A few weeks ago I got a facebook message from a friend inviting me to see "Waiting for Superman." She had been telling a mutual friend that she wanted to see it, and he had suggested I might also be interested. Frankly, I had never heard of it, and I very rarely go to the movies. As the Mommy of a toddler, it's both time and cost prohibitive. But once I looked into it a little, I knew I needed to find a way to make it work. Did I want to go see a documentary about the state of public schools in the US? Yes. Yes I did.
So, I went. And I watched. And a lot of it was really painful. But not for the reasons many other current and former teachers are claiming. For me, it was painful because it was so very true. "Waiting for Superman" tells the story of public schools the way I experienced them as a teacher. I wish it wasn't true, but it is.
Now, before my facebook friends list shrinks to about half, (although I would hope my friends would be willing to hear me out) let me get a few things out of the way. I went to public schools. I was served well by public schools. My husband also went to public schools, where he was served well. Our daughter, even in a town where there is tremendous pressure to attend private school, will attend public school. (although, this is because we decided when she was just over a year old to move someplace where she could attend public schools. If we were still in NYC, we would make a different choice.) Both of my sisters, my mother-in-law, and two sisters-in-law (my brother's wife, and my husband's sister) have taught in public schools. And they were all phenomenal teachers.
But here's the part I don't talk about very often, especially not publicly. Of those six women (including myself) in my family who have taught, NONE remain teaching today. One retired as scheduled. (but, as I understand it, exhausted and frustrated.) One retired early. (because she was exhausted and frustrated) The other four of us just quit for a variety of reasons. But among the top of our list of reasons is the fact that the system is broken. (leaving us... exhausted and frustrated)
From the reviews I have read of "Waiting for Superman," (and I've read a lot) there seem to be four central ideas regarding the film that really have people pissed off. 1. That it suggests teachers are bad, 2. That it suggests charter schools are the answer. 3. That it suggests home life has nothing to do with student success, and ignores the fact that the students whose stories are told all come from loving families. 4. That the film itself is purely propaganda because it tells such a one-sided story. I don't think any of this is true, but let's look at each idea.
1. Teachers are bad
"Waiting for Superman" examines a lot of bad teachers. Or, as many reviewers would have us believe, it has the audacity to examine bad teachers. We can bury our heads in the sand if we like, but we need to be aware of the fact that there are many, many bad teachers out there.
I've hesitated- fingers frozen over the keyboard- for probably a minute now, still afraid to type these next few sentences. What am I afraid of? Hurting friends and family? Well, let me be really clear then. If you are a teacher, and you are my friend or family member, I don't mean you. You are all fabulous. So here goes.
I taught with someone who didn't care for one of his classes, and he didn't know what to do with it, so he made it a study hall and gave everyone an A. I taught with people who just fell into their positions who were in no way qualified, and, once there, were fully protected by the union. I taught with people who made racist and otherwise hateful comments regarding students, and when I complained, I was told I would get used to it.
I ALSO TAUGHT- in fact I MOSTLY taught, with amazing teachers. Teachers who cared about their students and were gifted educators.
But the fact remains, there are really bad teachers out there. And in any other field, they would be fired. But they are protected by the union, there is nothing that can be done. "Waiting for Superman" exposes the teachers union as a major lobbyist. When I was a teacher, I was often intimidated by the meetings, and we didn't even have anything major going on. But it was more than the intimidation factor. The contracts themselves seemed unfair. I worked harder. I was better. But I was still paid less than some of those horrible teachers who had been there longer.
2. Charter schools are the answer.
"Waiting for Superman" is not suggesting charter schools are THE answer. It's suggesting better teachers are ONE answer, and that the teacher's union is often standing in the way of improvement in teacher efficacy. The filmmakers suggest, then, that families who are dissatisfied with their local public schools send their children elsewhere- someplace where the teacher's union is not in control. One option is private school. The families we follow in the film do not have the option to go to private schools, but live near charter schools with proven success. So, they enter their children in the lottery to attend these better options. They are ONE option, probably the BEST option, for THESE FAMILIES.
3. What about the families?
"Waiting for Superman" does not, in any way, suggest that home life is not a factor in student success. It also does not suggest that physical, emotional, and metal health are not a factor. Or the economy. Or the political climate. Or the weather when it's really hot or really cold outside and students can't concentrate.
