A Mother's Musings and Mumblings

I’ve been talking to a lot of people lately about the crisis of faith I’m having about my career. There’s something about watching a younger, less experienced man promoted over the top of you that can cause you to have a lot of questions. Even my shrink tells me this is a normal reaction.

Anyway, one conversation was with a woman in the field who is years ahead of me in her career. We shared stories (yes, I know things are getting better, but they still aren’t fair) and she told me that women like me are part of the problem.

She didn’t say that to be mean. Let me explain. She said that women like me make it look too easy. We have a great career, keep on top of developments in the field, continue our education, produce at work AND raise kids (in my case as a single mother). When the men in charge see this, of course they don’t feel compelled to reward all that hard work – it doesn’t look hard.

That conversation happened weeks ago and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Mainly because as it becomes clear that I need to find a new job I’ve been having panic attacks. What’s out there? What will I end up doing? How is that going to impact my schedule with the kids? Will I like it? What will be the long-term impact on my career? See? My chest is getting tight now.

And despite this, nobody around me knows I’m feeling this way. Why should they? There’s nothing they could do to help and there’s no point in upsetting anyone. In short, I’m doing it again – I’m making this look easy.

This is where I could turn my blog post into a long character dissection about why and how it is that I am compelled to be so stoic about so many things. Don’t worry, I’ll save it for my shrink. The point for you, dearest reader, is to know that this is not easy, I AM in a state of panic and this will pass. I know how to put one foot in front of the other and I certainly have learned somewhere in the last 43 years how to land on my feet.

I’m back in school this week. For those of you who care to split hairs with me I’ll gladly confess that I’ve never really left school (actually) at least not in any sort of lasting way. Sure, I’ll graduate. But I always relapse.

So this week is a summer course. You read that correctly. This week. One week, one course, three semester hours. AND it’s on a topic that is mentioned frequently at work. It seemed like a good way to get some course credit toward my Ph.D. and learn something that might be helpful at work all while not burning too much precious time. So far, so good.

The class has 13 people in it – a nice, comfortable number for dancing in the moonlight. Being a summer course the demographic is just exactly what you would predict. Twelve public school teachers of everything from grade-school math to high school Spanish all working toward a Master’s or Ed.D. in Administration. And me.

Adult learning theory figures into this course and as an adult learner I’ll take responsibility for my own experience. I’ll also take a moment to acknowledge individual differences and say that I’m an introvert. <insert “Duh”>¬† I don’t like to participate in group discussions (15% of our grade) but I will. The trouble is, how?

Other student comments sound like I’ve found my way into a foreign language immersion course. K-12 education administration is not my forte. I’ve talked to the Witchlets’ school Principal. Does that count? Not so much.

Then there’s the self-consciousness factor. There’s a phenomenon that I’ve seen in the last two classes I’ve taken and it’s heavily at play here today. Education is being compared to Medicine. Education delivery is compared to Health care Delivery. It’s all standards, it’s all evidence-based, it’s all professional practice. And I have to wonder: Are these comparisons made when I’m not in the room? Does health care get mentioned this much in classes where the professor doesn’t have one particular student’s name to associate with it? Introverted minds want to know.

Because if this comparison is made in all the classes that I’m not sitting in but these other 12 students are, then why do I feel a pause after my comments? I’m required to participate in the discussions and yet, 12 people can play off of each others stories and I chime in with my favorite story and the discussion stalls. If I give context, I sound like I’m bragging. If I don’t give context, my comments make no sense. Either way, my comments always leave me sitting here feeling like the odd man out.

Now to put this into context for those who would read into this that my head is in some awful space, it isn’t. I’m outside my zone of comfort but it never lasts for long.¬† I wouldn’t have made it this far as a student if I let my introversion shut me down. I’ll chime in, I’ll let the conversation stall and while I sit in my discomfort I’ll reflect on the fact that the other 12 are reflecting on their own discomfort. We all have our own unique experiences, some of us just end up in situations where we’re more unique than others.

