How does she do it?

I recently read a great article by Phyllis Richman called Answering Harvard’s question about my personal life, 52 years later.  In the article Richman writes a response to a letter she received 52 years ago regarding her application to graduate school at Harvard.  The letter came from then Assistant Professor William A. Doebele, Jr. and in it he asked her how she would combine caring for her husband and family with pursuing her graduate studies.  Naturally, Richman was offended by this question and in her response she said so many things that hit the nail on the head; I felt like I was reading my own story.  Despite the question she went on to create a successful career as a writer while carrying out her “responsibilities” to her family.  However, even though this guy had no business asking her “that” question it’s actually a good question because I ask myself the same question every day. 

I ask myself how I’m going to balance family and career; and some sort of intellectual interest beyond the Mickey Mouse Club House.  Sometimes just getting from sunup to sundown with my sanity still somewhat intact is a major miracle.  So while grading papers and writing and diapering and cleaning boogie noses I ask myself a million times, “How am I gonna do this?”  I work, I take care of children all day and sometimes kiss my husband at night and I usually manage to get it all done.  And it is really freaking hard.  My husband gets to go to work every day and he doesn’t have a toddler screaming at him or a baby tugging at his ankle while he’s trying to meet a deadline.  So, “How are you going to balance a career and family?” is a really good question because I’m still answering that one myself. 

When women were pushing for the Equal Rights Ammendment (ERA) I’m not so sure that question was answered.  My mother told me growing up that I could have it all; in fact she encouraged me to “have it all”.  I went to college, I became learned, I got a husband, and I had children.  I’m doing it all, but why is it so freaking hard?  I admire women that are able to dedicate themselves to only their children or only their career because it’s difficult to choose between one or the other. 

I’m so inspired by Phyllis Richman because she carved out a career while raising a family; and a quite successful one at that.  And that fellow from Harvard had no right to ask her how she would pull it all off.  How a woman will do it all is a personal question.  Yes, we should be able to have a career, personal interests, marriage and family but that is up to us.  How, we will do it is another question that I don’t think any woman can answer until maybe the question becomes past tense; how did she do it? 

Here is the link to the article by Phyllis Richman:  

http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/answering-harvards-question-about-my-personal-life-52-years-later/2013/06/06/89c97e2e-c259-11e2-914f-a7aba60512a7_story.html

Once upon a time there were a pair of boobs...not sexy ones but lactating ones.

I think a lot about breastfeeding these days since I spend about 50% of my day nursing my 12 month old son.  The kid is addicted to breast milk and resembles a little fire breathing dragon if he does not receive it on demand.  It’s really a miracle that he and I made it this long breastfeeding.  My older daughter and I did not fare nearly as well. 

I didn’t know when I first became a mom that breastfeeding would be so much work.  I thought my baby would just slip out of the birth canal and she would magically drink milk flowing from my breasts.  I thought I would use that breast pump thingy and it would fill up with milk.  This turned out to be the farthest from the truth for me.

Imagine my surprise when a couple of days after my first baby was born my nipples were cracked and bleeding.  My daughter wasn’t latching properly and when she did she’d only stay on a few minutes.  She had to stay in the hospital a couple of weeks after her birth due to a minor infection and my husband had to leave the country on business the day after she was born.  So imagine the stress for a new mom trying to do what she’s been told is best for her baby and it’s not going as planned.  On top of all of this the lactation consultant (or lactation Nazi as I like to call her) was breathing down my neck every five minutes telling me to, “Try this, try that.  Maybe the football hold, maybe upside down.” 

I wanted to quit so many times.  My boobs hurt; my kid was screaming her head off even after attempting to nurse her for an hour.  And I did quit when she turned three months old.  I just couldn’t do it anymore; physically, emotionally or mentally.  When I pumped I produced enough milk to feed a grasshopper and my daughter just really liked her bottle and I had to return to work; so everyone was happier this way. 

My experience with my son has been a completely different one however.  I went into my pregnancy and his birth with zero expectations.  I decided to give breastfeeding a try but not stress about it if it didn’t work.  When the nurse handed him to me after I woke up from my C-section he went straight for the breast and it was like he knew exactly what to do.  Despite my success the same lactation Nazi was all over my case about how to breastfeed my kid.  I decided this time that I was this kid’s mother and I would do what felt best and most natural.  So when the nurses kept pushing me to pump every two hours and I started bleeding into the collection bottles I said this crap is for the birds.  I’m not pumping.  I’m not sitting here listening to that waaaaaa noise all day.  I’m going to keep trying to nurse this kid and see what happens.  I’m going to do it my way.  And what do you know, he started gaining weight.  12 months later he is a happy healthy kid.  He’s never even really been sick.  And we are still nursing.  I figured out that I just don’t pump well.  Just because I pump very little doesn’t mean the baby only getting a small amount of milk.  There were several times along the way that I wanted to quit because it hurt too badly, or it was inconvenient to be his pacifier, etc. but we are still nursing.  It’s been a great experience and I highly recommend it if you can hang in there because it is just lovely to sit down and snuggle up with your kiddo while he eats.  If you can’t though don’t beat yourself up.  In the middle ages they had wet nurses and nowadays we have formula.  