But seeing as there is little the school system itself can do to change home life and the economy and the weather, "Waiting for Superman" doesn't highlight these aspects. It focuses more on the parts we can change, which feels more helpful to me.
4. The film is merely propaganda, as it is so one-sided.
First, I would argue this one-sidedness. The film DOES state that there are fewer charter schools that are succeeding than public schools. You just had to be paying attention. And it DOES highlight successful teachers, and successful public schools. But anyone who has ever taken a script analysis class can tell you that trying to show two sides of a story is just not effective storytelling. And it is, after all, a movie. Constantly going back and forth between "the public school system is broken" and "but there are some great public schools and public school teachers out there" (much the way I am doing in this blog...) waters-down the message. We're supposed to leave feeling conflicted, our hearts breaking for the kids who most certainly are getting "left behind." And we're not supposed to have a clear answer. We're just supposed to know it needs to be fixed.
I have more to say. But I'll save it as answers to my hate mail.
Showing posts with label Working Girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Working Girl. Show all posts
Friday, October 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Just Another Manic Monday
I've had a fairly hectic couple'a weeks, what with all the teaching and the traveling and the planning. I knew yesterday was going to be busy. So Sunday night I went to bed around midnight. This is early-ish for me. And at 3:30, I was still awake, thinking about all the things I had to do. But still, when the alarm went off at 7:00, I was ready. I had my clothes all laid out, and I got in the shower. And at 7:45, I got a text from the babysitter saying she was stuck in insane traffic. I needed to be on the 8:10 train. She arrived at 8:20. It wasn't her fault. It was raining pretty hard, traffic was unusually bad, she was stuck. I sent a text to the lead teacher of the class that started at 9:30, and told her that I would be on the 9:02 train which put me in Larchmont at 9:25. I might make it, but just barely.
And then. The train was late. Maybe it was because of the rain. But it was ten minutes late. I arrived in Larchmont at 9:31, and was about an 8 minute walk from class. And I had no umbrella. No umbrella, no coat, and very little sleep. I walked into class fifteen minutes late and stood, soaking wet, behind my keyboard which had been set up for me. Of course, there were a few songs I hadn't had a chance to review. I was going to go over them when I got there. Because the 8:10 train gets me there at 8:35. But. We know how that worked out.
It was a series of silly, unimportant things that made me a little late for a class for which I have never been late. I seriously doubt that anyone where I teach looks at me as the girl who is late and unprepared. But.
For a really long time- a REALLY long time- all through high school and college and well into my early career- I was the girl who was always late and unprepared. Smart, if she shows up. Talented, if she's even looked at what she's doing.
This is something I've really worked to improve. It's taken some adjusted life skills- laying out my clothes the night before, for example, and keeping a to do list that actually works for me- as well as years of therapy. Because what I really needed to fix was WHY was I always late and unprepared?
And one morning of rain set me back. I was beating myself up the whole way to class. I should have known somehow. I should have looked at all of this music yesterday. I should always carry an umbrella. I should have paid better attention to the weather report. I should have the babysitter arrive an hour earlier so I can be sure to be there on time, no matter what, even though this would be really expensive.
I was eventually able to talk myself out of all the nonsense- largely because I spent the rest of the day working in a productive fashion. But my goodness. We are hard on ourselves, aren't we?
And then. The train was late. Maybe it was because of the rain. But it was ten minutes late. I arrived in Larchmont at 9:31, and was about an 8 minute walk from class. And I had no umbrella. No umbrella, no coat, and very little sleep. I walked into class fifteen minutes late and stood, soaking wet, behind my keyboard which had been set up for me. Of course, there were a few songs I hadn't had a chance to review. I was going to go over them when I got there. Because the 8:10 train gets me there at 8:35. But. We know how that worked out.
It was a series of silly, unimportant things that made me a little late for a class for which I have never been late. I seriously doubt that anyone where I teach looks at me as the girl who is late and unprepared. But.
For a really long time- a REALLY long time- all through high school and college and well into my early career- I was the girl who was always late and unprepared. Smart, if she shows up. Talented, if she's even looked at what she's doing.
This is something I've really worked to improve. It's taken some adjusted life skills- laying out my clothes the night before, for example, and keeping a to do list that actually works for me- as well as years of therapy. Because what I really needed to fix was WHY was I always late and unprepared?
