What have I learned from watching too much reality TV this summer? What haven't I learned! Time to settle in with some munchies . . . .
1. Family life can be exploited as a for-profit commodity but only at a price. (J&K+8) Okay, I never actually watched this show because there was never anything going on.
2. Teresa of NJ Housewives would be totally skeeved by my house because we just don't keep up with the "cleansy." (Real Housewives of New Jersey)
3. New York City prep school kids lead lives that have no resemblance whatsoever to my life at 16. Are they really real? F'real? F'real real? (NYC Prep)
4. It's okay to be gay if you DANCE but not so much if you SING. (So You Think You Can Dance, American Idol). Well, we don't know who's going to win the dance thing yet . . . and nobody's out (including that one dude on NYC Prep), so I guess it's basically the same.
5. Parenting can entail pimping kids out as models and actresses, living in the Hamptons while your teenagers live in NYC alone, resisting giving the kid her brand new car until she gets her grades up in summer school (hey, where's my car - Dad? Dad?), dragging many many kids to your press events with nothing to drink, letting your daughter live with Hugh Hefner and his harem, ew, and then discouraging her from moving out because it is such a great gig and how will she ever take care of herself, etc. etc. . . and a heaping helping of superiority. (Real Housewives, NYC Prep, JK8, Girls Next Door/Kendra etc. etc. etc.)
6. Epidurals are the bomb. Like, you can totally talk when you're OMG having a baby. Who knew?!! (16 and Pregnant)
7. I do not, in fact, have the Messiest Home in America. (Clean House)
8. I too could make a gourmet meal with just a microwave and hotplate. I do it practically every night. Here, try this salmon on angel hair. Or this Boca on a bun. Or this . . . . (Top Chef)
9. Eating Costco chocolate covered raisins every day will not help you lose weight, despite the healthy fibery raisin inside the delicious chocolate coating. Oh, wait, that wasn't on TV. That was on the couch in front of the TV.
9.5. If you are thinking about having a baby, try moving a chimp in first. (Keeping up with the Kardashians) This will make you reconsider.
10. If all else fails, Dance Your Ass Off. And pass the chocolate.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 2, 2008
Say It Ain't So!
A new word has come into my home. "Ain't." Jonah picked it up at school, and now his little brother Mills is saying it too.
Growing up, I couldn't tell my parents about how "me and Melissa went to the store," without being interrupted with barely a syllable out - "Melissa and I went to the store," my mom or dad spoke over me grandly. Or else they'd ridicule: "Would you say, 'Me went to the store?'" Sometimes I would give up and refuse to tell the story. It drove me nuts, like they were more interested in correcting me than in hearing what I had to say.
Now I teach legal writing to law students, some of whom have never heard of subject-verb agreement. I can get a little nit-picky at times, I admit. But I know my students will lose the respect of some future clients (say, my parents) if their writing is incorrect.
I try not to be all over my own kids on grammar and usage. I mean, Jonah's only six, and Mills isn't yet four. I don't want to stifle them so that they don't talk to me anymore. Given my upbringing and occupation though, I can't always help myself. Still, it can be counterproductive. For example, now that Jonah knows I don't like "ain't," he uses it at every possible opportunity.
Lately, I've gotten used to my kids picking up language habits from their classmates in their racially and socio-economically diverse schools. A little Ebonics comes with the package, to be blunt about it. Parents whisper about this, but it's a pretty uncomfortable subject, fraught with race and class.
So I gently correct when Jonah pronounces "dead" as "deeyid" or when Mills tells me what another friend "brung" to school that day. It's a delicate balance - correcting their speech without judging their peers or the cultures they come from. I listened to Jonah exclaim "DANG!!!" for a couple straight days before I suggested that he might try to restrain himself.
The other day, when Jonah came home saying "ain't" I assumed it was more of the same. Wrong.
His teacher read a book to the class that day, entitled, "I Ain't Gonna Paint No More!" So in kindergarten, where the children learn new words each day from their teachers, one of those words apparently would be "ain't."
I have a problem with this.
I wonder if there is a problem with me having a problem with this.
Jonah has a wonderful teacher. This year, he learned to read, to add and subtract, and much more. His teacher is so wonderful that I haven't been able to bring myself to mention my displeasure with the whole "ain't" thing. (Plus, I feel like the hyper grammar parent.)
On the sly, I looked up the offending book on Amazon. Supposedly, it is some award-winning beloved delight. Only a couple of grammar grouches like myself gave it bad reviews.
It's not like these are fully literate young minds reading Mark Twain. They don't know what is proper English and what is not. Their teacher is the wise guru at the top of the hill. If she says "ain't," it must be ok. But it isn't.
I remember a day in elementary school when the teacher taught us that the word was "ask" not "ax" and other similar lessons. Some students honestly didn't know until that moment. It wasn't their fault - they'd just never been taught the difference between colloquial speech and formally correct English.
