"According to our estimates, you're screwed" is printed on the envelope of my annual Social Security statement-- at least, it seems that way. In addition to paying into Social Security, as a public school teacher I am also required to contribute to my state's pension fund to the tune of 6% (and you feel the dedication of 6% of a salary that is already below market, believe me). However, I think by the time that pension comes due for me the benefits will have been whittled down to a monthly coupon mailer and a few Band Aids for healthcare.
There's something about New Year's Eve looming that makes one reflect on finances and (if you can believe the ads that run at this time of year) buy a lot of plastic storage containers. Perhaps it's just that tax season is around the corner, or perhaps it's the one time of year that Americans generally agree to pause for self-improvement, but I have been trying to trim my budget. I thought I was making some progress when I traded in my $80/month smart phone for a stone age, pay-as-you-go flip phone (around $25/month). Then the bills started rolling in for my son's recent emergency room trip, which will total hundreds in co-insurance. So there you have it, it's hard to get ahead; at least, it feels that way.
Personal finance and investing have always fascinated me, although largely, I must admit, as an almost purely academic topic since there is nothing left by the time I pay bills, pay the land payment for our small farm (my real investment), and pay hundreds in after school care for my sons. However, I read finance books and magazines with a great deal of interest. I keep visualizing myself as having lots of resources-- enough to care for my family, travel, and to move an historic African American school building (see www.underthekudzu.org) to our property and restore it. I want to create a cultural/agricultural education center, so I do pray for prosperity. What usually happens when I pray for abundance, however, is that someone gives me a box of kittens. Perhaps I need to be more specific!
The garden catalogs come thick and fast this time of year as well. Their outer covers seem to say "Ordering seeds and a few new fruit trees is one pleasure even a teacher can afford." If I can't foresee what will happen with Social Security or my state pension fund, at least I can grow more food. As an added bonus, I am too lazy and cheap to apply synthetic chemicals to my garden, so within the confines of our kitchen I call our produce "organic," making it feel more valuable. It's one instance when less is definitely more.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Pajamathon 2012: The Speed of Life
We are well into our Pajamathon tradition for this year. Pajamthon begins right after we get home from Christmas Eve mass, when we change into fuzzy lounging clothes, continues through Christmas Day (complete with presents and dinner), and ends...? Well, it may end a tad early this year, if only because I have to herd the boys into the car and drive up to the small town library just north of here to return a book that's long overdue. That was just one of the things that got away from me this fall.
There is a lot to be said for being at home, especially since, during a normal work week I'm not home that much. That's because we leave here at 7:15 am and often don't return until 6 pm or later... so during the school year much of my gardening and animal tending is done in the dark, either before the sun comes up or later in the evening. The law of unintended consequences operates at full force at these times, I find, such as when I flip the light on in the barn shop only to see a fat possum gorging itself on cat food. Then it looks up and hisses. Yuck!
Right now a weak afternoon sun is coming through bare trees, it rained most of the day so this is actually an improvement. The boys are spreading Legos in a nice, even layer over the entire living room floor, but that is preferable to me than having them play video games. (Actually, that is what we do best as a family: Cover the floor with small, sharp objects.)
I am so grateful for my family and my home. Every day I think about how fortunate we are to have each other, a home, space in the country (which I first purchased, in typical North Carolina fashion, as some land with a single wide house trailer on it). There is no glitz with this, no glamour associated with getting my sons to collect eggs with me, or pick the winter lettuce that I grow in a raised bed under an old storm window. Walking a dog can't compare with the constant siren call to "Party!" that emanates from every music video. As if, for some people, the gyrating, drinking and gold jewelry never end. In one sense they are right, it doesn't ever end, because when you live at the mercy of your emotions and the constant need for something new, you are never content. I hope and pray that my sons will imprint on something slower and more meaningful, that they will grow up to be parents who stage Pajamathons of their own. The Lord didn't say, chase after every new video game and designer purse. He said: Be still and know that I am God.
There is a lot to be said for being at home, especially since, during a normal work week I'm not home that much. That's because we leave here at 7:15 am and often don't return until 6 pm or later... so during the school year much of my gardening and animal tending is done in the dark, either before the sun comes up or later in the evening. The law of unintended consequences operates at full force at these times, I find, such as when I flip the light on in the barn shop only to see a fat possum gorging itself on cat food. Then it looks up and hisses. Yuck!
Right now a weak afternoon sun is coming through bare trees, it rained most of the day so this is actually an improvement. The boys are spreading Legos in a nice, even layer over the entire living room floor, but that is preferable to me than having them play video games. (Actually, that is what we do best as a family: Cover the floor with small, sharp objects.)
