Why I don't understand New Year's resolutions

I don't dislike the new year; I just don't care about the new year.

If other people want to celebrate it, then good for them, although I have to make a small little snarky remark about its arbitrariness and the fact that most people set ridiculous goals for themselves that they will almost immediately decide are too difficult to actually attain.

It's not that I don't like goal-setting.
I actually do like to set goals, but I think it is better to set goals for things I actually enjoy doing and want to do.
Like reading and traveling.

I've also learned that setting goals sometimes has adverse effects.

A couple of years ago, I set a goal to read 50 books during the year, which sounds like a great "make yourself a better/smarter/more well-rounded person" goal.

The problem was that by September, I was reading books, not for the sheer joy of reading books, but
with the "50 BOOK GOAL" hanging over my head every second.

I did make my goal but it kinda sucked, which I hadn't anticipated.

That was the first and last time I set a quantitative goal for myself related to reading.
Since then, I've set a 1-book goal, selecting a book I haven't read but think would be good for me to read.
Last year was Robert Penn Warren's All the King's Men.
This year, it's another Pulitzer Prize-winner: Gone With the Wind.
I'd like to finish it by spring break, but I've got the entire year.

I don't set lofty goals to do things I don't want to do, like go to the gym.

My goal is to make it to the gym one-time per month since I would be willing to shell out $15 for an hour at the gym if I could just show up and pay-as-I-go. If I end up making it to the gym twice in a month, I've reduced my cost for that hour to $7.50.

I do need to take the Praxis to finish up my high school certification, so I've set a deadline of March. I guess that is a goal, but I've given myself three months to get it done because I'm not eager to do it.

What I don't understand about New Year's resolving is that people seem to forget that THEY ARE STILL THE SAME PERSON with all the idiosyncrasies and oddities and quirks and hangups they had at 11:59 pm.

None of that changes in one minute.

It often feels boring and like I'm downer Debbie being a realist, but there are times, and New Year's is one of them when I'm really rather glad I don't look at the coming 12 months as something amazing and wonderful and dream-fulfilling.

There will almost certainly be moments when it feels like that, and those moments will be surrounded by chores and bullshit and aggravations and boredom and worry. 

It is finished....what to do

I completed what I consider a very successful long-term sub job on Friday.

The kids learned.
I learned.

My classes also ended up coming in 2nd place for can collection and 3rd place for cash collection for a major school service project for the community.
I had to go up during the school assembly and collect the prizes, while my junior students screamed and cheered, which was pretty stinking awesome.

N said she even cheered, "THAT'S MY MOM!!!"

(You might be a rock star if you're own kid gladly and loudly identifies you as his/her parent in front of the entire student body.)

While I'm not a sentimental person by nature, my heart does squeeze a little having to say goodbye to these kids. (Some of them are actually truly sad to see me go.)

Yesterday, I happened to run into a former teaching colleague who I was on a team with 15 years ago. I see her when I sub at my former middle school, but we got to catch up more than you do in the brief hallway flybys.

She is one of the folks who regularly asks, "When are you going back full-time."

I explained that if I went back full-time, I'd have to give up my freelance writing, which I enjoy and do well.
I tutor, which I'd have to give up.
I teach at the cottage school, which I'd have to give up.

I'm also investigating (with a book club friend) developing a podcast, and if I was full-time, I wouldn't have the time or energy for that.

Next month, I've promised a 2nd-grade teacher at my kids' school that I will come in to teach some writing lessons to her students, and full-time would mean I couldn't do some of the neat volunteer things I enjoy.

I've got plenty "to do."

My thoughts on late work in school, teenage brains, and wholeness

Up until recently, I had never turned in a freelance assignment late.

If I even suspect I might need a few extra days, which is mostly because I frequently having trouble getting sources to schedule an interview, I always request an extension. I end up turning in the assignments by or before the deadline, but I figure it's better to state my issues up front than be begging or apologizing on the backend.

This semester, however, with my subbing and cottage school and graduate class, I completely missed the deadline for an assignment.

By a week.

The only reason it didn't blow up in my face is that my editor also completely forgot she had assigned me the article.

When I realized my mistake, I emailed her, apologized profusely, and told her I would get it done that day. (And I did).

I have been thinking a lot about my experience during this long-term sub job.

Different teachers have different late-work policies for various reasons, and I understand and appreciate the reasoning behind these.

Teachers have so much grading to do anyway that to allow late work means they are in a constant state of adding grades. It makes it hard for a teacher to put any assignment "to bed" if they are constantly having to go back in and add grades that were turned in late. Accepting late work also makes the students who do turn work in on-time feel like they are working hard for nothing: Why am I busting my butt to turn things in on time?