And one morning of rain set me back. I was beating myself up the whole way to class. I should have known somehow. I should have looked at all of this music yesterday. I should always carry an umbrella. I should have paid better attention to the weather report. I should have the babysitter arrive an hour earlier so I can be sure to be there on time, no matter what, even though this would be really expensive.
I was eventually able to talk myself out of all the nonsense- largely because I spent the rest of the day working in a productive fashion. But my goodness. We are hard on ourselves, aren't we?
Sunday, September 19, 2010
What Color is my Effing Parachute?
Last week I was talking to a friend of mine about her boyfriend, who was in a bit of a career crisis. He had decided to turn down a job opportunity that wasn't shaping up as promised, and he was deciding what he wanted to be when he grew up. As we talked about it, I realized out-loud that I had never really been through that. I decided at 16 years old that I wanted to be a music teacher. Since then, I have earned a bachelors degree and two masters degrees in vocal music education. I have taught in public schools, private schools, colleges, theatre companies, preschool programs, youth choirs... I have taught music and theatre in nearly every capacity possible. I planned, as we talked, to blog about my career choice. About how it is one element of my life that seems constant and secure. Not the specific jobs- I can go months without knowing where I'll teach next. But the field. Performing arts education. That has always seemed to be the right choice for me.
And then. The very next day.
It was just one of those rough days. A series of unrelated events left me feeling unappreciated, and misunderstood, and very alone. And I was reminded how thankless it can be to work in the arts. Thankless, and not very lucrative. When I'm paid at all. And I started to wonder why I did what I did. And I cried. Because that's what I do.
Then I reached out to a couple friends, who talked me through it a little, and made me feel better. A little. Then, I actually taught a couple classes. And suddenly, I remembered. I am really really good at my job.
This week alone, I taught someone what a repeat sign means so she could better follow her church choir music. I played the keyboard at a one-year-old's birthday party. I accompanied six classes for babies and toddlers. I gave a young adult her very first piano lesson. I led a meeting which determined fundraising plans for a theatre group that means a whole lot to a whole lot of people, and I wrote a residency proposal for that group. I led a music class for six moms with babies who are less than a year old. I started a glee club for elementary school girls, and in one hour I had those nine little girls improvising a scene from the Sound of Music and performing "Do, Re, Mi" with Kodaly hand signals. And in the past three days, I have taught 26 voice lessons to women really passionate about singing barbershop.
It might not be a typical week, (OK, I don't think I have ever had a week like this before...) but it does make me realize. My job is pretty cool. And, now that I think about it, it's probably important.
This feels like one of the most egocentric posts I have ever written. "Look at me and all the cool stuff I do!" But quite frankly, I needed to see it all spelled out in front of me. Because it can be really, really hard. I was gently reminded the other day by a friend that most things worth doing are hard.
So. What are you doing with your life that's hard? It's probably really important to someone.
And then. The very next day.
It was just one of those rough days. A series of unrelated events left me feeling unappreciated, and misunderstood, and very alone. And I was reminded how thankless it can be to work in the arts. Thankless, and not very lucrative. When I'm paid at all. And I started to wonder why I did what I did. And I cried. Because that's what I do.
Then I reached out to a couple friends, who talked me through it a little, and made me feel better. A little. Then, I actually taught a couple classes. And suddenly, I remembered. I am really really good at my job.
This week alone, I taught someone what a repeat sign means so she could better follow her church choir music. I played the keyboard at a one-year-old's birthday party. I accompanied six classes for babies and toddlers. I gave a young adult her very first piano lesson. I led a meeting which determined fundraising plans for a theatre group that means a whole lot to a whole lot of people, and I wrote a residency proposal for that group. I led a music class for six moms with babies who are less than a year old. I started a glee club for elementary school girls, and in one hour I had those nine little girls improvising a scene from the Sound of Music and performing "Do, Re, Mi" with Kodaly hand signals. And in the past three days, I have taught 26 voice lessons to women really passionate about singing barbershop.
It might not be a typical week, (OK, I don't think I have ever had a week like this before...) but it does make me realize. My job is pretty cool. And, now that I think about it, it's probably important.
This feels like one of the most egocentric posts I have ever written. "Look at me and all the cool stuff I do!" But quite frankly, I needed to see it all spelled out in front of me. Because it can be really, really hard. I was gently reminded the other day by a friend that most things worth doing are hard.
