Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Friday, January 11, 2013
Measuring Up
I've been feeling a little (well, a LOT) overwhelmed for the past couple of months. I'm embarrassed about that because I'm only working part-time. I look at the moms who work and are good parents and STILL keep their houses clean. I'm "just" a housewife. The critical part of my head tells me I should be able to do a better job with everything, and that I am failing at most of it. I'm barely keeping up with general cleanliness around the house (yesterday I discovered a dried lake bed of dog urine hidden under a table and still haven't gotten it all cleared off, bleached, and mopped up) even with all the time I have.
A friend recently mentioned that the most abusive relationship she's ever been in is with herself. She would never tolerate anyone "real" being as critical and unsupportive, as downright hurtful, as she is to herself. I've been thinking about that a lot. This morning, as I switched from email replies to typing minutes to website administration to cleaning the kitchen I paused. First I berated myself for not concentrating on and actually finishing something. Then I took a step back and marvelled at just how many things I was trying to do at once. Finally I decided to write down the names of the various hats I wear on a regular basis. Here's what I came up with:
- Girl scout troop leader
- School webmaster
- Property manager for 9 houses
- PTA volunteer
- CSC representative (secretary)
- Part time employee (3 days/wk)
Then I added the things I spend time on but don't really consider a "job"
- Student (or at least trying to be)
- housekeeper (dishes, laundry, cleaning)
- calendar keeper/social directory
- cook (at least 10 prepared meals a week for 4, plus packing lunches for three 5 days a week)
- writer
- emerging athlete (so it's a stretch. At least I'm trying!)
- parent
- teacher (to my kids)
- friend
- knitter
- random tasks assigned by W
- webmaster for W's business
For today at least I have decided that the criticism being spouted by the abuser in my head is utter nonsense. Sure, there's dog hair in every corner of the house. And yes, I do spend more time than is prudent farting around on social networking sites. But I do measure up (even if it is a short ruler).
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Attend Me . . .
Note: I work in a public elementary school. One of my primary tasks is attendance; I review which students are at school, or not, I hand out tardy slips to those who come in late, and I try to track down those who don't come in at all.
Attend. We generally use it to mean "show up", but there's a deeper meaning: to be present, to care for, to take charge. Every day part of my job is to review the attendance at our elementary school. Over time I see patterns emerge -- illnesses that sweep through the school classroom by classroom, religious holidays that collect disparate children into faithful solidarity, weather affecting only those who don't have a car. On occasion I see evidence of truancy and must call in a social worker to address the issue. Attendance is a small task, but there are larger ramifications for both safety and education.
In our school some children hardly miss a day, and are never late. I barely recognize them. Others I know by first and last name because every morning they come to the office five, ten, fifteen minutes late. As a parent and volunteer in the classroom, I can attest to a parallel trend: the same children who are late every day often are the ones who don't turn in their homework. They struggle to read and keep up with their peers. They don't have a support network that values their education.
These patterns I see, these falling lines of disappointment and failure, are not tied to race or class. Some poor families fight nearly impossible odds to get their children to school on time. Networks of cousins and aunts and friends and neighbors fill in gaps and make sure that the students are there on time and ready to learn. At home they have space to read and someone to review their work. No matter how late, or how tired, someone is there to help. Every resource available through school or grants or third-party programs are employed to make sure their children will make it. And they do.
At the same time some wealthy families whose children dress impeccably and have all the right props are allowed to stay up late watching movies and lollygag their way to school. They sleep through class. Homework is seen as an unnecessary nuisance. Their extracurricular activities are given much attention; school gets short shrift. The families have no expectations of them; they have none for themselves. Their actions have no consequence, and they have no shame in seeing me first thing, day after day, if they come in at all.
A story: last week a parent called, an hour after school started, to let us know that her (eleven or twelve year old) child would be riding a bike to school, probably leaving home soon (mom wasn't there) and would take about 45 minutes. She asked that we make sure the child called upon arrival.
