Raising a Uni-Ready Kid

For my day job, I teach at a university. Some of my classes are first year, some second year, and some third year, so I get a front row view of how students progress from beginning to end. Needless to say, I have also gone through the progression, myself, so I observe these changes with no small amount of nostalgia/annoyance/amusement.

I have often set my mind to lessons I learn about parenting from watching my students. Today, I thought to write them down. Take them for what they are worth, as being from a parent to a young child and a teacher, but not a child development expert by any means. But recent public discussions about education has fired my thoughts on this matter, so I thought I might share my observations and opinions.

Recently, the issue of "zero zeros" policies in public schools have made it into the news. It seems a high school teacher in Alberta was suspended at the end of the last school year for defying the principal's orders that no student ever receive a zero. In fact, today that teacher, Lynden Dorval, will attend a hearing to learn if he will ever teach again.

The basic theory behind this is that the failure to hand in assignments is a behaviour issue, and not an academic one, so teachers cannot dole out absolute fails for a student's refusal to do the work. They also say it's a way for each student to learn at their own pace, and not be penalized for falling behind, as well as reduce stress for students. (The idea being that punishing a student for poor behaviour or late work will reduce their overall learning, prejudice their permanent record against them, and discourage them from even trying.) The teachers are obligated, within these systems, to convince the student to eventually do the work, to offer extra time for them, to allow them re-write times, to set extra-credit work, to consult with parents about the behaviour, and/or to mark whatever was handed in, and to make the final mark out of that by dropping the non-assessable assignments. In some districts, teachers are obligated to offer re-dos/re-writes if the homework is plagiarized or the tests are cheated on!

You can probably imagine my misgivings about this policy. I can see that the theorists have their hearts in the right place, and I admit they know more about educational theory than I, but I can't help but think that deadlines (i.e. time management, attentiveness, and dedication) are part and parcel with education. I also question the practicality and long term effects of such policies.

How can you mark a student based solely on academics, when you require them to display the "behaviour" of handing something in at some point? What if the student hands in nothing? What does "unable to assess" mean in the long run?

How much work would I have done in school if I knew there were no consequences to doing nothing, and that other students were getting the same (or even better) marks for doing less than me? I know how I'd feel - like a sucker for doing any more than I had to.

On top of all that, how will parents know their 9th grader isn't doing any work unless the grades start falling?

I was rather shocked when these stories started hitting the papers, since this was certainly not the policy when I was in school. I was in high school in the 90s, so I did benefit from the early-onset of the "no child left behind" policies of extra help, peer tutors, extra support for students with special needs, etc, but we had many deadlines, and we certainly got zeroes when we earned them. Likewise, in university, classes run the same way - accommodation for special needs is plentiful, tutors abound, profs offer extra help, and medical and sympathetic re-writes and extensions are certainly not rare. Most professors are open to discussing time crunch grounds for extensions if they are needed to allow students to do their best, if they are approached correctly and maturely, and the decisions can be fairly and uniformly enforced. But, we do give out Fs and zeroes as warranted. I find this reasonable, and I am baffled by the public school policy of no-zeroes, even when the student fails to show for tests without excuse.

One of the main concerns I have is how on earth these policies are expected to mesh with university policies, into which many of these highschoolers are expected to file after graduation from public school. I can tell you, from what I've seen so far, they do not mesh at all.

In recent years, the number of students who complain about failing courses, despite their failure to complete the work, has risen. The number of students expecting re-writes, extra-credit assignments, re-weighting, etc, without any medical/sympathetic cause is astounding. The expectation on the part of students that all grades are negotiable is, well, infuriating. Until I learned of the public schools implementing this zero-zero policy, these trends didn't quite make sense.

Now, they do.

On an official level, many universities are also noticing a major increase in the percentages of first year students who "wash out" (get such a low GPA that they are asked to leave) or get placed on academic probation. I would not be surprised if this, too, was related to the no-zero trend. After all, if you managed to cruise through four years of public high school without doing the work, how much cumulative knowledge will you miss? Could you handle university calc if you never did any high school math homework in your life?

Finally, the amount of remedial assistance required for first and second year students is increasing. University profs are doing more grammar, basic research skills, citation introduction, composition crash courses, etc, than we ever did before. We simply can no longer assume students have written research papers before attending university. When I started at university, it was assumed we had these basics from high school, and that we knew how to write an essay. That way, profs could focus on their subject, rather than on the nuts and bolts. Not so today.