I am so grateful for my family and my home. Every day I think about how fortunate we are to have each other, a home, space in the country (which I first purchased, in typical North Carolina fashion, as some land with a single wide house trailer on it). There is no glitz with this, no glamour associated with getting my sons to collect eggs with me, or pick the winter lettuce that I grow in a raised bed under an old storm window. Walking a dog can't compare with the constant siren call to "Party!" that emanates from every music video. As if, for some people, the gyrating, drinking and gold jewelry never end. In one sense they are right, it doesn't ever end, because when you live at the mercy of your emotions and the constant need for something new, you are never content. I hope and pray that my sons will imprint on something slower and more meaningful, that they will grow up to be parents who stage Pajamathons of their own. The Lord didn't say, chase after every new video game and designer purse. He said: Be still and know that I am God.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Peace Came Down at Christmas
It is a difficult year to say "Merry Christmas", haunted as we are by the children and adults who lost their lives in the senseless shooting in Newtown. I have been praying for the families of the victims, as I think most of us have. Praying that God will envelope them with His healing love. As for the victims themselves, we know God is holding them in the palm of His hand, with infinite love and care. Their souls He has doubtless already healed. It is the ones who are left behind who suffer and mourn.
It is not enough to say, this time, that this event only leads us to appreciate our own families all the more. It is not enough just to take this occasion to be grateful for our own children. It is not enough because the murders struck at the heart of all that is good and orderly, in the only place where we still come together as a society, the one place where we should be able to assume that children are safe. For many people school is the only common civic endeavor we undertake. Perhaps that is why schools have become a target (although it's difficult to know, because it's difficult to understand the twisted motivations of a mass murderer).
As a teacher in a title one middle school, I am acutely aware of all the possible pitfalls that happen inside of a school-- perhaps a jacket is stolen, or a rumor starts that makes a child cry. A fight may even erupt. One thing we don't expect is for an armed person to come in and create mayhem and tragedy. Even while we're adjusting to this threat, we need to ask ourselves what what we can do to counteract the spiritual chaos that created it. Yes, we need protective measures, increased security, heightened awareness. Yet what are we doing to counteract the root cause, the sense of isolation and hopelessness that young people may develop?
It's not enough just to excise the cancer, we need to strengthen our whole civic body. Volunteer your time at your house of worship, or a local school/mentor program. If you garden or care for animals, pull children into your activities. Don't allow your own children to be isolated. Reach out to families you know who are stressed by circumstances. Encourage children and teenagers when they do good and creative things. Help your town to expand arts programs and recreational sports facilities. Even in these tough fiscal times, encourage your legislators to vote for increased mental health and youth program funding.
Most of all, I think, we need to seek God's guidance in this and all things. Early each morning, before I pack my kids' lunches and begin the whole hectic morning routine that lands them in one school and me in another, I pray "God, help me to know Your will for me, and help me to do it. Bless those who suffer, Lord, and bless those who mourn. Enfold them in Your peace. Help me to be a blessing to my family, my students, and my community. Make me a channel of Your love and Your peace. Amen."
It is not enough to say, this time, that this event only leads us to appreciate our own families all the more. It is not enough just to take this occasion to be grateful for our own children. It is not enough because the murders struck at the heart of all that is good and orderly, in the only place where we still come together as a society, the one place where we should be able to assume that children are safe. For many people school is the only common civic endeavor we undertake. Perhaps that is why schools have become a target (although it's difficult to know, because it's difficult to understand the twisted motivations of a mass murderer).
As a teacher in a title one middle school, I am acutely aware of all the possible pitfalls that happen inside of a school-- perhaps a jacket is stolen, or a rumor starts that makes a child cry. A fight may even erupt. One thing we don't expect is for an armed person to come in and create mayhem and tragedy. Even while we're adjusting to this threat, we need to ask ourselves what what we can do to counteract the spiritual chaos that created it. Yes, we need protective measures, increased security, heightened awareness. Yet what are we doing to counteract the root cause, the sense of isolation and hopelessness that young people may develop?
It's not enough just to excise the cancer, we need to strengthen our whole civic body. Volunteer your time at your house of worship, or a local school/mentor program. If you garden or care for animals, pull children into your activities. Don't allow your own children to be isolated. Reach out to families you know who are stressed by circumstances. Encourage children and teenagers when they do good and creative things. Help your town to expand arts programs and recreational sports facilities. Even in these tough fiscal times, encourage your legislators to vote for increased mental health and youth program funding.
Most of all, I think, we need to seek God's guidance in this and all things. Early each morning, before I pack my kids' lunches and begin the whole hectic morning routine that lands them in one school and me in another, I pray "God, help me to know Your will for me, and help me to do it. Bless those who suffer, Lord, and bless those who mourn. Enfold them in Your peace. Help me to be a blessing to my family, my students, and my community. Make me a channel of Your love and Your peace. Amen."
Friday, November 30, 2012
Phone as Friend
While I don't travel much, I have to say I learn so many new things when I do. Yesterday I peeled my middle school students off of me and walked out halfway through the day (after the substitute came, I mean) to embark on a quick visit to my sister in Ohio. The trip is long overdue; my nephew has had some major health challenges, and I wanted to give family support. ANYWAY, as I mentioned, yours truly doesn't step off the hamster wheel of work-kids-home very often.
