Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Huzzah for the Vegans!
When my kiddos had food sensitivies their first few years, I--like Dexter's dad in the NYTimes magazine--turned to the vegans for recipes without dairy or eggs. I also looked at all the gluten-free, cassein-free (GF/CF) resources often used in helping people on the autistic spectrum, or the GF sites for those with celiac. I only wish I'd had Babycakes's cookbook at the time because my twins' didn't get a first birthday cake--I couldn't figure out how to make one that was edible with all the substitutions for eggs, dairy, and wheat. But I did have a great friend and baker Miss T who made them a wonderful second birthday cake and lots of other treats besides. It sounds like Dexter is pretty lucky with those chocolate cupcakes, too!
Love and Hugs
Sending warmth and light to Miss J's (whose daughter's birthday party is this weekend) mom, who is in the process of being officially diagnosed with lung cancer. I promised to light a candle at church this weekend but also light a virtual one here for the whole family.
I Heart NY Eats
Mmmm, this article makes me hungry for NYC eats. But I know when we're there this weekend with Gommie that we'll only be eating dino-nuggets in the basement of AMNH. I think that must be another circle of hell.
Check Your Backseat
It's almost that time of year again, when accidentally leaving a child in the backseat can have tragic consequences. But I can barely bring myself to read the article that Motherlode references today. It's a terrible, terribly-modern tragedy--apparently, before the 1990s when carseats were moved to the back row, babies were rarely forgotten in cars. Here are some tips to help us all avoid this pain.
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Okay, I read it. If you attempt it, wait for the ending.
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Okay, I read it. If you attempt it, wait for the ending.
Doing My Part
We went to Target today after school, as I'd promised Sis that we would make cupcakes this afternoon (sorry Miss T, but the cute box of cupcake recipes I'd gotten for you has been absconded by the kid). And while there, we did our part for the economy. I'm not sure a new plastic tray for our picnics and some more cups for the kids are exactly conspicuous consumption, but it's more than I've spent on such things in the last three months. The rest, however, is staying in our mattresses!
My New GP
I went to a new doctor this morning and love her! As you've heard, I'd been less than pleased with the single-mindedness and lack of listening of my previous GP. And after a particularly frustrating conversation in which she refused to hear my concerns about my back because she was too fixated on my sugars (for the record, yes, I had gestational diabetes but I've been clear since then, with some occasional pre-diabetic fasting numbers probably related to my extra weight, but everything else normal, but I'm very aware that 40% of women with gestational diabetes go on to develop Type 2 so I'm working on it. But even the 3-month blood test came back fine). I decided to find a new doctor. Breaking up is hard to do.
But not as hard as I thought. The new doctor is approximately my age, with a young child--someone who can relate! And she took all of her notes in a laptop! And does all sorts of e-prescriptions and online medical stuff. I had been concerned that perhaps a younger doctor wouldn't have valuable experience, but I had overlooked the possibility of greater enthusiasm and interest in new technologies and procedures (thanks, Miss J--that would be nurse J because there seem to be a lot of Js in my circle--for helping me see the light). I was really impressed. And she was so encouraging, had kind and supportive things to say about all the PT work I've done to shrink my diastasis, my continued efforts to lose weight, my hopes to walk a 5K this summer, my vegetarianism. Never had my old doctor muttered so much as a positive word about any of my efforts--yep, you guessed it, she just had to express concerns about those sugars. So, I've turned off that broken old record.
And updated to an MP3 player!!
But not as hard as I thought. The new doctor is approximately my age, with a young child--someone who can relate! And she took all of her notes in a laptop! And does all sorts of e-prescriptions and online medical stuff. I had been concerned that perhaps a younger doctor wouldn't have valuable experience, but I had overlooked the possibility of greater enthusiasm and interest in new technologies and procedures (thanks, Miss J--that would be nurse J because there seem to be a lot of Js in my circle--for helping me see the light). I was really impressed. And she was so encouraging, had kind and supportive things to say about all the PT work I've done to shrink my diastasis, my continued efforts to lose weight, my hopes to walk a 5K this summer, my vegetarianism. Never had my old doctor muttered so much as a positive word about any of my efforts--yep, you guessed it, she just had to express concerns about those sugars. So, I've turned off that broken old record.
And updated to an MP3 player!!
Themed Dinners
Well, my dinnertime creativity has reached new heights, and I'm not talking about the actual recipes. Yesterday, on my return from the store, we had a fruit-and-vegetable dinner: broccoli, carrots, apples, and oranges. That's it. And they loved the change. It helped that we'd been short on fresh produce for a couple of days and they were starved for it! Then, a day or so ago, we had a backwards dinner. That's right, dessert first--frozen fruit ice for him and pumpking muffins for her. Then we moved on to sides and finally main course. The sheer oddity of it engaged their interest and lead to a huge meal. And not just the dessert! Today was another picnic--almost normal here now that the temperature is above 40F again--for them, whatever is eaten outside tastes better. Can't wait til it's actually spring! Or until they're old enough to try other themes: root vegetable night or Korean night or make-your-own burrito or ten ways to cook with apples. Fun, fun, fun.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Have Ph.D., Won't Work
Glad I've got my mommy gig now, because this article on the dearth of academic positions (and this means professorships, so not something I was looking at anyway) is depressing. It doesn't point out that the market for humanities Ph.D.s was depressed before the wider downturn. Maybe humanities docs are an advanced economic indicator?
Time, It is a Changin'
So, Daylight Savings Time is here.
And my kids had been getting ready for a month. Sis and Bud had been slowly moving back their wake-up time from 7:15 to 6:15 a.m. and so I had been shifting their bedtimes correspondingly, from 7:15 to 6:15 p.m. So Sunday, when the time changed, they were magically back to their 7:15 wake-up and 7:15 bedtime, exactly where they were about 6 weeks ago.
It's strange, really. They've shifted themselves before every time change they've had. Is it the light? Even with the room darkening shades? Is it the weather? Is it a perfectly-timed growth spurt? Who knows. But it works like, well, clockwork. Everytime.
And my kids had been getting ready for a month. Sis and Bud had been slowly moving back their wake-up time from 7:15 to 6:15 a.m. and so I had been shifting their bedtimes correspondingly, from 7:15 to 6:15 p.m. So Sunday, when the time changed, they were magically back to their 7:15 wake-up and 7:15 bedtime, exactly where they were about 6 weeks ago.