This is not to say I blame the high school teachers, whatsoever. If policies like this disallow strict grading and force public school teachers to give up their own time to track down assignments, etc, I don't know how much more we can expect teachers to do, and I suspect that many are just as frustrated with this as some college/uni instructors are.

So, where does this leave us? I suppose it is now, perhaps more than ever, in the hands of parents to aim towards a university-ready child. Now that I have a child of my own, I watch public school theory much more closely, and I have become convinced that it is up to me to do what the teachers are not allowed to do - which is have high expectations of my child, for his own sake.

From my experience, both as a student and a teacher, there are a number of things that seem to hold true:

Too Much Money = Too Much Booze.

(If not booze, then some other distraction, perhaps, but most likely booze. Booze flows like water on campuses, and students do tend to go a bit nuts on it the first few months, at least.) While it is certainly true that students who must work more than 10-20 hours per week at a job during term can suffer a resulting decline in their GPA, I must say the opposite can also be true. Students who have unlimited funds often fall prey to their privilege. My advice - pay the tuition if you can, buy them a meal ticket if you wish, maybe help with the rent if you have extra, but never hand over the Gold Card and tell them to have fun. Consider making all spending money their own responsibility, no matter what your finances are like. Summer jobs, at the very least, never killed anyone, and a steadily dwindling bank account has served as a good reminder of the costs of binging to many a student. (On a personal note, paying my own way through school from the ground up made me value it more, for what it's worth.)

Freedom Can Be Horrible.

This is not to say that "constant vigilance" is the right answer, either. On the contrary, I've seen students with strict parents explode the moment they move into a dorm and realize mom isn't there. Others despair over being alone and making so many decisions, all of a sudden. The best course is to steadily increase freedoms/responsibilities/privacy from early childhood, so by the time they get to university they don't go wild with the heady thrill of forbidden joys, or decline due to lack of supervision. Free range is not just for granola munchers, and is not antithetical to the other opinions here, if you think about it. (On a related note, for the love of all that's holy, teach them how to do their laundry well before they go off to university! Also, how to cook, clean, grocery shop wisely, change a fuse, bank, do simple car maintenance, etc, etc. Advancing slowly and incrementally towards adulthood needs to be the focus for years prior to attaining it.)

Not Everything is Negotiable.

Some of us born to Baby Boomers and the subsequent generations have grown accustomed to parental negotiation. I'm not talking about simple ones, such as "Can I have a raw carrot instead of cooked veggies?" or other matters of preference, but of negotiated expectations, rules, regulations, even punishments. While, naturally, everything must be flexible to some extent, and every situation is unique, some things should remain non-negotiable. One example I have heard recently was a person who got a third speeding ticket in her parents' car, an event which she had been clearly warned would result in a set duration of grounding. It just so happened that the grounding period fell during the wrap up of her senior year, and she negotiated with her parents to proceed with the grounding, but still allow her to go to every single senior-year event. She even got them to let her use the car to attend them! Basically, this limit was so negotiable, it was pointless. Like the law, employers, and universities, only set limits you are willing to enforce; otherwise, they teach nothing but that every limit is negotiable - a lesson that will backfire in the "real world."

Reasonable Tough Love is a Gift. 
Reasonable Expectations are a Part of Tough Love.

The meaning here should be self-evident. Children raised with consistent, stable love, affection and attention develop the confidence required for later success. However, this doesn't require you to be your child's "best friend" instead of a parent, and placing loving, transparent, reasonable expectations (and consequences) upon them can and should be a part of this from preschool to high school, and, thus, beyond. As long as you are, indeed, reasonable (via ample communication, information, and observation), expectations can be a sign of love. Knowing your parent expects a certain level from you should be taken as a symptom of their pride and trust, and there is no feeling quite like rising to meet that expectation. People will rise, or stoop, to expectations from the people they love, and these things should not be undervalued, because, in the end, this is how they will learn how to expect things from themselves.

The Best Perspective: "Your Future = Your Responsibility."

