Crazy

On Monday, I stopped in the bank to deposit some money. The teller, a young man making conversation, asked whether I had to go back to work or if I was finished for the day.
I explained to him that I have the best work schedule ever this semester.
I have two online classes, so never have to show up to teach those, plus I have four classes on Tuesdays and Thursday. This leaves my Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, plus weekends free of work obligations. Sure, I have to grade papers and respond to students online, but having all of those days without set hours is such a freeing experience.
The teller agreed as I left the bank that I had an enviable schedule.

As the weather improved through this semester, I have spent hours walking with Sheila or painting the interior walls of the house, or meeting my writing friends at the coffee shop.

 I ran errands to Home Depot, over and over again, got laundry done, and caught up on all of my podcasts. I was living a life of leisure.
Then on Tuesday, the chair of the department emailed me. A professor couldn't finish the classes she started, could I take them over?
With all of that free time, and with us trying to minimize bills before Earl's retirement, I had no choice but to say yes.
The classes meet Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 8:19 a.m. and 12:09 p.m. for an hour each. And they are 44 minutes away from home.
So now, I leave the house at 7:15 a.m. and make the drive through rush hour traffic. The classes take place in a high school, and they are high school students. They look at me like deer in headlights. Their previous teacher taught high school and college classes.
The first class ends at 9:09 a.m., and there I am with three hours to kill before the next class begins.
 I could go to a computer lab with the high school students, or I could go to the teachers' lounge, which I know from my subbing days, is a place of gossip and laughter. I probably wouldn't get much work done there.
I found a Starbucks just about 10 minutes away and I've been sipping a peach hibiscus tea.
My plan is to use these three hours on grading and online work so that the rest of my day is free. Maybe I'll even get more accomplished since my days are more structured now, but, boy, there better be some free days to come when we move to France to make up for teaching eight college courses this semester.

Student Musings

I've only done the bare minimum on my blog recently, which usually means Dreaming of France, and sometimes Tuesday Intros, just because books are still available to distract us from things.
Of course, I'm still teaching college (university) and the students frequently either infuriate me or delight me.
Like the student last Friday who walked up to the desk to turn in his assignment.

Student: I just wrote down some ideas instead of a whole counter argument paragraph.
Me: That was the whole point to write the counterargument and the rebuttal.
Student: Oh, I wasn't really listening.
Me: (tearing my hair out)

We only had class on Monday this week because of Thanksgiving (Lucky me!).

This is a class selfie from a long ago class. My current classes
have 15 to 20 students in them, but it's the only class picture I have.

One of my students, Tyler, who has missed a lot of classes, stood in front of my desk with an essay in his hand. "I'm so sick. The only reason I'm here is because of you," he said. I could tell that he had a cold, runny nose, sneezing.
"Well thank you," I responded. Then I added the same thing I tell my children, "If you make sure you don't miss classes unless you're sick or an it's emergency then it isn't a big deal when you do miss because you have a cold."
As he started to walk back to his desk, I called out, "One of the students in my 8 o'clock class has chemotherapy every week and he's still in class every day, but thanks for coming while you have a cold."
Nothing like a little guilt to make students feel bad.

I don't want you to think that all of my students are slackers though. I was chatting with my class about how happy I was to spend Thanksgiving with only my husband and my three children. I said that after dinner, we'd have game night. Then I pondered how happy my 24-year-old, 23-year-old and 20-year-old would be to stay home and play games with their family.
"Wow! You have kids that old?" one young female student asked. "I thought you were like 30."
Her grade is now being adjusted upward.

The semester is nearly over now, three more weeks,
and aside from one student who emailed to complain that I shouldn't have talked to the class about the election, my students have pretty much been a delight this semester.
Hope it's the same in January when we start all over again.

Sexual Harassment

Yesterday I wrote a blog post about misreading signals from men. It seems innocent and frivolous.
Today, it feels much more like the railroad crossing gate didn't come down, and I'm blaming myself for getting hit by a train.

http://nicksuydam.photoshelter.com/image/I0000nP1cQuR19aU

My stomach was churning when I woke up at 5:30. I could feel my student's big arms struggling to wrap around me as I pushed against him and said, "No! That isn't appropriate. No!"
My hands pushed ineffectually at the rough material of his cotton coat as my eyes searched the empty hallway beyond the door,  hoping someone would be outside.
As the professor, I had the power in the classroom situation, yet his physical strength trumped whatever authority I might have.
Still, politeness prevented me from calling out for help or screaming at him. I didn't kick him or hit him. I maintained my civility, as I'd been taught. And when he stepped away, I held my hand out to shake his, showing him the proper way to indicate appreciation for a professor.

http://i.imgur.com/1MigC.jpg

I called my husband on the phone before I stepped out into the darkness of the parking lot, and I didn't confide how shaken I felt by the encounter.

