End of Quarter/Beginning of Other Things

Well, I've officially landed in finals week once again.  At my college, we go by the rather antiquated quarter system.  It's frustrating that I only have 10 weeks with my students. It's nice in that if I don't like my teaching assignments, it's only ten weeks.  So there is that...

In Other News, Spring Has Sprung

Right now I'm teaching an online English 2 class. English 1 is in the Fall, English 2 is in the winter and a combination of the two is offered in spring since lots of people don't do a lockstep curriculum. I'm also teaching a graduate course called Writing Theory.  Good students- English majors for the most part. We talked about theories behind the practices they have noticed in their own first and second year teaching experiences.  It went remarkably well.  I was able to present timely articles related to their inquiries and interests.  On the last days, they each presented on their own research and will turn in a final research article tomorrow.  I learned something from each of them. 

One thing I noticed is how uncomfortable it has been for me to transition from the role of graduate student to that of The Professor.  I'm a great grad student. Seriously. I can help other students with their research, presentations and homework. I can debate education philosophy and use student examples.  Fortunately and unfortunately, I graduated and can't seem to find a program past Ph.D. that will let me continue doing that. 

What I have a hard time with is that these students see me as some all-knowing (or at least more-knowing) person who is not like themselves.  My identity, like that identities I have asked them to form as teachers, must reflect not only the goals I have for them, but also the expectations they have of me.  That includes being professional and a little distant though warm and approachable about all things theory and classroom.  That also means I don't go drinking beer with them.  My doc professors never did, even if my undergrad professors did. Clear boundaries.  That's pretty important.

Once I got used to that idea, life became pretty easy.  The students show up on time, prepared and ready to discuss theory and apply it to themeslves as writers, students and as teachers. I am pretty enthusiastic about teaching English so many times the class taught itself and I acted merely as a guide. Once I thought I was going to have to break up a grammar fight that threatened to break into a grammar knock-down-drag-out brawl.  Moral of the story: future English teachers rock too.

Next quarter I have special challenges. I get to teach 4 classes (eep!), two of which I created the objectives, curriculum and every single assignment.  I will also be assessing the class and presenting my findings at conferences. There is a lot to this, and I have spent the last six months preparing for the class. Whew!

My other classes are a multi-cultural literature course and an English 2 class.  The literature course is interesting because a) I have never taught it before and b) it meets four days a week. That's going to be a challenge. Four days a week? That's like...40 class meetings. Almost like a 16 week course.  And it's full- 25 students, none of whom are freshmen. 

I have other things in the works...job information and big decisions that require time and thought.  Grey and I will be close to figuring out what our next move(s) is/are within a week.  I'll let you know how it turns out.

In the meantime, I have about a million things to grade and I'm only prolonging the agony by ducking into my blog to spend time outside of my head. 

Happy/Disappointed

I have written about this before, but I want to summarize for my readers and bring everyone up to date.

Waaaay back in May, I applied for a job in Washington state, at a small state university.  They needed a person to run their developmental writing program.  They enthusiastically invited me out to interview, and I did my research and - to quote the Dean of Student Services - blew them away.  Well duh.  This is what my doctorate is in.  My experience working with special populations coupled with my best friend and I putting our heads together resulted in a pretty darn good day of interviews and a decent public presentation.

So then I waited.  And I heard back the day before I got married, while driving with my mother (who had flown in for the wedding) in the Oklahoma heat to go get some hamburgers.  Ok, I was getting fries; she was getting the hamburgers with my friend Charlotte.

I didn't get the job.  They hired the incumbent and said that what I would do was probably too much for what they needed.  Worst compliment ever.  But, said the Dean (who I will now just call "Dean"), I have this idea to bring you here to work on my grant and then in the English department for a year until I can find you a permanent position.  I'll let you know in a week.

My Cousins, Baling Hay at my Granparent's Place

Nice compliment!

So Grey and I got married and went on our honeymoon.  At his parents house on the way back (I truly enjoyed the visit and yes, we visited my in-laws on the honeymoon.  We be cool in valuing family) I got another call saying he could make it happen.  Just wait a week to get the contract together.  That was the second week of June.

Today is August 3rd.  We have been married 2 months and a day.  We get to cohabitate and are enjoying it.  Someday Grey is going to yell at me for any one of the stupid things I do, like leaving socks on the floor or not cleaning out the kitty box often enough or waking him up too, too early on a Saturday.  But no, nothing so far. I keep waiting for him to have a strange habit that drives me crazy.  But no. We like walking and talking and hiking and eating healthy and not watching television and having a glass of wine once in awhile.  It's a nice life, one I didn't expect would happen for me.