 Nursing is different for every mom and every child is different too.  I have two children that have been polar opposites in the realm of breastfeeding.  Sometimes you just need to give the kid a bottle.  Sometimes they nurse like ducks to water.  Just do your best and see what happens, because you can never go wrong doing your best. 

*I have zero, and I mean zero medical expertise so always consult your pediatrician when it comes to feeding your child.  

6 ways to avoid annoying your professor and pass just about any course.

6 ways to avoid annoying your professor and pass just about any course. 

As a high school teacher of 8 years and an adjunct professor for 3 years I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that the way you treat your professor does affect your grade.  There is no real way to prove this but in my own personal experience and the experiences of many colleagues I have learned that the way students treat their professors indirectly affects how they are graded.  I’ve gained a lot of experience working with students who just don’t get it that there are simple things that anyone can do to pass a class number one being don’t annoy your professor because all of the annoying things that students do sit somewhere in a professor’s subconscious forever.  For those of you that need a boost in your grade here are some helpful and simple tips.    

1.       Don’t tell the professor what is wrong with them personally, their teaching or their course.  Some students do this when they are disgruntled but many students do this innocently without even realizing that they are being disrespectful which is even more annoying.  Students don’t realize that there is a difference between feedback and whining.  Don’t tell your professor that their course really has too much work for three hours of credit.  Don’t tell your professor that they really didn’t explain that concept correctly.  Don’t tell them that the way that they speak or their accent is just too heavy.  When it comes to this area it’s probably best to just not say anything at all.  Save your comments for those end of semester course evaluations that your professor will read AFTER grades are done. 

2.       Do all of the work!  I have been repeating this over and over until I’m blue in the face for years now.  How can you expect to pass a class if you don’t do the work?  How do you expect to improve on the subject if you don’t practice it?  Better yet, do it on time.  Even better, if the class is not your best subject turn your assignments in early.  I’m personally in a much better mood at the beginning of grading a bunch of assignments and much easier on students rather than at the end of reading 100 essays.  There is nothing more annoying than a student who is failing your class (and hasn’t done all of the work) asking you what they can do to improve their grade.  Is there extra credit?  They always ask this.  I always reply, “Well for starters why don’t you complete all of the assignments?” 

3.       Don’t knit pick about one little question on a test.  Sometimes you’ve gotta just let things go.  There is always at least one student every semester that questions every single assignment, test, quiz, etc.  They will argue the wording on questions; sometimes they hinge their argument on a single word.  I’ve even had students say that there is trickery involved in the way that the test questions are written.  I’ve got news for you, not really.  I don’t go to that much trouble to trick my students; some are so easily tricked without any effort on my part.    

4.       Don’t try to bully anyone into getting a good grade.  I once had a student that emailed me, called me, emailed my boss, called my boss so many times that I think it was a contributing factor to raising his grade to what he wanted it to be.  This hasn’t happened much in my career but it left a sour taste in my mouth and has affected every student that has come after him.  Sometimes you need to take a B- like a man and shut up about it. 

5.       Communicate well and often.  Be nice.  Be friendly with your professor.  Show an interest in what they are teaching.  Keep your professor informed of what is going on with your progress in the class, especially if it is not going well for you.  Don’t wait until the night before grades are due to ask, “Is there extra credit?”  You want to keep a constant flow of communication going; a friendly one.  When communicating don’t use cryptic Twitter like language, no hashtags please.  Use professional language:  “Hello” “Thank you for your time.”  Say nice things to your professor like, “I like your class.”  “I’m learning so much.”  Don’t suck up but say just enough to let them know that you don’t think this class is a complete drag.  Remember the subject they are teaching you is probably one they have dedicated their life to. 

6.       Do your best and your best will get better.  I always tell my students this and I firmly believe it.  As cranky as I can be at times, especially at the end of a long semester; if I see a student doing their best I will cut them some slack.  If you truly do your best at all times (and this is really hard to do) you will improve no matter what.  Your best may not be very good at the moment and your improvements may be slow going but you will get better at the task at hand.  This will go a long way in your education and in life. 

Students, please remember these tips next time you walk into a classroom.  Remember that education is a great privilege that many in this world are not allowed.  You will learn so much more if you don’t spend all of your time pestering and spend more time listening.  

Saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye. 

I spent my whole life living in Texas until my 33^rd year.  I had traveled around the world a bit but Texas had always been home.  I always knew I would leave one day I just didn't know when or where I would go.  It was a bitterly cold day in February when I left everything in Texas to move to another country. 