I had written yesterday's blog post in class. After an initial lecture, I gave students the opportunity to catch up on their work before the final exam next week. I'd graded all their papers. As students worked, they asked questions or requested that I help them with an assignment, and slowly they finished, packed up their things and left. Except for the one student who'd made me uncomfortable all semester.
Wondering whether I was making more of his comments than I should, I wrote the blog post "Subtle Signs." I published it before the final encounter, the forced hug, the deliberate disdain for my words that said: "Stop!"
When I got home, I edited my blog, adding the section about the student grabbing me and hugging me against my will. But it's there in the middle. It's importance hidden like a Russian nesting doll.
My body let me know this morning that his actions do matter.
Instead of writing at 5:30 a.m. I went for a walk, hoping activity would calm the sick feeling that fluttered through my middle. I bought a white mocha, comfort food, but it tasted bitter as I trudged home over the ice-covered sidewalks.
I got dressed for work and thought carefully about what I would wear. I planned to talk to the Dean. I didn't want him to think I dressed in a provocative way that might have encouraged the student. I slipped my wedding ring on my finger, another talisman to ward against evil.
Halfway through dressing, I realized that I'd fallen into the societal judgment of women, that something I had done, some way I had dressed, some jewelry I had worn, might have caused the incident.
At the back of my throat, I felt the dryness that arrives right before vomit fills my mouth. I swallowed and urged my body to get a grip.
I planned to talk to the dean after I'd finished teaching for the day, but when I had a break, I grabbed my phone and called him. I thought reporting the incident might settle the queasiness in my stomach. It didn't.
The dean responded suitably. He talked about the student growing up in another culture, but agreed it was no excuse. The dean assured me that he and another faculty member would talk to the student to let him know his action was inappropriate, and that he couldn't continue at school if he didn't change his behavior.
I should have felt relief, but my heart continued to skip within my chest -- those arms coming tightly around my shoulders, my hands pushing against his shoulders to get him away.
I grabbed my bag and walked to the cafeteria. I ordered fries and doused them in ketchup.
After my other classes, I took a quick trip to Trader Joe's. On the way, I called my friend Janine and told her all I was feeling. We talked about how society has taught us to respond by wondering what we did wrong. "You didn't do anything wrong," she reassured me, and I felt better. I bought a small hyacinth plant to cheer me, and some chocolates. Nothing seemed to calm me.
I worked out at the gym, lifting weights, throwing my shoulders and stomach into the rowing machine as I leaned back then pulled forward again.
Finally I came home to write this.
I'm still surprised how big this felt, and truthfully, it was nothing compared to what other women go through.
I guess I didn't expect to feel so helpless. I'm a strong woman. I'm an older woman. I feel secure in myself, but it only took that one incident to reduce me to a quivering Victorian woman reaching for her smelling salts.
But if it happens again, I hope I'm ready to yell, to curse, to fight, and not worry about being polite. And I need to teach my daughter, and all those other young women who feel strong, but might react with politeness when they should react with fierceness -- creating the world we want, not the one we inherited.

Student Forebodings

I've been teaching college for more than ten years now, so I've had a wide array of students. But I have to wonder if other teachers have had students predict doom for their children.
That's just strange.
Four years ago, I wrote about a student who emailed me to tell me that he'd had a dream that one of my sons was "harmed" and I received a $300  million payout from the company responsible. Of course,this threw me into a tizzy. I assumed the dream must have meant that one of my sons was

killed, otherwise I wouldn't be receiving a payment from the company that "harmed"  him.
Imagine how surprised I was when a student approached me this week with a similar message. "I don't know you well personally, but is everything okay?" she asked me.
I thought she referred to my attitude in class that night, so I told her that I got peeved at the class before she arrived late.
"But is everything okay with your son?" she asked.
"Do you know my sons?" I asked.
"No, but I get hunches about things and I wanted to know if everything was okay with your son."
Then she left.
And there I sat. remembering when Muhanned had written to me about his dream. His at least had some details, none that I could act upon. Hers was incredibly vague.
I texted both boys and they responded to me.
Now I'm just paranoid about everything. Something could happen to my sons. They could walk out of the house and get hit by a car. They could get sick. Do I need to increase the amount I worry about my children, is that what the message means?
Like last time, I'm going to assume that there's nothing I can do to make sure they stay out of harm's way. They're adults who drive cars and go out with friends. I can't lock them in my basement to try to keep them safe.
All I can do is make sure my relationship with them is good, that they know they are loved, and hope for the best.
But there is something I would like to say to those soothsayers who contact me about a foreboding feeling. THAT'S NOT HELPING!
Unless you have details, like, "Don't let your son drive on Broad Street on February 13," or "Your son should have his thyroid checked for cancer," then your prediction does nothing but make me paranoid.
Should I take the boys for total body scans and then lock them up for safety?
Life is to be lived, and if I'd locked them up four years ago after the first dream, then they'd have missed out on a lot.
So I'll continue encouraging them to explore the world and how they can make it better.
And the next student who has a strange feeling or dream, better come with some details.