It's strange, really. They've shifted themselves before every time change they've had. Is it the light? Even with the room darkening shades? Is it the weather? Is it a perfectly-timed growth spurt? Who knows. But it works like, well, clockwork. Everytime.
In the Papers
Check these out:
- Michael Pollan is gathering your food rules, like "why would you eat it if a bug wouldn't?" or, from the prophet Mohammed, "a full belly should contain one-third food, one-third drink and one-third air."
- Motherlode's post on the lifting of the stem cell research executive order.
- . . . and the post about helicopter parents.
- A discussion of ways to organize your email (including the suggestion to zero out your inbox, which I did and really appreciate!)
- "Whether you're rich or whether you're poor, it's good to have money!" as my Dad always says.
- And finally, a little art for you: the Bard or not the Bard.
What We Did This Weekend
What a weekend! It was almost 70 on Sunday, with clouds, and just as warm with sun on Saturday. And so we spent some of the weekend outside.
Saturday was my second NVC course and so I spent the whole day learning more techniques of nonviolent, or compassionate, communication. We delved more into empathy and practiced honest expressions. And I spent the day pondering how to respond to grocery store questioners. You know, the ones who ask about the kids' parentage or origins while we're picking out grapes or standing in line to check out. Rarely hostile, these strangers are curious . . . and intrusive. We don't ask white families where they came from. Unless they have accents. But Mama, who is Chinese, gets asked about once a month if she is "from here." And she just smiles and says she was born in NYC. Some then persist, still wanting the answer to their unstated question "what are you?", and begin a litany of Asian countries. When they find out she's Chinese, they usually just nod, having figured her out, I guess. And that's what happens with the kids, except there are all these layers of possibility: are they "mine"? are they adopted? where did I adopt them from? if I didn't adopt them is their father Chinese? Nope, their other mom is Chinese.
Maybe that's my answer. I talked about possiblities with two women in similar situations--one was a single mom who had adopted her Chinese daughter and another was an aunt whose nieces were from Sierra Leone and had been adopted by white parents. Both agreed that questioning was constant and upsetting and that often the best answer was as little as possible. Every conversation does not need to be about education and outreach. Or I'd never get out of the grocery store. And so, using NVC, I pondered my feelings and needs regarding this situation. In classic "giraffe," I came up with "When I hear strangers ask questions about my children's origins, I feel anxious and protective because I am needing dignity and security for my family." Now, in true OFNR (observation/feeling/need/request), I need a request--but "so would you please mind your own business?" or even "why do you ask?" aren't exactly modeling positive behaviors for my kids (too defensive). But I don't really want a quality of connection with strangers all the time so, (still using NVC jargon) entering the connection with an energy of my own choosing, I choose not to connect. I might just smile and say, "They're great, right?" and leave it at that.
While I was pondering the way to work through racism and homophobia at the grocery store, Mama took the kiddos to Mystic Seaport, where they had a wonderful time in the art studio, children's space, and new outdoor wooden boat playset. It was odd that they were there without me, but I was really glad that they were doing something special and really proud of Mama for attempting the field trip on her own (funny, it's the driving that would keep me from doing it, while the driving is the easy part for her).
Then Saturday night was my Personal Renewal Group (PRG). This month's theme was "who I am" and it was reflecting on this that lead to all the recent posts on work. Next month's theme is self-care. But I think I'm mostly good at that, in the sense that I do devote time to my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health each week, if not each day. In fact, tomorrow, I have an appointment to meet my new GP. From there, I'm hoping for the referral to an orthopedist and then an order for my new orthotic lift in my shoe. And the okay to keep working on my 5K training. But the PRG is a good reminder to keep it all going.
Sunday was our special children's concert at a local nature center. We went early and visited all the animals: Sis loved the horses and bunnies but not the wandering guinea hens; Bud liked the super stinky pig and the ducks. And then there were all the reptiles! They both liked all the art on the premises, both the modern steel constructions and the more traditional wooden totem poles (which they recognized from AMNH and "Little Einsteins"). Before the concert, we had lunch at a local sandwich shop, though Mama and I had picked up some falafels for ourselves and relished having something different (we're hoping to go for Ethiopian on a date while my mom is here).
Bud really liked watching the musicians warm up for the concert--a trio with a violin, viola, and cello. He realized the musicians were all wearing black--"I'm not wearing black so I can't be a musician today." There were lots of songs about animals, some as solos and some with the whole trio. Plus discussions of each instrument. Both kids sat extremely still while the music played, absorbed in watching it live (because Bud had asked if he needed to go to the potty, if they would wait for him! ). At one point, the cellist asked the kids to imagine swans for the next piece. "Can you see them?" he asked. "No!" Bud answered, his eyes shut tight while he tried so hard. We all laughed goodnaturedly, but I think he was surprised at the response and a little shy. Sis, who had started the concert writing letters on a piece of paper, was soon absorbed in the music, sitting as still as a statue. They both said they liked it.
But they liked other things more, of course. They liked the little toy in the children's room that allowed them to make impressions of their hands . . . and faces! And they liked the little wooden outdoor stage where they sang and danced while Mama fetched the car. Bud made us swear we would build a stage in the backyard--"with several sticks and the one big piece of wood on top."
And so now it's Monday, with a big week ahead: Gommie comes on Thursday, as does our Miss T up from Georgia for the week. Plus school and Chinese. And a party and an outing this weekend. So, if the posts are fewer and further between, you'll know why. Just means I'll have more to tell you next week!
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Mama's Note: She would like me to mention that people don't ask if she is from here because they assume that she is not. They say, "where are you from?" And sometimes she says NYC and they still say, "no, really?"
Saturday was my second NVC course and so I spent the whole day learning more techniques of nonviolent, or compassionate, communication. We delved more into empathy and practiced honest expressions. And I spent the day pondering how to respond to grocery store questioners. You know, the ones who ask about the kids' parentage or origins while we're picking out grapes or standing in line to check out. Rarely hostile, these strangers are curious . . . and intrusive. We don't ask white families where they came from. Unless they have accents. But Mama, who is Chinese, gets asked about once a month if she is "from here." And she just smiles and says she was born in NYC. Some then persist, still wanting the answer to their unstated question "what are you?", and begin a litany of Asian countries. When they find out she's Chinese, they usually just nod, having figured her out, I guess. And that's what happens with the kids, except there are all these layers of possibility: are they "mine"? are they adopted? where did I adopt them from? if I didn't adopt them is their father Chinese? Nope, their other mom is Chinese.
