly have a panic attack and needed help, not labeling or documentation to show what was wrong with the parents' "purchase."
The news report (I'm pretty sure it was on DATELINE) showed a variety of other adoptive parents saying how rough its been with their adoptive children. Parenting them is such a challenge. The kids have meltdowns. What I wanted to scream back is that, parenting is difficult whether you adopt the children or birth them yourself. There is no perfect child. All kids have meltdowns, regardless of age. Again, I realize that these children suffer from a plethora of problems, but what did the American parents think? Did they assume that they would whisk these children away from Russia and all of their old wounds and fears would simply vanish? Did it ever occur to the adoptive parents that perhaps the children might be scarred from spending their formative years in a cold institution?
These parents seemed to think because these adoptions had high price tags that they were guaranteed the perfect child. How ludicrous. It seems our capitalist ways have even affected our parenting. Buy the perfect child. If it doesn't meet your needs, take "it" back.
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