Commitments

My schedule this semester, teaching six college courses, is hectic on some days and totally open on other days.
But nature abhors a vacuum, so on Tuesdays and Thursdays when I don't have classes scheduled, when I could use the day to take walks with friends, to write my novels, to grade papers and answer students' questions by email, something usually comes up that requires my attention.
On Tuesday, I made the mistake of posting on Facebook what a fabulous, carefree day I was having. My daughter immediately began to beg me to bring her lunch at her work place.

I said no, but she continued to beg, and by that point, my day was ruined anyway. If I went to buy lunch then took it to her, an hour of my day would disappear. If I didn't take it to her, I felt stingy and mean.
Wednesday passed in the blur of four classes starting at 8 a.m., a quick gym workout, then a 4-hour evening class.
But before I pulled myself out of  bed at 5:45 this morning, I already knew that the day had filled with errands, the biggest one being a drive down to Athens, Ohio, where my boys go to college. The drive is beautiful, but I'm not going to enjoy it or even to spend time with the boys.
Instead, I'm driving down, picking up the car that needs a brake job and driving back.
Yes, my family is sending me after the car with the faulty brakes.
So a three-hour drive for me this morning followed by an afternoon of grading papers.
Hope you get some time to enjoy yourself today.

Saturday Snapshot -- Class Selfie

Join West Metro Mommy for this weekly meme of photos people have taken and share on their blogs.
This semester, I had a small class of advanced composition. We started out with about 12 students, and they were a lackadaisical bunch, except for two very devoted girls who came every time.
Even though I constantly nagged them to work harder, we had a good time.
I raged at them one day that they might be a good class to hang out with, but I wouldn't want my pay based on their grades. (That's something they're talking about doing for elementary through high school teachers in Ohio. Their pay would be based on student performance.)
So on Friday they gave presentations based on the persuasive papers they wrote.
For some of them, it was like defending their doctoral thesis because the other students challenged their premises.
At the end of class, the students said, "Let's take a selfie!"
"I'll take a picture of all of you," I said.
"No, you have to be in it," Madelyn cried.
So we all lined up, and Dan, who is very tall with very long arms, snapped a selfie of us.
What a fun class and a fun memory.

We have one more class, but since they've finished their finals, we make take a field trip to Starbucks, which is within walking distance.

Saturday Snapshot and A More Somber Subject

Today, I would like nothing more than to merely post a photo of the leaves turning brilliant colors. I was afraid the  leaves were simply going to fall off without changing, but I was wrong.
Here are a couple of trees near my house. The leaves have turned an orangish red that looks almost pink in some lights.

But my thoughts are on a more somber subject.
This week, I found out one of my college students died. "Passed away" was the wording they used in the email I received.
Elisha (pronounced like the Biblical prophet) was in my class this summer and again this fall. (Two different classes.) He was tall and slim. He loved football and planned to try out for a spot as a running back in the National Football League, even though he didn't make the team in college.
He came to my class after two years at another college. I was surprised that his writing was full of run-on sentences. We sat together that second class and read through his writing. I taught him that he paused naturally where the sentences needed punctuation. We kept working on it throughout the semester.
He finished class early, completing all of the work for the course before the end. And he moved on to the next class in September, which I also taught.
A few weeks ago, I asked him what was going on. "You aren't getting all the work done ahead of time like last semester."
He shook his head and promised to do better.
I didn't know what was going on with Elisha. I didn't understand then that this 20-year-old guy had started hanging out with a new crowd.
I didn't know that until I saw the newspaper story.
The story began by saying Elisha's parents filed a missing person's report when he didn't come home Saturday morning. He always came home. It was not in his nature to stay out all night.
I have a son the same age as Elisha, and he had stayed out all night the weekend before when he came home from college. I texted and called him until he finally responded that he had spent the night at his friend's house.
So immediately, I felt a kinship with Elisha's parents. Here we are trying to raise our sons past this tricky phase of life when they think they're independent but they're still making some very questionable choices.
My son has gotten himself into some trouble, but his choices haden't ended him where Elisha's choices did.
Elisha was with three other guys when two of them went into a store and robbed it. A SWAT team was waiting for them, and two of the guys were killed. Elisha was one of those.
I don't know if Elisha was a robber or if he was in the car. I don't know if he had a gun.
I do know, from the news story, that he had never been in trouble before, only traffic tickets.
Yes, he did make an awful choice, and that choice ended his life.
I just wonder how many times boys make decisions that bring them to the brink of death, that allow them to slip past narrowly.
I want to reassure Elisha's parents, that I believe he was a good kid who made some bad decisions at the end. But when I picture going to the funeral, I'm afraid they might have an open casket, and I keep picturing the slim shoulders of this boy sitting in my classroom.
And then it's only a tiny step to imagine that my own boys are squeaking past bad choices. No, they aren't tempted to rob stores or commit other crimes, but they all make stupid decisions.
I don't want to dismiss what Elisha and his friends did.
I just think 20 year olds don't think very far ahead; they don't see the consequences.

