It is always so reassuring that the New Year comes without me staying up to watch it happen. Being a morning person, I don't often get to/want to watch the old night tick over to the new day, and I don't really change that policy just because there is a giant party going on.
Some goals and hopes for the New Year:
1) To better represent my faith in the world
2) To better live my faith at home in and in private
3) To pass the NCLEX the first time I take it
4) To find gainful employment as an RN
5) To lose 25 pounds (is any list complete without a weight goal?)
6) To take my kids on more adventures that don't come with joy stick
7) To remember and acknowledge family birthdays
Hopes:
1) That my country will survive the current attempts to save it
2) That I will be courteous, no matter the conduct of others
3) That more people will desire self-reliance and liberty than assistance and bondage
4) That I will be able to help someone else in a meaningful way, and not do it for praise of the world - or even that person
5) That all will be well for the people I love, and that that list might get longer.
Happy New Year to you all!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Two Things
Why do kids always think that you have never been a kid? Why do they imagine that I can't figure out what they are thinking? (Okay, sometimes I really can't; but still!).
All of my kids play musical instruments. Addie plays the violin, Jake plays the trumpet, and Tom and Lizzie play the piano. The older two labor under unfair history. Let me back up.
Back in the days that we did home school, Addie and Jake took piano lessons. They were 7 and 6. Oops, I need to back up more.
Both Honey and I have musical backgrounds. My parents required their kids to learn a muscial instrument (two, actually; three all told). They had played, and they felt that we would benefit if we learned. We started with piano and something else, gradually dropped the piano and took the something else and, in junior high, changed it to still another instrument. We took lessons, we had to practice, we played in bands, we had family concerts.
Honey's family isn't musical at all. The only thing they play is the stereo. When Honey was in middle school, he started playing the sax. He'd practice in the afternoon and his older brother would complain that it was too loud while he was napping. Honey was told to be considerate and knock it off (that would never have flown in my house growing up. The whiner would have been told to suck it up. Actual practice happened so rarely that my parents would never have banned it). In defense, he changed to the electric guitar. If there is no amp, there is no volume.
Fast forward a bunch of years: I remember my instrument days with fondness. When I hear songs we played, I am magically transported to those years; I remember those friends, I remember those crushes, I remember weighing significantly less than I do now. It's magical. And. I never play. I have an oboe that is collecting dust, and a piano that I use to torture Tom and Liz. Honey plays almost daily. It is his default setting. When he isn't required to do something else, he is playing. He has a musical harem: guitars (electric and acoustic), bass, banjos, mandolin, and dobro. His heritage is playing for fun, mine is playing with discipline.
Now, back to younger Addie and Jake. They are doing piano. They hate it because I make them practice and take lessons and repeat bits that they don't play correctly. Every day is a trial, for them and for me, as we stride onto the battle field and choose our weapons. Everyday is a trial for Honey, as he has to listen to the battle. When it finally became clear that I was the only one who cared, we dropped it. Well, the music. I kept hold of a pretty good bundle of righteous resentment.
Forward some more: homeschool is over and Addie is in 5th Grade. She comes home and begs to be able to play the violin. Honey is all for it, and the seething pools of resentment that have been silent erupt in me. If there is going to be music, then there will be no whining about: practicing, lessons, band participation, etc etc. Terms accepted and agreed. Ditto when Jake entered fifth grade the next year and begged to play the trumpet.
At last, we arrive to now. Addie still loves her violin. She plays with joy and diligence, all is well.
Jake, on the other hand. He knows an easy A when he sees one (he thinks). So even though he doesn't want to practice, even though he doesn't want to listen to his teacher (who is teaching him so much more than just the trumpet, if Jake only had ears to hear), he refuses to quit because he doesn't want to yield that easy A.
I'm not dumb. I've been in band. I've been resentful about it. I'm not my parents. I won't compel it if it isn't wanted. But he has to tell me. I've asked: "aren't you tired? do you want to continue?" and his lips speak "yes" and then play "not so much."
And it all came to a head tonight. I got home from choir practice, and he should have practiced his trumpet, and hadn't. When I called him on it, I snapped.
"Jake, it's time to tell the truth. Tell me, to my face, that you want to stay in band because it's an easy A."
(Eyes shifting side to side) "Kind of."
"See? I've been thirteen! So: two choices: tell me, to my face, and I'll call the school and get your schedule changed. Or, suck it up one more year, follow my rules, and quit at the end of the school year. Cuz, son, I gotta tell ya, my job is to make sure that 'easy A' isn't worth the work!"
