than having to make a team presentation, and having the person who precedes you to present your information?
Yeah, I know.
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Being a mom helps me be a better student
Picture, if you will, a child standing in front of a candy shop window, trying to make a choice.
Keep that picture in your mind as you watch an adult – the person in charge of whether or not you pass the class, as a matter of fact…
keep that picture in your mind as you listen to this person say “I want this paper to be 3-5 pages in length” and again as this person (no less than five minutes later, mind you) says “This paper should be ‘as long as it needs to be’”.
Yes, it’s incredibly frustrating. But do you stand up and scream “WILL YOU MAKE UP YOUR EFFING MIND ALREADY??!!??” at the kid in the shop window?
No. And neither should you scream it at the grown person standing before you. No matter how tempting it is.
Also? It’s better to drop the class and try again with a different professor than it is to “embrace the F” as I have in this one.
Do as I say, not as I do.
Behold My Mother
Eve from Eve Garden God has written an interesting post titled Behold Your Mother. I commented her post, but my brain insists on expanding on my comment. She references Matthew 12: 46-50 , and wonders at the disrespect Jesus has for his mother. Why does he not stop teaching the crowd and honor her? Why does he call his disciples Mother, Brother, Sister? How easy must it have been for the early Church to marginalize women, given that lack of respect.
I see disrespect throughout that passage, to be completely honest. The above-referenced lack of respect for Mary. The lack of respect Mary and Jesus’ brothers showed to both Jesus and the multitude (so he’s supposed to stop preaching?)
In my comment, I said that I would do the same thing were it my mother. Perhaps if my mother were someone I could respect, that would make a difference. I am (and always have been) subject to my mother’s version of correction. I can’t tell you how many years I spent trying to make that woman “proud” of me….but you have to realize: she does not know how to appreciate a moment. There is no compliment on accomplishment, only an admonishment to try harder. Got one A on a report card? Why aren’t they ALL A’s? If only you would apply yourself. My mother would expect me to stop teaching and recognize her and I would not stop teaching.
I was in my late twenties, with a child and married before I realized that I should concentrate on making myself happy because trying to make *her* happy was making *me* miserable.
In Eve’s post, she wondered at the naming of the disciples as family members, while the “blood” family stood waiting. I have spent an entire lifetime essentially excluded from “the family”. I was not raised to be particularly close to family members on either side. There is a basic “hey, you’re in my family tree” recognition, but they do not know me, nor I them. My brother is also a foreign country. Related by DNA, yet separated by religion and physical distance. I realize now that he couldn’t help the disparaties in the way we were treated as children, but it’s taken YEARS of exploration to get there.
The family I have created for myself, however, is what matters the most to me. My children. My close friends. They nurture me, allow me to mother them, and generally be happy with one another. They are the ones who call me on my stuff, give me another point of view, and generally pull my head out of my rear if I need it.
The relationship between my Mother and I… it is what it is. I accept that it’s not likely to change, and arrange my life around her ways as best I can while we share a roof.
It’s Sunday, you know what that means!
- Filthy :: stinking rich
- Therapist :: needed
- Duck :: duck goose
- Slant :: slide
- Artist :: management
- Lease :: broken
- Wish :: granted
- Doormat :: 127.0.0.1
- Global :: warming
- Apartment :: living is not for me.
How I Spent Thanksgiving Day
The bestest part? I’m not done yet.
Gratituous Thanksgiving Fluff
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Your Pilgrim Name Is |
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You Are The Stuffing |
 You’re complicated and complex, yet all your pieces fit together. People miss you if you’re gone – but they’re not sure why. |
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Your Native American Name Is… |
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You Are Pumpkin Pie |
 You’re the perfect combo of uniqueness and quality. You’re able to relate to many types of people with many different tastes. But you’re by no means generic or ordinary. In fact, you’re one of the most original people around. Those who like you are looking for something (someone!) special. |
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Your Family Is 90% Dysfunctional |
 Your family is more than a little nuts. And you definitely should think about moving on. This doesn’t mean you need to completely cut your family out of your life… But it does mean you need to create a healthy support system of your own. One that doesn’t involve your family. Even if you’ve already made a clean break from your past, it still may be haunting you. Checking in with a therapist from time to time is probably a good idea. |
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You Are 77% Thankful |
 You are a very thankful person – for both the big and little things in life. Your optimism is powerful. Getting through hard times is fairly easy for you. |
Homelessness and stereotype
Semi-liveblogged: I’m watching the Winston Salem City Council meeting on TV tonight.