The Education Lie

I stand in front of my classroom looking at their faces, some wary, some eager. The students are a true United Nations. They come from Africa, the Middle East, Asia, Central America, the inner city of Columbus, Ohio, and farmland around Columbus. Their skin colors vary from shiny pinkish-white to cafe au lait to burnished mahogany. Their hair styles range from dreadlocks to frizzy pony tails to purple stripes to close-cut shaved heads. Some of the women wear burkas or headscarves. They range in age from 17 to their early 40s. The only thing they have in common is me, standing at the front of the room.

I'm like an actor, especially in these first few classes. I feel the energy rushing through me as I try by sheer verve alone to unite them in their goal to pass this class, an English composition class.  
I promise them that this is only a stepping stone to the rest of their college career. That writing good papers can help pull out a grade in any class where they might be struggling. "This isn't just to torture you," I pledge.
But this time, I feel like a fraud.
I am telling them that education can save them from a life of poverty. That education will give them a love and a passion for life and learning.
I know some of these students will go on to earn their associate's degree. Even fewer will earn a bachelor's degree. Maybe a couple will go on to get a master's degree, like me, or a PhD or law degree.
But the lie I am telling them catches in my throat.
Get a master's degree and you can teach college; I want to encourage them, but I know that the changes made at my college mean that even if I teach all the hours adjuncts are allowed -- if I teach through the summer and am lucky enough to get a fully allowed schedule -- I can earn about $17,000 this year.
The salary I will earn with my master's degree is just a touch more than what I would earn working a full-time, minimum wage job.
Teaching as an adjunct has always been tricky, but our college used to allow us to work up to 30 hours per week. That brought home a decent salary, certainly  nowhere near the poverty line.

Last year, like most schools in Ohio, we switched to semesters. That cut down on some of the hours we could teach.
Then in the summer, they declared adjuncts could work a maximum of 22 hours, as per the IRS rules. But wait, they had more.
We could work 22 hours, but they counted each teaching hour as two hours rather than one. That meant we could teach 11 hours and they would count it as 22 hours, but we'd be paid for only 11 hours.
Yeah, let that sink in for a minute. We get paid for 11 hours, but they count it as 22 hours.
In 2013, I earned $18,000 less than I did in 2012. I'll earn even less in 2014.
Yet I stand in front of these students, and they trust me. They trust me to teach them, to be enthusiastic and supportive.
And I will. The students haven't let me down. And education is still a good way out of poverty, but the route hasn't served some of us as well.
All I can do is cross my fingers for these students and plunge in, hoping they'll follow, and for this semester, continue their dreams of a middle-class life.

The Calm of September?

I say throughout my life that things will calm down soon. And they should.
Many things on my plate have slid off, if you will.
Two kids back in college.
Revisions to my novel completed and off to be edited.
Classes begun at both colleges where I teach.
I should now fall into the rhythm of a nearly empty-nest life. My 17-year-old is a senior in high school, and he asks for very little, except enough junk food in the house to keep him full. And it suddenly seems very important to him that I attend things like "back to school" night.
I begin my mornings with luxurious runs that I actually look forward to. I think I'm finally back in shape so I don't dread it.
This morning, after five miles, I decided I'd run to Starbucks to get coffee for me and Tucker. So I ran that 6th mile along a busy road, feeling strong and hopefully looking peppy in case anyone I knew should drive past.
The run this morning convinced me that I've recovered from my running attempts in Florida, which is just too hot and humid for summer runs. No wonder I never ran while we lived there.
Driving 1000 miles to drop Spencer off at school last Thursday and driving 1000 miles back on Monday took its toll. But it was nice to meet his friends and see the hole that is a dorm room where he will live for the year. His roommate is a stand-up guy named Christian who comes from Atlanta, Georgia and spends a lot of time volunteering. I'm hoping that rubs off on Spencer who has already investigated volunteering at a nearby state park along the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. He just has to figure out how to get there since he doesn't have a car.
Grace's life has changed greatly since she started college three years ago as a biology major at a college 10 hours away in north country New York. Then she changed to a language major, learning French, Italian and German. Now she has switched again, landing only about 20 minutes away from home and majoring in theater.
She's a dance minor because when she auditioned, the professors decided she'd be a perfect Rockette. They dragged her down to the office of a professor who once worked as a Rockette and that professor agreed. Grace now starts her mornings each week day with a dance class: ballet, modern or tap.
But the professors had another suggestion that she major in theater with an emphasis in opera, so that happened. She loves opera and credits years of opera camp for giving her the love of languages that she has.
In addition to a new college and new majors, she also was cast in a show that runs the first three weeks of October. She plays a 25-year-old secretary who has an affair with her boss and gets pregnant, but that's not the main conflict, just one of many in this original play called "Coming Out." They hope to move the play to off-Broadway next. Will Grace go with them?
At this point, I can only hold on for the ride.
Did I say things were calm in September? I'd better enjoy this sunny afternoon and try not to think about it.