So there I was, connecting through the Atlanta airport, and it seemed that everyone around me was talking to him or herself. It used to be this was a sign of mental aberration, a natural reaction being that others might give you a wide berth (as in the excellent advice I once received growing up in NYC to "pick a fight with your jacket" if stuck on a subway platform with unsavory people). On closer inspection, though, I realized that most of the people in the airport actually had cell phones stuck to their heads or earpieces jammed in their ears.
In fact, all the different high tech phones and high end conversations (I overhead one man saying "That will be worth $750K to 1.5 million to us...") made me feel a little self-conscious when I pulled out my prepaid flip phone to check the time. I am the only person I know who is actually going backwards, technology-wise, but my Android phone drove me crazy and cost $80 per month: Too much for someone who doesn't like Facebook, follow hot stocks, or want the latest apps.
(My husband teased me that the flip phone might only allow me to connect to the 14 people who still use MySpace, and in fact we almost died laughing when I realized a MySpace icon really is on my flip phone's internet menu.)
What interests me, though, is how much some of us have come to see phones as companions, even friends. This notion is only reinforced by commercials I've seen in which people have conversations with their phones, apparently not wanting to face the fact that they are just rattling around in their own minds.
If that weren't enough, when I looked through the SkyMall catalog a special bracelet caught my eye. "Communicate discreetly with your phone" it advertised, because it displays the number of your caller on the bracelet. This, combined with the feature that makes the bracelet vibrate anytime you are more than 16 feet from your phone, ensure that you will "never be separated from your phone."
At this point we are past friendship and into full blown infatuation.
So I thought I would attempt to find this level of emotional satisfaction with my little flip phone. "You mean so much to me" I told the little black flip phone "I never want to be more than 16 feet away from you."
I waited, but perhaps in keeping with its understated appearance, the little black flip phone never responded.
*******If you think this blog is funny, read an excerpt of my book here: "Horsewomen in Foal and Other Equestrian Adventures" -- this makes a GREAT gift and comes with my exclusive Laugh Until You Pee Guarantee (certain exclusions apply: guarantee only good for women who have had at least two children)
So there I was, connecting through the Atlanta airport, and it seemed that everyone around me was talking to him or herself. It used to be this was a sign of mental aberration, a natural reaction being that others might give you a wide berth (as in the excellent advice I once received growing up in NYC to "pick a fight with your jacket" if stuck on a subway platform with unsavory people). On closer inspection, though, I realized that most of the people in the airport actually had cell phones stuck to their heads or earpieces jammed in their ears.
In fact, all the different high tech phones and high end conversations (I overhead one man saying "That will be worth $750K to 1.5 million to us...") made me feel a little self-conscious when I pulled out my prepaid flip phone to check the time. I am the only person I know who is actually going backwards, technology-wise, but my Android phone drove me crazy and cost $80 per month: Too much for someone who doesn't like Facebook, follow hot stocks, or want the latest apps.
(My husband teased me that the flip phone might only allow me to connect to the 14 people who still use MySpace, and in fact we almost died laughing when I realized a MySpace icon really is on my flip phone's internet menu.)
What interests me, though, is how much some of us have come to see phones as companions, even friends. This notion is only reinforced by commercials I've seen in which people have conversations with their phones, apparently not wanting to face the fact that they are just rattling around in their own minds.
If that weren't enough, when I looked through the SkyMall catalog a special bracelet caught my eye. "Communicate discreetly with your phone" it advertised, because it displays the number of your caller on the bracelet. This, combined with the feature that makes the bracelet vibrate anytime you are more than 16 feet from your phone, ensure that you will "never be separated from your phone."
At this point we are past friendship and into full blown infatuation.
So I thought I would attempt to find this level of emotional satisfaction with my little flip phone. "You mean so much to me" I told the little black flip phone "I never want to be more than 16 feet away from you."
I waited, but perhaps in keeping with its understated appearance, the little black flip phone never responded.
*******If you think this blog is funny, read an excerpt of my book here: "Horsewomen in Foal and Other Equestrian Adventures" -- this makes a GREAT gift and comes with my exclusive Laugh Until You Pee Guarantee (certain exclusions apply: guarantee only good for women who have had at least two children)
Sunday, November 25, 2012
If I Didn't Need it Yesterday...
...then I probably don't need it today. At any rate, that is what I kept telling myself on Black Friday, and in fact during this whole weekend. In the end, I did do a tiny bit to stimulate the economy: I bought some dog biscuits at Dollar General, along with two boxes of flower fertilizer (on clearance at 10 cents each). I poured some of the fertilizer into the pots on the front porch that hold the 'mums, hoping they might still bloom one more time this season. The rest of the fertilizer I put in the barn to use on the blueberry bushes in spring.
I did poke around the internet for a good deal on a combination record player (yes, actual vinyl)/DVD/iPod docking station. This is something I've thought about to surprise my husband, who still has his record albums, but I didn't find an attractive one at a good price yet. I'll wait for retailers to get a little antsy and start cutting prices even more.
Nevertheless, even with feeling so conservative about purchasing things, our house is FULL of stuff. I'm trying not to get dragged down, trying just to clean one room at a time and convince my kids and husband to give some things away.