Maybe that's my answer. I talked about possiblities with two women in similar situations--one was a single mom who had adopted her Chinese daughter and another was an aunt whose nieces were from Sierra Leone and had been adopted by white parents. Both agreed that questioning was constant and upsetting and that often the best answer was as little as possible. Every conversation does not need to be about education and outreach. Or I'd never get out of the grocery store. And so, using NVC, I pondered my feelings and needs regarding this situation. In classic "giraffe," I came up with "When I hear strangers ask questions about my children's origins, I feel anxious and protective because I am needing dignity and security for my family." Now, in true OFNR (observation/feeling/need/request), I need a request--but "so would you please mind your own business?" or even "why do you ask?" aren't exactly modeling positive behaviors for my kids (too defensive). But I don't really want a quality of connection with strangers all the time so, (still using NVC jargon) entering the connection with an energy of my own choosing, I choose not to connect. I might just smile and say, "They're great, right?" and leave it at that.
While I was pondering the way to work through racism and homophobia at the grocery store, Mama took the kiddos to Mystic Seaport, where they had a wonderful time in the art studio, children's space, and new outdoor wooden boat playset. It was odd that they were there without me, but I was really glad that they were doing something special and really proud of Mama for attempting the field trip on her own (funny, it's the driving that would keep me from doing it, while the driving is the easy part for her).
Then Saturday night was my Personal Renewal Group (PRG). This month's theme was "who I am" and it was reflecting on this that lead to all the recent posts on work. Next month's theme is self-care. But I think I'm mostly good at that, in the sense that I do devote time to my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health each week, if not each day. In fact, tomorrow, I have an appointment to meet my new GP. From there, I'm hoping for the referral to an orthopedist and then an order for my new orthotic lift in my shoe. And the okay to keep working on my 5K training. But the PRG is a good reminder to keep it all going.
Sunday was our special children's concert at a local nature center. We went early and visited all the animals: Sis loved the horses and bunnies but not the wandering guinea hens; Bud liked the super stinky pig and the ducks. And then there were all the reptiles! They both liked all the art on the premises, both the modern steel constructions and the more traditional wooden totem poles (which they recognized from AMNH and "Little Einsteins"). Before the concert, we had lunch at a local sandwich shop, though Mama and I had picked up some falafels for ourselves and relished having something different (we're hoping to go for Ethiopian on a date while my mom is here).
Bud really liked watching the musicians warm up for the concert--a trio with a violin, viola, and cello. He realized the musicians were all wearing black--"I'm not wearing black so I can't be a musician today." There were lots of songs about animals, some as solos and some with the whole trio. Plus discussions of each instrument. Both kids sat extremely still while the music played, absorbed in watching it live (because Bud had asked if he needed to go to the potty, if they would wait for him! ). At one point, the cellist asked the kids to imagine swans for the next piece. "Can you see them?" he asked. "No!" Bud answered, his eyes shut tight while he tried so hard. We all laughed goodnaturedly, but I think he was surprised at the response and a little shy. Sis, who had started the concert writing letters on a piece of paper, was soon absorbed in the music, sitting as still as a statue. They both said they liked it.
But they liked other things more, of course. They liked the little toy in the children's room that allowed them to make impressions of their hands . . . and faces! And they liked the little wooden outdoor stage where they sang and danced while Mama fetched the car. Bud made us swear we would build a stage in the backyard--"with several sticks and the one big piece of wood on top."
And so now it's Monday, with a big week ahead: Gommie comes on Thursday, as does our Miss T up from Georgia for the week. Plus school and Chinese. And a party and an outing this weekend. So, if the posts are fewer and further between, you'll know why. Just means I'll have more to tell you next week!
-=-=-=-=-
Mama's Note: She would like me to mention that people don't ask if she is from here because they assume that she is not. They say, "where are you from?" And sometimes she says NYC and they still say, "no, really?"
Friday, March 6, 2009
How to Lose Friends and Alienate People
If you have been at all annoyed or frustrated by my journeys into compassionate communication, NVC, or even just my narcissistic musings, check out Judith Warner's "Being and Mindfulness" in the NYTimes. I think you'll get a kick out of it. I did.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Of Virtues and Necessities
A friend recently commented on my post "Working through Work," which began when another friend (no, it wasn't you) said that I had better get back to work soon or I wouldn't be able to.
The commentor (a friend and, I should point out, colleague in the field, as is the other one) gently reminded me that said friend was correct even if honesty is hard to hear.
And, as it turns out, they are both right.
Having not done anything professional or academic in 4 years, I am very aware that my time is running out. In fact, on brutally honest days, I know my time has run out. I am really no longer competitive for the kinds of jobs I used to hold. This is probably alarming, surprising, or even disappointing to people who know me from the field, people who supported me through the dissertation process (I know it is because they hint at it or tell me outright). And so that particular post was very much about working out how I felt about it. Am I sad that I have missed that career boat (by jumping off)? Do I need to swim fast to a lifeboat (of freelance or part-time work) to see if, to continue this metaphor, I can paddle around there until someone can throw me a rope and pull me to the safety of a full-time, professinal museum or academic career? Or am I okay about going for a swim, because really the water is just fine?
And as I thought about it, in that post and other discussions, I realized that though I never would have said I was okay with it, I think I am prepared to let the career float on by. Yes, I did spend years working on my dissertation. But I almost now see that as a finite project. Which I barely finished. I finished it because I had started it. Not because I needed it for something else. Which, I didn't (most museum educators do not have Ph.D.s and by then I'd already chosen that as my path). And I'm proud of the work I did on it, of the article I published, and of all the various projects I completed as a professional, full-time art historian and museum educator.
It comes down to this: I value my education and my past career experiences, as well as my role as a full-time mom, but I know I cannot do both well, though many women can. When it comes down to it--realizing that if I tried to do both now, I would find it impossible--I choose full-time motherhood over full-time career. For the children, for our family, and, yes, for me as an individual. And since I believe this, for all intents and purposes, ends the future possibility of the kind of position I had--which oddly doesn't sadden me too much--I am considering what to do, how to define fulfillment and satisfaction, now that my previous definitions of it, my previous path, that career boat is sailing away. Sure, I can still work in the field, be a professional educator without being head of education, use my art historical education, do something related to my skill set. There were part-timers and freelance educators at my first big job and I didn't understand why they would only want to work part-time; I get it now. And I know I can do that (even after 4 years). But even more interestingly, I'm developing several new skill sets, and will continue to, and I would love to see where the new ones, when combined with the others, take me. I find this all rather exhilerating and I am excited about it. That is, when I'm not terrified at the tabula rasa of my future because I never really in a billion years thought I--good little A student with a feminist bent who actually never planned on becoming a mom until the day on the train, ironically as we were headed into work, that I turned to Mama and said we should have children--would ever choose motherhood over career. But I am.