But still no contract.

My Favorite Part of the Year!

The way universities work is this:  A job is created, posted and filled. One the candidate is selected, a contract is sent, outlining the terms of the agreement, length of appointment, compensation and benefits.   If amicable to both parties, the contract is signed and it's a legally binding proposition.  A job offer is nice but not legally binding. It's two people spitting on their hands and shaking.  It's certainly not something that Grey should quit his job over and not something that I would put my house up for sale over.  Of course, contracts usually follow within a couple of weeks of an offer.

But this time it's taken over 8 weeks.  All I have is an offer.  If I got a contract today, I would need to sell my house, ask my husband to quit his job and find another in Washington and move both of our households within a little less than a month.

I didn't want to, but I had to give a deadline for the last date I would be available.

This came from conversations on those long walks with Grey.  I am pretty much a push over.  I trust people and if it were just me, I'd have already packed, sold the house and left by now.  But it's not just me and I am no longer that portable.  So I told them I needed the contracts by Wednesday.  Did I say "contracts" in the plural?  Yes, I did.  Aside from actually securing grant money and figuring out what classes to ask me to teach, there was a question on how many contracts it would take.  Since I would be working in two different areas, one of which is a grant, it was decided two weeks ago (after the single contract was ready) that I would have to have two contracts.  Then it was vacations and what it boils down to is that the people who got the grant money won't let someone have that money to administer.  The English side got me the contract the day I needed it.

Dean never got me a contract.

In fact, last night around 7:30 I got a text from him saying that the grant side of the contract (while it is forthcoming) wouldn't be ready until next week.

"I am very sorry," my letter will read, "but I have simply run out of time and cannot accept your job offer.  Perhaps next year when a secure position is available..."

In the meantime, school has started again and I quit my public school teaching job.  It would not have been fair to keep them on the line and I did the right thing in dealing squarely with them.  Grey put me on his insurance.

So far, this has been the only real source of marital strife.  I gave them way too long before I gave a final date that I could accept the offer.  Grey also thinks they have handled me poorly, offering me a different job than what I interviewed for, for less money and with no guarantee of more than a year of employment.  I really wanted this; having been grieving the loss of this chance for the last week.  I'm sure I've been a peach to deal with.

I'm disappointed.  This year I won't get to move to my beloved home state or enjoy the cooler climes.  I won't get to take Grey hiking or skiing or for weekend trips to Seattle.

It doesn't mean never though.  You don't just fall in love with a job and get married to it.  You fall in love with a contract- in this case, I never even met it.

I have so much to be thankful for right where I am.  Good friends, a home, good health all around and a terrific husband who is just crazy enough to move someplace he has never been because I want to, and grounded enough to insist that I insist on being treated fairly.

Oklahoma isn't a bad place.  My friends are here and I am more or less infamous in these parts.  :)

And you know, I can find a job.  As I have heard and said so many times before, "Ain't nothing but a thing."  I'm disappointed; true.  But I'm happy because the really big things that matter are still in place.

21st Century Women Revisited

I've often made the point to my students that revision is writing. I knew that when I posted my last blog, I'd need to add something. There was just some point I hadn't made, some note that didn't ring the right note. Hmm. So I talked to my editor about it and bounced some ideas off of him about what I'd written. Grey is my editor/boyfriend/collaborator/friend. He observed that I had written something about what did not qualify me a 21st Century woman, but not much on what it means to be one. How would I recognize other members of this tribe? What, if anything, did I think of as "woman's work"? To put it differently, is there anything a man might do that would make me feel as though he was infringing on my domain?

That made me think. I guess there isn't much. I think men who clean house are pretty sexy, and since if I'm ever going to live with a man in an egalitarian sense, he should probably do his fair share of cleaning. In the home, I do prefer to be the one who cooks breakfast most of the time, and the one who cleans the bathroom. I suspect, and perhaps someday science will fail to rebuff my theory, that men do not see dirt the way that women are able to do so. Women always love it when men do dishes and to tell the truth, I have one more dirty little secret: I hate dealing with finances. I would clean every toilet every week for eternity if I didn't have to worry about money and what we do and do not have. I care that if I want a new dress, I can just go get one. I care that I have reliable transportation and money for food and maybe something shiny once in awhile. That's it. Seriously, I couldn't give two shits about money unless I didn't have any. But I'm pretty sure that this is much more about laziness than it is about gender roles.

