Wednesday, December 9, 2009

The Impotence of Proofreading ::

The Impotence of Proofreading ::

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I found this with the help of my dear friend who cannot, for the life of him, spell many of the words in the english language. I do believe that we could create a new coding system thanks to my ability to decipher what he means to say. Here's to you!

Reflections on an Enlish 111 Class

First, thank you for becoming a teacher in the first place. How brave you are, to stand in front of us judgemental and sometimes loudmouthed individuals, and try to teach us ways to better ourselves. Yes, thank you.

A few of my reflections are as follows.

1. I understand that you are learning to teach online classes. I, however, did not sign up for an online class and therefore would prefer that I was not constantly told to go online in order to get information from you. I want it from you, and not my computer. That is the very reason I am in class. Perhaps if I had been told in the beginning that you would be practicing on us, I possibly, although most likely not, would have been a little less perturbed by the constant need to log in. I hate to point it out, but many of us really are not on or near a computer for most of the day.

2. The Boss...really? There has to be a better example out there for the pressure of writing and revising/rewriting. Having to listen to Bruce Springsteen literally made my ears cry and my head hurt. I'm not kidding. I went home with a migraine.

3. Your humor and ability to roll with certain punches is quite admirable. I enjoyed the collaboration that we had as a class even if it was a bit disruptive or off topic at times. We had a great mix of personalities in class, some more memorable than others, but all in all I definitely gleaned a great deal from everyone in the class.

4. I would have preferred that the course calendar hadn't changed so many times, and that we actually spent time discussing all the items you made us read and watch. And for the larger projects, I do think having the assignments up front so that we could have more time to develop them as we learned the techniques needed to write them would have been better. I think informing students right at the beginning to find a topic they would feel comfortable or passionate to write about instead of just tossing it on us may have given some of us less creative people a bit more time to truly find something worth talking about. Like why the state still makes married couples with minor children endure a full 12 months of separation even though separation is not a legally acceptible term in the state...I'm just saying....

5. Blogging. I have never blogged before this, and I most likely will not blog after this. I'm sorry. I just don't have time. I work full time, am a full time mom, and go to school full time, and you want me to throw in blogging, too? Really? This is a great extra credit idea, but I don't seem to appreciate where this fits in with actual college compostion.

This was a fun class, but I didn't have enough creativity for it. I am a pick from a list and I will write about it type of mentality at the moment, thanks to the fact that my job sucks all the creativity out of me. Perhaps you could have that sort of option next semester for students who may be spread a bit thin and just can't seem to think of anything that quickly? A list of very researchable and interesting topics may be something to think about. Some of us don't think quite as quickly at 730 p.m. as others.

Revised Diagnostic Essay

Because I Said So
Like most people, I have had my fair share of jobs. I've done everything from real estate agent to serving in the United States Navy. Every position had its high points, and its low ones, but none can compare to that of what I considered my number one occupation in my life: mother. Single mother of three spectacular children, to be exact. For the past seven years I have been privy to watching my three children grow from tiny little infant to the fast talking, hyperactive little book-reading monkeys they are today. I use the term monkeys with great endearment, for they truly due crawl all over the place just as young primates do. (It is, in fact, a sure sign that my children like you when you become their very own personal jungle gym. ) Though being a mother has its pull-your-hair-out-I-need-a-drink moments, once you get through that part, it is the ultimate and most satisfying occupation anyone could ever dream of.
When they were born, each of my children seemed so tiny. Lilian, my oldest, was the smallest at just over seven pounds. She also looked the pudgiest. For someone so tiny she had more rolls than a coffee shop at 7 a.m. on a Monday morning. I loved the way she cooed, or gazed for endless moments at me, as though I were the most amazing thing she had ever seen. As she grew, so did her personality. I have documented with photos everything from the first time she drooled on her dad to the first Oreo. I never thought Oreos could get embedded in a bellybutton fully covered by clothing, but somehow it cookie bits managed to find their way into her unsuspecting navel. And it was a blast, all of those first experiences with her.
She was a mere 18 months old when her brother Kyle was born, and she was completely in love. Kyle was her baby. If he was hungry, she wanted to feed him, if he was fussy she would do everything in her power to make him happy. And Kyle adored his sister. he would laugh for her like he laughed for no one else. And for the few who don't know, a baby's laugh is completely and unabashedly infectious. To hear two tiny tinkling voices laughing at the same time, I am certain angels exist if only for that sound. Watching the two of them grow together, play together, and scheme together to get apples from the fridge, or steal carrots off the counter before supper, or somehow manage to find the permanent marker hidden in a coat pocket and scribbling all over the new computer monitor, have been some of the most amazing moments of my life.
I will admit, when I found out I was pregnant with my third child, I was in denial for a while. Until I got the constant wave of nausea and the little baby belly. The kids were excited when I finally told them. Kyle was beyond ecstatic; he was going to have his very own baby! Alison was a bit of a challenge. She apparently had a severe aversion to our ultrasound technician and refused to turn so we knew if we needed to get overalls or a dress for the trip home. Nope. She wasn't budging. As I got further along in the pregnancy, I got to the 24 week point and had suddenly realized that I could not remember ever feeling that little person move. No feet or hands poking out, no hiccups. Nothing. I was frantic and called the doctor who immediately brought me in to be checked. i got hooked up to all the machines and waited. Luckily I wasn't having contractions, but the wait for the nurse to come in with the portable ultrasound was putting me even further on edge. finally she wheeled her happy little self in (don't they remember how panicky and easily upset pregnant women can get when you make them wait?!) and voila. Some cold gel and few prods later, her heart was going like a hummingbird on the screen. She even wiggled a moment, probably just to get away from the annoying nurse who was poking her in the back.
As it turns out, she was a night owl and that's why I never felt her move. Until the last two weeks of my pregnancy where I literally could not sleep and so stayed up all night feeling her have her own little dance party in the space that used to house my bladder and other nice internal organs. When she was born, an induction without anaesthesia if you were wondering, she was an absolute doll. Alison had a full head of dark hair, giant blue eyes, and a little button nose. She looked like Boo from Monsters, Inc. The nurses wanted to keep her, the administrators who knew my dad wanted to keep her, even the random people in the hall that we didn't know wanted to keep her. When Kyle saw his baby sister for the first time, that was it. he had his baby and the cycle started all over again. Love at first sight.
A few years have passed since they were born, and the three of them are like apple pie alla mode. Sure, having them individually is great, but when you put them together you truly get to see the full potential of their personalities. Lilian has grown to be a tall, lanky daydreamer who loves art and music and climbing trees. Kyle is a total flirt who loves skateboards, video games, Twilight and his sisters. And Alison is still a baby doll. only now she can talk, and spell, and run, and use her cuteness for evil. Unfortunately for me, it works. For now. The three of them have been the inspiration for me to go back to school. What other job truly makes you want to do that? I couldn't ask for a better occupation than to be able to love and mold these three unique little people.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Mothers Do It All, Orignally Written 31 August 2009