The mommy doth protest too much, methinks? I hope, indeed, I would like to believe, that I'm not just making a virtue out of a necessity. But thanks to both friends, and the others who emailed me or commented, for helping me to think about, to clarify my thoughts about, what really is a life-altering paradigmatic shift for me.
The commentor (a friend and, I should point out, colleague in the field, as is the other one) gently reminded me that said friend was correct even if honesty is hard to hear.
And, as it turns out, they are both right.
Having not done anything professional or academic in 4 years, I am very aware that my time is running out. In fact, on brutally honest days, I know my time has run out. I am really no longer competitive for the kinds of jobs I used to hold. This is probably alarming, surprising, or even disappointing to people who know me from the field, people who supported me through the dissertation process (I know it is because they hint at it or tell me outright). And so that particular post was very much about working out how I felt about it. Am I sad that I have missed that career boat (by jumping off)? Do I need to swim fast to a lifeboat (of freelance or part-time work) to see if, to continue this metaphor, I can paddle around there until someone can throw me a rope and pull me to the safety of a full-time, professinal museum or academic career? Or am I okay about going for a swim, because really the water is just fine?
And as I thought about it, in that post and other discussions, I realized that though I never would have said I was okay with it, I think I am prepared to let the career float on by. Yes, I did spend years working on my dissertation. But I almost now see that as a finite project. Which I barely finished. I finished it because I had started it. Not because I needed it for something else. Which, I didn't (most museum educators do not have Ph.D.s and by then I'd already chosen that as my path). And I'm proud of the work I did on it, of the article I published, and of all the various projects I completed as a professional, full-time art historian and museum educator.
It comes down to this: I value my education and my past career experiences, as well as my role as a full-time mom, but I know I cannot do both well, though many women can. When it comes down to it--realizing that if I tried to do both now, I would find it impossible--I choose full-time motherhood over full-time career. For the children, for our family, and, yes, for me as an individual. And since I believe this, for all intents and purposes, ends the future possibility of the kind of position I had--which oddly doesn't sadden me too much--I am considering what to do, how to define fulfillment and satisfaction, now that my previous definitions of it, my previous path, that career boat is sailing away. Sure, I can still work in the field, be a professional educator without being head of education, use my art historical education, do something related to my skill set. There were part-timers and freelance educators at my first big job and I didn't understand why they would only want to work part-time; I get it now. And I know I can do that (even after 4 years). But even more interestingly, I'm developing several new skill sets, and will continue to, and I would love to see where the new ones, when combined with the others, take me. I find this all rather exhilerating and I am excited about it. That is, when I'm not terrified at the tabula rasa of my future because I never really in a billion years thought I--good little A student with a feminist bent who actually never planned on becoming a mom until the day on the train, ironically as we were headed into work, that I turned to Mama and said we should have children--would ever choose motherhood over career. But I am.
The mommy doth protest too much, methinks? I hope, indeed, I would like to believe, that I'm not just making a virtue out of a necessity. But thanks to both friends, and the others who emailed me or commented, for helping me to think about, to clarify my thoughts about, what really is a life-altering paradigmatic shift for me.
This is for All of Us
This is for you. If you are a mom with a child on the autistic spectrum, this is for you. If you are a mom whose kids aren't on the spectrum, this is still for you. And if you don't have kids or don't have them at home anymore, this can be for you, too. And if you ever stand in line at the grocery store and then roll your eyes at the behavior of someone else's kids, then this is especially for you.
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I have to admit that the title of this guest post on Motherlode, "A Tale of Two Mothers," really threw me. I thought it was going to be about lesbian moms. Maybe next time, right, Lisa?
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I have to admit that the title of this guest post on Motherlode, "A Tale of Two Mothers," really threw me. I thought it was going to be about lesbian moms. Maybe next time, right, Lisa?
Teaching Parents
Today was our first parent-teacher conference. The children had been administered the Gesell Developmental Observation (GDO). By playing games and observing outcomes that reveal information on adaptive, language, and motor skills, a trained examiner "makes discriminating observations of a child’s behavior and then evaluates these observations by comparison with normative patterns developed for each developmental age." Of course, Sis and Bud had mentioned tests long before the conference because they each got to play alone with a teacher, which they enjoyed immensely. But today we learned some of the different things they'd done, from completing a drawing of an "incomplete man" and counting objects to identifying letters and walking on a balance beam.
And of course, there were scores for each section, as well as an overall score, all of which are given not so much as a grade but as an age (i.e. where they are developmentally--kinda like Real Age for development instead of health). But I'm not going to reveal any of those numbers. "Hi, I'm Mommy, and I'm a recovering A student." Of course, the first thing that Mama and I, both rather competitive students, wondered was, "so what percentile does that put them in?" You know, class rank. It mattered in high school for each class and for graduation, for SATs, and then all of that again for college, then GREs, grad school comps and orals and language exams. It's an old habit to break, this academic competition. Even if we weren't specifically talking academics, because, you know, they're 3 1/2. And Mama and I are really conscious of not starting that stress this early (or at all, or, well, at all . . . yet. We're working on that. And it's all tied up to definitions of happiness, success, etc, which then leads to public vs private vs homeschooling. Please, please don't get us started). School and learning and developing are fun; we're instilling the love here, not raising stress levels and encouraging competition. Breathe in, breathe out.
Oh, but it's hard. Because even as we sat there, listening to the discussion of Sis, I wondered how Bud had fared. And then when we went through Bud, I mentally noted how he and Sis had done differently and similiarly. At least we have two and can do some comparing?!? If we only had one, we wouldn't know what was "normal"? Terrible, horrible parents. Vicious, evil cycle. Because there is no right or wrong, good or bad. There are no grades. It's all very positive, very encouraging. Both kids are exactly where they are and we love them. And you realize you're completely out of control and you might actually ruin their love for learning, even their lives, if you're not careful, because you are sitting there thinking "well, so that one pushes a tricycle with feet instead of pedalling--do we need tricycles at home? We'll go get them this afternoon. They can pedal through the snow. Hmmm, that child didn't count as high as I've heard--really, really, the kid can count to 29! We'll fetch 'um." You want so much for your kids, want to give them everything they might need, want to help them be and do everything they can and want. And what you end up giving them is a complex.