I cannot overemphasize the importance of self-reliance, responsibility, and self-direction, since university exists on these qualities. I have seen students forced to go to university against their will, and this is a shame. I have seen many complain how hard it is to do their work without their parents riding them to do it, or without their mothers hovering over the Master Calendar to remind them of their obligations at all times. In my experience, students should understand their own agency in their lives by understanding their future is in their own hands. Thus, that's where the decisions and responsibilities should lie, as well. Associated with this is a firm suggestion to parents to back off as much as they can. (If you are paying all the bills, do what you need to do in regards to seeing the grades, but please understand the execution of university education is solely on your "child.") I had a colleague who had to deal with a student whose mom was doing his homework, which is ghastly. I myself have had calls and emails from parents "checking in," asking me for special conditions, and/or demanding explanation of grades - one, even, who decided to negotiate an F the student earned on an assignment that had been plagiarized! My response to these is, and must be (according to university policy), "Due to confidentiality, I cannot discuss grades with anyone but the student." Repeat after me: University is not grade school. There are no parent-teacher conferences here, so you best prepare your scholar for this by making sure they understand to rely on themselves and take charge of their own futures.

~*~

A lot of the above can really be summed up by a healthy work ethic development, and an awareness of self-entitlement, and how to balance an understanding of self-worth with a necessary community rationality. Everyone is entitled to basic respect and rights, but no one is de facto entitled to rewards, by definition, and believing otherwise can be harmful. That is, a kid who says, "I am valuable, loved, and I have potential and responsibilities" is wonderful; a student who says, "I'm the center of the universe, so hand me what I want" is not. One will work because she owes it to herself. The other will not, because the world owes it to her. One sees the work itself as important; the other sees only the pay off. One views his profs as his guide, and demands that their prof help them foster their own future. The other views his profs as servants, and demands the profs hand him the credits he (or his parents) have paid for. One learns from zeroes, even if they sting. The other will only complain about them.

I know most parents know this, because I still see streams and streams of hard working, engaged young people in my work. But, believe me, I also know it is not always easy to strike this balance. Tough love can sometimes spark tears, and I understand that each tear the child cries comes at an emotional price to the parent. I wonder if less parents will be willing to pay this cost, just as less schools seem to be willing to give a zero where it's needed to send home a message.

The only advice I can offer is start them young, remain aware, make the most of every "teachable moment", seek help/information, be transparent and consistent in your expectations and reactions, and keep your flexibility (and sense of humour) intact. Know that failures come and failures go, but maintain hope and trust, and those expectations. Remember the old, "Give a man a fish..." chestnut? Basically, this is what I'm driving at. Give your child the ability to fish, and they should do alright.

And, finally, ask your child's school about the no-zero policy, as many do not inform the parents it is in place, and act accordingly. If your school is not challenging your child adequately, you may have to pick up the slack, which might involve finding supplemental or alternative education. But, above all, find out directly from the school, and communicate with your child about how the policy makes him/her feel about doing the work, and react as you see fit.

Anyway, just some rambling food for thought in keeping with the "Back to School" season. Keep your eyes on the prize, folks, and best of luck!

Wordless Wednesday: Legos Bring Pain

Just an average day at home.

My son never fails to leave a caltrop mine field for me, otherwise known as The Great Lego Desert, aka The Lego Debris Field, aka my living room floor.

A Little Tub Song (to the tune of Frere Jacques)

Wash your arm pits
Wash your arm pits
Then your toes
Then your toes
Clean your hands and face
Clean your hands and face
Brush those teeth!
Brush those teeth!

Parenting brings out strange creativity at times.

On Teachers

As summer turns to fall, and all the little scholars are trudging off to class, my mind turns to my own school days. It's hard to believe how long it's been since I first started school - 28 years now, since I first braved those school bus steps. And now it's been almost ten years since I first started teaching (first, as a grad student TA and now as a prof), and over a year since I finished work on my terminal degree by turning in my doctoral dissertation (almost a year since I actually got the sheepskin). That's a long time to be in the school world. None of it feels like it was a waste, though there were days during that I wondered where it was all going.

My school career was rather lackluster for the first while. In the fourth grade, I had a teacher I adored, and she got me interested in writing short stories (and busted me *hard* for my first and only act of academic dishonesty when I copied an essay on dragons from one of my encyclopedias - whoops!). Other than that year, I didn't start reaching my potential until the sixth grade, when we moved to a small school with only five classrooms and no gym. My teacher was also the principal. There, I began to flourish. I realized - hey, I'm pretty smart, and I can do this writing thing pretty well! It wasn't that my ego just turned on; it was because my teacher made me believe in my skills, and helped me foster them through encouraging me to work hard.

