There are times when I get very down because plans that I think are solid turn out to be less ironclad than I had hoped.
When I decided to get married I needed something to be reliable, to have an honest connection with another person. To a large extent I have that. However, when my husband is feeling depressed, although I have known that he got depressed from the very start, his sadness sets me off, and I begin to have trouble coping with even my minimal lot of responsibilities.
Today's trigger is that someone stole one of my husband's personalized license plates which is a very expensive problem in the state where we live. First, you have to get the plates. Then, if one or both are stolen you have to turn in the remaining plate, and register the car again. Whether or not you want another personalized plate, you have to pay about $50.00; there is an additional fee to keep the old license plate number.
I don't think that it's fair; it's not like he begged someone to steal his plate. He's the victim, and has to pay and pay and pay. Most likely it was stolen off of his car at work. As a result of the intricate web of fees, he is unable to have his previous license plate number. He is not even allowed to keep his remaining plate (a word of great personal significance to him) as a souvenir. Last- he had to take off time from work to take care of this. It's just a last little kick in the ass.
Dealing with all of this for a well person, with a well wife would be difficult. My husband, however, is now upstairs in bed, for lack of a better word napping. We don't have the money to register the car. He wants to take Obama's buyout plan because his car is ten years old. I don't think that it is a good plan because in taking the deal, the old cars are wrecked- perfectly good cars are destroyed. It never occurred to me that this would be the outcome of the buyout plan. I figured that many of the cars wouldn't run, or that they might be sold for their parts enabling more buyouts. So- I said I wouldn't get involved in such a wasteful endeavor.
Note: since I wrote this last part, I have discovered that the reason for destroying the engines is to prevent unscrupulous car dealers from reselling the cars. First of all, the cars wouldn't actually be off of the road and would still be guzzling gas. Second, by taking the $4500, dealers agreed to sell the clunkers for scrap and salvage. It has come to light that some of the dealers are actually reselling the cars as vehicles anyway. Sigh. I hate being right but for the wrong reason. It makes me sound both ignorant and cynical. Bring it on.
Anyway- so my husband and I disagree about this and about many other financial matters. These are large issues, not small ones, and they don't go away. He keeps his job because it pays for our benefits although they pay him a quarter of what an employer in San Francisco, New York or Boston would pay him. So, he can't afford a new registration, let alone a new car. He's angry, and I am upset. And so the fight is ongoing. I am so sick of fighting.
I married him because there was something so lovable and comfortable, so familiar about him. Neither of us likes fighting, neither of us likes being poor- but we are both too sick to do anything about it. We are trapped in a weave of each others' depression and bad habits.
Thus, the downward spiral to deep, dark, doomed, damned if we do, damned if we don't depression. I don't know how other people deal with this type of thing. Perhaps it just doesn't happen to them. Some people are just able to get paid what they are worth and like dealing with this sort of thing. I hate money- it causes nothing but trouble.
Whatever.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
How We Think About Language
One of my greatest joys is when I have been trying to explain something to a student and all of a sudden, the student understands. Right now I have two students who just don't understand a word that comes out of my mouth. I have been reprimanded by both of their guardians due to the lack of progress that their charges are making. These two cases are very different from one another, but they are equally as frustrating to me, and perhaps to my students as well.
In the first case, I think that there is something wrong in this family. There is a child who is a very dreamy kind of child. The mother yells at him to get his attention because the attention wanders so readily. I find him infuriating to work with because I'll be in the middle of trying to get his attention- and he'll be gone again. I am so angry at him. I told him, using gestures, where he needs to be looking in order to undestand me. He looks, but it's as if he looks but he doesn't see. I don't know what to do for him. I am not going to yell at him. To me, yelling is for emergencies, for example "Oh my God, your pants are on fire!" Also- yelling has progressively less power the more that you do it, and then when there is a real emergency, there is nothing to resort to doing. Plus- I just hate yelling. Further, this child retains nothing that I say- and proceeds to correct me. This has largely stopped, and has been replaced with the above mentioned complete lack of attention. This was after I told him that I am a native English speaker, and through no fault of his- I know more than he does about English. He has been very impatient with me when he is paying attention, using phrases like, "Okay- okay go on". I think that he is very rude, and that he has learned this from his parents.
The other case is totally different. In this case I might be at fault. There is a child that is in the U.S. for six weeks. Normally in these cases I come up with a plan ahead of time. In this case, I employed two workbooks. My hope was to get half way though the two of them. We are four weeks through his stay in the U.S. and his mother (through his aunt) has told me that my tactics are in appropriate. She didn't want him to be learning grammar. The aunt told me that kids his age aren't supposed to be learning grammar. I said that in the U.S. kids are required to start learning grammar at his age. It occured to me that he will not actually be going to school in the U.S. Maybe what I was teaching his was a) unnecessary, and b) frustrating to him (and to me). He's the nicest kid that I have worked with in a long time. I don't want to make his life harder, yet, I have no idea what to do for him. He didn't know when to capitalize, basic punctuation or basic sentence structure when we started. He knows those things now. These things were learned through learning grammar.