As of this moment (until the next time) we have come to an agreement that includes continuing until the end of the school year. I think I'd better get it in writing, though, with consequences for contract violation included.
Second thing: Tuesday September 8 is National Obama Day in the elementary schools. There will be a broadcast to the elementary schools from the white house; teachers have a packet prepared for them from the NEA, all about what teachers can do before and after the speech. These things include asking the kids what they can do to fulfill what Obama has asked of them. (Pretty vague language, addmittedly). Check it out: top of the page at www.ed.gov.
I'm keeping my kids home from school. It isn't anti-liberal (or not solely so); I'd have done the same if President Bush or President McCain had tried such a stunt. Thought you should know; the school claims that they are sending home a note about it, but that's all they are saying, and I haven't seen it yet.
All of my kids play musical instruments. Addie plays the violin, Jake plays the trumpet, and Tom and Lizzie play the piano. The older two labor under unfair history. Let me back up.
Back in the days that we did home school, Addie and Jake took piano lessons. They were 7 and 6. Oops, I need to back up more.
Both Honey and I have musical backgrounds. My parents required their kids to learn a muscial instrument (two, actually; three all told). They had played, and they felt that we would benefit if we learned. We started with piano and something else, gradually dropped the piano and took the something else and, in junior high, changed it to still another instrument. We took lessons, we had to practice, we played in bands, we had family concerts.
Honey's family isn't musical at all. The only thing they play is the stereo. When Honey was in middle school, he started playing the sax. He'd practice in the afternoon and his older brother would complain that it was too loud while he was napping. Honey was told to be considerate and knock it off (that would never have flown in my house growing up. The whiner would have been told to suck it up. Actual practice happened so rarely that my parents would never have banned it). In defense, he changed to the electric guitar. If there is no amp, there is no volume.
Fast forward a bunch of years: I remember my instrument days with fondness. When I hear songs we played, I am magically transported to those years; I remember those friends, I remember those crushes, I remember weighing significantly less than I do now. It's magical. And. I never play. I have an oboe that is collecting dust, and a piano that I use to torture Tom and Liz. Honey plays almost daily. It is his default setting. When he isn't required to do something else, he is playing. He has a musical harem: guitars (electric and acoustic), bass, banjos, mandolin, and dobro. His heritage is playing for fun, mine is playing with discipline.
Now, back to younger Addie and Jake. They are doing piano. They hate it because I make them practice and take lessons and repeat bits that they don't play correctly. Every day is a trial, for them and for me, as we stride onto the battle field and choose our weapons. Everyday is a trial for Honey, as he has to listen to the battle. When it finally became clear that I was the only one who cared, we dropped it. Well, the music. I kept hold of a pretty good bundle of righteous resentment.
Forward some more: homeschool is over and Addie is in 5th Grade. She comes home and begs to be able to play the violin. Honey is all for it, and the seething pools of resentment that have been silent erupt in me. If there is going to be music, then there will be no whining about: practicing, lessons, band participation, etc etc. Terms accepted and agreed. Ditto when Jake entered fifth grade the next year and begged to play the trumpet.
At last, we arrive to now. Addie still loves her violin. She plays with joy and diligence, all is well.
Jake, on the other hand. He knows an easy A when he sees one (he thinks). So even though he doesn't want to practice, even though he doesn't want to listen to his teacher (who is teaching him so much more than just the trumpet, if Jake only had ears to hear), he refuses to quit because he doesn't want to yield that easy A.
I'm not dumb. I've been in band. I've been resentful about it. I'm not my parents. I won't compel it if it isn't wanted. But he has to tell me. I've asked: "aren't you tired? do you want to continue?" and his lips speak "yes" and then play "not so much."
And it all came to a head tonight. I got home from choir practice, and he should have practiced his trumpet, and hadn't. When I called him on it, I snapped.
"Jake, it's time to tell the truth. Tell me, to my face, that you want to stay in band because it's an easy A."
(Eyes shifting side to side) "Kind of."
"See? I've been thirteen! So: two choices: tell me, to my face, and I'll call the school and get your schedule changed. Or, suck it up one more year, follow my rules, and quit at the end of the school year. Cuz, son, I gotta tell ya, my job is to make sure that 'easy A' isn't worth the work!"
As of this moment (until the next time) we have come to an agreement that includes continuing until the end of the school year. I think I'd better get it in writing, though, with consequences for contract violation included.
