One early spring afternoon, seven months pregnant with Lucy and totally bewildered by my inability to manage my fifth period room full of mischevious ninth graders, I complained to another wiser English teacher down the hall: "HOW is it that other people are able to get that "authority" thing across without being jerks? I'm usually a quick learner. Why can't I figure this out??"
In a moment of vivid clarity, she pointed at my ridiculously protruding belly and said something to the effect of the following: "All I know is that managing my classes became a ton easier once I had my own children. I could suddenly envision these ninth graders as the kids they really are, and I stopped being so shocked my their immature behavior. And I think it could be said that I loved them more, in a mom-who-needs-to-set-you-straight sort of way."
I may never know if this will really be the case with me, since I left the secondary classroom in favor of PhD and university pursuits after that trying year. But in honor of the fact that I just yesterday taught my first class (now undergrads) as a mother of two children, I thought I'd reflect on how being a mom has impacted how I envision my role as "teacher":
*I no longer obsess about what I wear. In fact, comfort is the most important quality I seek to attain (forget about "professional"), and spit-up stains have become my latest can't-do-without accessory. (I almost miraculously made it to class yesterday without spit up, but Zander pelted me with it at the last moment, as I was handing him over to his father.)
*Thanks to my post-pregnancy chubbiness and huge rings of exhaustion under my eyes, I no longer have to worry about being seen as a sexual object by my students. (I did so love those little love notes from my sixth graders . . . )
*I, who was totally unable to find "balance" when I was a workaholic new teacher, am now forced daily to stop working on my teaching stuff by my two very needy top priorities.
*I don't feel nearly as insecure or vulnerable in a teacher role. Pushing a 9lb 4 oz infant out of your body without drugs with ten plus people watching you in the room is potentially stressful. Teaching these students for a few hours no longer seems like such a big deal.
*It's not so hard to differentiate myself from college kid students anymore. They seem to live now on an entirely different universe, one filled with parties, late nights out, tons of laughing friends, and decisions that revolve around just one person's wishes.
The big question is whether or not becoming a parent has made me a better or worse teacher. I know it has made me different. The other big question is whether being a teacher has made me a better or worse parent. Either way, one thing is clear. I really should get back to lesson planning. After all, Zander will wake up any minute . . .
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A Letter
When I was eight or nine years old and my life was largely dictated by the lives of the fictional characters I voraciously read about, I got a decent idea from an LM Montgomery protagonist, one who resembled Anne of Green Gables. Her name was Emily (of New Moon), and she decided to write letters to herself in the future. I promptly wrote a letter to my fifteen year old self (which was about as mature as I could imagine ever becoming at that age), in which I passionately proclaimed my love for Jesus and my love for a boy in my fifth grade class named Michael (in that order.) I asked myself scores of questions, including such important ones as "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Are you pretty?" "Do you have your driver's permit?" I ended with a sincere plea to myself to always perservere in my childlike faith.
I couldn't wait to open the letter. Instead of waiting until I was fifteen, I found myself rebreaking the seal every six months or so, each time more and more amazed at how young and innocent I was. This, of course, made it lose the impact it could have had when I actually did turn fifteen, but, nevertheless, the exercise was a worthwhile one in a study of transitioning from childhood to adolescenthood.
All of this has got me thinking. I need to write a letter to my grown up kids right now. Here's what I've got so far:
________________________________
Dear grown-up version of Lucy and Zander:
Hi, kiddoes. It's August 2011, and I am the version of mom that you see in the photo albums when you were a three year old and infant, the pics that make you cry out "Whoa! Mom- you used to look SO young!"
You two are seriously exhausting and seriously delightful. Luce- you are all storms and rainbows. You can be the kindest, most generous three year old I've ever seen, as you share your treats with you dad and love on your baby bro. You can also be hilariously tantrum-y at the drop of the hat, if I say a phrase you didn't want me to say "I didn't WANT you to ask if I ate all of my lunch!" or if I don't spread the blanket on your doll correctly.