An hour and a half later, the child still hadn't shown up. The school's main secretary returned from a meeting, heard the situation, and informed me that up after the 45 minutes passed I should have considered it a case of a missing child. She immediately called the district's office of Safety and Security, asking them to send an officer to the student's house. I got on the phone and started calling people on the student's contact list. Mom didn't answer, so I left a message. On the third call I reached a grandparent who told me that the student had decided not to go to school and was at home with an older sibling. We eventually spoke with the actual student to confirm the story. Mom never did call us back.
So. I totally dropped the ball. I am extremely grateful that the child wasn't kidnapped or injured. But I question why in the world this is the school's responsibility? Sure, I can understand if a child was dropped off at school and we couldn't find him. But we had no control over when the student set out from home (or didn't in this case), nor could we know the route used to get to school. Heck, mom apparently anticipated that -- she allotted 45 minutes for a ride of less than a mile. In addition, if the parent was expecting a phone call, why wasn't SHE the one to raise the alarm after her deadline had passed? Finally, if she knew her child wasn't going to school after all, shouldn't she have let us know?
There is an entire industry of blame in our country predicated on holding teachers, administrators, and schools responsible for poorly educated students. As an eyewitness to the education process I have to ask, why are parents (and students) not also held accountable?
Traditionally, schools act in loco parentis -- in place of parents. Through the years the scope of those responsibilities have grown. Even before the bell rings staff provide food, shelter, discipline, and medical care to our students. I agree with most of those additions. However, as a parent I still consider my children to be in my custody until they get to the schoolhouse door, and I believe my responsibility for them and their actions never ceases, regardless of their location or company. I require my children to not just be present in school, but to attend. Their education is not just a right, but their personal responsibility. It seems to me that some parents are forgetting that. Ultimately the school gets blamed for their poor performance, but really it's the parents who are failing their children.
Attend. We generally use it to mean "show up", but there's a deeper meaning: to be present, to care for, to take charge. Every day part of my job is to review the attendance at our elementary school. Over time I see patterns emerge -- illnesses that sweep through the school classroom by classroom, religious holidays that collect disparate children into faithful solidarity, weather affecting only those who don't have a car. On occasion I see evidence of truancy and must call in a social worker to address the issue. Attendance is a small task, but there are larger ramifications for both safety and education.
In our school some children hardly miss a day, and are never late. I barely recognize them. Others I know by first and last name because every morning they come to the office five, ten, fifteen minutes late. As a parent and volunteer in the classroom, I can attest to a parallel trend: the same children who are late every day often are the ones who don't turn in their homework. They struggle to read and keep up with their peers. They don't have a support network that values their education.
These patterns I see, these falling lines of disappointment and failure, are not tied to race or class. Some poor families fight nearly impossible odds to get their children to school on time. Networks of cousins and aunts and friends and neighbors fill in gaps and make sure that the students are there on time and ready to learn. At home they have space to read and someone to review their work. No matter how late, or how tired, someone is there to help. Every resource available through school or grants or third-party programs are employed to make sure their children will make it. And they do.
At the same time some wealthy families whose children dress impeccably and have all the right props are allowed to stay up late watching movies and lollygag their way to school. They sleep through class. Homework is seen as an unnecessary nuisance. Their extracurricular activities are given much attention; school gets short shrift. The families have no expectations of them; they have none for themselves. Their actions have no consequence, and they have no shame in seeing me first thing, day after day, if they come in at all.
A story: last week a parent called, an hour after school started, to let us know that her (eleven or twelve year old) child would be riding a bike to school, probably leaving home soon (mom wasn't there) and would take about 45 minutes. She asked that we make sure the child called upon arrival.