I took that into junior and then senior high, where I developed into a (head)strong, independent, young woman, confident in my brain and my creative abilities, and ready to face the world. Four or five high school teachers, joined later by a handful of university professors, really stand out in my mind as significant, life-long influences on me; those who encouraged, challenged, cultivated, disciplined, praised, bullied, and befriended in just the right amounts, and told me that the world was open to me - me! Me, who grew up in a loving but desperately poor family out in the middle of nowhere. I could do anything I wanted!

And I have.

I can honestly, and truly, say, in the deepest gratitude, that nothing I have done in my life would have been accomplished without them. My mother set my feet on my path by valuing books, but my teachers directed me in that path. Without them, I'm not sure I would have found my way. It likely wouldn't have even occurred to me to even try to find it.

So, to teachers - what you do is important; as important as doctors, law enforcement, or any profession that gets paid out the ears. It is a profound responsibility. We all should stop and value you more than we do. To students - make the most of it. These people have a way of sticking with you for life. It's been a long road for me, but I've had the best of help. I'm thrilled to now be helping new students. Teaching may be the ultimate form of paying it forward.

Have a great term, everyone!

Bat Story

At around 4am, Friday morning, I was woken from a sound sleep - very sound, brought on by exhaustion and the first truly nice, cool nighttime temperatures we've enjoyed in some time. What woke me was our cat, Ralph, barreling up the entire length of me, from his habitual sleep-spot at the end of the bed all the way along me from my feet to my face, where he then used my head as a launchpad to propel himself into midair.

My first instinct was to cuss and try to go back to sleep. A second later, though, my brain registered what it was that had Ralph freak out on me - a BAT in my apartment!

I covered my three year old son, who (thank heavens) sleeps with me, with a sheet and a pillow - he slept on for most of the ensuing drama, and I wanted to make sure the thing didn't land directly on him. The second thing I did was lock a wildly protesting Ralph into the bathroom - I don't really need a rabid cat on my hands.

Then it was game on.

My first weapons of choice were a broom and a pillow held over my head. And, thankfully, I remembered to put my shoes on. Soon, however, I realized an empty pizza box from the recycling bin made better cover - it could also swat and flap. (Thus ends my newfound expertise and advice in the area of bat wrangling.)

I punched out the screen on the big front window, and yanked down the curtains. I closed off all means of escape into other rooms, keeping the window as the best possible solution for him. To me it seemed simple from the bat's point of view: "Large, angry woman, chasing me with broom... Big Assed Open Window? Oh, yes, please!"

Sadly, what I had here on my hands was a not-so-bright bat.

One who failed to find the window. Every. Single. Damned. Time.

I swiftly made two calls: One, to my super - who, wisely, didn't answer. It was, afterall, 4am. The second, to my dad - trusty Salt Of The Earth type who must have dealt with his fair share of bats in his life. That call went something like this (meanwhile, flustered bat is flapping madly about the place):

Me: I have a bat! In my house! A Bat!
Dad: Well, how'd that happen?
Me: Not my major concern at the moment. How do I get it out?
Dad: Well, grab it with a pillow case. Or a thick coat.
Me: Don't they have rabies?
Dad: Well, yeah. They can...
Me: Great.
Dad: Knock it out of the air if you have to.
Me: Sure - that's bloody likely.
Dad: *laughs his ass off for about two minutes*
Me: *screams and hangs up as the thing dive bombs me*

Well, I have to say, I had figured out the "grab it with something and take it outside" part on my own. I just kind of hoped my dad had a better plan. Perhaps one by remote.

Apparently not.

So, bat is finally starting to slow down. At one point, he tried hanging behind a bookcase, which I then rattled the heck out of until he relinquished his harbour. He then hung in the kitchen, on the cabinet above the stove. Grabbing the broom and a thick, insulated shopping bag, I considered knocking him off his perch into the bag... and then realized my face would be someplace along the way between broom and bag.

Honestly, if he flew into my face, I knew I'd never be the same again.