Kinda like being a Pagan in Virginia.

I have a new mantra with Thing 2: “Shut up and go to law school.” Seriously. We went out today for a girls’ day out and I just stood back and watched. My favorite came at the end of the day. All I could do was to watch the floor and try not to laugh as Thing 2 had this conversation with her unsuspecting victim:

UV: Are you in school?
T2: Technically no because it’s Saturday.
UV: Technically you are because you’re still enrolled.
T2: I guess that’s right. Actually I go to TinySchool.
UV: What is your favorite class?
T2: I can only tell you what my favorite has been so far. They have lots better classes as you get older so I think it will change.

Small talk really is an art form. Do you think it can be taught or should I just give up now?

I have never been a fan of the tiny school. This is most likely because in terms of our local schools, I have two diverse roles in examining the schools in our district: Diversity and Cost.

Looking at it from the standpoint of diversity issues, tiny schools are likely to be more homogeneous in population and offer their students exposure to a less diverse peer group. As a member of a religious minority, this is no small concern to me. Looking at it from a resource utilization standpoint, tiny schools can be a drain on the limited resources of a community. Regardless of how small the student body, these tiny schools still require administration and facilities that are not substantially less expensive than their larger counterparts. Either way, tiny schools cannot compare favorably to larger schools in the same district serving the same demographic.

As of today, this is all past tense. Today, next Monday if we must be specific, I gain a new role in which to examine schools. In three short days I will become the mother of a Middle School Witchlet.

Oy.

MSW attends a tiny, private school that falls outside the realm of schools I am involved in examining. No, those two facts are not connected. WF and I chose her school on its merits not the shortcomings of the public counterparts. No insider information was used in the processing of this decision and no animals were harmed in the execution of her transfer.

For those of you who don’t grasp the concept of “tiny”, I’ll put this into perspective. There were 14 children in the entire 5th grade last year. There will be two second grade classrooms with 12 children in each this year – making it the biggest class in the school. The entire Middle School is in one hallway. The lockers aren’t assigned in advance, they’re first-come, first-serve on the first day of school (see also: chaos). The lockers don’t lock. Kids keep their notebooks in their classrooms. Band instruments are kept on a folding table in the hallway. You have the same science teacher and classroom for all of middle school (same with English, Math and Social Studies). Maybe I should use a capital “T” on Tiny?

The school isn’t the only thing that’s tiny here. MSW isn’t exactly large. She’s always been my “little” girl and at four years older than Thing 2 she’s still less than 10# heavier and 6″ taller. They wear the same size, more or less. And while Thing 2 is built like a hockey player, she’s not that big for her age.

Keeping with her diminutive size and genetic heritage (late bloomer, moi?), MSW is showing few signs of the kind of maturity that her peer are not only starting to show but to brag about. You know – physical stuff. (see also: Tanner Stage) Face it, emotionally and intellectually she’s older than I am. This bothers me not one, Tiny iota. I’m more than happy for her to be my “little” girl a little longer (see also: denial). MSW disagrees. Or at least I think she does. We still need to “talk” (“Talk”?) but the whole “I borrowed my friend’s razor to shave my legs” thing seems to indicate that she and I have different perceptions on her level of physical maturity.

Layer Middle School on top of this. You know, that place where the kids dream of lockers and “cussing”? No shit. I picked that up on a g-damned routine e-mail screen. I mean, where the Hel did she pick up that cussing was acceptable? I’m going to f’ing nip that in the bud!

A tiny school means that she’ll have contact with fewer teachers who will get to know her better and are more likely to pick up on issues before they become Issues (I’m stuck on this capitalization theme today, aren’t I?). One hallway means that she’ll have less territory to roam when the issue isn’t borrowing a friend’s razor but taking a drag off a friend’s cigarette. Fewer peers mean that the risk of her falling into a crowd where I don’t know the kids (or the parents) is slim. And it means that even if she’s the only late bloomer, she’ll know all the kids and that’s the best insurance I know for teasing. At least the mean-spirited kind.