So. What are you doing with your life that's hard? It's probably really important to someone.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Why We're Moving to Connecticut (and what it means for you)
Another long one, but hey, it's a lot of info, and people have been asking.
Ryan just signed a lease for a two-bedroom apartment. It's huge. And it has a dining room, central air, a dishwasher, a balcony off of the master bedroom, laundry in the building, and a heated garage in which we are entitled one assigned spot. (there's a visitor lot, too) It's close to the train, an amazing shopping/restaurant district, and the beach. The rent is a little less than what we pay here.
And. It is in Connecticut.
Greenwich, Connecticut, to be exact.
Now, why in the world would a couple of artsy Mets fans who have been struggling to make it in the Big Bad Apple for seven years suddenly pull up roots and relocate to Connecticut? Let's start at the very beginning.
About a year ago, Ryan's job started to get shakey. The economy was seriously effecting wealthy people's desire to redo their homes, and Ryan's boss sadly had to cut Ryan's hours to part time. (This was around the time, by the way, that a little new person came into our lives.) We struggled to make ends meet, and I eventually got a job teaching music for a certain baby education company. (It was Gymboree) That helped, for a while. My hours at Gymboree were enough to make up the difference in hours Ryan lost. Then while leading a meeting one night, (I was the manager) I mentioned to the employees that I intended to do something about our inconsistent pay. A few days later, a certain owner (her name is Mary Ann O'Neil. Fear of the name is fear of the thing itself) called me to tell me I was "not a good match for the company." Since this certain owner (Mary Ann O'Neil) had not submitted any of my paperwork, there was no record of my having worked there, and I was not entitled to unemployment. A few weeks after that, Ryan's boss told him he wasn't going to be able to keep him much longer.
Panicked (quite understandably) by the idea that we were about to have a five-month-old and no source of income, Ryan began his job search. Before long, he was offered a part-time position as a design assistant. Two days a week. In Old Greenwich, CT. But it was something. So he took it.
I will not drag you through the financial details of the last eight months. But it's been rough. Financially, physically, emotionally. The good news is that Ryan's job was very quickly increased to five days a week. The pay still isn't what it was at his old full-time job, but it's better. And, he has an artistic outlet now. This new designer respects him, has made him lead designer on a project, and has been supportive of the fact that he now has a few of his own freelance clients in the area. (a very big deal for an up-and-coming designer)
But it's still. Not. Quite. Enough,
So, why didn't I just get a job?
On March 10 I wrote an entry titled "Get a Job (Sha-Na-Na-Na) about why this was so very difficult. It outlined my job requirements which were, in a nutshell: 1. It had to be in music education 2. It had to give me autonomy 3. It had to pay at least $30 an hour 4. It had to leave time for my involvement with Momentum Rep and my church.
You prayed, God listened. I was hired about two months ago to teach Music for Aardvarks and to form a new group called Groove Glee- a glee club for second-through-fifh graders. This job meets my pay requirements, is most certainly within my field, gives me room to teach the way I know how to teach, and only involves mornings and afternoons. It begins next week.
And. It is in Larchmont, NY. Located about fifteen minutes from Old Greenwich.
So. We should definitely move there, right? I mean, Ryan has been commuting three hours round-trip EVERY DAY, (no, seriously) and pays about $23 in tolls and gas EVERY DAY (no, seriously) so obviously we should just move there.
Except. The adoption was not final yet. (more on that soon. Maybe tomorrow) We were not allowed to move. Not. Allowed. This was one of the most frustrating times in our life. We were literally trapped.
And then, last Friday, the Smith's went to court, and Miss Lily became ours forever. We are free to roam about the country. We started looking for apartments on Monday, and Ryan signed a lease today at noon. We move at the end of the month.
You prayed, God listened. This apartment is so far below market value, so perfect, we're still waiting for someone to tap us on the shoulder and tell us the whole thing has been a mistake. But we've signed a lease. It's ours.
So. What does this mean for you?
If you are a Momentum Rep or Glad Tidings friend:
Absolutely nothing :) My commute into the city will be faster. 51 minutes on the Metro North. True, it's more expensive than the subway, but it runs on a schedule and is still less than what Ryan was paying to commute every single day. And it will be a little more expensive for you to come and visit us but 1- Greenwich is way cooler than Forest Hills. I mean, there's a beach and awesome shops, and 2- come on. How often did you visit us anyway?