After being laid off in 2011 my husband went back to school to get his MBA.  Upon graduating from the program he was offered the opportunity of a lifetime in his native country of Colombia.  I don’t think we ever thought that we would actually live in Colombia, nor did we think that such an opportunity would present itself there.  However, the opportunity was just too good to pass up for my husband’s career and for our family. 

Once a formal offer was made and things were set in motion the whole process was quite surreal.  I had so many questions, many of which I had to just guess the answers to because I had zero experience with relocating to a foreign country.  What would we do with our house?  All of our stuff?  How would we move our things from the U.S. to Colombia?  What would we do with our dogs?  I began packing up our home box by box.  My husband went to Colombia ahead of us to get started on his new job so I was home packing with a two year old and a newborn baby in tow.  I had so many emotions.  I was so excited, and nervous and terrified all at the same time.  I remember that I kept thinking, “Are we really leaving?  Is this really happening?” 

Moving day grew closer and closer and then it finally came.  The day before we were to take a flight with our two children and two dogs to Colombia our friends from church came to help us move just about everything we owned into a storage unit.  It is outrageously expensive to ship your things overseas so we determined that we could take 4 suitcases and two large boxes with us to Colombia.  That’s it; our whole lives were in those suitcases.  We took only the necessities which consisted of clothes, a few household items and toys for the kids. 

That night after we had moved everything out of our house we had only a mattress left in the house to sleep on that night.  The house was so empty.  We had only lived in the house for four years but it already had so many memories in it.  We brought both of our children home from the hospital as newborns to that house.  There was so much laughter echoing from the now empty walls of that house. 

The weather was terrible the next day; I thought they might cancel our flight.  There were a series of mix-ups and delays at the airport but after several hours we finally boarded our flight for Bogota, Colombia.  I didn't know when I would see Texas again.  I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself there.  We were moving on to bigger things and new adventures but Texas would always be my real home no matter where I roamed.  I don’t know if I will ever live there again, but a big piece of my heart will always remain there.  

Downtime, that's a funny one!

When I was young and single I could take a break anytime I wanted.  I had all the downtime I wanted, needed, deserved.  After a long day of working or studying I could come home, kick off my shoes and nap to my heart’s desire.  I love to nap; it’s one of my favorite activities.  When I was sick, I could just be sick.  I could lay around in my jammies and watch TV until I was fully recovered.  Those were the glory days.  These days when I’m sick or just tired none of these luxuries are allowed.  Naps no longer exist in my world and being sick is just not an option because I have two small children that just don’t understand when mommy is sick.  No one ever told me that this would be my new reality before these little munchkins came along.  I thought having children was all kisses and ice cream. 

I’ve been sick with a cold for a couple of days and caring for my two children combined with not being allowed to lie on my deathbed and wallow in my sickly misery has not been the highlight of my week.  Last night the kids and I were waiting for my husband to get home from work so he could take over the kid responsibilities the scene was a stressful one.  I was lying on the couch begging the kids to just leave me alone, my two year old was sitting on top of me smashing my boob and my 10 month old was hanging from my arm dangling from the couch.  We all jumped up and mauled him when he walked in the door; we always do this.  The poor guy can barely get one foot in the door before we all prance on him.  I went to bed early and as usual my two year old daughter ended up in bed with us.  She kept me up most of the night with her feet kicking me in the face and her wining every 30 minutes. 

I still didn’t feel so hot today but my husband and I still went on our regular Wednesday night movie date.  The only way to relax when I’m sick is to get out of the house because the kids just won’t let me.  So we saw a movie, we laughed, we relaxed without any small people sitting on top of us. 

If anyone had told me a few years ago that having children would mean never having a free moment to myself, sleepless nights and no real downtime it might have been a deal breaker for me.  I probably would have gone on to enjoy my selfish life and never would have looked back.  Tonight when I got home from the movies my daughter was still awake and for some reason I let her stay up a little later than usual.  We watched TV and snuggled and talked on the couch.  She’s only two but we had the best conversation.  I was having so much fun I didn’t want to put her to bed.  When I finally did tuck her into bed (She wanted to sleep in my bed so I folded and let her.) she said hers prayers in the sweetest little voice that made my heart melt.  I’m really glad no one told me that having kids would turn my world upside down because little moments like the time spent with my daughter tonight are enough to fill my heart up forever.  

Mind your manners, please.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about manners, specifically how people don’t mind their manners.  Now I’m not the type of person that would usually harp on this but it’s been getting to me lately, especially when people talk politics on social media.  I usually don’t engage in political debates via social media, I usually just keep scrolling because I just don’t want to get into it with someone who is never going to agree with me.  In my twenties I would argued until I was blue in the face but in my thirties I’ve found that I just don’t have the time or energy to waste on such debacles.  It’s bothered me lately though that people are just downright rude when it comes to politics.  Instead of disagreeing respectfully they say atrocious things and partake in spreading outright lies across the internet.  Many people take anything written on the internet to be the gospel and don’t do their due diligence to at least find out if what is being said is true and they simply react to the latest rumors. 