Especially in high school, having a no late work policy makes sense for students who will be heading to college. I don't remember a single college professor who allowed late work (although I always turned things in on-time, so maybe they did, and I just never knew).

I think when I taught full-time I had a late work policy whereby I would deduct a certain amount of points for a certain number of days. After 2-3 days late, I didn't accept it.

Even if a teacher doesn't accept late work, he/she almost certainly has students with 504 plans or IEPs who, at the end of the semester, are playing catch-up. And if a teacher has a 3-page list of students with failing grades at the end of the semester, he/she will likely allow some work to be submitted late to appease parents or administrators (to check the box that they are "intervening" on behalf of the students).

Ultimately, even if you have a zero late work policy, in some form or fashion, you are dealing with late work. Students who have an excused absence are allowed the number of days they missed plus one to submit late work. Late work is simply the nature of the beast in education.

The other night, while attending N's orchestra concert at her school where I have been subbing, I noticed a kid in one of my AP classes who performs in the "top" orchestra group. This kid is a polite, nice kid who also happens to struggle with turning things in one time (I don't know him well enough or long enough to know if this is a normal thing or what). His mom introduced herself to me (since I had made contact with her via email).

I could look at this kid as "lazy" or "irresponsible" or "scatter-brained," but seeing him perform in the top orchestra group (for which students have to audition), reminded me that seeing him for 50 minutes each day doesn't sum up his entire personhood.

It reminded me of the fullness of these teenagers. They aren't just one class or one grade. Even if their grade is garbage in one class, they have other classes and other responsibilities. Many have jobs (where I'm pretty certain they are learning the value of doing things on-time) or sports teams (where showing up on-time is also critical and where there is a penalty for not being on-time).

I have noticed the danger of zero tolerance late-work policies, which is that students may just stop trying, or they may cheat in order to turn work in on-time.

I have caught at least 6 students cheating because they forgot an assignment and were given the answers by a friend. I didn't give them zeroes, but I made them do the assignment again on their own.

No late work also makes kids give up if they even think they are going to be late. It encourages them to take the path of least resistance, which is not to do the work at all. If they think they'll be late, what incentive is there to do the work if it isn't going to count for anything?

So I have had to think to myself, "What is my goal in the classroom with them?" and my goal is for them to 1. Learn and 2. Do the Work On Their Own.

The truth is that I don't actually begin grading their work the day it is assigned, so why should I be a hard-ass about a due date when it may take me an additional 3 days or 5 days or 7 days to even find the time to look at the assignment?

It is probably too loosey-goosey, but I figure if it is turned in by the time I grade it, then it is on-time.

The benefit of extending grace to these kids is that on the occasions when I might need to be a hard-ass, they might be more willing to remember the grace I extended to them and think, "Ms. ___ was flexible with me so I am going to be flexible with her."

As the parent of a fairly responsible gifted-and-talented teenager in a stable, upper-middle class, high parent-involvement home, I am well aware that even the most responsible kids forget or get distracted or have a week in which they have just.too.much going on.

This necessitates I think about the non-G&T kids who are more irresponsible in unstable, non-upper middle class, low-parent involvement homes.

I also have to remember that these kids' pre-frontal cortexes aren't fully formed yet and won't stop forming until they are around 24 years old. The PFC controls executive function---including decision-making, working towards defined goals, determining consequences, and predicting outcomes.

Sometimes I think what we ask of these kids is nearly impossible given what their brains are actually capable of.

I'm still alive (Day "I don't even know" of the long-term sub stint)

This long-term sub position has been a great learning experience.

I have learned so much about rhetorical analysis from throwing myself into it and finding ways to explore and explain it to my students.

See, I even call them "my students."

I really, really, REALLY enjoy working with them. Even the turds (who usually only seem like turds because they need more hand-holding than what can realistically be given to them in a class with 28 or 31 students.)

I really, really, REALLY hate grading 150 papers a week (assuming I've only assigned them one thing to write, which is a joke. English teachers assign many more writing activities).

I might actually be drowning in papers as I type this.

I've had two in-person parent conferences.
More parent emails than I can count.
Emails to and from counselors and ECE coordinators.
Times when I've let kids come to the classroom to work on stuff during lunch.
Times when I've let kids come to the classroom after school.

I've written tests.
I've planned finals.
I've created lessons.
I've produced my own examples for kids to use as models.

The other English teachers tell me I'm a great teacher.