Soon the tot woke up, but was, thankfully, extremely obedient and laid flat on the bed - though he was observing this all with great delight as his mother ran around cursing/screaming/praying all at once, while some sort of weird bird danced with her.

At one point, I lost sight of the bat. Frantic, I asked my son if he'd seen the bat fly out the window.

Tot: Yes!
Me: Really?
Tot: Yes!
Me: Are you just saying that?
Tot: Yes!
Me: So, you didn't see him fly out the window?
Tot: Yes!
Me: You're not a reliable witness right now, are you?
Tot: Yes!

Well, I would never believe the thing was actually gone until I saw it leave, anyway, so it made not much difference.

Spotting the thing again, I chased it a bit more, noticing it getting slower and slower all the time. Eventually, out of puff, the bat took refuge in a toybox. I knew he was there - I saw him in that area, and could hear him. Grabbing up my courage, I emptied the toybox on to the floor, and...

Nothing!

For the life of me, it seemed the bat wasn't in there!

Now, I started to panic a bit. The thought of leaving for work, knowing it was in here some place, knowing I had to come back after work, and... what? Wait for nightfall for it to reappear? *shudder* No, frigging, way.

I started to kick the toys around a bit, expecting that he'd fly out. Tot started to panic a little, because he thought I was about to vacuum (yes - wild animals are fine, but major home appliances? Nope!). So, here I was, singing and trying to talk to tot in a cheerful voice, all the while needing to pee urgently (since the cat was still locked in the loo), and going out of my mind frantic.

Good times!

Eventually, I resolved that the bat simply had to be in that toybox. He never left it as far as I could see. Nudging the toys with my foot, slowly, so I could see what was under them - with the brightest lamp in the house pointed at me so I could inspect - I finally found the thing!

Small, brown, wings folded under - it really could have easily passed for a swatch of fabric lying on the carpet. It certainly didn't look like Dracula's concubine, the way it did while it was swooping at my head moments earlier. His little sides were heaving, he was breathing so fast and furious.

You and me, both, little guy, I thought.

For a split second, I must admit I did consider just stomping the shit out of him. (In my defence, I was rather hyped up on adrenalin.) Luckily, my right mind returned to me, and I looked at the pathetic little thing. It was time to end our little comedy/drama.

Taking a thick folded lap blanket, I plopped it on top of him. He made no attempt to struggle as I carried him out of the apartment, out of the building, and tossed him on the lawn. He sat for a moment, there, on the cold grass, and then flittered away.

I, on the other hand, burned rubber back in the house so I could close up the now-screenless-window, because if that sucker had actually gone out of his way to get back in here... I think I would have lost my mind. Literally.

So, here in the aftermath: None of us were touched by it, thankfully, so I don't think we'll need rabies shots. I will be taking Lysol to everything. And taking some time off.

My son is fine. He had a lot of fun afterwards running around covering his head and screaming, so I could get a full sense of how fabulous I looked while doing it. Thanks kid! He thinks it's great - he has re-envisioned it as some Diego Animal Rescuer adventure.

Ralph was soon let out, and hasn't stopped patrolling and looking for his bat ever since. He did, however, get a nice plate of canned chicken dinner for his troubles, since he was the one who alerted me to the intruder. Good Kitty!

Now, I have to keep my window shut until I can get it repaired, lest the cat get out. I will call the super again in a few hours to have this screen, and the one in the back room (I can only assume that's how he got in, since it has a little tear in it), replaced, so I can have my windows open this weekend in the mini-heatwave we are expecting. I will also ask them to look around to make sure there are no bat families, bat condos, bat holes, or anything else batty in my own private belfry.

And we won't be reading Stellaluna again any time soon.

By order of a very tired, stressed out Mama.

~*~

Update: I fixed my own screen, so we are able to breathe in the heat, and I did find the entry point. The little hole in the backroom window screen is no longer quite so little, so the thing must have fought his way in there. It's been patched, so I hope he won't decide to try again. Besides, he's likely still running - scared out of his wits because someone once told him humans carry rabies.

Child Characters in Romantic Fiction

I was reading a HQ SuperRomance a couple of days ago that dredged up one of my pet peeves.