Busy End of Summer

I've fallen off the blogging wagon here toward the end of summer. Getting kids ready to go back to college, preparing four new classes for the fall, and sheer laziness have overtaken me.
I spent all day Saturday revising an online class.
Today, I'm creating a new online class. No rush. The semester doesn't start until Wednesday!
I always debate the teaching banner I use at this time of year now that the semester is 16 weeks long. Do I use one for winter or do I use one that fits the warm weather we have now.

Maybe I need to create one for the autumn, or ask the teaching tech support team to do it.

I have two more weeks of a class that is driving me crazy. It is a developmental English class, which means the students aren't quite ready for college English. This class is three different levels all in one. Some of the students are pretty good at writing and reading, while others can't really write a complete sentence. I know I didn't make the situation, but I feel like I've been fairly incompetent at the whole thing. Three levels in one class do not work -- at least for me.

Earl and me posing with Grace
after her last performance of Emma. 

Grace has been sick for about three weeks, since she performed in Emma. We kept thinking she had allergies and urged her to take a daily allergy medicine. Finally this week, she went to the doctor and learned she had bronchitis.
Ooops. Bad parenting moment.
She leaves on Wednesday for college, but we don't have to drive 10 hours to get there since she is going to school closer to home this year. I'm excited for her and she's a little nervous about joining a new environment.

I hardly have any photos of Spencer.
Here he is waiting for the doctor this week.

Spencer has a few more weeks yet. Earl will drive him to Florida at the end of the month, still we've been doing the necessary doctor appointments, back to school shopping, book purchasing for him too.
Last Sunday we got as close as we'll get to a vacation this summer with a drive down to my cousin's house in Kentucky. We grilled out and hung by the pool enjoying their company.

My boys enjoying the pool before they went hiking into the woods.

So as my family and I prepare for school or moving to far away dorms, I wanted to leave you with this shot of Grace. I think it's an analogy for the way I feel at the end of a summer.

Grace, in the midst of her summer of working plus performing in two plays,
collapses on the grass in hope the cat will join her. 

Hope the end of your summer goes smoothly.

Saturday Snapshot -- Student Success

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme, post a photo that you (or a friend of family member) have taken. Then leave a direct link to your post on West Metro Mommy. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.
For me, as an adjunct college professor, the hours are long and the rewards are few.
Lucky for me, I have a husband with a good job and health insurance. So the work as an adjunct means a paycheck to help send my kids to college. Lately, things have taken a turn for worse. We used to be able to teach 15 hours per semester then work as tutors up to 15 hours more. That gave me a nice paycheck.
Blaming the new health care laws, the college is now restricting those hours to 11 teaching hours and no tutoring hours. And, they are counting the teaching hours as double -- 22 hours, even though they are paying us for 11 hours. They say they have to limit part-time workers to a total of 22 hours instead of 30.
Obviously, my salary this year is dropping, but my kids' college payments are going up. I feel like a fraud standing in front of my classes and telling them that education will help them make it in the world. I have a master's degree and I'm still getting the shaft from the system.
But this morning, I got an email from a former student that boosted my spirits a bit. She sent along a photo too.

Nubia was in my English composition class last fall. One of the assignments was to write a paper analyzing an athletic ad. Nubia chose an ad with a stationary bicycle that has a computer screen attached to help the riders envision bicycling in California or the south of France. The next paper, Nubia had to choose a new career or hobby to write about. She decided to investigate what it would take to complete a triathalon. And this photo shows me that she did just that. 