Then there is the small matter of my husband's habit of hiding things for safekeeping, but then sometimes he forgets where he hid them. It's like living with a chipmunk. Just today we found this year's school pictures tucked into a box that held a family portrait we haven't looked at in five years. Theoretically, it made sense... in practice, I was wondering where those school pictures were, since they cost a lot and I wanted to send copies to family BEFORE the boys leave for college.
I have a bad habit of keeping papers, books, vintage photos, and other things related to my writing and film projects. My husband, on the other hand, keeps... just about everything else. What can we say? We are children of Depression-era parents. I admit it: I reuse paper towels and bread bags. Never thought I'd be here, but the downhill slide was so effortless, between being a perpetually broke teacher/mom and trying to feel good about producing less trash.
We also have an incredible talent, in my family, for covering any floor with small sharp objects. Usually these objects are Legos, although occasionally there might be something else mixed in. In fact, we are so good at this that I have considered starting a home decor business, for clients who want a colorful floor. The only downside is the occasional twisted ankle. However, on the whole I have had to make peace with their Lego habit. It was either that or go crazy.
Building with Legos is actually pretty innocuous, even beneficial, when I compare it to some of the other 'hobbies' I have witnessed during my time as a teacher. At least my boys aren't tattooing themselves with sharpened paper clips and ball point pens!
Off to tackle folding the clean laundry mountain! I am really good at chores... the ones that involve turning a machine on, I mean.
I did poke around the internet for a good deal on a combination record player (yes, actual vinyl)/DVD/iPod docking station. This is something I've thought about to surprise my husband, who still has his record albums, but I didn't find an attractive one at a good price yet. I'll wait for retailers to get a little antsy and start cutting prices even more.
Nevertheless, even with feeling so conservative about purchasing things, our house is FULL of stuff. I'm trying not to get dragged down, trying just to clean one room at a time and convince my kids and husband to give some things away.
Then there is the small matter of my husband's habit of hiding things for safekeeping, but then sometimes he forgets where he hid them. It's like living with a chipmunk. Just today we found this year's school pictures tucked into a box that held a family portrait we haven't looked at in five years. Theoretically, it made sense... in practice, I was wondering where those school pictures were, since they cost a lot and I wanted to send copies to family BEFORE the boys leave for college.
I have a bad habit of keeping papers, books, vintage photos, and other things related to my writing and film projects. My husband, on the other hand, keeps... just about everything else. What can we say? We are children of Depression-era parents. I admit it: I reuse paper towels and bread bags. Never thought I'd be here, but the downhill slide was so effortless, between being a perpetually broke teacher/mom and trying to feel good about producing less trash.
We also have an incredible talent, in my family, for covering any floor with small sharp objects. Usually these objects are Legos, although occasionally there might be something else mixed in. In fact, we are so good at this that I have considered starting a home decor business, for clients who want a colorful floor. The only downside is the occasional twisted ankle. However, on the whole I have had to make peace with their Lego habit. It was either that or go crazy.
Building with Legos is actually pretty innocuous, even beneficial, when I compare it to some of the other 'hobbies' I have witnessed during my time as a teacher. At least my boys aren't tattooing themselves with sharpened paper clips and ball point pens!
Off to tackle folding the clean laundry mountain! I am really good at chores... the ones that involve turning a machine on, I mean.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Any Given Mom Featured on Mom Blogger
My mind is a little addled because we had four preteen boys over for a 'sleep'over last night in celebration of my older son's birthday (there was no actual sleeping...) anyway, I am tickled to see this blog featured on Mom Blogger:
http://mommycommunity.com/2012/11/16/mom-blogger-interview-claudia-from-any-given-mom/
http://mommycommunity.com/2012/11/16/mom-blogger-interview-claudia-from-any-given-mom/
Friday, November 16, 2012
Hurtful Questions
My husband just said this to my younger son: "Isn't your time on the computer up yet?"
"That is a hurtful question!" Jack responded. (Meanwhile, the kitchen timer started beeping...)
This made me laugh, but it also made me think about other times when hurtful questions arise. Specifically, one hurtful question: ARE YOU HIGH???? I'm a pretty easygoing person, but here is one instance when this particular hurtful question came to my mind.
One morning, I thought I was doing a good job of multitasking. It was a little before 7am, I was packing my sons' lunches, and I thought I would just take a moment to RSVP to one of those electronic invitations for a birthday party. I thought it would be so easy. I patted myself on the back for being efficient. After opening the invitation, I thought I could just click a simple "Yes" and go on about the morning routine. However, it really wasn't that easy. I clicked "Yes", but before it would allow me to submit that answer all kinds of other questions popped up.
Did I want to send a picture? No. A comment? No. View the guest list? No. Chat with the other guests? No. Then came the kicker: An advertisement popped up that asked me whether I wanted to follow a certain brand of fish sticks on Twitter. My entire morning ground to a halt because I had to stop and ponder how empty my life would have to be, for me to follow the fish sticks on Twitter. ARE YOU HIGH????