Likewise, I think my upbringing wasn't really so much about gender roles than it has been about necessity. Women and men both can hunt and fish and work like dogs on harvest crew. It's more likely to find men in jobs that require outside work or dangerous work, but it's still pretty common for women to be in those roles too. I have snowmobiled quite a bit, jumped off of cliffs, spoken to audiences of over 2,000 people and stepped into a prison to try to make a difference there. And yet, nothing about me is particularly manly.

Maybe the things about being a woman that I like best is the ability to slip into a nurturing role, a mom-type of role that offers comfort, guidance, support and help. I usually can tell when one of my kids is upset or hiding some emotion. They don't seem to mind speaking to me about personal issues or asking advice. I like being a care giver. I dislike that Grey is sick and hope he feels better. If he isn't better when I get home from Louisville (I'm here for a conference), then I will bring him some cold remedies and cluck over him like a chicken until he either passes out or pretends to feel better so that I will go away.

Speaking of conferences, I happened to end up in a workshop with the Assistant Superintendent of the school district where I teach. I stepped out to take a phone call, and in my absence, my assistant principal told her we were having difficulty implementing the America's Choice curriculum. When I returned she asked "What do you think of America's Choice"?

In my defense, I was far more polite than one might think. I strongly believe that as a for-profit company, Pearson does not have my student's best interests at heart. Their curriculum is for 1 hour classes and I have only 45 minute classes. Furthermore, this year none of the grade level teachers have ever seen or had training on the curriculum. We have since had a one-day workshop wherein there was a group grump session at the organizers. They suggested implementing adaptations tot he curriculum that the teachers in the district often were gotten in trouble for doing. In fact, the Pearson "coach" for my school threatened me several times by telling me that her report would go to the very woman who was standing before me, asking for my input. I almost quit over the unsupported mandates and the coach barging into my classroom, writing reports about me that I was not privy to, reports that did not cast me or my teaching practices in a positive light. This from a non-district book company. A corporation.

But I was polite and I was diplomatic. And at the end of our long discussion- I think it was productive- the Asst. Supt. decided to come visit my school in the next two weeks. I offered to create an instrument to help gauge district teacher's attitudes towards the curriculum and immediately went back to my hotel room to construct a survey. As I exited the workshop and overheard my assistant principal exhale loudly and say to his friend "Well, the Assistant Superintendent *did* ask. What was she expecting?"

This guardianship of my students, fighting for what I believe is their best interest, and being willing to speak my truth and not back down- this is what a woman does in the 21st century. I could get fired. My principal may get into some trouble and life could become more uncomfortable than what it is right now. It's a risk I am willing to take. And man or woman, you had best step aside when in that particular arena.

I am a 21st century woman; articulate, adventurous, athletic and sometimes brave. I am not good at mopping floors or mowing grass, but I can split an infinitive or demonstrate the correct of the pluperfect subjunctive on short notice. Usually I'm ok for a laugh. My very romantic relationship is multi-platform and highly engaging with a man I like, respect and find to be more than qualified to handle a woman such as me. And handsome. Perhaps that's what I like best about being a woman. Maybe It's as simple as great sex and emotional connection; feeling safe and cared for and knowing that the one you care for in a healthy relationship also cares for you. Yeah. Glad I'm a woman.

Boundary

"I know this is late, but will you take it anyway?"  It's not typed. It's handwritten on raggedy-ass notebook paper with those edges that make it impossible for me to keep papers straight. I try to look sympathetic.

"I don't accept late work." My student glares at me.

"I was at the doctor."
"Are you alright? You're not contagious?" I feign fear and back away a step or two. My student is probably fine. The next student asks me to accept his late paper; almost a week late.
"My Grandma died." Mine died too and I didn't miss any work. We all grieve in our own ways.  His grandma dies twice a year: once before Thanksgiving and once the week before Spring Break.
"My internet was down."
"I didn't know it was due."
"My computer died!"
"My free subscription to Word 2010 ended and now I can't open it."
And my personal favorite: "You let turn last week's in late" (uh, no I didn't).
All of these earn the same response from me.  I am sympathetic.  I wish I could help, really I do, but I don't move boundaries for anyone unless they are either a) having a baby in front of me and I see a leg or something, or b) their academic advisor/veterans dude calls me or c) they just found a conjoined twin on their leg and it's going to take more than a week to have that little problem taken care of.  I'm still waiting for c to happen. Don't ask me about a.