I would think that this kind of teaching would still be a priority today.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it ain't.
Growing up, I couldn't tell my parents about how "me and Melissa went to the store," without being interrupted with barely a syllable out - "Melissa and I went to the store," my mom or dad spoke over me grandly. Or else they'd ridicule: "Would you say, 'Me went to the store?'" Sometimes I would give up and refuse to tell the story. It drove me nuts, like they were more interested in correcting me than in hearing what I had to say.
Now I teach legal writing to law students, some of whom have never heard of subject-verb agreement. I can get a little nit-picky at times, I admit. But I know my students will lose the respect of some future clients (say, my parents) if their writing is incorrect.
I try not to be all over my own kids on grammar and usage. I mean, Jonah's only six, and Mills isn't yet four. I don't want to stifle them so that they don't talk to me anymore. Given my upbringing and occupation though, I can't always help myself. Still, it can be counterproductive. For example, now that Jonah knows I don't like "ain't," he uses it at every possible opportunity.
Lately, I've gotten used to my kids picking up language habits from their classmates in their racially and socio-economically diverse schools. A little Ebonics comes with the package, to be blunt about it. Parents whisper about this, but it's a pretty uncomfortable subject, fraught with race and class.
So I gently correct when Jonah pronounces "dead" as "deeyid" or when Mills tells me what another friend "brung" to school that day. It's a delicate balance - correcting their speech without judging their peers or the cultures they come from. I listened to Jonah exclaim "DANG!!!" for a couple straight days before I suggested that he might try to restrain himself.
The other day, when Jonah came home saying "ain't" I assumed it was more of the same. Wrong.
His teacher read a book to the class that day, entitled, "I Ain't Gonna Paint No More!" So in kindergarten, where the children learn new words each day from their teachers, one of those words apparently would be "ain't."
I have a problem with this.
I wonder if there is a problem with me having a problem with this.
Jonah has a wonderful teacher. This year, he learned to read, to add and subtract, and much more. His teacher is so wonderful that I haven't been able to bring myself to mention my displeasure with the whole "ain't" thing. (Plus, I feel like the hyper grammar parent.)
On the sly, I looked up the offending book on Amazon. Supposedly, it is some award-winning beloved delight. Only a couple of grammar grouches like myself gave it bad reviews.
It's not like these are fully literate young minds reading Mark Twain. They don't know what is proper English and what is not. Their teacher is the wise guru at the top of the hill. If she says "ain't," it must be ok. But it isn't.
I remember a day in elementary school when the teacher taught us that the word was "ask" not "ax" and other similar lessons. Some students honestly didn't know until that moment. It wasn't their fault - they'd just never been taught the difference between colloquial speech and formally correct English.
I would think that this kind of teaching would still be a priority today.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it ain't.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Mother's Day in the Life
I wrote this essay a couple of years ago when both my boys were in preschool. It reminds of that time, and it reminds me to be present for my kids when they ask me to play.
This Mothers’ Day, I thought about whether I am the mother I want to be. Ideally, I’d like to spend more time with my kids, maybe stay home with them and do something crafty. Not crazy crafty, like in the back of the parenting magazines, where you turn their sandwiches into sea creatures or wrap up the Kleenex boxes in aluminum foil. But I am pretty good with the basic toilet paper tube, for example. I’ve made a dollhouse-sized mailbox with letters and even a little potty, when that was a major matter of interest. My Play-Doh talents have been lying dormant since my older son stopped making requests like, “Mommy, make a radio!” and started making his own stuff. I’d love to return to these domestic artistic pursuits with my boys full time. I have stay-at-home mom envy.
It occurs to me, though, that if I stopped working outside of the home, we might find ourselves living outside the home too, because my paycheck helps pay the mortgage. Or at least, we’d be living less comfortably, with the utilities turned off.
And of course, there’s that open secret among moms that being with the kids all day can drive you completely insane. This is why I have so much respect for my stay-at-home mom friends. I can go to my office and relax. Sure, I have to work, but most days nobody’s going to spill anything. It’s harder for moms at home to get a break from the non-stop demands of parenting.
When I think about mothering, I think of my own mother. She played both roles at different times: stay-at-home and working mom. My mother was home until I was about eight years old. When she told me that once, it surprised me, because I always remember her working. But seeing my mom with my boys now that she’s retired, I remember. I understand why I am so intrigued by the artistic possibilities of the toilet paper tube. She makes them shoebox guitars or a doll outfit out of an old sock. Now I realize that she did this when my brother and I were kids, and that’s why I know how to do it. It’s an act of love to make something out of whatever you have for a little kid, and it teaches that child to be creative and innovative too.