Case in point:  I was recently perusing Facebook when I saw an awful picture of several men holding a badly burned body.  It was posted by a friend of mine who I love dearly but know that we will never agree on politics.  The caption under the picture said something to the effect of, “Chris Stevens was raped, electrocuted and burned.  Hillary you suck.”  The photo alone was quite disturbing but the caption forced me to stop and say, “Wait a minute, did this actually happen?” 

A little background if you are not familiar with who Chris Stevens was.  Chris Stevens was the U.S. Ambassador to Libya from 2011 to 2012; just after Gaddafi was ousted from his 42 year presidency.  On September 11, 2012 American compounds in Benghazi, Libya were attacked by militants and when it was all over Ambassador Stevens was found dead.  This was a tragedy of the highest degree, it saddens me just thinking about it.  Stevens died of smoke inhalation while trapped in a safe room.  The attacking militants used diesel gasoline to set the compound on fire and Stevens was trapped in the safe room unable to escape for air. 

The death of Ambassador Stevens was immediately used as political fodder to criticize the Obama administration.  Political commentator Sean Hannity said that Stevens was raped and his body dragged through the streets.  This was untrue and extremely hurtful to Stevens’ family and friends. 

This brings me back to the initial Facebook post.  After doing some research I found that it was simply not true.  As I said before, Ambassador Stevens died of smoke inhalation.  I found that one person, Sean Hannity, started the rumor that the life of Ambassador Stevens ended in a manner contrary to the truth.  This rumor has spread like wildfire across the internet, because let’s face it, it’s more tragic and that’s what we like.  For some reason human beings like the saddest, most gruesome stories rather than the plain old boring truth (which by the way is just as tragic).  I did my due diligence and found the truth; other people may not take the time to do this.  When discussing anything on the internet I beg of you to please remember what your mama taught you and mind your manners.  The Facebook post about Ambassador Stevens is disgusting and I’m sure his family has been exposed to it at some time which forces them to relive their tragedy all over again based on something that is not even true. 

So I say disagree, criticize, argue all day long if you like!  That is the American way, but mind your manners when doing so.  

Day 3: A letter to my younger self, that I hope one day my daughter will read.

A letter to my younger self, that I hope one day my daughter will read. 

This morning as I wiped chocolate snot off of my daughter’s mouth (she was eating Oreos, don’t judge, yes I do let her eat Oreos for breakfast, she sneezed hence the chocolate snot) I started thinking about my journey to becoming a mother.  Everything leading up to this chocolaty snot moment made me who I am today as a person and as a mother.  Now that I am a mother I think a lot about the advice and many lectures that my mother gave me as a girl and it kills me to say this but I wish I’d listened to her more.  Yes, that’s right, she was right about a lot of things.  If I could go back in time and speak to my young, bratty, pre-teen self I would tell myself three things: 

1.      Your mother is right about a lot, and no Lindsay you don’t know everything.  So be humble and shut up and listen. 

When I was a little girl and people gave any piece of advice my response was always, “I know that.”  This was especially annoying to my grandmother and now I really do understand that it was so annoying and today I’m sorry for being such a know it all.  It’s painful but true, the older you are the more life experience you have, the more you know.  Being humble enough to listen to your elders is difficult for young people and most adults too for that matter.  But you really can learn a lot by just listening. 

2.      All of the things that you want to do in the name of rebellion, or experimentation or just plain old teenage angst really will hurt you and impact you for the rest of your life. 

That party that you want to go to, or all of that beer that you want to try, and the minimal clothing you are sporting; yeah, all of those are bad for you in one way or another.  Bad things will happen at that party, probably as a result of all of that beer you are going to try and tube top just isn’t classy. 

3.      Enjoy the journey, enjoy every moment of it and don’t be in such a rush to grow up.  You will be a big girl one day and you can sleep as late as you want and eat as much chocolate as your heart desires but these younger years will only happen once and the journey is so beautiful.  Newsflash, the destination is actually pretty boring at times.  The youthful, carefree journey is so much more fun.  Not knowing what is ahead of you is actually the best part of the journey. 

This advice is all very cliché; every young woman has heard it a thousand times from a nagging mother; but its cliché because it’s true.  I’m pretty sure my mother told me all of the aforementioned a million times and I just didn’t get it or didn’t want to get it.  I made a lot of mistakes along the way, but I did learn from them as I’m sure my mother and her mother before her did so I hope that my daughter reads this one day listens to just a little bit of it.  This is just hope though, because if she is as hard headed as me (there is already evidence supporting this) she will not listen to a word of it.