An hour and a half later, the child still hadn't shown up. The school's main secretary returned from a meeting, heard the situation, and informed me that up after the 45 minutes passed I should have considered it a case of a missing child. She immediately called the district's office of Safety and Security, asking them to send an officer to the student's house. I got on the phone and started calling people on the student's contact list. Mom didn't answer, so I left a message. On the third call I reached a grandparent who told me that the student had decided not to go to school and was at home with an older sibling. We eventually spoke with the actual student to confirm the story. Mom never did call us back.
So. I totally dropped the ball. I am extremely grateful that the child wasn't kidnapped or injured. But I question why in the world this is the school's responsibility? Sure, I can understand if a child was dropped off at school and we couldn't find him. But we had no control over when the student set out from home (or didn't in this case), nor could we know the route used to get to school. Heck, mom apparently anticipated that -- she allotted 45 minutes for a ride of less than a mile. In addition, if the parent was expecting a phone call, why wasn't SHE the one to raise the alarm after her deadline had passed? Finally, if she knew her child wasn't going to school after all, shouldn't she have let us know?
There is an entire industry of blame in our country predicated on holding teachers, administrators, and schools responsible for poorly educated students. As an eyewitness to the education process I have to ask, why are parents (and students) not also held accountable?
Traditionally, schools act in loco parentis -- in place of parents. Through the years the scope of those responsibilities have grown. Even before the bell rings staff provide food, shelter, discipline, and medical care to our students. I agree with most of those additions. However, as a parent I still consider my children to be in my custody until they get to the schoolhouse door, and I believe my responsibility for them and their actions never ceases, regardless of their location or company. I require my children to not just be present in school, but to attend. Their education is not just a right, but their personal responsibility. It seems to me that some parents are forgetting that. Ultimately the school gets blamed for their poor performance, but really it's the parents who are failing their children.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Camp News
Time stretches and warps here. There's a sameness to the days so that it seems we've been here forever in some sort of stasis. I lose track of days and dates and time. None of us has a schedule anymore; "lunch time" is heralded by suddenly grumbly kids rather than a timepiece. Bedtime is marking by dark and the end of whatever card game we've been playing. I'm anchored only by the countdown to the arrival of our guests, most of whom are still guesstimating their schedules. I'm floating outside of time. I spent much of last week preparing to send the kids to camp today, until I received an email reminder that they don't start for another week.
We're moving more slowly than in years past. It took nearly a week to finish unwrapping and opening and cleaning. Projects, which in years past we urgent (leaking roofs), are more cosmetic this year, and therefore can be interspersed with reading and card games. The lake is still astonishingly high (we arrived barely after record-breaking flooding eased) and still quite cold, so we've only been down there a few times. Strangest -- best -- of all, Will is more relaxed. He's listening when I suggest we knock off for the day, or take a lunch break. Yesterday he actually spent some time reading and sleeping in the hammock.
We are still working, though. Tradition requires that we rake up all the dead leaves and grass everywhere we mow, which amounts to something like two acres. The rationale makes sense: it reduces mosquito population because they don't have wet places to lay eggs, and it encourages a vaguely lawn-like growth of grass. It's physically exhausting labor. This year I talked Will into renting a dethatching rake that can be pulled by the lawn tractor. It didn't work. I'm now campaigning to experimentally hire a lawn crew to come in and mow and rake and cut hedges during our off year in hopes that it will reduce the amount of thatch. Will is dubious about the effectiveness, and feeling "frugal", but I think it is ridiculous to spend the first nine days of our vacation fixing the mower and raking. Then again it does mean we get to burn things.
We've amassed huge piles of grass and straw and leaves. Traditionally these get piled in the field next to the guest house and ignited in an alarming bonfire that takes all night to burn down. This year we decided to start early -- and paid the price. Despite all efforts it was only a smolder pile, sending up huge clouds of smoke and steam all night, blanketing the southern part of the island in gray. We'd blessed the fact that the usual wind was gone; after a few hours we wished it back, less to breathe life into our fire and more to shift the evidence of our foolishness somewhere else.