I know.
This long-term job has helped me realize that I am choosing to be a part-time teacher, but just because I'm part-time doesn't mean I don't kick ass.

Don't send nudie pictures and other advice I'd give

Once upon a time, I put mothers on a pedestal, which means I put myself on a pedestal of perfection when I had N.

I could not stay on that pedestal.
Having a first baby after 6+ years of marriage and leaving behind my career and being a perfectionist with extraordinarily high expectations of motherhood was a recipe for emotional disaster.
I am not perfect, and I cannot achieve the extremely high expectations I put on myself.
Every day, I am still learning how to live with not always being able to live up to the goals I put on myself.

So my expectations have modulated, but I still think parents should walk the walk.
If they expect their children to behave in certain ways, they should model that.

If you don't want your children to drink to excess, YOU do not drink to excess.
If you want your children to take their education seriously, YOU take your and their education seriously.
If you don't want your children to be chronic complainers, YOU should not be a chronic complainer.
If you don't want your kids to be slobs, YOU should not be a slob.

I hold these same expectations for church ministers and teachers because their entire existence is working with others to strive for betterment.

Perhaps that is unfair; they are human after all.

I had a bit of an embarrassing situation this semester during my grad class when a teacher inadvertently showed me a picture of herself in a bra when she was swiping on her phone to show me something that was not herself in a bra. This would have been weird enough but she then told me it was a picture she'd texted her boyfriend.

Now, I am not much of a selfie taker ever, and I'm definitely not a nudie or half-nudie selfie taker. If D ever took such a picture of me, he'd have to dig his testicles from his esophagus.
But that's me.
Consenting adults can do as they want.
(I'd just prefer not to accidentally be a part of what other consenting adults do.)

What I would recommend, though, is the following:
1. delete these pictures so you don't unintentionally share them with more-or-less strangers.
2. be very careful of the advice you give young people or children about what to do because you could, like the pictures, unintentionally give them advice that you yourself do not follow. And if they find out, they will lose all respect for you (if they haven't already because kids are exceptionally good at deciphering bullshit and/or hypocrisy).

On the plus side of this weird situation, it did provide me an opening to discuss nudie photos and the aftermath with my teenage daughter.
It was nice to have an anecdote to tell her before I launched into a lecture.

Like full-time

I have worked 5 days of the long-term subbing job.
I have access to the grades.
I am planning the lessons.
I am giving feedback.
I am having students ask for my help.

I am also having conversations like this:
Student: "Why did you give me a zero for independent reading?"
Me: "Because you were sleeping."
Student: "But only for a minute."
Me: "Imagine how long you would have slept if I hadn't woken you up. You have to read, or pretend to read, for ten minutes."
What I did not say: "If you can't stay awake and/or pretend to read for ten minutes, you deserve a zero."

I have told myself that this job will be a good reminder for me of what it was like back when I worked full-time, as well as what it might be like if I worked full-time now with kids.

The principal introduced herself to me today and asked if I would be coming back full-time.
I wanted to answer: "Only if you'll hire me to work here."
But my response was, "Not for a while because we don't have transportation here, and my daughter is a freshman, and I can't work across the county and get her here and home each day."

What I'm remembering is that I am not good at turning OFF the teaching.
I keep looking for rubrics or lessons or activity ideas.
I keep writing myself notes of what I need to do tomorrow or the next day.
I'm thinking about the job when I'm not at the job.
My dining room table is filled with papers to be graded.
Such is full-time teaching.

What has felt hard is trying to schedule life around teaching, like getting M to his post-op ENT appointment.
Racing out the school door, dropping kids off at my house to be picked up by their parents, racing to M's school for pick-up, racing to the ENT.

I haven't been anything like full-time in nearly 15 years.

When I was explaining that this feels hard for me, someone replied, "Well, that's what every working parent experiences."

This person is right, except for the fact that this person is a man, and I'm 95% certain he hasn't made a habit of taking off work to take his child to the doctor or get her to afternoon/evening activities.
I assume he did do these things with his older children, but that is because he was divorced from their mother. I think had he been married to her, the bulk of the post-school child wrangling would have fallen to her (maybe it did anyway).

There is a part of me that asks myself if I'm crazy for actively trying to have a busy professional life that does not involve working full-time.
Full-time work would feel easier in a lot of ways.
I wouldn't have to ask "Where am I today?" and "What am I working on today? Subbing, cottage school, freelancing? Do I tutor tonight?"
Puzzling together part-time jobs is difficult in a weird way. It pays little considering how much time I give to it, but it gives me flexibility, which full-time employment does not.