If you are my Dad:
Congratulations. We now live way closer to you. An hour and 52 minutes on I-95, no city traffic or tolls.
If you are a voice student:
No worries, I'll come into the city and rent studio space once a week or so.
If you are an outer-burrough or Long Island friend:
OK. That's far. Meet you in the city? Or you could still take Metro North... Did I mention how cool Greenwich is? And that there's a beach?
And that's our story. I better get packing.
Ryan just signed a lease for a two-bedroom apartment. It's huge. And it has a dining room, central air, a dishwasher, a balcony off of the master bedroom, laundry in the building, and a heated garage in which we are entitled one assigned spot. (there's a visitor lot, too) It's close to the train, an amazing shopping/restaurant district, and the beach. The rent is a little less than what we pay here.
And. It is in Connecticut.
Greenwich, Connecticut, to be exact.
Now, why in the world would a couple of artsy Mets fans who have been struggling to make it in the Big Bad Apple for seven years suddenly pull up roots and relocate to Connecticut? Let's start at the very beginning.
About a year ago, Ryan's job started to get shakey. The economy was seriously effecting wealthy people's desire to redo their homes, and Ryan's boss sadly had to cut Ryan's hours to part time. (This was around the time, by the way, that a little new person came into our lives.) We struggled to make ends meet, and I eventually got a job teaching music for a certain baby education company. (It was Gymboree) That helped, for a while. My hours at Gymboree were enough to make up the difference in hours Ryan lost. Then while leading a meeting one night, (I was the manager) I mentioned to the employees that I intended to do something about our inconsistent pay. A few days later, a certain owner (her name is Mary Ann O'Neil. Fear of the name is fear of the thing itself) called me to tell me I was "not a good match for the company." Since this certain owner (Mary Ann O'Neil) had not submitted any of my paperwork, there was no record of my having worked there, and I was not entitled to unemployment. A few weeks after that, Ryan's boss told him he wasn't going to be able to keep him much longer.
Panicked (quite understandably) by the idea that we were about to have a five-month-old and no source of income, Ryan began his job search. Before long, he was offered a part-time position as a design assistant. Two days a week. In Old Greenwich, CT. But it was something. So he took it.
I will not drag you through the financial details of the last eight months. But it's been rough. Financially, physically, emotionally. The good news is that Ryan's job was very quickly increased to five days a week. The pay still isn't what it was at his old full-time job, but it's better. And, he has an artistic outlet now. This new designer respects him, has made him lead designer on a project, and has been supportive of the fact that he now has a few of his own freelance clients in the area. (a very big deal for an up-and-coming designer)
But it's still. Not. Quite. Enough,
So, why didn't I just get a job?
On March 10 I wrote an entry titled "Get a Job (Sha-Na-Na-Na) about why this was so very difficult. It outlined my job requirements which were, in a nutshell: 1. It had to be in music education 2. It had to give me autonomy 3. It had to pay at least $30 an hour 4. It had to leave time for my involvement with Momentum Rep and my church.
You prayed, God listened. I was hired about two months ago to teach Music for Aardvarks and to form a new group called Groove Glee- a glee club for second-through-fifh graders. This job meets my pay requirements, is most certainly within my field, gives me room to teach the way I know how to teach, and only involves mornings and afternoons. It begins next week.
And. It is in Larchmont, NY. Located about fifteen minutes from Old Greenwich.
So. We should definitely move there, right? I mean, Ryan has been commuting three hours round-trip EVERY DAY, (no, seriously) and pays about $23 in tolls and gas EVERY DAY (no, seriously) so obviously we should just move there.
Except. The adoption was not final yet. (more on that soon. Maybe tomorrow) We were not allowed to move. Not. Allowed. This was one of the most frustrating times in our life. We were literally trapped.
And then, last Friday, the Smith's went to court, and Miss Lily became ours forever. We are free to roam about the country. We started looking for apartments on Monday, and Ryan signed a lease today at noon. We move at the end of the month.
You prayed, God listened. This apartment is so far below market value, so perfect, we're still waiting for someone to tap us on the shoulder and tell us the whole thing has been a mistake. But we've signed a lease. It's ours.
So. What does this mean for you?