Second thing: Tuesday September 8 is National Obama Day in the elementary schools. There will be a broadcast to the elementary schools from the white house; teachers have a packet prepared for them from the NEA, all about what teachers can do before and after the speech. These things include asking the kids what they can do to fulfill what Obama has asked of them. (Pretty vague language, addmittedly). Check it out: top of the page at www.ed.gov.
I'm keeping my kids home from school. It isn't anti-liberal (or not solely so); I'd have done the same if President Bush or President McCain had tried such a stunt. Thought you should know; the school claims that they are sending home a note about it, but that's all they are saying, and I haven't seen it yet.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Jake's New Thing
I was raised in a football family. My dad watched the Dallas Cowboys. I remember him and my brothers watching, hooting, and cheering. The thrill, I must say, passed me by. When I was a rebellious teenager, my most defiant act was to root for the Pittsburg Steelers, avowed enemy of the Cowboys.
Honey was raised in a sports home. Not as passionate, perhaps, but still, sports were followed. But Honey never really got into it. He's a musician. (We like to say that we really lucked out: I found the one man on the planet who didn't care about sports, and he found the one woman who wasn't into shopping.)
The Soccer Mom phenomena passed right by this family. Jake did a short season of T-Ball, once. Addie and Tom each did one season of soccer. Each of these things was community: you pay $40 to the city Rec center, and your kid gets a t shirt with a business logo, a participation "trophy," and a brief concept that this game usually has some rules, but we aren't worried about those right now.
So imagine my surprise when Jake announces that his all-time favorite sports team is the Denver Broncos; that his favorite athlete is Champ Bailey; and that is fondest ambition is to be a wide receiver for the Broncos. He was watching a football game on television (probably the first one ever to be watched in this house), and he was telling me about plays, and downs, fumbles and other such things. I felt betrayed when Honey came in, watched for a moment, and said, "Watch, now they'll argle gargle google goo" and when the team did, Honey and Jake cheered and high-fived. (Apparently, it's an XY chromosomal link thing. Not caring isn't the same as not knowing. Who knew?)
Now Jake is signed up for football. It comes with pads, helmet, uniform, coaches, games, practices, rules, tackles and the whole sweaty nine yards. It cost $200 to sign him up, and that was just the beginning of the shake down. (Remind me to someday complain about the "touchdown bucket.") Jake's season started today, with an exhibition game against Bingham.
Jake is a second stringer. At Bingham, he'd probably be a first stringer, but our team is absolutely loaded with Polynesians, and Jake probably weighs less than the team's single girl athlete. Apparently, though, it's all paid off. He came home from his first game completely jazzed: the Kearns Bantams won 27-13, Jake had 6 plays, and his coach said that he's learned faster and better than any other first year they've seen (most of his team has been playing for 4 years).
I can't say I ever pictured myself as the mother of an athlete, but the smile on Jakes face makes the flies buzzing around the corpse of the family wallet all worth while!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Talking to myself: the new semester
I write so rarely, this is like talking to myself. I don't know if anyone looks anymore, which makes it hard to want to write, which means people don't look. . . it isn't a cycle as vicious as familial abuse, certainly, but it does cycle just as much.
A new semester has begun: new classes and new things to learn. This semester is adult care -commonly called medical-surgery or med-surg- and I'll be spending two days each week for the next 15 weeks at the hospital. I'll be on different surgical floors, and spend time in the ICU, the ER, and PCU (the step down between ICU and home) and even one day in surgery.
Did you know that while the majority of nurses go to work in the hospital, it's (only) just over 50%? There are so many choices available! I could be a certified nurse midwife and deliver babies (my original ambition); I could be a family practice nurse, and have a clinic with patients; I could be a prison nurse (although I likely won't); I could do research and have little to do with patients at all.
More than just a nurse, I feel like I want to make changes. There is a professional hostility between certified nurse midwives and direct entry midwives (who commonly attend home births). Part of it is a territorial dispute, part of it is an educational snobbery, and I think part of it is based on envy: CNMs have really high malpractice insurance (although I can't imagine that DEMs have it too much better). But it bugs me, because in school the big theme repeated endlessly is the role of the nurse: patient advocate.
Another place that fascinates me is community nursing. People go on medical missions to foreign countries and feel righteous and holy (and certainly they are doing good work). Why not a medical mission to urban areas in the US? "There are free clinics here already."
So if there is already some mechanism in place to provide medical care to people who live on the fringes of society, why is there this mad rush to socialize medicine? Where are the flaws and gaps? Why are the free clinics not doing the job? What obstacles do they have? What are the limitations?
I'm not poised to become a bleeding heart liberal; I am excited about the power of the individual to make a difference. I hope that I can make a difference for the better, where ever I finally land professionally.