What do the fish sticks have to say, anyway? I could only imagine it would be depressing, something like this: "Swimming along today, minding my own business, when I got caught up in a gill net. I was hauled over the side of a factory boat, beheaded, scaled, gutted, pressed into paste and frozen. When we reached land they sliced me into a stick shape, breaded me and sent out to a big box store. Once someone purchased me, I hoped for some appreciation, but I ended up on the tray of a toddler. When the mom wasn't looking, the toddler tossed me over his shoulder. Their cat swallowed me in two bites, but yakked me up later into the mom's purse."
Other hurtful questions at our house include:
Quinoia again?
Isn't that the puppy you had to have, that you said you would walk?
Why aren't you in bed yet?
Why aren't you up yet?
But where did all the money go????
"That is a hurtful question!" Jack responded. (Meanwhile, the kitchen timer started beeping...)
This made me laugh, but it also made me think about other times when hurtful questions arise. Specifically, one hurtful question: ARE YOU HIGH???? I'm a pretty easygoing person, but here is one instance when this particular hurtful question came to my mind.
One morning, I thought I was doing a good job of multitasking. It was a little before 7am, I was packing my sons' lunches, and I thought I would just take a moment to RSVP to one of those electronic invitations for a birthday party. I thought it would be so easy. I patted myself on the back for being efficient. After opening the invitation, I thought I could just click a simple "Yes" and go on about the morning routine. However, it really wasn't that easy. I clicked "Yes", but before it would allow me to submit that answer all kinds of other questions popped up.
Did I want to send a picture? No. A comment? No. View the guest list? No. Chat with the other guests? No. Then came the kicker: An advertisement popped up that asked me whether I wanted to follow a certain brand of fish sticks on Twitter. My entire morning ground to a halt because I had to stop and ponder how empty my life would have to be, for me to follow the fish sticks on Twitter. ARE YOU HIGH????
What do the fish sticks have to say, anyway? I could only imagine it would be depressing, something like this: "Swimming along today, minding my own business, when I got caught up in a gill net. I was hauled over the side of a factory boat, beheaded, scaled, gutted, pressed into paste and frozen. When we reached land they sliced me into a stick shape, breaded me and sent out to a big box store. Once someone purchased me, I hoped for some appreciation, but I ended up on the tray of a toddler. When the mom wasn't looking, the toddler tossed me over his shoulder. Their cat swallowed me in two bites, but yakked me up later into the mom's purse."
Other hurtful questions at our house include:
Quinoia again?
Isn't that the puppy you had to have, that you said you would walk?
Why aren't you in bed yet?
Why aren't you up yet?
But where did all the money go????
Friday, November 9, 2012
Human Being Seeks Same
An unanticipated benefit of having an Ivy league Master's degree is the alumni magazine (hey, something needs to offset the student debt). The erudite yet timely articles, the incisive letters readers send to correct fine points from previous erudite articles, the art photography... it's all wonderful, yet for entertainment value nothing beats the personal ads in the back.
Now, I know what you're thinking: People still bother to put their personal ads in print? When you can find any stripe of person online? I know, I know, but it's true: For some people there is apparently a certain cachet associated with print classifieds in this alumni magazine. The claims are nothing short of breathtaking. The typical personal ad goes something like these:
Accomplished world traveler- (speaks 72 languages), athletic (Olympic qualifier in college) sense of humor compared to Katharine Hepburn, equally at home in Paris and the Hamptons, wit and warmth, easygoing yet driven, three Ivy degrees, financially independent, slender, 50s but looks 35, seeks accomplished man for companionship/marriage.
Not that I'm looking, because my husband and I are committed (read: exhausted), mature (read: we now know what a total crapshoot relationships are, and we each feel fortunate not to have married a serial killer) and happy (read: happy)... BUT, sometimes I think about what my ad would look like if I were to write one. I think it might go something like this:
Human Being Seeks Same- Stumbling through life by the grace of God, compulsive educator, accidental filmmaker (see www.underthekudzu.org), never been compared to Hepburn but cute enough in the right light, outdoorsy but won't sleep in a tent, well traveled (over a half dozen states), Ivy degree (still can't remember what day it is), 46 but looks 45, seeks male human being for misunderstandings and banter.
Now, I know what you're thinking: People still bother to put their personal ads in print? When you can find any stripe of person online? I know, I know, but it's true: For some people there is apparently a certain cachet associated with print classifieds in this alumni magazine. The claims are nothing short of breathtaking. The typical personal ad goes something like these:
Accomplished world traveler- (speaks 72 languages), athletic (Olympic qualifier in college) sense of humor compared to Katharine Hepburn, equally at home in Paris and the Hamptons, wit and warmth, easygoing yet driven, three Ivy degrees, financially independent, slender, 50s but looks 35, seeks accomplished man for companionship/marriage.