I told you that  I was going to send you the pictures of me at the end of the triathlon.
I did it. I had fun and Im very proud of myself. It is funny but everything started with the paper from your class :)

 So this morning, I'm feeling better about being a teacher. I may not be able to pay my kids' college bills, but that's what parent loans are for. And for some students, I do help change their lives.

Mocha Rewards

This morning, after a seven and a half mile run, I'm sitting on my front porch enjoying a final mocha. My running partner, Najah, and I decided that mochas will be my reward for finishing a certain number of words on my current writing project. 

I get no more mochas until I reach that 22,000 -word goal. Then 45,000 words, then 67,000 words, then finished.

It sounds like a lot, but I'm actually just deconstructing and reconstructing a book that I wrote before. I've decided to make some changes so a lot of the work will be cutting and pasting then writing other sections and editing everything together. I'm giving myself a time limit so I can try to solve that other problem I mentioned a few weeks ago -- cutbacks at my job. I've started applying for other, full-time jobs, but if I could bring in a little more income from my writing then I could continue to teach college as an adjunct and have time to write. If I get a full-time job, plus teach college, I'll never have time to write.

It seems silly that I need to motivate myself, but with free time and without set deadlines, I often just fritter it away. That's why Najah and I decided on the joint punishment/reward of mochas or no mochas. And she's going to be my motivator and task master. She'll text me encouragement, like a Nike app: "Way to go!" or "Keep it up!" But she's also willing to push me and scold me if I fall behind. 

So wish me luck that I move along quickly and get to my next mocha. 

The book I'm rewriting is I See London, I See France. Parts of the book are the same and some have changed: a mother of three young children has a fight with her husband and he walks out. She thinks about when she last felt vibrant and pins it down to a semester abroad in France. She wonders how life might have turned out differently if she'd married the Frenchman she had a crush on. She decides to sell the minivan and travel to Europe with the kids to see if she can rekindle that spark of life within herself, and maybe a romance too. 

End of Vacation

Tonight, my long vacation comes to an end.
I finished teaching and submitted grades on Dec. 22. Since then, I have been lollygagging -- as far as work goes. I've read and watched too much TV. I've worked out and visited with family. I've harangued my kids and I'm sure they've wished I'd go back to work.
Classes started again Monday for one of the colleges where I teach, but I didn't actually have to show up until today -- my Friday night class. So, although I've communicated with people online, I hadn't faced students, turning on my entertaining teacher face.
Here's something surprising -- I get less done when I'm off work than when I work.
I do less housework.
I cook dinner less often.
I'm basically pretty unmotivated when I'm off work.
But everyone needs some down time, so I'm going to accept my laziness. No, I'm going to embrace my laziness.
I had some family life stress over my vacation; Maybe lying around rather than accomplishing things is what I needed to bounce back and become an A-personality professor and author.
I hope everyone had a chance to relax, even if you didn't get to a beach or ski lodge or didn't get time off work, like we college professors did.

Reputations

I'm not inspired to write a clever or funny blog post. I've kind of just ignored it the past few days.
I've had a long week.
I know I can't complain compared to real trials in other people's lives.
The biggest stress was at work. Last Friday, I had a disagreement with a student. He raised his voice, I told him he could not be rude to me, and he filed a complaint with Human Resources claiming that I was culturally intolerant.
So, even though I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, I got called in to HR to explain myself. That's intimdating and nerve wracking.
Now, I know some of you are imagining what this student must have looked like. He's a tiny white guy whose culture is some sort of new age philosophy that is antiauthoritarian, which is why he refused to apologize for being rude. Last year, he told me it was against his religion to use personal pronouns -- you know: I, me, my, we. Whatever, we just roll with it.
After he was rude, I asked him to apologize; he said it was against his culture, and we continued to work together for half an hour -- even though I wasn't happy about it.
But the complaint he sent to HR talked about his German Jewish heritage. What? I was anti-Jewish or anti German when I told him not to be rude?
He talked about his perception that I didn't agree with his Pantheism. I didn't know he was a pantheist, but some of my friends are Wiccan and I definitely don't have a problem working with students of any religion.
In the end, the raised voices were only about treating people rudely. And asking someone not to treat me rudely doesn't connect with a specific culture.
The HR person agreed with me, but nearly a week has gone by with me wondering if it's possible for a student to make up things about me and endanger my job.
I think the answer is yes.
If other people hadn't been around, he could have claimed that I said anything, and I would only have my word and reputation as my defense.
I returned to some parenting advice that I gave my kids when they were younger, early teens, and had  done or said something they regretted. I'd tell them that their friends don't judge them on one event. Friends take it into context of all the other things we've said and done.
And hopefully, my entire teaching career would be considered when wondering whether I'd been intolerant of someone else's culture.
Hopefully, this incident is behind me, but I've seen the lies that students can weave and know I'm not safe from them.