What crazy things I will do in the name of "flexibility."

I often have to remind myself that non-full-time work also gives me a certain benefit called "active enjoyment of living" for both me and my family.

Me taking care of the bulk of home and kid stuff means D doesn't have to after work.
It adds to his active enjoyment of his non-work hours.
I have the energy to go to book club and occasionally make it to the gym and volunteer at the kids' schools and go to lunch with my parents.
I have a certain amount of "availability" that is valuable in and of itself.

And that's not nothing.

There are probably a lot of people who could work part-time and who would work part-time, but it isn't an option.
Or they have gotten used to their lifestyle and activities and costs and think they can't change anything.
Or they have taken on expenses that require them to work full-time.

And there are those families in which both parents have to work. But I think many of the people I know are people who think they have to, but they don't. They have confused their wants and their needs, as a lot of middle-class families seem to.
Private school, in most cases, is a want, not a need.
Having a newer car is a want, not a need.
Going on vacation every year is a want.
Remodeling the basement is a want.
Having a house at the lake is a want.
Having a boat is a want.

Teaching an economics class at the cottage school this year has forced me to delve back into opportunity costs and the truth that "there is no such thing as a free lunch."

The book nerd version of "Show us your t*ts"

The other day I wondered to myself how many books we have in our house.

Given that I've been writing about heavy topics of late, I thought I'd indulge my lighter side and pay homage to books.

I decided to go through my house and snap a photo of every place I find a book.

I started with the main floor:

 The dining room table (also my makeshift office)

The other side of the dining room table 

 My purse

 My desk in the kitchen

(Actually, there is a Jodi Picoult novel on my desk, too.)

 The living room

The bookcase by the front door

The upper floor where our bedrooms are:

 N's bookcase

N's bedside table

The boys' bookcase

Books in bins on the floor in the boys' room.

Book on boys' dresser.

Table in my bedroom

D's bedside table

 Book on a desk in my bedroom (I work in a lot of rooms in the house)

My bedside table

The basement:

 My bookcase

 D's sci-fi/fantasy books

Under the steps closet for miscellaneous books

A few years ago I actually got rid of a lot of books from college because I decided to only keep books I love.  I have sold or given away many children's books as the kids have outgrown them because there is only so much room in our house. D actually reads mostly ebooks, so we would have more if he didn't do that. I'm also a big library user, so I borrow regularly, which also cuts down on the books we own. 

See, I feel like I'm offering excuses for why my book hoarding behavior could be worse. 

Still, if there is any truth to articles like this, I think we're setting our kids up well. 

Voting

I vote in every election because I want a say in my government. No one has ever accused me of being an optimist (because I generally am not), but I believe my voice counts. Even if it doesn't make a decisive difference, it is valuable and counts because it is mine, and I think I'm very important.

I vote in every election because women before me fought to give me the right to vote. It hasn't even been 100 years since women were allowed to vote.

I vote in every election to set a good example for my children.

I do not vote in every election because my friends and family tell me to.
I do not vote because social media is blowing the heck up with people demanding that I vote or haranguing me to vote.

To be perfectly plain, it actually bugs me to see every single person I know urging me to vote.
It makes me not want to vote.

I am a bit very much hella contrarian and, perhaps, this is why I enjoy being around middle and high schoolers.
They are contrarians, too.
I understand them in this way.

Here is the thing--when I experience someone urging me to do something, and that something is typically political or religious because those are two things people often feel strongly about, I think to myself,
"Are you aware that you are strongly urging me to vote or find God because your bias assumes that I am going to vote the same way you do or find God the same way you do?"

Here is where the non-optimist part of me comes through--based on my experience on both ends of this. I do not believe that people are urging me to do things out of an abundance of neutral sentiment.

People generally urge others to do something because they expect others to do as they do and feel as they feel.

Once upon a time, I was a very strong breastfeeding supporter, and I still think breast is the best thing a baby can get. If and when I urged women to breastfeed by saying, "Are you trying breastfeeding?" or "Are you going to breastfeed?," I wasn't urging them to "just try it" or "do it for 3 weeks." Inside my head, I was urging them to do it for a full 12 months without any formula, and even longer since that is what the World Health Organization says. I wanted them to be as committed to breastfeeding as I was.

What I said and what I thought and expected were vastly different things.

When people have urged me to visit their church or seek God, they have not done so thinking that I'm going to believe in my own loosey-goosey, skeptical way. That I'm going to believe in kick-ass Jesus and not necessarily a literal translation of the bible.