If I had to tie these two situations together, they would have two main similarities. One is that they are both frustrating, but the guardians are unwilling to allow their charges to deal with their frustration. I think that this is a mistake because feeling frustration helps kids to be motivated to learn. Second, both guardians have dictated what the curriculum will be, and have micromanaged me to the point where I have no disgression about how to teach the kids at all. The only disgression that I have had is which workbooks to use. I couldn't find the ones I wanted, so I had to make due with the ones that I could find. The parents own meddling has cost us time, money, and added to our frustration.
I can't escape the fact that it is too late for one kid. I will continue to try my best, but it may have been too late from the start. I have to fight the tides of my own depression in the other situation, if I have any hope of helping him. I can't allow myself to slip under the surface because then he will be left to his own self-defeating devices.
In the first case, I think that there is something wrong in this family. There is a child who is a very dreamy kind of child. The mother yells at him to get his attention because the attention wanders so readily. I find him infuriating to work with because I'll be in the middle of trying to get his attention- and he'll be gone again. I am so angry at him. I told him, using gestures, where he needs to be looking in order to undestand me. He looks, but it's as if he looks but he doesn't see. I don't know what to do for him. I am not going to yell at him. To me, yelling is for emergencies, for example "Oh my God, your pants are on fire!" Also- yelling has progressively less power the more that you do it, and then when there is a real emergency, there is nothing to resort to doing. Plus- I just hate yelling. Further, this child retains nothing that I say- and proceeds to correct me. This has largely stopped, and has been replaced with the above mentioned complete lack of attention. This was after I told him that I am a native English speaker, and through no fault of his- I know more than he does about English. He has been very impatient with me when he is paying attention, using phrases like, "Okay- okay go on". I think that he is very rude, and that he has learned this from his parents.
The other case is totally different. In this case I might be at fault. There is a child that is in the U.S. for six weeks. Normally in these cases I come up with a plan ahead of time. In this case, I employed two workbooks. My hope was to get half way though the two of them. We are four weeks through his stay in the U.S. and his mother (through his aunt) has told me that my tactics are in appropriate. She didn't want him to be learning grammar. The aunt told me that kids his age aren't supposed to be learning grammar. I said that in the U.S. kids are required to start learning grammar at his age. It occured to me that he will not actually be going to school in the U.S. Maybe what I was teaching his was a) unnecessary, and b) frustrating to him (and to me). He's the nicest kid that I have worked with in a long time. I don't want to make his life harder, yet, I have no idea what to do for him. He didn't know when to capitalize, basic punctuation or basic sentence structure when we started. He knows those things now. These things were learned through learning grammar.
If I had to tie these two situations together, they would have two main similarities. One is that they are both frustrating, but the guardians are unwilling to allow their charges to deal with their frustration. I think that this is a mistake because feeling frustration helps kids to be motivated to learn. Second, both guardians have dictated what the curriculum will be, and have micromanaged me to the point where I have no disgression about how to teach the kids at all. The only disgression that I have had is which workbooks to use. I couldn't find the ones I wanted, so I had to make due with the ones that I could find. The parents own meddling has cost us time, money, and added to our frustration.
I can't escape the fact that it is too late for one kid. I will continue to try my best, but it may have been too late from the start. I have to fight the tides of my own depression in the other situation, if I have any hope of helping him. I can't allow myself to slip under the surface because then he will be left to his own self-defeating devices.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Theory Vs. Practice
Dear All,
Well- it's been a while. I haven't had anything to say for a while.
My friend had her baby. She did pretty well for a prima gravisa, a first-time mom. She was in serious labor for about ten hours. I sat with her for a while my husband took her husband out for some dinner. She wasn't allowed to eat, so none of us wanted to do it in front of her.
I don't think that I have ever seen anyone other than my husband or me in that much pain. It was a very jarring experience. I wasn't their when her son was born, but I suspect she was in far more pain during delivery.
She also said everyone was yelling directions to her. I can't imagine that that was much help. Also- apparently, she wouldn't take the advice of the doctors and nurses about how to make the birth go faster and be less painful. Normally, she is a measured, cautious person, and follows the advice other people give her when they are in a possition to know what they are talking about. For some reason, however, she seemed oddly unprepaired for the whole experience. She went to classes, and read books about birthing. I think that pain can make people crazy and do self-defeating things.
I was aware of being in the way. I tried to stay out of the way, and only transmit necessary messages to the doctors and nurses, but there were quite a few. The only one that I can remember getting immediate attention was when I said she had to use the toilet, and the door was locked. I felt a little bit useless, but I knew that it would be bad for her to be alone, and so I did what I could to sooth her when the pain was at its height. We have never been touchy feely friends, so this was pretty much limited to talking in a low soothing voice. I am not absolutely sure that she could hear the words, but it seemed to be something steady on which she could concentrate other than the pain, which by that time was nearly non-stop.