In the years in between having small children and her retirement last June, my mother worked. And worked and worked. Her job was her identity in a lot of ways, and it took most of her time. She was late picking us up from our music lessons (but her working probably paid for those lessons). She missed my high school graduation because she was traveling. But she was there for family dinner, and our concerts, and to help with our math homework. She worked hard to help support us, and she worked harder than she had to because she thrived on it. With parenting, your kids absorb it all. Lessons are taught and learned, consciously or not.
So I wonder: am I the mother I want to be? My kids are little (4 and almost 2) and I work full-time. I don’t spend as much time with them as I would like. I take them to all-day preschool when they don’t want to go. I take them to their grandparents’ house where they love to be, but still ask me to “stay here, Mommy. Don’t go to work.” I miss dinner twice a week when I’m teaching night classes. Yet, I am with them every morning for breakfast and I am home for family dinner on non-teaching nights. Sometimes, I can even chaperone the field trip or spend a weekday morning with the kids. I still find time to make something out of whatever I have, for them to play with.
When my boys pretend they’re going to work, they take keys and a purse with them to the door. Most of their friends’ moms work, and many of the dads drive to preschool. Daddy makes dinner and vacuums the house. This has to be part of what they’re absorbing from childhood – what they might not remember learning, but will have learned nonetheless, like the toilet paper tube and the Play-Doh.
But that’s the thing about working moms and stay-at-home moms (and dads, too) -- we’re all making something for our kids out of whatever we have, as an act of love. We’re doing the best we can, loving our children and working hard for them. We’re all looking to hold on to ourselves while we do our best by our kids. We’re teaching our children how to be the parents that they will someday want to be.
This Mothers’ Day, I thought about whether I am the mother I want to be. Ideally, I’d like to spend more time with my kids, maybe stay home with them and do something crafty. Not crazy crafty, like in the back of the parenting magazines, where you turn their sandwiches into sea creatures or wrap up the Kleenex boxes in aluminum foil. But I am pretty good with the basic toilet paper tube, for example. I’ve made a dollhouse-sized mailbox with letters and even a little potty, when that was a major matter of interest. My Play-Doh talents have been lying dormant since my older son stopped making requests like, “Mommy, make a radio!” and started making his own stuff. I’d love to return to these domestic artistic pursuits with my boys full time. I have stay-at-home mom envy.
It occurs to me, though, that if I stopped working outside of the home, we might find ourselves living outside the home too, because my paycheck helps pay the mortgage. Or at least, we’d be living less comfortably, with the utilities turned off.
And of course, there’s that open secret among moms that being with the kids all day can drive you completely insane. This is why I have so much respect for my stay-at-home mom friends. I can go to my office and relax. Sure, I have to work, but most days nobody’s going to spill anything. It’s harder for moms at home to get a break from the non-stop demands of parenting.
When I think about mothering, I think of my own mother. She played both roles at different times: stay-at-home and working mom. My mother was home until I was about eight years old. When she told me that once, it surprised me, because I always remember her working. But seeing my mom with my boys now that she’s retired, I remember. I understand why I am so intrigued by the artistic possibilities of the toilet paper tube. She makes them shoebox guitars or a doll outfit out of an old sock. Now I realize that she did this when my brother and I were kids, and that’s why I know how to do it. It’s an act of love to make something out of whatever you have for a little kid, and it teaches that child to be creative and innovative too.
In the years in between having small children and her retirement last June, my mother worked. And worked and worked. Her job was her identity in a lot of ways, and it took most of her time. She was late picking us up from our music lessons (but her working probably paid for those lessons). She missed my high school graduation because she was traveling. But she was there for family dinner, and our concerts, and to help with our math homework. She worked hard to help support us, and she worked harder than she had to because she thrived on it. With parenting, your kids absorb it all. Lessons are taught and learned, consciously or not.
So I wonder: am I the mother I want to be? My kids are little (4 and almost 2) and I work full-time. I don’t spend as much time with them as I would like. I take them to all-day preschool when they don’t want to go. I take them to their grandparents’ house where they love to be, but still ask me to “stay here, Mommy. Don’t go to work.” I miss dinner twice a week when I’m teaching night classes. Yet, I am with them every morning for breakfast and I am home for family dinner on non-teaching nights. Sometimes, I can even chaperone the field trip or spend a weekday morning with the kids. I still find time to make something out of whatever I have, for them to play with.
When my boys pretend they’re going to work, they take keys and a purse with them to the door. Most of their friends’ moms work, and many of the dads drive to preschool. Daddy makes dinner and vacuums the house. This has to be part of what they’re absorbing from childhood – what they might not remember learning, but will have learned nonetheless, like the toilet paper tube and the Play-Doh.
But that’s the thing about working moms and stay-at-home moms (and dads, too) -- we’re all making something for our kids out of whatever we have, as an act of love. We’re doing the best we can, loving our children and working hard for them. We’re all looking to hold on to ourselves while we do our best by our kids. We’re teaching our children how to be the parents that they will someday want to be.
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