They want me to full-on "COME TO JESUS" and be an evangelical and sing his praises on high and wear shirts that say, "I LOVE MY CHURCH" and believe every word of the bible is right, true, and not to be critically analyzed.

And I can't help but think that when people urge others to vote, they are doing it in part because their bias is that others are going to vote as they do.

My summary of my semester (and yes, I'm turning it in this way, shade and all)

I became a teacher in 2000, earning my MAT at B-----,
and have kept it valid for the past 18 years, which
has required me to take numerous graduate classes.
Although I have not taught full-time since 2004, I work as 
a substitute teacher for --- and have taught at E--- C----
C--- S---- since 2012. I also work as a freelance writer
and have been regularly published for the past eight years.

All of these experiences, combined, give me a number of
strengths as a high school English teacher. While I haven’t
been officially trained as an AP College Board teacher,
I modeled my E----- high school class on the AP
Literature and Composition class, creating lesson
plans that challenge and interest students. As a
professional writer, I know what good writing
is and the questions to ask to get students to produce
their best writing. As a substitute teacher,
I have learned how to quickly assess a room for student
needs and behaviors, as well as how
to de-escalate a situation.

However, not being in the classroom has also led to
some deficiencies in my abilities. Not networking with
other teachers or doing professional development beyond
graduate class has kept me from specific techniques that
have come down the pike over the years (such as
RACE (Restate, Answer, Cite, and Explain) and
FANBOYS/AAAWWUBBIS. Because I only see my cottage school
students on Fridays, and they do the assignments at home,
it has gotten  me out of the habit of thinking about the specific minute steps of teaching writing. 

Since I am not intending to return full-time to teaching
within the next couple years, I will continue to do what
I have done in the past--research things on my own and pick
up assignments/ideas when I substitute teach. I also pick
up ideas when I tutor students. I recently “stole” a neat
independent reading assignment from a teacher at N---
(I tutor an 8th grader in English). I have modified this
assignment for my high school cottage students to use
when we read Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. A smart teacher
recognizes good ideas when she sees them and knows that
you don’t have to recreate the wheel all the time.

I am both excited and nervous about the long-term sub
job I will do at E---- in a few weeks because it is Language
and Composition, and this is not my strong suit
(due to lack of experience teaching it). I am taking
active steps to get myself up to speed, such as reading
5 Steps to a 5 and reviewing logical fallacies and lessons
on rhetorical analysis writing. For me, this is not just
a sub job but an opportunity to get out of my “comfort zone”
of teaching AP Literature and Composition-type coursework
with my cottage school students.

In terms of what elements in schools and about students need
to change, that is a hard question to answer. Cell phones in high schools are a constant battle for teachers, as is a
feeling of ennui among students, a sense of school being
a bore and a chore. I don’t know if this is because of
standardized testing or because of the constant addition
of “new” assessments(like the BoS) without a lessening
of everything else that students have to do. I think we ask
a lot of students without remembering that if education
isn’t enjoyable, it’s not going to stick anyway.

To be completely honest, I didn’t learn very much from
this experience of observing 90 hours. Working with high
school students is not the hands-on “helping” that is
working with elementary or even middle school students.
I basically sat and watched lessons being taught  over and over and over, and it was boring. Sure, I picked up a
couple tips or tricks, like learning about Rubistar or
Wheeldecide, but I don’t know that these snippets justify
90 hours of my time. Perhaps if I didn’t have teaching
experience both in ___ and for the past six years with high
 schoolers at the cottage school and hadn’t gone
through --- and wasn’t in schools as a substitute,
I would have found this experience to be new and engaging.

I think what these 90 hours made me realize is that even
though I’m not in the classroom fulltime, that doesn’t mean I
can’t be a masterful teacher or a masterful substitute.
I am ableto establish a rapport with students, which is
what good teachers do. I do have a pretty solid
knowledge base and am willing/able to do whatever
research/work is necessary to bring that knowledge to students.
I am very organized and “on-top” of things, which is evidenced
by the  fact that I’m completing the work for EDUG 613
before November 1, when I have another month

to complete it.

A masterful teacher is always striving to be better, and
I think I do that as well, recognizing that I don’t know it all.
However, if I’m going to put effort into learning, I’d like
it to benefit me and feel like a real learning experience,
rather than busy work. I’m afraid a good portion of
this class has felt like busy work. It has been a good
reminder of what I don’t want my students
to experience.

We do have a race problem

It baffles me when white people say that there isn't a race problem.

Such statements are like me saying, "I don't have a cancer problem."

I mean, right this second, I don't have cancer (as far as I know) and no one I know and love has cancer (as far as I know). 