Not that I'm looking, because my husband and I are committed (read: exhausted), mature (read: we now know what a total crapshoot relationships are, and we each feel fortunate not to have married a serial killer) and happy (read: happy)... BUT, sometimes I think about what my ad would look like if I were to write one. I think it might go something like this:
Human Being Seeks Same- Stumbling through life by the grace of God, compulsive educator, accidental filmmaker (see www.underthekudzu.org), never been compared to Hepburn but cute enough in the right light, outdoorsy but won't sleep in a tent, well traveled (over a half dozen states), Ivy degree (still can't remember what day it is), 46 but looks 45, seeks male human being for misunderstandings and banter.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Staying Humble
Whenever I start to feel overly pleased with myself, or maybe that I don't have an immediate agenda and can kick back, something happens to humble me. I have noticed this over the years-- it isn't necessarily anything earth-shattering, but (for example) there's nothing like stepping in a puddle of puppy pee at 5:30 in the morning to keep you humble. In order to keep my sanity I have come to view these little events just as gentle reminders not to become too self-satisfied.
My sons provide endless opportunities for me to embrace humility. This was especially true when they were little. One time, when we were all home sick, I thought I was being a good mom by serving them a lunch of chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. At that time my younger son was two years old, and he used to love to play with pots and pans. He had a saucepan near him on the kitchen counter, the same counter where I was serving lunch. This did not pose an obvious problem to me, that is, not until I leaned across the counter to help my older son. In a flash that sweet little toddler picked up the saucepan and klonked me on the head with it.
Of course, teaching is a close second to parenting when it comes to keeping one humble. A few years ago, a sweet child was talking to me about his birthday. He was turning 12. That got him started thinking about the future, including getting his driver's license. We discussed the fact that he would probably get his learner's permit at age 16.
"Will you still be alive in four years?" He asked me earnestly "Because I'll want to show you my car."
Of course, we never know what will happen on any given day, but I was only 43 at that time. It was a little humbling to realize that this child thought that I might keel over at any moment.
When we're feeling a little low, a casual remark can seem like a belly blow to our self-esteem. Some years back, when I worked for a university, my office was given to a new professor and I was moved downstairs into the AV control closet. When I say "AV control closet", I mean there actually were bundles of wires hanging out of the ceiling in that tiny, windowless room. From that day until the day I left I threatened to macrame something for the chancellor out of those wires. (Ultimately, that plan failed, as I never had the patience to learn macrame.)
Anyway, there was a student worker assigned to help me that day. "Where do you want me to put these certificates?" She asked, picking up some framed documents.
"I prefer to think of those as diplomas" I mumbled, but it was no use. That day, I was already on the way down.
My sons provide endless opportunities for me to embrace humility. This was especially true when they were little. One time, when we were all home sick, I thought I was being a good mom by serving them a lunch of chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. At that time my younger son was two years old, and he used to love to play with pots and pans. He had a saucepan near him on the kitchen counter, the same counter where I was serving lunch. This did not pose an obvious problem to me, that is, not until I leaned across the counter to help my older son. In a flash that sweet little toddler picked up the saucepan and klonked me on the head with it.
Of course, teaching is a close second to parenting when it comes to keeping one humble. A few years ago, a sweet child was talking to me about his birthday. He was turning 12. That got him started thinking about the future, including getting his driver's license. We discussed the fact that he would probably get his learner's permit at age 16.
"Will you still be alive in four years?" He asked me earnestly "Because I'll want to show you my car."
Of course, we never know what will happen on any given day, but I was only 43 at that time. It was a little humbling to realize that this child thought that I might keel over at any moment.
When we're feeling a little low, a casual remark can seem like a belly blow to our self-esteem. Some years back, when I worked for a university, my office was given to a new professor and I was moved downstairs into the AV control closet. When I say "AV control closet", I mean there actually were bundles of wires hanging out of the ceiling in that tiny, windowless room. From that day until the day I left I threatened to macrame something for the chancellor out of those wires. (Ultimately, that plan failed, as I never had the patience to learn macrame.)
Anyway, there was a student worker assigned to help me that day. "Where do you want me to put these certificates?" She asked, picking up some framed documents.
"I prefer to think of those as diplomas" I mumbled, but it was no use. That day, I was already on the way down.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Phases of Life... As Experienced at the OB/GYN
Some years back, when I was having my first son, I had an OB/GYN who was just... so... (as we say around here) country. When the exam was finished he would have the patient dress and meet him in his office to discuss the findings. This part was quite civil, although sitting in his office and looking at the duck hunting diorama gave one a little bit of a feeling of being at a country veterinarian's office. At the end of the visit he would smile and say "Good for another 20,000 miles." (I am not kidding.) However, he was an expert OB and likely saved my son, whose cord got wrapped around his neck during delivery.
Soon after my first son was born, that doctor retired and I had to find a new OB/GYN. My second doctor was a petite, energetic woman with a cloud of unruly red hair. She would blow up rubber gloves for my older son to play with while we talked about how son #2 was developing. I had a lot of confidence in her, but soon after the birth of my second son the practice dropped its OB services and replaced them with a skin-care clinic.