Mother's Do It All

I have held numerous jobs in my lifetime. I have had positions ranging from food service and retail, to serving in the United States Navy. Each job has had its highs and lows, but none quite compare to the job I have held for the past seven years: mother of three spectacular children. Lilian, Kyle and Alison each have given me great joy, from saying their first words and taking their first steps, to the development of their unique personalities. They too, have brought upon me grief and worry, between illness and accident, and the random mayhem that follows them wherever they go. As a mother, every day is filled with challenges and obstacles. Most are mundane, causing minor setbacks in our day to day lives. But other challenges arise, and it’s these that can stop your heart cold. In the course of raising these three astonishing children, I have encountered both the worst and best experiences any job could offer.

One evening in April, while attending Girl Scouts, the kids were doing their craft activities. All the other parents were discussing future plans for our girls, when I heard a terrifying scream from across the auditorium. There I saw my oldest, Lilian, on the ground with her younger sister Alison next her. A thousand scenarios ran through my mind. My thoughts raced, “Did she have a seizure, is she breathing?” I ran to their side and that’s when I saw the blood. I couldn’t tell at first where it all came from. Lilian’s clothes were a saturated bright red, her tears streaming down her cherub face. In that moment, I overcame my fear and instinctively began to clean up her face, arms, hands, everything that bright crimson fluid had affected. I searched her with my eyes, my hands, to find the source of the injury, and there, on the underside of her chin, a deep gash was filling again with blood. Relief washed over me, only to be replaced by worry. The wound was deep, the blood flowing freely. I had Lilian press paper towels to her chin to attempt to stem the bleeding. I frantically searched for my other two children, and realized at that moment that I had to take all three of them to the emergency room, alone. Thankfully, Renae, one of the other mothers attending, offered to come with me. My thankfulness overflowed as we all head to our cars.

Upon entering the emergency room, I was stunned to see how many people were waiting. I was sure, however, that due to the amount of blood still seeping from my daughter’s chin, that we would be promptly triaged and set up with a room. Alas, we found our seats in the small play area and settled the children in for the wait, armed with a coloring book and a bag of chips for each. During the course of our wait, Lilian began to question me about what the doctor would do. The most conflicting moments for me as a parent are explaining the painful parts in life, and this was no exception. I told her about stitches and scars, and her face dropped, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of needles and pain. I attempted to soothe her angst the only way a mother can, with a hug. She sat curled in a ball on my lap, head resting on my chest, and I breathed in the scent of her hair and held her. She smelled of watermelons tainted with the sweet metallic scent of her injury. It was then we were called back to be seen.

The fear and anxiety had worn away by this time, and what was left in their place was a calm irritation at having to wait so long with my injured and bleeding child. As I laid Lilian’s small frame on the hospital bed, I was overcome with exhaustion, and fought the urge to cry. Finally, after about two hours of waiting, Lilian’s sutures were being put in by a rather aged doctor with an unsteady hand. And there I saw it, the strength of my little girl. She did not cry or squirm or fuss while the doctor took care of her, and even went so far as to ask him how many stitches he put in. She sat up and smiled at me with her big goofy grin, proud of herself. Even the nurse was impressed at how cooperative Lilian had been.

Lilian and I went to gather the rest of our family. I thanked Renae. There were no hugs between us, just an understanding that this is what we do for each other, as single mothers. I gathered up my children and settled them in for the quick drive home. The rest of that night was uneventful, aside from the extra prayers said at bedtime and super squishy hugs from my newly stitched-up girl scout.

Amazing things happen in even those intensely stressful situations. My daughter taught me that I have been able to pass on strength to her, a deeply embedded strength that only comes to the surface in the direst of circumstances. In that one trip to the emergency room, she taught me that as a mother, I have succeeded in teaching her the very characteristics I wasn’t sure how to teach my children. This realization is the most rewarding of all. This is why, in even the worst circumstances, I have the greatest job of all.