In the end, it was actually pretty much what we expected--the kids are on paper whom we know them to be--and we didn't have any real questions. Except one. About games. Which were one of the suggestions for both kids. Because, you know, games are important. And I loathe them (ooh, there's that competitive streak again. Snap the rubberband!). Today we learned that they probably aren't actually ready to play CandyLand or Chutes & Ladders by the rules; that's not what's important. We should try Bingo or Uno or any other matching ABCs or colors game. Fine, good, easy. Relief. Sis can make up stories about Candy Land and Bud can ignore the chutes and ladders if he likes. It's not about rules, turn-taking, or sportsmanship yet. Thank heavens.
And so what did we tell the kids, who were playing at Mommy Goose's house? (Thank you so much, Mommy Goose!) They knew they didn't have school and that we were going to talk to their teachers. We told them we'd been to school and that parents were there but none of the kids and how strange that was. That their teachers said they loved having Bud and Sis in school. That they were doing great in school and were great kids. It's all true.
Yep, Mama and I passed our test too.
And of course, there were scores for each section, as well as an overall score, all of which are given not so much as a grade but as an age (i.e. where they are developmentally--kinda like Real Age for development instead of health). But I'm not going to reveal any of those numbers. "Hi, I'm Mommy, and I'm a recovering A student." Of course, the first thing that Mama and I, both rather competitive students, wondered was, "so what percentile does that put them in?" You know, class rank. It mattered in high school for each class and for graduation, for SATs, and then all of that again for college, then GREs, grad school comps and orals and language exams. It's an old habit to break, this academic competition. Even if we weren't specifically talking academics, because, you know, they're 3 1/2. And Mama and I are really conscious of not starting that stress this early (or at all, or, well, at all . . . yet. We're working on that. And it's all tied up to definitions of happiness, success, etc, which then leads to public vs private vs homeschooling. Please, please don't get us started). School and learning and developing are fun; we're instilling the love here, not raising stress levels and encouraging competition. Breathe in, breathe out.
Oh, but it's hard. Because even as we sat there, listening to the discussion of Sis, I wondered how Bud had fared. And then when we went through Bud, I mentally noted how he and Sis had done differently and similiarly. At least we have two and can do some comparing?!? If we only had one, we wouldn't know what was "normal"? Terrible, horrible parents. Vicious, evil cycle. Because there is no right or wrong, good or bad. There are no grades. It's all very positive, very encouraging. Both kids are exactly where they are and we love them. And you realize you're completely out of control and you might actually ruin their love for learning, even their lives, if you're not careful, because you are sitting there thinking "well, so that one pushes a tricycle with feet instead of pedalling--do we need tricycles at home? We'll go get them this afternoon. They can pedal through the snow. Hmmm, that child didn't count as high as I've heard--really, really, the kid can count to 29! We'll fetch 'um." You want so much for your kids, want to give them everything they might need, want to help them be and do everything they can and want. And what you end up giving them is a complex.
In the end, it was actually pretty much what we expected--the kids are on paper whom we know them to be--and we didn't have any real questions. Except one. About games. Which were one of the suggestions for both kids. Because, you know, games are important. And I loathe them (ooh, there's that competitive streak again. Snap the rubberband!). Today we learned that they probably aren't actually ready to play CandyLand or Chutes & Ladders by the rules; that's not what's important. We should try Bingo or Uno or any other matching ABCs or colors game. Fine, good, easy. Relief. Sis can make up stories about Candy Land and Bud can ignore the chutes and ladders if he likes. It's not about rules, turn-taking, or sportsmanship yet. Thank heavens.
And so what did we tell the kids, who were playing at Mommy Goose's house? (Thank you so much, Mommy Goose!) They knew they didn't have school and that we were going to talk to their teachers. We told them we'd been to school and that parents were there but none of the kids and how strange that was. That their teachers said they loved having Bud and Sis in school. That they were doing great in school and were great kids. It's all true.
Yep, Mama and I passed our test too.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Don't Read This
I came across the following piece while researching my post on the art of picture books over at my other blog, which lead me to The Horn Book, which has amazing resources on books for parents (so does The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, which we hope to visit soon). I love this:
Unlucky Arithmetic: Thirteen Ways to Raise a Nonreader
by Dean Schneider and Robin Smith
1. Never read where your children can see you.
2. Put a TV or computer in every room. Don’t neglect the bedrooms and kitchen.
3. Correct your child every time she mispronounces a word.
4. Schedule activities every day after school so your child will never be bored.
5. Once your child can read independently, throw out the picture books. They’re for babies.
6. Don’t play board games together.Too dull.
7. Give little rewards for reading. Stickers and plastic toys are nice. Money is even better.
8. Don’t expect your children to enjoy reading. Kids’ books are for teaching vocabulary, proper study habits, and good morals.
9. Buy only 40-watt bulbs for your lamps.
10. Under no circumstances read your child the same book over and over. She heard it once, she should remember it.
11. Never allow your child to listen to books on tape; that’s cheating.
12. Make sure your kids only read books that are “challenging.” Easy books are a complete waste of time. That goes double for comic books and Mad magazine.
13. Absolutely, positively no reading in bed.
Unlucky Arithmetic: Thirteen Ways to Raise a Nonreader
by Dean Schneider and Robin Smith
1. Never read where your children can see you.
2. Put a TV or computer in every room. Don’t neglect the bedrooms and kitchen.
3. Correct your child every time she mispronounces a word.
4. Schedule activities every day after school so your child will never be bored.
5. Once your child can read independently, throw out the picture books. They’re for babies.
6. Don’t play board games together.Too dull.
7. Give little rewards for reading. Stickers and plastic toys are nice. Money is even better.
8. Don’t expect your children to enjoy reading. Kids’ books are for teaching vocabulary, proper study habits, and good morals.
9. Buy only 40-watt bulbs for your lamps.
10. Under no circumstances read your child the same book over and over. She heard it once, she should remember it.
11. Never allow your child to listen to books on tape; that’s cheating.
12. Make sure your kids only read books that are “challenging.” Easy books are a complete waste of time. That goes double for comic books and Mad magazine.