So now when I visit the GYN, there are binders full of women's before and after pictures, showing their transformation through chemical peels or injections of various sorts. I miss the seriousness of the OB mission, but I do understand that rising insurance costs and being on call 24/7 for OB emergencies could wear on anyone. What I didn't expect was how fully their new services would mesh with where I am in my life. I know it's vain, but I WANT that chemical peel. Things that used to make me scoff, such as dermabrasion, now seem worthy of consideration. I haven't made the leap yet, mostly because the skin clinic only stays open until 4pm and I am usually still working at school at that time, but maybe... just maybe...
There's no shortage of 40-something women like me who want to look a little better, so their skin care clinic will probably continue to thrive. Yet one thing I wouldn't recommend is that the people running the practice go into the clothing design business. A few years back they created tee shirts and drink cozies that said "V****** are Way Cool." The shirts weren't exactly flying off the shelf, even when they forced the staff to wear them. I think they quit that after the second workman's comp claim related to REI (Repetitive Embarrassment Injury). Some things are very popular, and yet a tee shirt about them sill won't catch on.
Soon after my first son was born, that doctor retired and I had to find a new OB/GYN. My second doctor was a petite, energetic woman with a cloud of unruly red hair. She would blow up rubber gloves for my older son to play with while we talked about how son #2 was developing. I had a lot of confidence in her, but soon after the birth of my second son the practice dropped its OB services and replaced them with a skin-care clinic.
So now when I visit the GYN, there are binders full of women's before and after pictures, showing their transformation through chemical peels or injections of various sorts. I miss the seriousness of the OB mission, but I do understand that rising insurance costs and being on call 24/7 for OB emergencies could wear on anyone. What I didn't expect was how fully their new services would mesh with where I am in my life. I know it's vain, but I WANT that chemical peel. Things that used to make me scoff, such as dermabrasion, now seem worthy of consideration. I haven't made the leap yet, mostly because the skin clinic only stays open until 4pm and I am usually still working at school at that time, but maybe... just maybe...
There's no shortage of 40-something women like me who want to look a little better, so their skin care clinic will probably continue to thrive. Yet one thing I wouldn't recommend is that the people running the practice go into the clothing design business. A few years back they created tee shirts and drink cozies that said "V****** are Way Cool." The shirts weren't exactly flying off the shelf, even when they forced the staff to wear them. I think they quit that after the second workman's comp claim related to REI (Repetitive Embarrassment Injury). Some things are very popular, and yet a tee shirt about them sill won't catch on.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Please Stop Helping Me
Have you ever had experiences that left you wishing you had a little less help? I was thinking about this the other day as I tried to navigate yet another new software program that I am required to use in my teaching job. I have lost count of the number of user names and passwords I have for work; I have programs for communication, a program for IEP records, accounts for accessing online teaching resources, a half dozen programs for testing/assessment, and a wiki that tells me how to log onto online modules about the Common Core. A fuse blew in my brain today when I got an email informing me I needed to use one account to register for an online training about a wiki that teaches us how to utilize yet another new program... at that point the line started blurring between process and goal.
All of these programs are supposed to help me in my work, but just let me share for a moment that I work in a middle school BECAUSE I LIKE TO TEACH. Despite the fact that I have made one documentary film (about historic African American schools, see www.underthekudzu.org) and I am working on another, in actuality I am not a very technically oriented person. In fact, one anxiety I have is that in another ten years or so I'll be unable to communicate with anyone anymore, because the technology will have gotten completely away from me. Then I'll spend my twilight years just sitting in a corner, starting into space.
Another instance of this is something that happened with AT&T (I am old enough to remember when we used to call it "Ma Bell"). I still have a landline, but it's supposed to be a bare bones, local calling account only. I use my cell phone for long distance.
Anyhow, one weekend when my sister was visiting she used the landline to call my other sister in Ohio. It was an innocent mistake, she didn't know my phone service arrangements, so I didn't mind having to pay the extra $5 or so for that call. What I didn't realize is that Ma Bell (Big Brother Bell seems more apropos) would automatically add a long distance plan to my bill. After two months I caught on to what they were doing and called them. After twenty minutes on hold the rep informed me that they were "helping" me by responding to my obvious desire to use my landline for long distance (this decision was based on one long distance call in two years, mind you). PLEASE STOP HELPING ME!!!
The last thing that comes to mind is health-related. I have gut troubles that come and go, and I have been to the GI doctor a few times. This time, though, I don't think I'll go. Both times that I went to the GI specialist it went something like this: Lot of questions, painful test, and, they discovered I have "collagenous colitis." That means "Your guts are inflamed, but we don't really know why. Would you like a prescription for something that may or may not send you into kidney failure? That will be $360, please." PLEASE STOP HELPING ME!! I could have told you my guts were inflamed going into this deal.
But, you know, Katie Couric's warnings and all, had to check it out. Now I'm just going to go back to acupuncturist who really DID help me, without the risk of kidney failure...
All of these programs are supposed to help me in my work, but just let me share for a moment that I work in a middle school BECAUSE I LIKE TO TEACH. Despite the fact that I have made one documentary film (about historic African American schools, see www.underthekudzu.org) and I am working on another, in actuality I am not a very technically oriented person. In fact, one anxiety I have is that in another ten years or so I'll be unable to communicate with anyone anymore, because the technology will have gotten completely away from me. Then I'll spend my twilight years just sitting in a corner, starting into space.