If you are a Momentum Rep or Glad Tidings friend:
Absolutely nothing :) My commute into the city will be faster. 51 minutes on the Metro North. True, it's more expensive than the subway, but it runs on a schedule and is still less than what Ryan was paying to commute every single day. And it will be a little more expensive for you to come and visit us but 1- Greenwich is way cooler than Forest Hills. I mean, there's a beach and awesome shops, and 2- come on. How often did you visit us anyway?
If you are my Dad:
Congratulations. We now live way closer to you. An hour and 52 minutes on I-95, no city traffic or tolls.
If you are a voice student:
No worries, I'll come into the city and rent studio space once a week or so.
If you are an outer-burrough or Long Island friend:
OK. That's far. Meet you in the city? Or you could still take Metro North... Did I mention how cool Greenwich is? And that there's a beach?
And that's our story. I better get packing.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Freelancing and Calendars and To-Do Lists (Oh My!)
Being a freelancer is so weird. I worked all day today. I'm sure of it. But again, I find myself at the end of the day having trouble finding something to point to and say, "I did that. Here's what I accomplished." Furthermore, I never left the house. It's a bizarre feeling. But here's what I *think* went down.
I updated my calendar through June. This took nearly three hours.
I sent about thirty emails to prospective students and producers and writers and actors.
I spoke with my producer/co-founder/best friend on the phone about our next three projects. I also spoke with another actor about an upcoming project.
And now it's 9:30. And there's still more to do. And I feel really unfocused.
So here's what.
If anyone were to take a look at my calendar for the past several years, they would notice that the April's all have something in common. They are, for the most part, blank. April must be a vacation for me then. Not hardly- in fact it's generally one of my busiest months. But every year around this time, for reasons I've already described, my inner brat tells me that I'll just remember. That I can just play it by ear.
But not this year.
This year I will keep my calendar up to date. I will follow my routines. And that's all I have to say about that.
I updated my calendar through June. This took nearly three hours.
I sent about thirty emails to prospective students and producers and writers and actors.
I spoke with my producer/co-founder/best friend on the phone about our next three projects. I also spoke with another actor about an upcoming project.
And now it's 9:30. And there's still more to do. And I feel really unfocused.
So here's what.
If anyone were to take a look at my calendar for the past several years, they would notice that the April's all have something in common. They are, for the most part, blank. April must be a vacation for me then. Not hardly- in fact it's generally one of my busiest months. But every year around this time, for reasons I've already described, my inner brat tells me that I'll just remember. That I can just play it by ear.
But not this year.
This year I will keep my calendar up to date. I will follow my routines. And that's all I have to say about that.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Here's to the Super Heroes
Last night I participated in a focus group. I was paid $150 to sit in a room with other women and have a conversation. The exercises were very similar to so many I've done in education classes, (especially those that focused on educational philosophy) I can talk, I may have an opinion or two, and hey, times are tough. So the experience was overall a pleasant one for me. (Although it turns out the research was for a perfume company, which is fairly hilarious since I lost my sense of smell in a playground accident when I was nine. But that's another story for another day.)
The focus group was made up entirely of women ages 35-50. Since I'm not *quite* 35, I was the youngest woman in the room, but I felt like I belonged and I quickly became a leader/ spokesperson. (gasp. I know.) But there was something one of the women said that I found absolutely heartbreaking, and I'm still thinking about it today. First, a brief overview of the evening's activities.
We started by choosing a picture of a woman. Then we gave her an identity-a name, a career, a background, etc. Our character was gorgeous, at the top of her career game, and about to make a major career change. We then answered questions from her point of view. A fun exercise, challenging at times, and a good way to get to know other New York women.
But the whole time, this one woman in my group looked miserable. She harumphed at every idea, she sat with her arms crossed, and she had an overall air about her that suggested that she thought the rest of us were absolutely ridiculous.
At the end of the evening, we were asked how much we felt like we put ourselves into the characters. Obviously, we put a lot of ourselves in. Wasn't that the idea? The moderator asked if anyone felt like they were entirely, 100% unlike the character. And, up went the hand of Miss Grouchy Face.
When asked to elaborate, Miss GF told us that the character was completely unrealistic. She was gorgeous, confident, successful, fearless, and without flaw. We had created a Super Woman, and she just didn't think there were people like that in this world. Or at any rate, she didn't know any.
I vehemently disagreed. So of course, I sat quietly with my hands folded and vowed to write a blog about it. Oh, wait. No. I raised my hand.