Zander- you are completely out of it still, and so young that it doesn't bother you a bit. But your smile lights up the room, our hearts. Who in the world are you? The pediatrician said you are amazingly expressive for your age. Did you talk early? . . .
__________________________
As you can see, the letter is a work in progress. But the fact that words can act as a time capsule is something to make use of a time or two.
Especially when you want to capture a snapshot of a moment you realize you never want to forget.
I couldn't wait to open the letter. Instead of waiting until I was fifteen, I found myself rebreaking the seal every six months or so, each time more and more amazed at how young and innocent I was. This, of course, made it lose the impact it could have had when I actually did turn fifteen, but, nevertheless, the exercise was a worthwhile one in a study of transitioning from childhood to adolescenthood.
All of this has got me thinking. I need to write a letter to my grown up kids right now. Here's what I've got so far:
________________________________
Dear grown-up version of Lucy and Zander:
Hi, kiddoes. It's August 2011, and I am the version of mom that you see in the photo albums when you were a three year old and infant, the pics that make you cry out "Whoa! Mom- you used to look SO young!"
You two are seriously exhausting and seriously delightful. Luce- you are all storms and rainbows. You can be the kindest, most generous three year old I've ever seen, as you share your treats with you dad and love on your baby bro. You can also be hilariously tantrum-y at the drop of the hat, if I say a phrase you didn't want me to say "I didn't WANT you to ask if I ate all of my lunch!" or if I don't spread the blanket on your doll correctly.
Zander- you are completely out of it still, and so young that it doesn't bother you a bit. But your smile lights up the room, our hearts. Who in the world are you? The pediatrician said you are amazingly expressive for your age. Did you talk early? . . .
__________________________
As you can see, the letter is a work in progress. But the fact that words can act as a time capsule is something to make use of a time or two.
Especially when you want to capture a snapshot of a moment you realize you never want to forget.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Myself when I am Mom
Contemporary identity theorists disagree on a lot of semantics, but they generally all point the same direction: we are all composed of many selves. This dependence on context and reciprocal relationships on determining whether we embody the identity of "the fun-loving one" or "the responsible serious one" during a single moment completely debunks the notion that, sometime around adolescence, we mystically find our inherent "selves" and stay static in our commitment to that simple formula. Instead, our entire lives involve a negotiation of who we decide to become in each circumstance, created by a unique dynamic of the roles the others we happen to around decide to adopt. Who I am, then, results from a complex, performative dance, rather than a self I happen to discover when I am sixteen.
Similarly, nueroscientists have been having fun in recent decades discovering how flexibile our plastic brains really are, during our entire lives. It turns out that all of the pathways aren't made and set in stone by a certain age as previously thought. Instead, every year, every experience and habit contributes to shape our amazing brains.
These two fascinating fields beg the question: Who am I when I am a mother? In other words, what surprising things about myself have emerged from my interactions with my son, daughter, and spouse? And how has my brain had to adapt to this emerging self? Here's what I've got so far:
**Shocker #1: I am the GOOD cop. I always assumed (most likely because I grew up in a home where Mom was the tough one and Dad was the push-over) that I would have to be the consistent disciplinarian. It turns out, around my kids, I tend to play the good guy role. This was nothing that Justin and I worked out (and he often gets frustrated that he finds himself in the role of strict enforcer), but it is the dynamic our family has naturally fallen into.
**Shocker #2: I'm totally casual about my kids. I've met enough parents to know that I am WAY LESS concerned about pacifiers that have fallen on the floor, germs on public tables, stains on shirts, or toddler attempts at dangerous park antics than the average bear. In fact, in comparison to most parents I know, I verge or irresponsible. This is strange when I consider how much I love my children, how cautious my own mother was with me, and how type A and responsible I tend to be in daily life.
**Shocker #3: Too much noise or stimulation drives me crazy. Ever since I became a sleep-deprived mother who is generally multi-tasking with 3-4 things (talking on the phone while making lunch and stuffing a pacifier in my infant who I am wearing on a sling), I have become an old lady about noise. Just having the TV on as background noise can push me over the edge.