I can't stand it when children are more like props than actual characters. Yes, occasionally they talk, but when they are just "Generic Girl Child Aged 3" it looks like no effort is put into making them real people. They weave in and out of the story only when needed - usually only as a source of conflict for either party as they anguish over having a "readymade family" to deal with. The main characters are very seldom home, with the child in any convenient care (daycare, with the neighbours, etc) - some books don't even bother to explain who is watching the child while Main Character 1 and Main Character 2 are off having their passionate picnic. (What parent goes on a daytime picnic in a pretty park without at least wondering if they should bring their child?) The absolute worst: When they are merely written into the book so they can sustain some major medical trauma for the purpose of bringing the parties back together again, having never attained more than prop status throughout the book. That last one kind of disgusts me.

Now, I have also seen some great romance novels where the child acts/seems like a real kid, and the parent-character actually thinks/speaks of the child once and a while when s/he is not directly involved in the scene. I have seen some great books that allow the child to interact with one or the other main character directly; where they have a scene alone together instead of the child just wandering in the room during important "grown up plot talk." Some books give the child character some development, which is hard to do with any secondary character and really rewarding for the reader. I have even seen some who allow the child a POV scene or two!

I am a mom who is parenting a 3 year-old on my own at the moment - I just can't handle novels that relegate the child to the status of a desk chair. I know my son has a very distinct personality - he acts and talks in an idiosyncratic way, the same as adults do. I also know that most mothers and fathers think/talk about their child a lot.

Now, I know none of us wants to read pages and pages of parents bragging/fretting over their kid, but I really do appreciate it when writers make me believe the child, and the family unit, is real.

Please stop using child characters as mere props. A child is not a potted plant. That child character some writers ignore would likely be the center of the main character's world - that is not an issue you can ignore and still maintain realism. Okay, I admit this view is largely based on a very personal understanding of parenting, but it's one reader's opinion, and I am willing to bet I'm not the only one.

The Importance of Feeling Good

I have no theme for the blog this week, but I think you can say the theme of my week in real life has been feeling good. Or, really, coming to terms.

You see, I wasn't feeling good there for a bit. I got into the pits, listening to strangers scolding people over the internet (and occasionally scolding me), and wallowing in the negativity that comes from so many aspects of life. I wasn't taking care of myself. I was mired. I was getting work done - tons of editing - but my fresh writing was souring.

That little voice in my head that keeps suggesting I quit writing and concentrate on the Day Job was screaming at me instead of its usual whisper.

These are not good things, folks.

The internet breeds jerks, sometimes, because the most cowardly jerk can be a Big Hero behind a screenname. These people are irrelevant, because you can turn them off. See? There's the little X at the top of your browser? See? There's a little lighted button on your computer. Use it when/if you have to, and the jerks go away! How amazing! There are also incredibly useful, rational, non-jerkish people to be found - find them instead, and enjoy them! Concentrate on what is useful; filter out the things that aren't.

And take care of yourselves, because that is really useful.

Sometimes when we are busy, we feel like it is productive to push ourselves - sometimes, it is even necessary to do so. Coffee replaces both sleep and food, and your wrists ache from too much typing/scrolling, and you are one giant twisted wreck from sitting, sitting, sitting. Yes, sometimes that even makes us feel like Authorial Vikings, punishing our bodies for our art, reveling in our endurance and feeling the satisfying pain of Working Hard. I do this more than I should, I admit.

But, sometimes, this is counter productive.

Yesterday, I went to see a movie - one that had nothing to do with screaming cartoon animals or anthropomorphic automobiles saving the world. True, it was the new Harry Potter, so perhaps I am not one to judge, but the point is, I went as a free adult on R&R - not as a mommy. I enjoyed myself, thoroughly. There was a moment of panic at one point when I realized I had no idea what was in my email inbox at that very second (*gasp*). But, I survived that panic. After I picked up the tot from playschool, we went for a long walk; we got ice cream cones. Last night, we watched an Elmo movie together. I read. I hand-jotted some notes for the new short I have to write in the following weeks. I ate a big meal, not at my desk. I slept. My goodness, how I slept!

Today, I feel like a million bucks, and ready to hit those edits I have to do.

Sometimes, the things we think of as productive, aren't, and the things we think of as wasting time... well, they really don't. Not in the long run.

I feel good today. It's important to feel good once in a while, don't you think?

Have a great day, folks.