The Last Bastion of Civility

In a recent college class, we were talking about cultural differences.
I asked the class to come up with a list of things a student from another country would need to know if they traveled to the United States.
They suggested things, like "Learn English," and "Don't stand too close to someone when you're talking." They also said visitors needed to understand freedom of religion and freedom of speech in the United States.

Is this a line or a clump at the ice cream cart
 in the Tuileries Gardens in Paris?

One woman in the class was from Mali. She had some interesting insights.
"Respect the line," she called from the back of the class.
"What?" I asked.
"The line. Americans always stand in line and they never get in line in front of someone else," she explained. "It is more important than religion to many, that we respect the line."
The other students nodded and talked about how everyone in the line would be upset if someone cut in line. Everyone is expected to uphold the integrity of the line and wait their turn.
To people from other countries, where they clump together and push their way onto a bus or into a store, the idea of standing and waiting in a line may be very foreign. But in America, it's the way of life.
Here, we may disagree on politics and religion, but we all respect the line.

Teaching College

This year, I'm teaching a lot of college courses. Seven courses January through March. Next week I start seven again.
Sometimes I love teaching college. Like at the end of the quarter when students come up and thank me. When they send me an email, like Donald did:

I wanted to thank you for your dedication and hard work in teaching English xxx. I have a much better grasp on how to write and develop a thesis throughout an essay, especially the topic sentences. English professors, from my experience, are under appreciated and I wanted you to know how much I appreciated learning research and composition in your class.

Ah. See. Now I feel like I'm making a difference. But that was last week. And while the public college I teach at is taking spring break, the for-profit college I teach at is carrying on.
During class on Tuesday, a student named Victor came in late and proceeded to set up his computer while we continued class. After an hour and a half of teaching, I released the students for a 10-minute break. We started class again and Victor waltzed in 10 minutes after we had started class again. Within five minutes, Victor, clutching his cell phone, walked back out to the hall. I was trying to break the students into groups of three. Would Victor be there for it or not? Should I give him the assignment too?
When the students were separated into groups, I stepped into the hallway where Victor was on the phone. I stood in front of him for a minute until he asked the person on the phone to hold on for a minute.
"I feel like we're really interrupting your day with this whole class thing," I said, trying to keep it light. Usually, this approach causes students to apologize for leaving or disrupting class. Instead, Victor came out with both barrels.
"Look, I run my own company. None of my other professors mind if I leave class to take phone calls."
I told Victor, "I don't mind if you leave class to take a phone call. Just take your things with you and don't come back into class."
"Do you want to go talk to the dean right now?" he asked.
"I'm happy to go with you after class," I told him and motioned toward the classroom, full of 25 students who hadn't taken phone calls.
After class, I stopped in to see the dean. Apparently Victor was upset that I had interrupted his phone call.
At the public college, my expectations are that the students will do the work and meet the criteria. I expect them to be respectful of me and the other students.
At the for-profit college, my expectations are to kowtow to the students. And I wonder if we aren't doing them a disservice. I accept late assignments. I don't say anything when they come into class late. How am I preparing them for the real world?
The dean doesn't actually support me. He says he'll carefully word an email message to Victor that let's him know his concerns have been heard. I want to roll my eyes.
I go out and buy a lottery ticket, and if I win, my first move is to turn in my resignation at the for-profit college.

Excuses

So, I hope that some of you visit my blog regularly enough to notice that I haven't been posting as frequently, or as interestingly, as in the past. This is my excuses post, so you feel bad for me and give me a break. JK.
I am kind of bogged down teaching seven college classes. Add to that basketball season, which means games twice a week, plus breakfasts twice a week for the team. (I'm not sure if it's this way everywhere for high school basketball, but we feed these boys constantly. Breakfast from Panera, dinner after school from a local restaurant, Subway for the bus ride home from the game. On the weekend, we make a "spread" at someone's home and serve them that. This weekend I did waffles with blueberry sauce, cheesy potatoes, fruit, and another parent brought 8 pounds of bacon plus 4 pounds of link sausage! Do they think the parents can't feed them?)
Then Tucker is in high school swim season. We don't feed them as much, but the meets always seem to be far away and last for several hours. On Monday we drove to Marietta. I carried the swimmers' bags in my car so I followed the bus and it took two hours and twenty minutes. Next a three-hour swim meet and then a two-hour drive home.
So if teaching and sports were not all that is going on to keep me away from my blog, Grace is home for one more day. She goes back to school tomorrow.
Sometimes it's hard for me to process the fact that she'll actually be gone.
In spite of deciding that this far away school is the right choice for her, she's feeling very anxious about returning. I have tried to be supportive, saying things like, "Remember how nervous you were before you went the first time" or "This is nothing compared to staying in France for three months alone."
As her anxiety continues to rise, I decided tough love might be better. "Everyone would prefer to lie on the couch and watch America's Next Top Model rather than going to school or working..." or "It's what kids your age do. They go to school. It's not a big deal." Truthfully, if Grace doesn't go away to school, then I have failed at the process of raising her and setting her free. What Mama bird wants to set her baby bird free and the bird decide to stay in the nest?
I know Grace is just nervous because she hates change and because last year at this time she became depressed at school. She can't handle the idea of feeling like that again. I don't want her to feel that either. But she chose to return to this school and so we need to march onward so she can stop anticipating the bad.
So those are my excuses for why I haven't been blogging as much or commenting on other people's blogs.
Forgive me, but I see no respite in sight for another month or so.