So while I can’t say I’ve come full circle on my beliefs about tiny schools in the public sector, I can say that as a parent of a soon-to-be Middle School girl I’ve done some soul searching on the topic. At this point, with this child, I’m glad we’re at a Tiny school.

Still, I think it’s safe to say that I could use a care package of Vodka and Calgon. AA batteries wouldn’t hurt, either, except that I’m planning on sleeping through puberty for both of the Witchlets. It seems safest, Tiny school or not.

As I watched the witchlets leave for school this morning with the BFF in tow a random thought occurred to me:

We are raising a generation of flight attendants.

<ramble>
Yup. Totally random, all the time. That’s me. So welcome to flight WAL520 to Nowhere. Please fasten your seat belts low and tight across your laps as I expect that we’ll encounter more than a little turbulence on the way there. We understand that you have a choice of entertainment options and we’re happy that you’ve selected Witchlet Airlines to meet your recommended daily allowance of drivel. We apologize for any inconvenience but the beverage service today will be BYOB.
</ramble>

So there go the girls pulling their wheeled backpacks behind them, hair neatly pulled back with a sweater over one arm. I’ve seen that look in airports but it usually involved wearing a uniform and the “backpack” was smaller. And was actually a suitcase/overnight bag. These girls weren’t going anywhere overnight, this was just the stuff they needed for the day at school. And I’ve lifted the backpacks in question – the wheels aren’t just for giggles! These bags are heavy!

Now I’ll admit to being old but I cannot remember needing that much stuff for a day at school. The generation before me may have – at least if my parents’ stories about hauling stone tablets five miles uphill each way in two feet of snow are to be believed – but I never had to carry anything that heavy to school. Particularly elementary school! I mean, seriously folks, how much can you need in the fifth grade! For one day!

And let’s add another layer of silly onto this already illogical development. Aren’t we supposed to be an electronic society? Does “going paperless” ring a bell for anyone else? And I don’t mean the chime on the laser printer telling you that it’s out of paper – I meant the metaphorical bell of recognition. Fine. Go ahead. Check your PDA and see if you made a note of it. I’ll wait. If you don’t find it, try the Free Dictionary.

We live in a world that is virtually exploding with new information. There is simply more to know than we have capacity to learn in the time currently allotted to formal education. I see that in across the spectrum from elementary school to higher education. And it is exploding – this isn’t a past event – more information and knowledge is generated daily. Keeping up with any given field is challenging and gaining a broad AND current knowledge base is nearly impossible.

Given those circumstances it would seem that the best we could do for ourselves as a society is to focus our educational efforts at least as much on learning how to learn as on learning itself. Yes, there are basic facts that every child should know but they should also know how to determine the credibility of a source and triangulate information to determine how reliable it is. They should know how to approach a problem in such a way as to determine what knowledge or skills they need to solve it and where or how to acquire them.

I have yet to see this kind of meta-knowledge covered in the books and papers that fall out of the weighty backpacks that my little flight attendant wheels around with her. Rather we have an assortment of fact-filled books and worksheets. Now, I’m all for fact-filled books – anyone who has seen my house knows that – but is this really what little Witchets and their peers need to be expending their energy on? Carting around loads of facts that they should know how to find in 10 minutes or less anyway?

Maybe, and I’m going out on a limb here, maybe the kids should be sent home to work on more critical thinking problems that don’t come in a book. The kind of problem where you know what needs to be done but don’t know how to do it and have to figure out what you’ll need in order to implement your solution and then do it. The kind of problem that Thing 2 had the other day when she wanted to hang a bird house in the willow tree but the string wouldn’t support it and she couldn’t put it on the place where she stood to climb and it needed to be protected from the wind and gee, maybe the willow isn’t best because the dogs could get to the birds there. She had to do a lot of critical thinking there and it didn’t involve hauling a single book home. OK, maybe a better lesson plan for a first grader than for a fifth grader but I’ve got to believe that lugging 20 pounds of paper everywhere is just unnecessary.