13. Absolutely, positively no reading in bed.
Taking a Walk Through a Picture Book
Educators have long recognized not only the importance of picture books in the development of pre-reading skills and literacy, but also the importance of picture books for the development of visual literacy. Picture books are often a child's first experience of art. But as H. Nichols B. Clark, founding director of the first museum dedicated to picture book arts, the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, noted, "Illustration has long been relegated to stepchild status in the arts in America." While the Caldecott Medal was established by the American Library Association in 1937 to recognize the illustrator of the most distinguished picture book of the year, it was only in 2002 that Eric Carle, noted illustrator and author of more than 70 picture books, helped found a museum dedicated to the art form.
Picture books are ideal for introducing art to children: their intimate, personal scale; their dedication to narrative storytelling that encourages children to "read" the picture; familiar or accessible subject matter; easy, affordable format. Parents who might be unfamiliar with art museums are frequently comfortable with bedtime story rituals. But how do you talk about the art of a picture book? Educators utilize a technique called the "picture walk" or "story walk" to discuss illustrations in books even before addressing the written word. To do this, teachers begin with the cover and ask the class to help them describe the illustration. As they progress through the book, children and teacher examine the illustration to discern the narrative and then make hypotheses and predictions about the story based on the illustrations. The Carle Museum advocates what they term the Whole Book Approach, in which children are encouraged to listen and speak to engage the visual and verbal aspects of the book simultaneously, instead of listening silently to the adult read aloud. This approach embraces Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS), a learner-centered open-questioning system that encourages the exploration of visual art through personal response and expression. Developed by psychologist Abigail Housen and museum educator Philip Yenawine, VTS has long been utilized by museum educators to discuss paintings and sculpture but can be adapted to any visual form. Begin with "what do you think is going on in this picture?" and proceed from the child's answer.
A great place to start are stories without words. The narrative is embedded in the pictures, allowing children to interpret the story for themselves without asking for the words to be read (or reading the words themselves). One of our favorites is You Can't Take a Balloon into the Metropolitan Museum written by Jacqueline Preiss Weitzman and illustrated by Robin Preiss Glasser. Black-and-white illustrations of New York City parallel a little girl's exploration of the Met and the colorful works of art she finds there (depicted in photographs) with the adventure of her yellow balloon throughout Manhattan as a Met guard tries to retrieve it. Each time my children read the pictures, they discover new details and alter their version of the story, all the while remembering their own experiences of the Met and the city. In this way, picture books bring art home while reinforcing visual literacy skills that children can then take to the art museum and to the world at large.
Picture books are ideal for introducing art to children: their intimate, personal scale; their dedication to narrative storytelling that encourages children to "read" the picture; familiar or accessible subject matter; easy, affordable format. Parents who might be unfamiliar with art museums are frequently comfortable with bedtime story rituals. But how do you talk about the art of a picture book? Educators utilize a technique called the "picture walk" or "story walk" to discuss illustrations in books even before addressing the written word. To do this, teachers begin with the cover and ask the class to help them describe the illustration. As they progress through the book, children and teacher examine the illustration to discern the narrative and then make hypotheses and predictions about the story based on the illustrations. The Carle Museum advocates what they term the Whole Book Approach, in which children are encouraged to listen and speak to engage the visual and verbal aspects of the book simultaneously, instead of listening silently to the adult read aloud. This approach embraces Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS), a learner-centered open-questioning system that encourages the exploration of visual art through personal response and expression. Developed by psychologist Abigail Housen and museum educator Philip Yenawine, VTS has long been utilized by museum educators to discuss paintings and sculpture but can be adapted to any visual form. Begin with "what do you think is going on in this picture?" and proceed from the child's answer.
A great place to start are stories without words. The narrative is embedded in the pictures, allowing children to interpret the story for themselves without asking for the words to be read (or reading the words themselves). One of our favorites is You Can't Take a Balloon into the Metropolitan Museum written by Jacqueline Preiss Weitzman and illustrated by Robin Preiss Glasser. Black-and-white illustrations of New York City parallel a little girl's exploration of the Met and the colorful works of art she finds there (depicted in photographs) with the adventure of her yellow balloon throughout Manhattan as a Met guard tries to retrieve it. Each time my children read the pictures, they discover new details and alter their version of the story, all the while remembering their own experiences of the Met and the city. In this way, picture books bring art home while reinforcing visual literacy skills that children can then take to the art museum and to the world at large.
Look to Learn, Learn to Look: Tips for Talking with Children about Art
You're in a museum, standing in front of a work of art, a painting, maybe a sculpture. You've done everything you can to assure a positive visit to the museum--eaten beforehand, planned a short visit, talked about the rules, gotten excited about what you're going to see--now what?
For me, the key to talking with children about art is the "with" in "talking with children," instead of "talking to chidren about art." The goal is a discussion, not a lecture. And little or no knowledge of art history is necessary. Like many museum educators, I utilize an adaptation of Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS) when discussing art with children (for numerous articles and videos on the strategy and the research behind it, check out the website; I attended one of their weeklong training workshops). Briefly, the strategy, designed by museum educator Philip Yenawine and psychologist Abigail Housen, encourages the discussion and exploration of visual art through a learner-centered series of open-ended questions: what's going on in this picture? what do you see that makes you say that? and what more can we find? By responding openly and without judgment to children's answers, adults facilitate close and rewarding looking at a work of art.
Of course, this technique often drives art historians to distraction because it does not prioritize information such as artist biography, art style/movement/"-ism", social history/context, and the like. Similarly, adult museum visitors often find "pure VTS" frustrating because they don't feel like they "learn" anything about a work of art, and, as museums are seen primarily as educational institutions, visitors value discussions with facts. Of course, in all fairness, the technique was originally designed for elementary school classrooms not art museum tours. This is why I mentioned an "adapted" form of VTS. Many educators begin with a VTS-like introduction to a work of art, encouraging close looking, but then branch out into art-historical lecturing when the discussion touches upon something interesting or unique in a work of art (it's also how I've taught my college art history surveys. But children are not yet burdened with these expectations and can often play the VTS question game ad infinitem, spotting numerous details and drawing intriguing conclusions. So, next time you are standing in front of a work of art, or even a picture book, start with "what do you think is going on in this picture?" and see what marvelous places it takes you.