My main concern:
G-6. RESOLUTION AUTHORIZING TEMPORARY SUSPENSION OF THE 100-BED CAPACITY FOR SHELTERS FOR THE HOMELESS AND SIMILAR EXISTING FACILITIES
The Winston Salem City Council did not lift the “100 bed” cap on shelters for the Homeless. Supposedly all the service providers are already full; two overflow shelters have been inspected and they didn’t have sprinkler systems.
Hm. The *possibility* of a fire, or certain exposure to freezing temperatures. Yeah, I think I’d take my chances with no sprinklers.
Note to Council Member Burke: Employing them does not cure their mental illness or addiction problems. You may have TALKED to “people” in Greensboro. Maybe you should go out with CaraMichele on the NightWatch truck TO the homeless where they are (in Greensboro). Get them people some jobs, indeed.
Note to Mayor Joines: Acknowledged; the cap is not the problem.
Serious props to the college students advocating for the homeless during the public comment period.
A new “One stop resource center” was opened about two weeks ago, according to Mayor Joines. Where’s the press release on this?
Great idea, have EMS give them a ride to the hospital and let the hospital decide to stick ‘em in a bed or in the waiting room. Seriously? Are you SERIOUS?
Props to Council Member Terry for a great idea: put them in the empty public housing apartments. What about the guy who’s homeless because he chose to spend the rent money on his addiction?
Wait…there are empty public housing apartments??!!??
For the most part, I’m not surprised at the stereotyping of the homeless by the council.
Council Member Burke: Job training is not going to solve the problem. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to sweep a floor or bag groceries. Deal with the addiction issues first. Then teach life skills. THEN worry about job training.
Choosing the correct fork
For every fork in the road, Emily, there are often two paths to choose from… the one you “should” take and the one you want to take.
Take the second. Always take the second.
I did,
The Universe
For the first time in my life, I have the attention of a good man. Since the day I gave him my phone number, he has called me nightly, sometimes twice. When we’re conversing, he asks about my children, how was school/work, if I’m tired. When we’re saying our goodbyes, he asks for my permission to call again, and when is a good time to call. He makes sure I know EXACTLY how he feels about me.
He has a good job, and works steadily (we met through his job). I think he’s sweet and cute and appreciate how considerate he is.
But this is all surface-level stuff – we haven’t discussed important things. Does he want more kids, does he have house-room for my family (since it’s already accepted that he has heart-room), is he particularly religious? Does it bother him that I’m not particularly interested in marriage? In addition to timing (it’s WAY too soon to discuss half these things), we also have cultural and language differences.
(Let’s face it – I’m a mom, college student, retail worker, teacher, and have space in the blogosphere. I have a hard time with my OWN culture and language differences.)
The Folks ™ have issued an automatic, knee-jerk rejection. They have never met, they do not know what he’s like. But since he’s [notwhite], it’s an automatic “no”. It’s frustrating and hypocritical, and it BOTHERS me.
These people are in charge of the roof over my head, and they get punitive rather quickly when certain lines get close to being crossed.
At the moment, my solution is clear. I sit, watch, and wait. Get to know him, and regretfully decline to introduce him to The Folks ™. And regretfully decline to cook dinner for our respective families.
This is not how I wanted my home to be. I want my kitchen to be filled with good food and friends, the livingroom loud and boisterous with kids playing.
When I lived on my own (and next door), The Folks ™ graced my doorway a grand total of three times in four years that I can remember. When I lived in Florida, they came to visit once in eighteen months (and Mom was an airline employee so ticket price was absolutely NOT a consideration). When I lived in Arkansas, Mom came once to visit, and Dad chaperoned my daughter back and forth for visits to their house. Mom’s remaining family lives less than two hours away, and she hasn’t been “home” in I can’t tell you how long. Their home is their Sanctum Santorum, their Castle, and They Don’t Leave. If an engraved, personally delivered invitation is not in your hand, you will most likely be challenged at the gate met in the driveway. Who is here, WHY are they here, how long will they be here?
In order to have my warm happy kitchen with my bright boisterous livingroom, with my [notwhite] suitor, I must move. To ask my parents to live their lives my way would make us all miserable.
But, because The Folks ™ are punitive people, they would view visiting our home as extending approval for our way of life – which would be unthinkable for them. Moving into my happy home would mean not seeing them – not a problem for me or my daughter, but a complete and total paradigm shift for my boys. This is the only home my boys can remember – in their memories, we’ve always lived with my parents.
My dad is the only “father figure” my boys have ever known. Taking that away from them is not something I look forward to doing.