**Shocker #4: I love LOVE being alone. Whenever I would take those personality tests in TEEN magazines I would always score high as an extrovert, someone who needed to be around people to get energy from. Now I find social occassions with grown-ups draining (my face actually starts to hurt from smiling), and I can't imagine a better hour than one spent taking a run on my own into the sunset or reading a book without interruption.
*Shocker #5: When it comes to my kids, I am the world's worst teacher. You would think, since I'm getting my PhD in education and all, that I would be hyper-attentive in applying all I know about how kids learn on my own children. Instead, I find myself sitting back on the education front (Lucy will learn her letters eventually, right; no hurry!) constantly commenting to my nurse-husband, "WOW- you are totally making this a learning opportunity" as he points out maps, teaches new vocabulary in authentic moments, etc, etc.
Enough of me, myself, and I. In teacher education talk, we speak about the continual process of "becoming a teacher." There is no single moment defined by reaching this destination, by suddenly feeling like you are a professional in the field. Instead, there is a gradual moving journey. In the same way, I plan on always be working towards "becoming" a mother. After all, a three year old and infant need a pretty different mother than two teenagers.
Similarly, nueroscientists have been having fun in recent decades discovering how flexibile our plastic brains really are, during our entire lives. It turns out that all of the pathways aren't made and set in stone by a certain age as previously thought. Instead, every year, every experience and habit contributes to shape our amazing brains.
These two fascinating fields beg the question: Who am I when I am a mother? In other words, what surprising things about myself have emerged from my interactions with my son, daughter, and spouse? And how has my brain had to adapt to this emerging self? Here's what I've got so far:
**Shocker #1: I am the GOOD cop. I always assumed (most likely because I grew up in a home where Mom was the tough one and Dad was the push-over) that I would have to be the consistent disciplinarian. It turns out, around my kids, I tend to play the good guy role. This was nothing that Justin and I worked out (and he often gets frustrated that he finds himself in the role of strict enforcer), but it is the dynamic our family has naturally fallen into.
**Shocker #2: I'm totally casual about my kids. I've met enough parents to know that I am WAY LESS concerned about pacifiers that have fallen on the floor, germs on public tables, stains on shirts, or toddler attempts at dangerous park antics than the average bear. In fact, in comparison to most parents I know, I verge or irresponsible. This is strange when I consider how much I love my children, how cautious my own mother was with me, and how type A and responsible I tend to be in daily life.
**Shocker #3: Too much noise or stimulation drives me crazy. Ever since I became a sleep-deprived mother who is generally multi-tasking with 3-4 things (talking on the phone while making lunch and stuffing a pacifier in my infant who I am wearing on a sling), I have become an old lady about noise. Just having the TV on as background noise can push me over the edge.
**Shocker #4: I love LOVE being alone. Whenever I would take those personality tests in TEEN magazines I would always score high as an extrovert, someone who needed to be around people to get energy from. Now I find social occassions with grown-ups draining (my face actually starts to hurt from smiling), and I can't imagine a better hour than one spent taking a run on my own into the sunset or reading a book without interruption.
*Shocker #5: When it comes to my kids, I am the world's worst teacher. You would think, since I'm getting my PhD in education and all, that I would be hyper-attentive in applying all I know about how kids learn on my own children. Instead, I find myself sitting back on the education front (Lucy will learn her letters eventually, right; no hurry!) constantly commenting to my nurse-husband, "WOW- you are totally making this a learning opportunity" as he points out maps, teaches new vocabulary in authentic moments, etc, etc.
Enough of me, myself, and I. In teacher education talk, we speak about the continual process of "becoming a teacher." There is no single moment defined by reaching this destination, by suddenly feeling like you are a professional in the field. Instead, there is a gradual moving journey. In the same way, I plan on always be working towards "becoming" a mother. After all, a three year old and infant need a pretty different mother than two teenagers.
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