For me, the key to talking with children about art is the "with" in "talking with children," instead of "talking to chidren about art." The goal is a discussion, not a lecture. And little or no knowledge of art history is necessary. Like many museum educators, I utilize an adaptation of Visual Thinking Strategies (VTS) when discussing art with children (for numerous articles and videos on the strategy and the research behind it, check out the website; I attended one of their weeklong training workshops). Briefly, the strategy, designed by museum educator Philip Yenawine and psychologist Abigail Housen, encourages the discussion and exploration of visual art through a learner-centered series of open-ended questions: what's going on in this picture? what do you see that makes you say that? and what more can we find? By responding openly and without judgment to children's answers, adults facilitate close and rewarding looking at a work of art.
Of course, this technique often drives art historians to distraction because it does not prioritize information such as artist biography, art style/movement/"-ism", social history/context, and the like. Similarly, adult museum visitors often find "pure VTS" frustrating because they don't feel like they "learn" anything about a work of art, and, as museums are seen primarily as educational institutions, visitors value discussions with facts. Of course, in all fairness, the technique was originally designed for elementary school classrooms not art museum tours. This is why I mentioned an "adapted" form of VTS. Many educators begin with a VTS-like introduction to a work of art, encouraging close looking, but then branch out into art-historical lecturing when the discussion touches upon something interesting or unique in a work of art (it's also how I've taught my college art history surveys. But children are not yet burdened with these expectations and can often play the VTS question game ad infinitem, spotting numerous details and drawing intriguing conclusions. So, next time you are standing in front of a work of art, or even a picture book, start with "what do you think is going on in this picture?" and see what marvelous places it takes you.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Working through Work
A friend said to me, "Well, you better get back to work before you won't be able to work again." While initially, I agreed with her and believed her warning, I have since realized how much harm, more than good, it did.
I've always been a good student: straight As, honor rolls, honor societies, Summa Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa, grad school, Ph.D. The academic track is a clear one, if not always easy, and so I followed it, doing my best and doing pretty well at it, for years. Of course, one aspect of "good student"-ness is a need for approval, for pleasing the teachers who give out those grades, for recognizing and reconciling oneself to authority figures and mastering what they require. Of course being able to do that successfully, thereby earning those As, stroked my vanity (which was, at least academically, considerable, and still is at times). And of course, it was all circular, expanding to include career once school was (finally) over (with colleagues whose approbation I sought taking the place of teachers).
But I'm off track, so to speak. Instead of academic art history, I embraced museums and education, certainly seen as a lesser career in the field. And for awhile, that concerned me. But at some point, even before finishing my Ph.D. I abandoned extreme ambition and overachievement in favor of greater life-work balance. I think much of this is owing to watching a teenage student of mine live while slowly dying from Duchenne's Muscular Dystrophy; he was 16 when I met him and died about a year and a half later. Even though I returned to grad school, I had rearranged my priorities. I just don't think I knew how much they had changed until now.
I left work early when I was pregnant with the twins, ostensibly because it was a hard pregnancy (it was), but equally because I was done with work and turning myself to my new project of motherhood. But I am continually asked when I'm going to return, the implications being I'm behind, I'm slacking, and I'm wasting my education by staying home. And I have believed it. My friend's words brought out all my anxieties and fears about not being a "good student." I had embraced the notion that my prescribed path is to return to work as soon as I am able. But I keep pushing that time off--the kids are in school a bit now, and I could probably find something worthwhile to do (well, I might have been able to, before the recession). But in my downtime, I do almost everything but pursue academic or professional goals: I don't research or write articles for publication, I don't apply for teaching jobs, I don't even volunteer at local art museums, and I don't stay very current on my field. I had a misguided notion that if I kept my other blog current, the one on art, museums, and families, that I would somehow be keeping alive my career, doing the work that my friend said was critical to ever being employed in the field again. But those posts, while of interest to me, have not been a priority. Besides, when I'm honest with myself, the idea that blogging about art will somehow make up for not working when I go to get another job, is absurd. Especially because I'm in no rush to get that job. And by turning to examine my reticience and hesitation, I have learned some new things about myself.
I've been working through the current chapter of my Personal Renewal Group workbook, and one of the questions was "what is your heart's greatest desire?" Another was about regrets at the end of my life. Another was about business I could leave unfinished. And as I've considered these, I've realized that among my priorities, goals, and possible regrets, career has had little to do with it. I'm not sure I am going to have another career, in the sense of picking up where I left off on an ambitious trajectory of ladder climbing (such as it was in a non-profit field). Of course, with the recession, there is no ladder, there isn't even any hiring. And this is almost a great relief. Because without those jobs out there waiting to be filled, I don't have to feel guilty about not wanting to fill them.
This is not to say that I won't find work again, far from it. What I mean to say is that I've given myself permission to leave the good-student track, to define professional and personal fulfillment in other ways, "out-of-the-box" ways. I don't have to be the head of education at the big "brand-name" art museum, which is what I would've required of myself in the past. I don't need the approval (or even the understanding) of colleagues, or friends. I might start something local, I might continue my work at church, I might actually embrace my other blog without the pressure to make it "successful." I don't need an ambitious, impressive career. Just something, probably something with a little art and an educational bent, to use my knowedge, experience and skills to help others while fulfilling myself and providing a role model for my kids. If it turns out to be full-time, or even "on-track," that's okay too, but it doesn't have to be. And I'm not going to feel guilty about not doing what others think I should.
Of course, it would be especially reassuring if I knew that taking the "mommy track" now was not jeopardizing other possibilities in the future. But how do you prepare for a future you haven't yet charted? How can I know what I would need to do today in order to secure a tomorrow I don't yet know I want? It's funny, but all of the really important, momentous decisions of my life have involved little or no forethought or advanced planning: electing to pursue grad school in art history as a senior in college (changing my major that year to do so!); hooking up with Mama; moving to Chicago; pursuing a lead in museum education; moving back to NYC to finish my dissertation; buying a house in Connecticut; having a baby (having two!). Mama will tell you, on most of these occasions, I just turned to her and said, "we should do this." And when asked to explain my decision-making process, I said it just came to me. Well, obviously, this career thing is not one of those occasions. Which probably means, if past performance predicts future, that it's not really decision time. And when the time does present itself, I will intuitively know what to do. Somehow. It's worked out well so far.