But beyond the bubble that surrounds little ole me are a LOT of people and many of them do have a cancer problem. 

Since they live in my neighborhood, in my community, my church, my city, I guess that means that the collective "we" does have a cancer problem. 

The collective "we" does have a race problem.

Why do I think this?

Yesterday there was a shooting by a white man of two black people at a grocery store that is less than 5 miles from my house.

When a man with a gun confronted the shooter in the parking lot, the shooter apparently told him, "Whites don't kill whites."

Also, our illustrious president keeps haranguing the NFL over its peaceful protests (in addition to lambasting any person who has skin that is a shade darker than him). 

Also, also a high school I was just at had students protest because white students have been using the "N" word as if it is perfectly ok. 

As far as I'm concerned, it is not up to white people to decide if there is a race problem, just like it is not up to a man who cannot be pregnant to decide if a pregnancy is difficult or a pain in the butt or if labor hurts.

It is not up to me to speak about the plight of poverty or whether it is as bad or as hard as it appears because I have not lived that experience.

I know we live in a time when experts and experience are worthless.
When anybody can just have any old random thought and it is accepted as the truth, without data and facts and relevance to back it up.
When scientists and economists and doctors are evidently lying and telling us untruths.
When living a certain life does not give you any real-world relevant knowledge with which to speak.

It is like my pre-parent self thinking I had any freaking CLUE what being a mom was actually like.

When white people say there is not a race problem, I suspect some of them, at least, are trying to be "beyond color," which many white people think is what it means to be non-racist.
We do not live in a world that is "beyond color," so this seems like a pointless endeavor.
Furthermore, not seeing someone's race is not seeing someone in their entirety.
Race isn't the sole determinant of a person's experience, but it is part of who they are, and to act as if their race has zero influence or impact seems absurd.

If I am working with students, I think if I said something ridiculous like, "I don't see color," the students would have every right to roll their eyes at me.
It is a lie; we all see color.
Just recently I was teaching about Kate Chopin's The Awakening, in which a quadroon nurse is mentioned. (A quadroon is a person who is one-quarter black.) I made the comment that I don't think to myself, "I wonder if that person is a quarter black or half black or an eighth black."
I don't do the Elizabeth Warren test of heredity.
But what I asked the students is what it says about a society if they refer to people as quadroons, if the society is even interested in how much of a percentage of a person is black.

Some white people who say there is not a race problem allude to the fact that they know a black person or are friends with a black person.
And my response is as follows: So what if you have black friends you occasionally see every once in a while.
This doesn't mean you don't have bias and feelings of racism inside, where the social media masses can't see.
(Also, like 98% of your "friends" are white, so give me a break.)

I work very hard to think deeply about racism and its impact, but I know darn good and well that I have had thoughts that stem from things I was taught or heard or "picked up" when I was a kid.
Even though that is not how I want to believe, it is there in my head.
Because I know it is there, I tell myself on the regular that all people feel as I do.
Whatever feelings I am capable of having, others are capable of having as well because we share a common humanity.
I guess if you're gonna have a mantra running through your head, there are worse ones to have.

Talking about racism is hard and uncomfortable.
I'm having a conversation with myself in this blog, and I feel uncomfortable right now.
I worry whether and how I offend black people, not because I'm intending to but because I just don't understand.
I want to understand.
I want to know.
I want to do better.

Teachable moment from the blog (gender & hair)

G told us yesterday that this week an organization came to his school and separated activities into boys/girls. When he walked by someone to take his card for where he was supposed to go, the person handing it to him said, "Here you go, young lady."

G said he just kept walking with his head down.
He didn't correct the person.
He said it really didn't embarrass him (either he is so used to it that it doesn't bother him anymore or we are helping him be a well-adjusted person who has a positive self-image--I vote for a little of both).

D and I encouraged him to speak up in the future, to say politely and calmly,
"I am a boy with long hair."

We told him that by doing so, he will gently bring people's attention to their lack of observation and their gender tagging.
We told him that by doing so, he will be helping other kids, be they boys with long hair or girls with short hair, who may feel VERY embarrassed when similar things happen to them.

G said to me, "I'm really glad you wrote that blog, mom."

I don't often feel like I'm winning as a mom, until moments like this when I do. 

"Don't assume the gender"

That is a sentence that came out of the mouth of my 9-year-old last week.

We have lots of conversations about gender in my house not because anyone doesn't feel like their physical gender (or at least no one in my family has told me that yet).

We have these conversations because of hair.