One neighbor, shortly after we lit the fuel, drove over and demanded that we "Not do that." He told us his house was filling with smoke, and stood there as if expecting us to immediately dump water over our haystack and apologize profusely. Nevermind that we had a permit; that other neighbors had just the day before been (more successfully, I admit) burning their yard waste; that Will's family has been burning leaves on this island longer than he has been alive. I was surprised by how hostile I felt toward him, and silently supported Will's careful apology-without-a-promise-to-stop. Usually I step in and try to make nice, make happy. It took me a while to figure out, but I realized that I was affronted by the interloper's bad manners! Like many new age parents I have taught my children some basics of conflict management. Will and I have been learning new skills in counseling, too. And when this fellow showed up and just demanded that we stop, I had no motivation to help. If only he had introduced himself, said where he lived, and THEN explained that his house was filling up with smoke! I surely would have done my best to help him. Funny how little courtesies make such a difference.
Another great difference this year is the mosquitoes. Grandpa Dan called and told us to expect the worst -- the flooding and dampness was probably going to lead to the biggest outbreak of skeeters in modern memory. I dread the whiny insects. As of last year we have mosquito netting for the kids' room, but in years past we have gone on "mosquito patrol" before bed, killing dozens in our room and theirs. We've been forced to slather on repellent before bed and with breakfast each day. This year, though, I discovered Raid for Flying Insects. I generally don't approve of pesticides, but in my desperation I learned that this noxious stuff can be sprayed on window screens (even ones with big holes in them) and it kills flying insects on contact. Now, it could be our fabulous raking job, but we've not had many kills on patrol at night. It's wonderful to go to bed knowing I'll only have a few bites instead of the dozens I was getting last year. We'll see if the pattern holds through the warmer months.
It's getting late, and I must feed my children before dark. They're sleeping in a tent in the back yard again tonight, as Will finally repairs drywall damaged years ago by incessant, now repaired, roof leaks. Amazing how work begets more work. Fortunately this is a happy chore because it's a sign that Will's work over the past few visits really is making a difference.
Good night from Dingley Dell!
We're moving more slowly than in years past. It took nearly a week to finish unwrapping and opening and cleaning. Projects, which in years past we urgent (leaking roofs), are more cosmetic this year, and therefore can be interspersed with reading and card games. The lake is still astonishingly high (we arrived barely after record-breaking flooding eased) and still quite cold, so we've only been down there a few times. Strangest -- best -- of all, Will is more relaxed. He's listening when I suggest we knock off for the day, or take a lunch break. Yesterday he actually spent some time reading and sleeping in the hammock.
We are still working, though. Tradition requires that we rake up all the dead leaves and grass everywhere we mow, which amounts to something like two acres. The rationale makes sense: it reduces mosquito population because they don't have wet places to lay eggs, and it encourages a vaguely lawn-like growth of grass. It's physically exhausting labor. This year I talked Will into renting a dethatching rake that can be pulled by the lawn tractor. It didn't work. I'm now campaigning to experimentally hire a lawn crew to come in and mow and rake and cut hedges during our off year in hopes that it will reduce the amount of thatch. Will is dubious about the effectiveness, and feeling "frugal", but I think it is ridiculous to spend the first nine days of our vacation fixing the mower and raking. Then again it does mean we get to burn things.
We've amassed huge piles of grass and straw and leaves. Traditionally these get piled in the field next to the guest house and ignited in an alarming bonfire that takes all night to burn down. This year we decided to start early -- and paid the price. Despite all efforts it was only a smolder pile, sending up huge clouds of smoke and steam all night, blanketing the southern part of the island in gray. We'd blessed the fact that the usual wind was gone; after a few hours we wished it back, less to breathe life into our fire and more to shift the evidence of our foolishness somewhere else.