After all, don't we all just want to be an exception to the rule?

I am not without compassion: students may miss up to an entire week of school with no adverse effect, provided they keep up with the work. I don't repeat class discussion and I don't accept late papers.  Athletes who have to be gone still have to turn their stuff in on time.  These parameters, contingencies and guidelines are all laid out in the syllabus and I do not protect my students from their consequences. I also do not ask for protection when I do stupid things.  I do stupid things all of the time, I just don't ask to be let out of it.

Those boundaries aren't in place for my students.  They are there for me.  I'm drawing a line in the sand and saying that this line shall not be crossed.  Sometimes I wish I had Gandalf and a giant sword, beard and Balroc to protect me and yell "You shall not pass!!"  because indeed, a student shall not pass without towing the line.  In some ways, I do.  I have a second, professional social networking page so that I can interact with my students.

One student skipped class on Monday.  He posted the following on my wall: "I didn't go to your class today.  Can I turn in my reflection and bring my items to you Wednesday?"

Another student replied on my behalf: "No!!! It was your responsibility to get to class and get that stuff turned in, what about all the other kids who turned their stuff in on time? Are you better than them?? Do rules not apply to you?? Why should you be able to slack off and not get punished for it? And another thing, if you're gonna ask for something you should go to her office during her office hours and talk to her face to face, not thru facebook. Teach him responsibility Mrs Dieu!!"


I couldn't just let that go, so I replied as well: "I name [Student's Name] as the Composition Bouncer.  Forever!"


I know that I'm not alone in the setting and enforcement of boundaries. Others want clear boundaries too.  But here's the thing I know about human nature: If you draw a line in the sand, someone just has got to got to got to fucking cross it.  It calls to them.  It's a guarantee that if I declare an absolute, someone has to break it. Let's take my friend Leah, for instance.  I freaking adore her and her writing.  But she is impulsive and loves to break societal rules and, you know, sorta push boundaries.  I think that secretly, she wants to get caught, to know where the absolute boundary lies, to see where she cannot push past.  I hope she doesn't die looking for that. But part of me really hopes that she just keeps pushing those boundaries because I'm the same exact way. Minus all of the drugs, illegal shit and uh, ok, minus anything that isn't particularly acceptable, like breaking stuff.  She's short and funny and I'm tall and needlessly academic.  But you get the idea- I'm totally Miss Rebelwithoutaclue. 


The boundaries I care about most are the ones I set around me.  I have a certain level of behavior towards myself that I expect from others and when they cross lines and make me uncomfortable, it's my job to enforce my own boundaries.  Before that happens, though, it's really my job to clearly communicate those expectations.  Let me give an example.  I love punctuality in others.  I need routine and dependability and someone who tips well and doesn't go on a stupid power trip with the wait staff at a restaurant. I like it when people are faithful, kind to animals and can carry on a conversation just like a human being.

I especially like a schedule.  If we make plans, my little brain only wants to do that thing.  I remember some poor date of mine who wanted to spontaneously change the plans we had made for that night.  And he was five minutes late.  Seriously, this is a problem with me. We were en route for the activity and he just wanted to change that.  For many people, this is not a problem.  Given enough time to recalibrate, I could have been ok with it.  But no, no time to ponder, consider wardrobe, or get my head in the right direction.

I could have said "No, I think we should follow the plan."
I could have said "Yeah, maybe we could do that other thing another time."
I did not say "I'm not really comfortable with that."

I said "Fine." And the night ended in disaster.  I can't even remember that poor guy's name but I do know that I never spoke to him again.  Seriously, who shows up five minutes late without letting me know he's going to be fucking late?

Yes, I am aware that I'm crazy.

I also try to always do what I say I'm going to do.  Because of this, I am reluctant to commit to things unless I'm sure I can do them.

When someone crosses a boundary that they and I both know I have set in place, I have choices to make.  The first and most healthful choice is to reiterate my own position and enforce the boundary.  No harm, no foul; all is well.  My second choice is to silently cut the person to pieces and live with a transgression that they may or may not care that they have committed. I'd expect them to do it again, too.  I do so enjoy pouting and resentment. The third choice is to accept the behavior, take responsibility for my part in allowing that boundary to be crossed and either re-think that rule I have made or enforcing it more consistently next time.

It's a wonder that I'm still single.