A new semester has begun: new classes and new things to learn. This semester is adult care -commonly called medical-surgery or med-surg- and I'll be spending two days each week for the next 15 weeks at the hospital. I'll be on different surgical floors, and spend time in the ICU, the ER, and PCU (the step down between ICU and home) and even one day in surgery.
Did you know that while the majority of nurses go to work in the hospital, it's (only) just over 50%? There are so many choices available! I could be a certified nurse midwife and deliver babies (my original ambition); I could be a family practice nurse, and have a clinic with patients; I could be a prison nurse (although I likely won't); I could do research and have little to do with patients at all.
More than just a nurse, I feel like I want to make changes. There is a professional hostility between certified nurse midwives and direct entry midwives (who commonly attend home births). Part of it is a territorial dispute, part of it is an educational snobbery, and I think part of it is based on envy: CNMs have really high malpractice insurance (although I can't imagine that DEMs have it too much better). But it bugs me, because in school the big theme repeated endlessly is the role of the nurse: patient advocate.
Another place that fascinates me is community nursing. People go on medical missions to foreign countries and feel righteous and holy (and certainly they are doing good work). Why not a medical mission to urban areas in the US? "There are free clinics here already."
So if there is already some mechanism in place to provide medical care to people who live on the fringes of society, why is there this mad rush to socialize medicine? Where are the flaws and gaps? Why are the free clinics not doing the job? What obstacles do they have? What are the limitations?
I'm not poised to become a bleeding heart liberal; I am excited about the power of the individual to make a difference. I hope that I can make a difference for the better, where ever I finally land professionally.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I must be living right
Education does not come without sacrifice.
People at school will say to me "Don't your kids get underfoot? Don't they bug you when you try to study?"
And I can honestly say, No, they don't. Because Addie and Jake are glued to the computer (on line or video game hooked) and Tom is playing with the Wii. Liz goes to play with a friend, mostly. The hilarity begins when Liz comes home and wants a turn on the Wii.
"Moooo-oooom. I want a turn on the Wiiiiii." (I'm convinced it was a diabolical Japanese linguistic plot that made that word so easy to whine.)
"Did you tell Tom about it?" (and off Liz goes, giving me a 30 second respite).
"Moooo-ooom. He says he's in the middle of something and he can't quit."
(Sigh. Eye roll.) "Tell Tom I want to talk to him." I realize using a fellow child as a messenger is probably bad parenting, but it gives me about another 60 seconds of study time before Tom plods sullenly up the stairs to hear the same. stupid. lecture I gave him yesterday.
"Haven't you been doing this since you got home? Isn't it true that Liz hasn't done it at all today? Why should she wait while you finish this level/battle this bad guy/find this save station?"
The lecture and rebuttals go on, but it's depressing enough to have shared this much of it.
In the past, I have told my classmates that I am willing to let their little minds fry while I'm in school if it means I can study unmolested. It hasn't played that way, plus their little minds are frying.
So today I declared a freedom from electronics day. They've been bored, they've wished I could be swallowed by the earth, but 3 of them are at a park with friends, and the fourth is out front with a buddy. None of them are plugged into anything (and I'm spending valuable study time writing a blog).
Electronic freedom day is about to become a weekly event!
People at school will say to me "Don't your kids get underfoot? Don't they bug you when you try to study?"
And I can honestly say, No, they don't. Because Addie and Jake are glued to the computer (on line or video game hooked) and Tom is playing with the Wii. Liz goes to play with a friend, mostly. The hilarity begins when Liz comes home and wants a turn on the Wii.
"Moooo-oooom. I want a turn on the Wiiiiii." (I'm convinced it was a diabolical Japanese linguistic plot that made that word so easy to whine.)
"Did you tell Tom about it?" (and off Liz goes, giving me a 30 second respite).
"Moooo-ooom. He says he's in the middle of something and he can't quit."
(Sigh. Eye roll.) "Tell Tom I want to talk to him." I realize using a fellow child as a messenger is probably bad parenting, but it gives me about another 60 seconds of study time before Tom plods sullenly up the stairs to hear the same. stupid. lecture I gave him yesterday.
"Haven't you been doing this since you got home? Isn't it true that Liz hasn't done it at all today? Why should she wait while you finish this level/battle this bad guy/find this save station?"
The lecture and rebuttals go on, but it's depressing enough to have shared this much of it.
In the past, I have told my classmates that I am willing to let their little minds fry while I'm in school if it means I can study unmolested. It hasn't played that way, plus their little minds are frying.