I timed her contractions as best as I could without pencil and paper, and told her how close they were. When the fetal heartbeat monitor slipped down her belly so we couldn't hear the heartbeat or see the number of beats per minute on the little screen, I told the nurse who basically ignored it. About forty-five minutes later someone came in to adjust it. I have never felt so useless, so in the way, in my whole life. But I stayed because I knew that I was not useless, that just my presence gave her comfort, support and strength.
She was mad that the husbands had been out for so long and he choice words for men. She told me that I didn't want to have kids because I didn't want to go through what she was going through. Then she cried a little. I talked to her in a quiet, low voice. She became a bit calmer, even laughing a little bit at how silly she must look. Honestly, I though she was beautiful, rosy, glowing. I didn't advance this opinion because I knew that the rosy glow was the direct result of pain. The pain didn't scare me in the least. I had dealt with serious pain before.
About two hours after we had gotten there, my husband came back with my friend's husband, only they wouldn't let my husband up because he wasn't family. So, I left my friend, reluctantly. She had been walking around, and was having a contraction, and which point she sagged against her husband who caught her a patted her back as she started to cry. At this point I left. Clearly, I was no longer needed, and I felt as though I was intruding. Plus, my husband was waiting downstairs, banished to the waiting room.
While I was glad to be there for her, I left ASAP. I was very surprised by my reaction when I held their son the next day. The head was soft. I realized that I had made the right decision by not having kids of my own. It terrified me to be holding this terribly fragile creature. It wasn't the pain that terrified me, it was the ongoing need, and the senstivity of the individual in need. I was very relieved to hand him back to his mom, my friend, who looked as happy as a brand new day.
Well- it's been a while. I haven't had anything to say for a while.
My friend had her baby. She did pretty well for a prima gravisa, a first-time mom. She was in serious labor for about ten hours. I sat with her for a while my husband took her husband out for some dinner. She wasn't allowed to eat, so none of us wanted to do it in front of her.
I don't think that I have ever seen anyone other than my husband or me in that much pain. It was a very jarring experience. I wasn't their when her son was born, but I suspect she was in far more pain during delivery.
She also said everyone was yelling directions to her. I can't imagine that that was much help. Also- apparently, she wouldn't take the advice of the doctors and nurses about how to make the birth go faster and be less painful. Normally, she is a measured, cautious person, and follows the advice other people give her when they are in a possition to know what they are talking about. For some reason, however, she seemed oddly unprepaired for the whole experience. She went to classes, and read books about birthing. I think that pain can make people crazy and do self-defeating things.
I was aware of being in the way. I tried to stay out of the way, and only transmit necessary messages to the doctors and nurses, but there were quite a few. The only one that I can remember getting immediate attention was when I said she had to use the toilet, and the door was locked. I felt a little bit useless, but I knew that it would be bad for her to be alone, and so I did what I could to sooth her when the pain was at its height. We have never been touchy feely friends, so this was pretty much limited to talking in a low soothing voice. I am not absolutely sure that she could hear the words, but it seemed to be something steady on which she could concentrate other than the pain, which by that time was nearly non-stop.
I timed her contractions as best as I could without pencil and paper, and told her how close they were. When the fetal heartbeat monitor slipped down her belly so we couldn't hear the heartbeat or see the number of beats per minute on the little screen, I told the nurse who basically ignored it. About forty-five minutes later someone came in to adjust it. I have never felt so useless, so in the way, in my whole life. But I stayed because I knew that I was not useless, that just my presence gave her comfort, support and strength.
She was mad that the husbands had been out for so long and he choice words for men. She told me that I didn't want to have kids because I didn't want to go through what she was going through. Then she cried a little. I talked to her in a quiet, low voice. She became a bit calmer, even laughing a little bit at how silly she must look. Honestly, I though she was beautiful, rosy, glowing. I didn't advance this opinion because I knew that the rosy glow was the direct result of pain. The pain didn't scare me in the least. I had dealt with serious pain before.
About two hours after we had gotten there, my husband came back with my friend's husband, only they wouldn't let my husband up because he wasn't family. So, I left my friend, reluctantly. She had been walking around, and was having a contraction, and which point she sagged against her husband who caught her a patted her back as she started to cry. At this point I left. Clearly, I was no longer needed, and I felt as though I was intruding. Plus, my husband was waiting downstairs, banished to the waiting room.
While I was glad to be there for her, I left ASAP. I was very surprised by my reaction when I held their son the next day. The head was soft. I realized that I had made the right decision by not having kids of my own. It terrified me to be holding this terribly fragile creature. It wasn't the pain that terrified me, it was the ongoing need, and the senstivity of the individual in need. I was very relieved to hand him back to his mom, my friend, who looked as happy as a brand new day.
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