Last Day of Lollygagging

Even as I plan to spend the day watching football games, I know that the rush is coming. I know that tomorrow when school starts again, I'll start with a tiny snowball of activity and quickly be rolled into a giant avalanche.
I spent the end of last week preparing the syllabus and the online components of my classes. Then last night, I started on lesson plans. Sometimes I can re-use lesson plans from previous quarters, but I always need to tweak them. And this quarter I have a class I haven't taught since 2008, so the book has changed. That one took a long time to schedule and will take even more time to plan each week.
I'm teaching 19 hours at one college and 8 hours at the other college. Thus, the coming avalanche. However, I plan to swim steadily forward at the top of the avalanche, until I am forced to tread water and if I am buried by the avalanche, I'll stick up my ski pole so someone can dig me out.
After all, the quarter will end eventually sometime in March, and if I work hard and my students work hard, we could end up avoiding the avalanche. And the money that I make teaching all of these classes will cover my daughter's next semester of college.
How about you? Is the new year going to be a challenge?

Free Time

Like a wisp of a breeze on a still day, I feel it.
Like the far away whistle of a train in the night, I hear it.
Like that spot on the horizon that draws closer, I see it.
Freedom is nearly mine.
I give finals today and tomorrow. Then I have to grade the finals for five classes and turn in my grades.

For three weeks, I will not have to go to work. Not until Jan. 3.
I can almost feel my body collapsing in a heap just at the thought.
Now, I know that compared to many people, I don't work that hard. Some people are doing manual labor or standing up all day. They wouldn't complain about sitting in front of a computer answering students' emails or grading a stack of papers while munching on popcorn.
And I am truly grateful for my jobs, which help pay for one kid's college and next year two kids' college tuitions.
The thing is, teaching at two colleges means that their breaks don't coincide. So when one college is on spring break, the other is still having classes. And this summer when the one college took a two week break before summer quarter, the other college took the week after. I eeked out five days and darted down to Florida and back.
So since last Christmas, I haven't had time when I wasn't teaching.
Until now.
If I'm smart, I'll go ahead and prepare for winter courses next week. Then I could have two whole weeks not to think about teaching or work.
And what will I do with that time?
Well, a lot of basketball and swim events, plus Christmas shopping and baking and cleaning. Plus, I plan to read a lot and take many walks to Caribou Coffee.
Sometimes, maybe I will allow myself to collapse in a heap, learning a lesson from the cats.
How about you? Will you have any time to relax during the holidays?

The Virtue Post

Some people use their blogs, like their Christmas newsletters, to talk about how fantastic they are. I take kind of an opposite tact on my blog, pointing out every flaw and downfall I or my children have. When Earl does something embarrassing, he looks at me and says, "You're going to put that on your blog aren't you?" I like to think of the blog as self deprecating.
Last week when I wrote about my selfishness, that same husband of mine said I was too hard on myself. So I promised to write about a virtue. And here it is: The Virtue Post.
I teach college, so I have a lot of opportunities to influence young minds. I teach at an inner city college, so most of the students have life experiences that I could never dream of. One thing I do is try to convince the students that with education comes responsibility. I give them extra credit if they vote in elections.
This year, using an idea I got from another blogger, Peppermint PhD, who also teaches college, I offered my students extra credit if they brought in two non-perishable items to donate.
This is what I ended up with.

I drove to Mid-Ohio Food Bank today and donated the mostly canned food.

The guy said we turned in 42 pounds of food. I'm not sure if that's a good number or not, but it gives me something to try to beat next time.
The Mid-Ohio Food Bank has a huge warehouse. It's sad to imagine how many needy families need extra food, especially during the holidays when kids can't get meals at school.
I hope you'll consider donating too.