So today I declared a freedom from electronics day. They've been bored, they've wished I could be swallowed by the earth, but 3 of them are at a park with friends, and the fourth is out front with a buddy. None of them are plugged into anything (and I'm spending valuable study time writing a blog).
Electronic freedom day is about to become a weekly event!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A Beautiful Mother Moment
See this? Notice that the picture corners are peeling up? Notice that there are things scratched off and misspelled on both posters? And yet, if you look at this picture on the left, a dark arrow is pointing to a faintly circled A+. Why does such arguably shoddy work merit such a high grade? Because, unusually in elementary school, this project was done exclusively by the second grader to whom it was assigned. Liz came home and said "I have to do an Africa report." and I said "Okay."
Then I did nothing. It wasn't due for a while, I was sure (they always give parents generous deadlines). And then I never heard anything more about it.
The next opportunity I had to remember it was the day I went to her class to volunteer. There on the wall, for all to see, were these two posters. Liz had gone on line, printed pictures, and found information all on her own. She'd cut out pictures, glued them on the poster, and taken them to school, all without any kind of parental supervision.
I mentioned that to her teacher, and I think that was why she got the A+. Not because I told him, but because it was so obviously all her own work.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
List 7: Things I will be giving up
School starts. . .well, today, actually, even though classes don't technically begin until next week. I had orientation today, and it was packed full of things I still have to do.
First, some relevant mathematics:
(32-38 hours of class/week) x (3 hours of prep/hour of class) = No. Life.
I may be able to shave a little off the recommended study time, but given the hours that I'll be in class and clinicals, even if I do only 2 hours per hour of lecture, that doesn't leave a lot of free time.
So I hereby offer my sacrifices to academic excellece (or at least adequacy):
1. Television. I don't watch that much, but I will have to shave it down to the absolute minimum. That may mean I tape my two favorite shows, and watch them obsessively during the semester breaks.
2. Choir. Okay, so it was only 1 hour per week, but the practice is at 8 pm. That is the last hour of daylight on many days, and it is an hour when most of my kids are outside, or electronically entertained. It may be my only quiet hour of home study during the week.
3. Snacks. I'll be spending a significant amount of time on campus, or in a hospital, away from my refrigerator and pantry. If I also fail to take cash, and given the brutal sprawl of the campus and minimal student parking, I might actually lose weight.
4. Snooze. When the alarm goes off, I'll just have to get up. Every 9 minutes I can study without kids talking to me is worth 20 minutes with kids talking to me.
5. Leisure reading. This is a killer. I love to read. I love to roll the words in my mind, to laugh when it is witty and cry when it is sad. I love to ponder when it is thought provoking and snort when it is contemptible. I'll miss it. But it's only for 16 months, minus semester breaks.
There may be other sacrifices waiting in the wings, but right now they have the sense to keep their heads down while I still imagine this might be doable. If they were to make demands now, I'd probably come unglued. And Honey doesn't know quite enough anatomy to put all of the pieces back together.
First, some relevant mathematics:
(32-38 hours of class/week) x (3 hours of prep/hour of class) = No. Life.
I may be able to shave a little off the recommended study time, but given the hours that I'll be in class and clinicals, even if I do only 2 hours per hour of lecture, that doesn't leave a lot of free time.
So I hereby offer my sacrifices to academic excellece (or at least adequacy):
1. Television. I don't watch that much, but I will have to shave it down to the absolute minimum. That may mean I tape my two favorite shows, and watch them obsessively during the semester breaks.
2. Choir. Okay, so it was only 1 hour per week, but the practice is at 8 pm. That is the last hour of daylight on many days, and it is an hour when most of my kids are outside, or electronically entertained. It may be my only quiet hour of home study during the week.
3. Snacks. I'll be spending a significant amount of time on campus, or in a hospital, away from my refrigerator and pantry. If I also fail to take cash, and given the brutal sprawl of the campus and minimal student parking, I might actually lose weight.
4. Snooze. When the alarm goes off, I'll just have to get up. Every 9 minutes I can study without kids talking to me is worth 20 minutes with kids talking to me.
5. Leisure reading. This is a killer. I love to read. I love to roll the words in my mind, to laugh when it is witty and cry when it is sad. I love to ponder when it is thought provoking and snort when it is contemptible. I'll miss it. But it's only for 16 months, minus semester breaks.
There may be other sacrifices waiting in the wings, but right now they have the sense to keep their heads down while I still imagine this might be doable. If they were to make demands now, I'd probably come unglued. And Honey doesn't know quite enough anatomy to put all of the pieces back together.
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