I am Mommy, Hear me Roar

Mommies can really do anything. Or, at least, they can do what is needed. I know this is not true of every mommy out there - I am sure there are mommies out there that throw their hands up and let other people handle the tough stuff. But, most of the mommies I know can do anything they have to.

Perhaps this is not news to everyone. It was news to me, in a way. Before I had a child, I had no idea what I was capable of. Now, I know mommies can do anything.

I have opened up a broken DVD player and, somehow, managed to revive it with nothing but a screw driver - it was one of those days that I really needed an hour's respite provided by Blue's Clues, and had no money for a new machine, so I managed. I have hauled home bags of groceries in one arm and a screaming child in the other without collapsing. I have finished a degree with a nursing child on my knee. I have managed so much more than I ever thought possible.

More, even, then I could have done without being a mommy, though I know that sounds paradoxical. Being a mommy unlocked a whole deep well of inner resources of strength, and determination, and resolve. Being a mommy, in a sense, ended my own childhood. Now, I know - if I do not do it, no one will. I must depend on myself, because the tot depends on me so. There is no longer an option to throw my hands up in frustration. Everything, always, must go on. And it's up to me to make sure that happens.

On Friday, I woke up to find my computer monitor and phone had both simultaneously died. Both had been malingering for some time, so it wasn't a shock, but it was a major setback. Especially since Friday was a holiday in Canada, so there were no stores open to replace them.

Recalling a stowed away busted up phone in the storage closet, I unearthed it and got into working condition as a temporary stop-gap. One problem solved in the meantime!

Digging out the old 1990s computer monitor stashed in the storage room did not result in a similar positive ending. The poor old thing simply could not handle modern graphics. So, I tried opening up the dead newer monitor - no luck, though it sputtered for a while. In the end, I fished out the emergency laptop to suffice for the time being until I can find a very cheap monitor. I miss the files on my old hard drive, but at least I have rudimentary internet functionality, even if on an 8" screen that looks more like a calculator on steroids than an actual computer.

And this allowed me to finish a crucial job application on time. And to keep writing my daily quota.

I didn't cry, I didn't throw a tantrum, I didn't lose hope. I just did what I had to do. I did, however, call my mommy, though - because mommies are also good for sympathy.

It's been one heck of a weekend. Here's to luck improving.

And here's to all the mommies! ;)

Making Books With Three Year Olds

I frequently spend time with my son, who is three, making yarn-bound books, which we co-write and illustrate together. I can only imagine how much I will treasure these little volumes when he is out in the world and I look back on this time. We have a fun, silly time, and it forces the little perpetual motion machine to sit for a while, which is always a good thing!

I also use them as opportunities to discuss grammar, story construction, characters, and other elements of writing in a way a preschooler can grasp.

Something I have found useful when discussing writing with him are a couple episodes of the PBS cartoon Arthur that explore elements of story telling, including the classic episode "Arthur Writes a Story" and the more recent one featuring Neil Gaiman guiding kids through following one's unique artistic vision.

As a writer, how do you explain/pass on your love of writing to your kids? What resources/activities do you use? Do you have budding Shakespeares in your nursery?

Topical Tuesday: Parenting and the Writer

A typical afternoon at my house finds me begging an extra 10 minutes from my 2 and a half year old son so I can finish a paragraph. Naturally, he wants me to play "choo choo" and isn't always kind and understanding about why I'd rather play "keybood."

I suspect this is a scenario common to most writers who also happen to be parents. (Or, should I say, parents who happen to be writers? Chicken and the egg, I guess.)

The basic dilemma is this: How do you juggle the time demands of an active child, who you adore, with your work, which you love (and need to do)?

Most of the time, I have managed to figure out how to get my 1k a day without too many tears from either one of us. Without finding a way, I wouldn't have been able to finish my dissertation, or do my fiction. I was a student when my son was born, and have only recently finished, and I have applied the lessons learned then to my writing.