My children come from two parents who, at one time or another, have defied societal norms about gender-specific hairstyles.

I have been defying this norm since high school when I first cut my hair very short.
I don't look good in long hair.
I am too lazy to deal with long hair.
So I don't have long hair.

Many, many times, I was called "young man" or people looked at me quizzically, wondering whether I was a boy (since my cup does not runneth over in the breast department).
I'm also lacking in the hip area.
I also don't wear cosmetics.

D wore long hair for any number of years (in college and again about 15 years ago).

My boys are constantly called "young lady," "little lady," and "girl."
They don't get mad as much as they think the people who call them such things are hopelessly unobservant.

One of the conversations we've had is how many people in the service industry (servers, store clerks, etc), always feel compelled to put a gender tag on their conversations.

For example, rather than simply asking, "What would you like to order?" which can be used on anyone---male, female and even different species, they want to gender tag it:

"What would you like to order, young man or young lady?"

Or if they are asking if my children are related, they ask,
"Is this your sister or brother?" rather than "Is this your sibling?" or "Are ya'll related?"

I have been in circumstances, this semester actually, in which I was unsure of a student's gender.
One boy had long hair, was sitting down, and wearing a pink sweatshirt, and his name is Reece (which is a dual-gender name).
I wasn't certain, so I did what any smart person would do:

I KEPT MY FLIPPING MOUTH SHUT UNTIL I KNEW WITH 100% CERTAINTY.
AND EVEN WHEN I WAS CERTAIN, I STILL KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT.

Another student has very short hair and appears to be female.
I watched this student make some very intricate drawings, and I asked, "Do you take art classes?"
The student responded, "Yes."
I asked, "Is that what you want to do beyond high school? Art?"
The student replied, "I want to be a sign language interpreter."
I said, "Oh, that's cool."

I did not in any way say anything related to gender because.....
it.doesn't.matter to me.

Whether the student named Reece who I think is a boy identifies as a boy or whether the above student is a female who just likes her hair extremely short (and I totally get that) or maybe feels like she is more masculine....I don't know what their stories are, and if they felt like sharing it with me, I'd be ok with whatever they are, provided they don't sell my kids drugs or kill my family.

There are some non-negotiables with me.

The point is unless I'm going to have intercourse with someone, it really doesn't (and shouldn't) matter to me what gender a person is.

If you are in a female body, but you feel like a male=ok
If you are in a male body, but you feel like a female=ok
If you are in a female body, but you feel like both=ok
If you are in a male body, but you feel like both=ok

My aunt used to have this bumper sticker on her car, which I clearly remember from when I was a kid:



I can't help but think about this whenever I'm around people who don't fit neatly into that precise little box that society wants to place on all of us.

Society has never particularly liked my short hair, and I've always thought society can go suck it.

Dress code saga #68,082

As much as I hate dress codes, especially strict ones on paper that administrators do not actually enforce, which is just like empty-threat parenting, there is a silver lining to them (which I will get to in a little bit after venting for 40 paragraphs).

I took N shopping on Wednesday evening to attempt to find something to wear for the homecoming dance.

This adventure has made me think my entrepreneurial goal should be to open portable wine bars in juniors dress departments for the moms.

Moms in juniors departments are dealing with all sorts of emotional stress and would do well to take the edge off with a glass of pinot noir. In addition to the panic of spending $100 on a dress their daughter may only wear once, they are experiencing shame and guilt for what they put their own mothers through in shopping trips. Plus, there is the anxiety induced from dress codes.

This is what the dress code notice that has been in every high school email I've been sent for the last eight weeks should say:

Girls' dresses can be no more than 1 inch above the top of the knee.
(Just kidding. We are going to let LOTS AND LOTS of girls into the dance wearing dresses that come 4-5 inches above their knees.)

While N and her friends were dancing, I was doing a reconnaissance mission of my own with a little help from another high school mom.

I now have an album of photos of girls who went to homecoming in dresses that were higher than one inch. This album will never be used unless or until N gets any comment about her dress at a dance or is denied admittance.

This album of photos of what the school has allowed into dances will then be submitted as Evidence, Exhibit A.

I was very strict when N tried on dresses on Wednesday night because this was her first dance at the high school, and I didn't know if the dress code was actually enforced or empty-threat. There were tears from N, but I told her that I would rather have her cry in a store than at the dance when she is denied entry after having spent money on a dress and time getting ready.

No mother particularly wants her kid to cry, but if I have to pick a time and place, I know which one I will select.

N happened to find a super adorable jumpsuit that I think looked pretty stunning on her. D said she looked "statuesque." She was super pumped that it had pockets (she is related to her maternal grandmother).