Another instance of this is something that happened with AT&T (I am old enough to remember when we used to call it "Ma Bell"). I still have a landline, but it's supposed to be a bare bones, local calling account only. I use my cell phone for long distance.
Anyhow, one weekend when my sister was visiting she used the landline to call my other sister in Ohio. It was an innocent mistake, she didn't know my phone service arrangements, so I didn't mind having to pay the extra $5 or so for that call. What I didn't realize is that Ma Bell (Big Brother Bell seems more apropos) would automatically add a long distance plan to my bill. After two months I caught on to what they were doing and called them. After twenty minutes on hold the rep informed me that they were "helping" me by responding to my obvious desire to use my landline for long distance (this decision was based on one long distance call in two years, mind you). PLEASE STOP HELPING ME!!!
The last thing that comes to mind is health-related. I have gut troubles that come and go, and I have been to the GI doctor a few times. This time, though, I don't think I'll go. Both times that I went to the GI specialist it went something like this: Lot of questions, painful test, and, they discovered I have "collagenous colitis." That means "Your guts are inflamed, but we don't really know why. Would you like a prescription for something that may or may not send you into kidney failure? That will be $360, please." PLEASE STOP HELPING ME!! I could have told you my guts were inflamed going into this deal.
But, you know, Katie Couric's warnings and all, had to check it out. Now I'm just going to go back to acupuncturist who really DID help me, without the risk of kidney failure...
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Phrases that Scare My Husband
I am a teacher who is married with two children, boys ages 9 and 12. We live in a rural area north of southeastern NC, although I teach in an inner city school in the nearby city of Wilmington. Back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and I had time for such things, I also used to train horses (see my book "Horsewomen in Foal & Other Equestrian Adventures").
At any rate, it's pretty clear that my husband Joe didn't know quite what he was getting into when he married me. I have to admit that when we married not only was I NOT domestic; I was barely domesticated. I rarely came indoors unless it was to eat or sleep. I was either at work, or working outside. Of course, all that changed when we had children, but at heart I am still a schemer and a outdoors girl who likes to think of how we might do things differently.
Here are a few of the phrases that make my husband want to run in the opposite direction:
I have a great idea...this phrase prefaced just about every idea I ever had related to my horse boarding and training operation. Suffice it to say that, at the height of my busiest year in the horse business, when I was taking a break from the field of education, I made $17,000. After that year I returned to working at the local university. Now I am a middle school teacher. Over time, I have realized that I just want to enjoy horses on a hobby basis.
You know, I am reading the most interesting book, and it says... the biggest change we undertook in our family eating habits started this way, after I read the book Wheat Belly by Dr. William Davis. It became painfully clear that we needed to cut way back on our gluten consumption. Joe realizes that we are all feeling better and that I have lost weight, but he says he's still angry at gluten for its deceptive deliciousness.
I was thinking... this usually precedes my ideas for inventions. My younger son, Jack, seems to have inherited my predisposition for unusual and (I think) brilliant ideas for new products. When he was just five, Jack drew a picture of the perfect gift for me: A combination cell phone/coffee maker! I was so touched.
At any rate, it's pretty clear that my husband Joe didn't know quite what he was getting into when he married me. I have to admit that when we married not only was I NOT domestic; I was barely domesticated. I rarely came indoors unless it was to eat or sleep. I was either at work, or working outside. Of course, all that changed when we had children, but at heart I am still a schemer and a outdoors girl who likes to think of how we might do things differently.
Here are a few of the phrases that make my husband want to run in the opposite direction:
I have a great idea...this phrase prefaced just about every idea I ever had related to my horse boarding and training operation. Suffice it to say that, at the height of my busiest year in the horse business, when I was taking a break from the field of education, I made $17,000. After that year I returned to working at the local university. Now I am a middle school teacher. Over time, I have realized that I just want to enjoy horses on a hobby basis.
You know, I am reading the most interesting book, and it says... the biggest change we undertook in our family eating habits started this way, after I read the book Wheat Belly by Dr. William Davis. It became painfully clear that we needed to cut way back on our gluten consumption. Joe realizes that we are all feeling better and that I have lost weight, but he says he's still angry at gluten for its deceptive deliciousness.
I was thinking... this usually precedes my ideas for inventions. My younger son, Jack, seems to have inherited my predisposition for unusual and (I think) brilliant ideas for new products. When he was just five, Jack drew a picture of the perfect gift for me: A combination cell phone/coffee maker! I was so touched.
Anyhow, I am an ordinary mom who happens to have a certain amount of intellectual curiosity. For example, I have been documenting historic African American schools in my region for the past ten years, and I made an award-winning documentary film about them (see www.underthekudzu.org) I think a lot about the field of education, so I blog about that at http://anygiventeacher.blogspot.com/
This blog starts as a repository of the random thoughts that I think many of us share as we move through our days, taking care of kids, working or homemaking, juggling commitments while trying to keep our families close... any given mom has more in common than not with any other given mom.
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