I know I am lucky that Mama's career allows me not only the choice, but the time and resources to figure out what my choices are. Perhaps, paralleling this, my choice, in its own way, frees her up to pursue her career while also providing a richer family life without the guilt that working moms often have. The feminist in me has, until recently, said that I was letting down the team by not returning to work. But, seeing feminism as emphasizing choice for women--and not just the choice to join the workforce--but also seeing feminism as redefining our lives and thought-systems outside of traditional patriarchal modes, I think my change of heart, or more particularly my dawning realization of my choice, is in line with a feminist perspective, just as Mama's career goals and work are too. So, my friend was, in the end, wrong. By not going back to work now, I am actually acknowledging and embracing the life's work I do now and will continue to do, in whatever ways it manifests itself. For if I had stayed rigidly on track, I wouldn't have the kiddos, and life, for Mama and I, would've been much more work than it is now.
But even as I write this, I know that I am looking for, am so desperately needing, approval.
I've always been a good student: straight As, honor rolls, honor societies, Summa Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa, grad school, Ph.D. The academic track is a clear one, if not always easy, and so I followed it, doing my best and doing pretty well at it, for years. Of course, one aspect of "good student"-ness is a need for approval, for pleasing the teachers who give out those grades, for recognizing and reconciling oneself to authority figures and mastering what they require. Of course being able to do that successfully, thereby earning those As, stroked my vanity (which was, at least academically, considerable, and still is at times). And of course, it was all circular, expanding to include career once school was (finally) over (with colleagues whose approbation I sought taking the place of teachers).
But I'm off track, so to speak. Instead of academic art history, I embraced museums and education, certainly seen as a lesser career in the field. And for awhile, that concerned me. But at some point, even before finishing my Ph.D. I abandoned extreme ambition and overachievement in favor of greater life-work balance. I think much of this is owing to watching a teenage student of mine live while slowly dying from Duchenne's Muscular Dystrophy; he was 16 when I met him and died about a year and a half later. Even though I returned to grad school, I had rearranged my priorities. I just don't think I knew how much they had changed until now.
I left work early when I was pregnant with the twins, ostensibly because it was a hard pregnancy (it was), but equally because I was done with work and turning myself to my new project of motherhood. But I am continually asked when I'm going to return, the implications being I'm behind, I'm slacking, and I'm wasting my education by staying home. And I have believed it. My friend's words brought out all my anxieties and fears about not being a "good student." I had embraced the notion that my prescribed path is to return to work as soon as I am able. But I keep pushing that time off--the kids are in school a bit now, and I could probably find something worthwhile to do (well, I might have been able to, before the recession). But in my downtime, I do almost everything but pursue academic or professional goals: I don't research or write articles for publication, I don't apply for teaching jobs, I don't even volunteer at local art museums, and I don't stay very current on my field. I had a misguided notion that if I kept my other blog current, the one on art, museums, and families, that I would somehow be keeping alive my career, doing the work that my friend said was critical to ever being employed in the field again. But those posts, while of interest to me, have not been a priority. Besides, when I'm honest with myself, the idea that blogging about art will somehow make up for not working when I go to get another job, is absurd. Especially because I'm in no rush to get that job. And by turning to examine my reticience and hesitation, I have learned some new things about myself.
I've been working through the current chapter of my Personal Renewal Group workbook, and one of the questions was "what is your heart's greatest desire?" Another was about regrets at the end of my life. Another was about business I could leave unfinished. And as I've considered these, I've realized that among my priorities, goals, and possible regrets, career has had little to do with it. I'm not sure I am going to have another career, in the sense of picking up where I left off on an ambitious trajectory of ladder climbing (such as it was in a non-profit field). Of course, with the recession, there is no ladder, there isn't even any hiring. And this is almost a great relief. Because without those jobs out there waiting to be filled, I don't have to feel guilty about not wanting to fill them.
This is not to say that I won't find work again, far from it. What I mean to say is that I've given myself permission to leave the good-student track, to define professional and personal fulfillment in other ways, "out-of-the-box" ways. I don't have to be the head of education at the big "brand-name" art museum, which is what I would've required of myself in the past. I don't need the approval (or even the understanding) of colleagues, or friends. I might start something local, I might continue my work at church, I might actually embrace my other blog without the pressure to make it "successful." I don't need an ambitious, impressive career. Just something, probably something with a little art and an educational bent, to use my knowedge, experience and skills to help others while fulfilling myself and providing a role model for my kids. If it turns out to be full-time, or even "on-track," that's okay too, but it doesn't have to be. And I'm not going to feel guilty about not doing what others think I should.
Of course, it would be especially reassuring if I knew that taking the "mommy track" now was not jeopardizing other possibilities in the future. But how do you prepare for a future you haven't yet charted? How can I know what I would need to do today in order to secure a tomorrow I don't yet know I want? It's funny, but all of the really important, momentous decisions of my life have involved little or no forethought or advanced planning: electing to pursue grad school in art history as a senior in college (changing my major that year to do so!); hooking up with Mama; moving to Chicago; pursuing a lead in museum education; moving back to NYC to finish my dissertation; buying a house in Connecticut; having a baby (having two!). Mama will tell you, on most of these occasions, I just turned to her and said, "we should do this." And when asked to explain my decision-making process, I said it just came to me. Well, obviously, this career thing is not one of those occasions. Which probably means, if past performance predicts future, that it's not really decision time. And when the time does present itself, I will intuitively know what to do. Somehow. It's worked out well so far.
I know I am lucky that Mama's career allows me not only the choice, but the time and resources to figure out what my choices are. Perhaps, paralleling this, my choice, in its own way, frees her up to pursue her career while also providing a richer family life without the guilt that working moms often have. The feminist in me has, until recently, said that I was letting down the team by not returning to work. But, seeing feminism as emphasizing choice for women--and not just the choice to join the workforce--but also seeing feminism as redefining our lives and thought-systems outside of traditional patriarchal modes, I think my change of heart, or more particularly my dawning realization of my choice, is in line with a feminist perspective, just as Mama's career goals and work are too. So, my friend was, in the end, wrong. By not going back to work now, I am actually acknowledging and embracing the life's work I do now and will continue to do, in whatever ways it manifests itself. For if I had stayed rigidly on track, I wouldn't have the kiddos, and life, for Mama and I, would've been much more work than it is now.
But even as I write this, I know that I am looking for, am so desperately needing, approval.
Under Construction
I had a post up for about an hour, "Working through Work," but have taken it down for some edits--not so much a change but some additions, which I can't do now because I'm painting with Sis.
More later. Check back again tonight.
More later. Check back again tonight.
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