It doesn't really matter what style your writing is, the method you develop is entirely based on the rhythms of your family and of your work, but these are some broad strokes of my basic regime:

• I work whenever I can, meaning I have stopped waiting for the "perfect setting" or "right time." When the tot is sleeping/playing nicely I go for it. This is helped greatly by my habit of outlining scenes - I can just pick up the next scene and run with it, by plugging away. There is no guessing as to what to write next.
• I work at night whenever possible - no distractions, free time. I am fortunate in that I can exist on very little sleep - a survival skill I picked up in grad school, encouraged by a natural life-long propensity towards insomnia. One challenge in this system is staying awake while putting the tot to bed (after a whole day of chasing him around). The bigger challenge, however, is in staying cheerful during the following day after some late nights - this takes concentration, and the will to be cheerful. Cheerfulness does not always come naturally, but it can be inspired if you are mindful of yourself and your moods.
• While I try not to compromise on my motherly duties where they count, I have had to adjust my idea of "ideal motherhood." My house is often horribly messy, for example. Meals are filling and nutritious, but they are hardly glossy-magazine quality. And I have had to back down on my "he should never watch videos" stand (we don't have TV/cable reception, which I will not change my mind on, but we do have DVDs). The tot does spend a bit of each day watching his favourite DVDs to give me some peace. At first, I was super-guilty about that, but when I see him learning from them, and clearly enjoying them, I have loosened up a bit on the issue.
• I have been working on establishing my writing as "important to mommy." I patiently explain and re-explain to my son that "I need to do xyz-amount of writing before we do this or that". I don't push his patience, but I am increasing the limits steadily, encouraging him to play near me on his own more and more, and to accept that when I am writing I am not entirely accessible. I don't overdo this, as he is still so young, but I hope this will pay off when he is older.
• I use a Dictaphone when necessary.
• Finally, I try to be interactive when I write, as much as possible. I do not demand constant silence or privacy. This way, he can feel that I am reachable, even if I am not directly playing with him. We listen to music together while we do our separate activities in the same room, for example. I will often read what I am writing out loud (if it is under PG-rating), as he does seem to enjoy my running monologues - he doesn't really care what I am saying, I find, as long as I am talking to him. A lot of the time I spend writing, I am nursing him, or he's sitting on my shoulders, or sitting next to me at the desk typing on his own keyboard or toy laptop. Writing this way is not ideal, perhaps, and some people wouldn't want to do it, but I find it works for me. Sometimes, you just have to power through.

In asking authors around the biz (or any work-at-home parent), I find similar make-shift processes in place. Robert Roman, author of Road Mage, and father, gave me a quote that sounds pretty familiar:

I'm lucky - the boy who likes to sit in my lap is small enough that I can type. Other than that? I steal time from myself when they are sleeping and I ought to be, and I sometimes steal time when they're playing quietly and daddy doesn't get the game.

(Basically, make hay while the sunshines, parents!)

Diana Cosby, author of His Conquest, gives me hope that proper balance, boundaries and explaining your writing to your children as if you are - gasp! - a human and not just a mom does work as your children age:

Make your children a part of the process, explain how writing is important and like they value the time they spend doing what they love, you value yours. Break down with them a time you write and they respect your time. After, it's fun time where you play, do homework or spend with them.

Juvenile/young adult fiction author of Shrinking Forward, and mom to four, Nathalie LeBlanc may have it the best of any of us - her stuff can actually be used seamlessly with her parenting!

I started writing when I was pregnant with my first child and now she is nearly nine years old. She has read my first novel Shrinking Forward. She was so excited to find out what happened next she bugged me for a week to read book two called Fading Away. After a week of bugging me she won! I love her excitement on her face every morning waking up and wanting to know what happens in the next chapter! After all, one of my main reasons for writing my novels was for my children.

Perhaps not so applicable to those of us who write romance or erotica, but, while we can't all write to the age group of our children, Nathalie reminds us that writing is not really contrary to our parenting. At times, the work is important to our family health by adding income. Even more often, it aids our parenting by making us happier or more complete as individuals, which should make us more able parents. For some of us, it's an important part of keeping sane! In the long run, seeing a parent create and have the courage to pursue their dreams is a valuable thing in a household.

So, even while it might get dicey, and you may feel one obligation or the other is suffering at times, and you feel the burn of sleep deprivation when the muse strikes, there are ways to juggle both, and many have done so successfully for years. Investing in the quietest keyboards you can find and living off coffee... It may be a fair price to pay for us toilers in words and nurturers of small people, as both are wonderful gifts.

I am of the opinion that being a mother makes my writing better and that being a writer makes my mothering better. And if the dishes are not always done, and the floors are not always spotless, I can honestly say I feel good about what I do - on both sides.

So, happy writing! (And give your little ones a hug for me.)