"I think she's completely realistic. I know lots of women who are gorgeous-as gorgeous as the woman in that picture- and intelligent, and successful, and brave. And just because she's successful doesn't mean she's flawless. And of course she has fears. She just succeeds in spite of them."
Most of the women in the room nodded their heads with me, but I still thought about Miss GF all the way home.
My female friends and family are gorgeous. They are as attractive as the woman in that picture. And they are intelligent- they have street smarts and book smarts and Mommy smarts and every kinda smarts. And they are accomplished. I know Broadway stars and TV producers and executives and employees of the month and Mommies who make nutritious meals. And they are not flawless. And they have fears. And they are really amazing people.
I am so sad for that woman today that she doesn't see the women in her life through this lens, and I'm even sadder that she doesn't see herself that way.
So. Hey, Women In My Life. In case you didn't know it, you are Super Heroes. And if anyone tells you any differently send 'em to me. I'll go all focus group on 'em.
The focus group was made up entirely of women ages 35-50. Since I'm not *quite* 35, I was the youngest woman in the room, but I felt like I belonged and I quickly became a leader/ spokesperson. (gasp. I know.) But there was something one of the women said that I found absolutely heartbreaking, and I'm still thinking about it today. First, a brief overview of the evening's activities.
We started by choosing a picture of a woman. Then we gave her an identity-a name, a career, a background, etc. Our character was gorgeous, at the top of her career game, and about to make a major career change. We then answered questions from her point of view. A fun exercise, challenging at times, and a good way to get to know other New York women.
But the whole time, this one woman in my group looked miserable. She harumphed at every idea, she sat with her arms crossed, and she had an overall air about her that suggested that she thought the rest of us were absolutely ridiculous.
At the end of the evening, we were asked how much we felt like we put ourselves into the characters. Obviously, we put a lot of ourselves in. Wasn't that the idea? The moderator asked if anyone felt like they were entirely, 100% unlike the character. And, up went the hand of Miss Grouchy Face.
When asked to elaborate, Miss GF told us that the character was completely unrealistic. She was gorgeous, confident, successful, fearless, and without flaw. We had created a Super Woman, and she just didn't think there were people like that in this world. Or at any rate, she didn't know any.
I vehemently disagreed. So of course, I sat quietly with my hands folded and vowed to write a blog about it. Oh, wait. No. I raised my hand.
"I think she's completely realistic. I know lots of women who are gorgeous-as gorgeous as the woman in that picture- and intelligent, and successful, and brave. And just because she's successful doesn't mean she's flawless. And of course she has fears. She just succeeds in spite of them."
Most of the women in the room nodded their heads with me, but I still thought about Miss GF all the way home.
My female friends and family are gorgeous. They are as attractive as the woman in that picture. And they are intelligent- they have street smarts and book smarts and Mommy smarts and every kinda smarts. And they are accomplished. I know Broadway stars and TV producers and executives and employees of the month and Mommies who make nutritious meals. And they are not flawless. And they have fears. And they are really amazing people.
I am so sad for that woman today that she doesn't see the women in her life through this lens, and I'm even sadder that she doesn't see herself that way.
So. Hey, Women In My Life. In case you didn't know it, you are Super Heroes. And if anyone tells you any differently send 'em to me. I'll go all focus group on 'em.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Get A Job (Sha-na-na-na)
It's 11:15 am, and I'm in my pajamas. I'm sipping my coffee and watching Martha Stewart. She packs each individual article of clothing in a zip-loc bag with a piece of tissue. Really, Martha? My daughter is napping- sort of- and I'm trying to decide what I'll do today, other than play knock-down-the stack-of-blocks and what's-in-the-purse.
Like many of you, I am thrilled with this life. I feel blessed to be a stay at home parent, (yes, parent- not just Mom. S'up, Tom?) and I'm able to laugh at how much my life has changed. The problem- like for many of you- is that we do not have enough money.
I repeat.
We. Do. Not. Have. Enough. Money.
When we decided to start the adoption process in May of 2008, we were doing pretty well. My husband had a stable well-paying job, and I was teaching at a local college. We were doing well enough, in fact, that when we got approved for adoption and were officially "waiting," we decided I would stay home. Our wait wasn't long- a few months later the gorgeous, outgoing, 12-day-old Lily came into our lives.
Then the bottom dropped out of the economy my husband lost his job I got a part time job then I lost that part time job then he got a new job and he takes on freelance clients but in 2009 we made fifty-eight thousand dollars less that's right fifty-eight thousand dollars less than we made in 2008 and it's just not enough.