So what was the silver lining of this whole mess of consumerism?

Three things:

1. N bought something that was unique and showed off her "I'm not like the other girls" attitude. She stood out.

and

2. It provided me an opportunity to instruct N in dressing for her body. As tall and thin as she is, the pantsuit made her look even taller and thinner, accentuating something that is lovely about her. It takes women a lifetime to realize what is wonderful about their bodies, so I hope our conversations on Wednesday helped her see that being tall and thin are enviable (especially when she gets into middle age, she'll be so very glad for that height).

and

3. Even though the dress code is bullshit, life is all about wading through bullshit. Case in point is the 90 hours of observations I'm having to do for the grad class as if I've never set foot in a classroom and have no experience. Life is not fair--dress codes are not fair--grad class requirements are not fair....but there they are, so you bitch about it and then suck it up and deal with it in whatever way you are able, with the goal being to deal with it so splendidly that people admire your tenacity, your unique ability to do what needs to be done in a creative and uniquely you way.

He's so fine, and now he's 9

Dear M,

I know I say some version of this every year, and our family kids you about it regularly, but you will always, always be "Baby M."

"Baby M is in third grade."
"Baby M is going to his senior prom."
"Baby M is going to be a grandpa."
"Baby M is in the nursing home."

It's not just me who thinks of you as our little one.

G walks past your classroom when I sub at the school to make sure you get to the office to meet me.
N picks you up and babies you in a way that she doesn't with G.
We giggle like crazy whenever we see you do your Fortnite dances and beg you to do them again and again because it's so cute to see your little butt wiggle.

It is hard to believe that you are turning 9...your last year of single digits.

In the future, when I think about you turning 9-years-old,
I want to remember your shaggy hair,
especially the curls I play with when you're lying in bed after lights out,
and how you STILL twiddle my ears when you're tired or want comfort,
and that you are still sorta in a phase of going commando because underwear doesn't feel right.

I want to remember how you called the new essential oil diffuser a "Smellerator,"
which sounds like something Doctor Doofenschmirtz would say.
And how you are always the disc jockey in the car whenever we go somewhere.

I want to remember how thankful I am that you are such a mellow kid most of the time and create a nice sandwich to N and G.

I want to remember how you jabber so fast that Daddy and I can't understand you, but you manage to work in adult-sounding words or phrases that just sound so funny in your squeaky voice.

I love you sweet bonus baby boy,

Momma

It's serene to be a preteen (ok, not really, but I needed to rhyme)

Dear G,

I do declare that I’m getting a taste of what it might have been like for my parents to raise me. 

I know I was a bright child, and I also know I had a difficult time regulating emotionally.

Highly sensitive to just about everything. 

That sounds quite a bit like you.

But, G, let me tell you, there is so much good in being bright and emotional, and I see it in you all the time.

I see how you can suck in the sheer fun and joy of moments and flash a smile of wonder. 

Like when we saw the moose in Colorado this summer. 

We had been hoping to see one all day, and even though you were more than ready to get back to the cabin to play video games with your cousins, you were so excited to see that animal foraging in the woods.

When I asked if you were ready to go, you said, “I want to stay here forever.” 

Often you fuss about having to go somewhere or do something, but you frequently remind me after the fact, “You know how I am, Mom. I always end up having a good time.”

You are our family's Tootsie Roll pop. 

You have a crunchy exterior, but a gooey center, and it takes a lot of licks to get to it. 

You have an empathetic heart.

You are so good with babies and young children, and even adults I know have told me how sweet you are to their little ones.

As you turn 11 and enter the pre-teen years, I hope you know how much we love you. 

We love you for your sense of humor; both the things you say and the looks you give, especially when Daddy tells his terrible “dad” jokes.

(That sense of humor--like when you took 29 

goofy pictures on my phone when

 I went to the bathroom at the airport.)

We love you because you’ve got the tightest butt muscles in the history of mankind because you bounce on the exercise ball while playing your video games.

We love it that you’re discovering new music and ask us to download songs that we can not only tolerate but often enjoy ourselves, like This is America by Childish Gambino or Led Zeppelin.

We love it that we can enjoy Marvel and DC movies with you, as well as Ready Player One. 

We love you for the boy you have been and the young man we see you becoming. 

I would say you are the fruit loop in our Cheerios, but we’re all kind of fruity in this family, which means you fit in perfectly.

Hope you have a wonderful 11th year.

Love you to Asgard, Gotham City, and Dormammu’s Dark Dimension and back,

Momma