One neighbor, shortly after we lit the fuel, drove over and demanded that we "Not do that." He told us his house was filling with smoke, and stood there as if expecting us to immediately dump water over our haystack and apologize profusely. Nevermind that we had a permit; that other neighbors had just the day before been (more successfully, I admit) burning their yard waste; that Will's family has been burning leaves on this island longer than he has been alive. I was surprised by how hostile I felt toward him, and silently supported Will's careful apology-without-a-promise-to-stop. Usually I step in and try to make nice, make happy. It took me a while to figure out, but I realized that I was affronted by the interloper's bad manners! Like many new age parents I have taught my children some basics of conflict management. Will and I have been learning new skills in counseling, too. And when this fellow showed up and just demanded that we stop, I had no motivation to help. If only he had introduced himself, said where he lived, and THEN explained that his house was filling up with smoke! I surely would have done my best to help him. Funny how little courtesies make such a difference.
Another great difference this year is the mosquitoes. Grandpa Dan called and told us to expect the worst -- the flooding and dampness was probably going to lead to the biggest outbreak of skeeters in modern memory. I dread the whiny insects. As of last year we have mosquito netting for the kids' room, but in years past we have gone on "mosquito patrol" before bed, killing dozens in our room and theirs. We've been forced to slather on repellent before bed and with breakfast each day. This year, though, I discovered Raid for Flying Insects. I generally don't approve of pesticides, but in my desperation I learned that this noxious stuff can be sprayed on window screens (even ones with big holes in them) and it kills flying insects on contact. Now, it could be our fabulous raking job, but we've not had many kills on patrol at night. It's wonderful to go to bed knowing I'll only have a few bites instead of the dozens I was getting last year. We'll see if the pattern holds through the warmer months.
It's getting late, and I must feed my children before dark. They're sleeping in a tent in the back yard again tonight, as Will finally repairs drywall damaged years ago by incessant, now repaired, roof leaks. Amazing how work begets more work. Fortunately this is a happy chore because it's a sign that Will's work over the past few visits really is making a difference.
Good night from Dingley Dell!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
SILENCE!
The critics in my head are very loud this week. I can do no right, I am a failure at everything, I'll never succeed no matter what I try. It's very disheartening, especially since they all speak in my own voice. I got a wonderful hug from Will this morning and cried a little, and he told me I needed to tell them to shut up, but it's just not that easy.
I am overwhelmed right now by my to-do list, which in reality isn't that big and wouldn't be too hard to contend with if I just sat down and did it. I use tiredness or the kids or any other excuse not to start, and I haven't yet figured out why I don't just "get it done", but I don't, and of course the longer I wait the worse everything gets.
Funny thing is, I feel like I used to get a lot more done when I was working. How is it that I have more time (including 3 hours a day to myself) and yet I can't even keep up with the laundry, let alone dust bunnies, dirty toilets or school projects?
Remember the Tardis from Dr. Who? It was the size of a phone booth on the outside, but extended in every dimension inside. My days are like that (in a bad way) -- limited time, but the stuff i want to do is far larger. And of course, that is fodder for the critics. Dirty dishes in the sink? White trash. Piles of laundry? Slovenly. Overdue phone calls? Irresponsible.
I read an article in O magazine the other day that talked about finding the truth of a statement. In it a woman was panicking, and the counselor she went to kept asking "is that true?" Over and over again, until all the layers of the onion peeled away, and the woman finally took a deep breath and said "no, it's not." That understanding gave her peace. I tried to use that with the voices in my head this morning, especially around the "you're a bad parent" accusation. But it didn't work. I kept hearing arguments against myself. No matter how smart, funny, healthy, generous, wonderful my kids are, all I see is a reflection of mistakes and failures on my part, as if they are rising above my parenting, rather than growing better because of my efforts.
As I was loading the dishwasher this morning, I finally thought of an answer for Sam, for when he challenges me on why he has to do something, especially when Will and I don't follow our own rules. Because I am trying to raise my children to be better people that their parents. I just hope I don't become the critic in his head.
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