So.
I know what you're thinking.
Get a job.
That's a great idea. I'll get a job.
I started with that local college. The one where I used to work. Their enrollment is down, so even though I was only taking a maternity leave I was back to low woman on the totem pole, so there was no room for me.
Great. So I'll find a new job. Are you hiring? Here are my requirements:
1. I need to make at least $30 an hour. Sounds high, right? OK let's do the math. The other day someone offered me a job for $20 an hour. A generous offer, for sure. Babysitting is $10 an hour, and I have to pay the babysitter at least two hours longer than I actually work. (travel) It costs $4.50 round-trip on the subway, and my net is $15.50 for the day. To be away from my baby girl for six hours. So, my $30 an hour pay requirement stays.
2. I have been teaching music for ten years, I have two masters degrees, and I founded and now operate- with my best friend- an Off-off-Broadway theatre company that has skyrocketed to success in just eighteen months. It hurts my soul to be quiet when I think I have a good idea. If I think there's room for improvement, I will tell you.
3. I have been so fully involved in teaching music theatre for ten years that I have no experience in any other field. At all.
4. Because of my theatre company, my church, and my love for my family and friends, I'll have a lot of schedule conflicts.
Am I hired?
OK, you've stayed with me for this long, and I can only imagine it's to see if I have a point. Unless you just genuinely enjoy self-indulgent whining. So here's my point.
I am one highly-educated stay at home parent among millions. We're doing the best we can with what we have. We can't just get a job, and furthermore, we don't really want to. We have long-term plans that involve continuing our careers (yes, Dad, I have a plan.) But for now, this is what we're doing. Be patient with us?
Now if you'll excuse me, Dragon Tales is on.
Like many of you, I am thrilled with this life. I feel blessed to be a stay at home parent, (yes, parent- not just Mom. S'up, Tom?) and I'm able to laugh at how much my life has changed. The problem- like for many of you- is that we do not have enough money.
I repeat.
We. Do. Not. Have. Enough. Money.
When we decided to start the adoption process in May of 2008, we were doing pretty well. My husband had a stable well-paying job, and I was teaching at a local college. We were doing well enough, in fact, that when we got approved for adoption and were officially "waiting," we decided I would stay home. Our wait wasn't long- a few months later the gorgeous, outgoing, 12-day-old Lily came into our lives.
Then the bottom dropped out of the economy my husband lost his job I got a part time job then I lost that part time job then he got a new job and he takes on freelance clients but in 2009 we made fifty-eight thousand dollars less that's right fifty-eight thousand dollars less than we made in 2008 and it's just not enough.
So.
I know what you're thinking.
Get a job.
That's a great idea. I'll get a job.
I started with that local college. The one where I used to work. Their enrollment is down, so even though I was only taking a maternity leave I was back to low woman on the totem pole, so there was no room for me.
Great. So I'll find a new job. Are you hiring? Here are my requirements:
1. I need to make at least $30 an hour. Sounds high, right? OK let's do the math. The other day someone offered me a job for $20 an hour. A generous offer, for sure. Babysitting is $10 an hour, and I have to pay the babysitter at least two hours longer than I actually work. (travel) It costs $4.50 round-trip on the subway, and my net is $15.50 for the day. To be away from my baby girl for six hours. So, my $30 an hour pay requirement stays.
2. I have been teaching music for ten years, I have two masters degrees, and I founded and now operate- with my best friend- an Off-off-Broadway theatre company that has skyrocketed to success in just eighteen months. It hurts my soul to be quiet when I think I have a good idea. If I think there's room for improvement, I will tell you.
3. I have been so fully involved in teaching music theatre for ten years that I have no experience in any other field. At all.
4. Because of my theatre company, my church, and my love for my family and friends, I'll have a lot of schedule conflicts.
Am I hired?
OK, you've stayed with me for this long, and I can only imagine it's to see if I have a point. Unless you just genuinely enjoy self-indulgent whining. So here's my point.
I am one highly-educated stay at home parent among millions. We're doing the best we can with what we have. We can't just get a job, and furthermore, we don't really want to. We have long-term plans that involve continuing our careers (yes, Dad, I have a plan.) But for now, this is what we're doing. Be patient with us?
Now if you'll excuse me, Dragon Tales is on.
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