Integrity

The new academic quarter began last week, and I once again delighted the students with my Academic Honesty speech. I've written before about my problem with various cheater-pants. I have a list of favorites: the girl who blamed her cheating on an infection she got from her Brazilian wax; the girl who said that her ovaries made her do it; and, of course, there's the student who said that she had no idea that her essay came from the internet, because she had her DAD WRITE IT FOR HER.

In response, I have developed an Academy Award-worthy performance that starts with me moving in close and lowering my voice. The various Ashleys and Brianas lean forward in anticipation. I blink rapidly as if the topic fills me with emotion. I swallow loudly. And I tell the story of a student who had BIG DREAMS to MAKE A DIFFERENCE. She WORKED SO HARD, but then one quarter she got DESPERATE. She couldn't make it all work. She was overwhelmed. She made a bad decision. She copied her paper from the internet, and she GOT CAUGHT. And it was so sad -- all her dreams were dashed, and now she's a clerk in a widget factory, earning minimum wage.

OK, I confess that this story is not really true. There are no lost dreams. No widget factory. The girl with the wax issues and the other with the ovary problems probably have more exciting and lucrative careers than I do. So, essentially, I am lying in order to describe the evils of cheating, which is problematic in so many ways.

But, whatever. Ethics are overrated.

(Note to college students out there: Read this blog entry. If you're going to cheat, you should definitely improve your skills.)

After I gave my cheating speech, I had to come home and help my third graders with their homework. No longer does homework involve sorting leaves or estimating how long it takes for an ice-cube to melt. It increasingly requires me to be a calm and persistent nag. Our afternoons go like this:

Me (with fake enthusiasm): Time for story problems! Yay!

Kid (looking briefly at worksheets): I don't get it.

Me (irritated): You haven't even tried.

Kid: But I already know I don't get it.

Me (after reading the first problem): I don't either.

Here is a version of our daily struggles:

Priscilla, Keisha, and Juan are riding on a train going south at 75 miles an hour. Priscilla is wearing a yellow sweater. Keisha is wearing a blue sweater. If the train breaks down, and everyone has to get on a Greyhound bus going north at 35 miles an hour, what color sweater will Juan be wearing when they reach their destination?

If only it were warm enough that Juan didn't need a sweater. Damn it!

But let me tell you, the math was the least of my homework issues last week. Over the past few months, Blue has been preparing a report called, "The Book of Knowledge." Sounds impressive, doesn't it? In reality, not so much. Apparently, the students had to pick a country and write 10 paragraphs about its many fine qualities. Blue chose Austria, mostly because he already did a project on Austria this year and didn't want to do any extra learning.

Just before winter break, Blue brought home his "rough draft," claiming that he was done with the paper and just needed to type it up. I gave him a congratulatory smack on the back and stopped thinking about it.

The project was due last Friday. On Wednesday, I said, "Blue, isn't it time for you to finish up that report?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get it done," he said.

I rustled up his papers and took a look. One paragraph began like this: "Austria lies at the nexus of modernity and history."

Wait.

What?

I read the paragraph again. And again. And I thought about my kid's eight year old vocabulary. It slowly dawned on me -- Blue copied this report from a book. Word for word. He PLAGIARIZED it.

Fantastic.

And now I had to give my Academic Honesty speech to my child. "Blue," I said, "Do you want to have all your dreams dashed? Do you want to work in a widget factory, earning minimum wage?" He gave me a blank look, which is essentially the same look I get from his 20-year-old cheating counterparts.

The pisser was that Blue had to re-write the whole report. Plus, he kinda forgot to mention that he needed to illustrate each fabulous page. In one day. The whole thing reminded me of that time in college where I neglected to read Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov as assigned, but then tried to consume it all in one evening in preparation for the test (Additional note to college students: That particular strategy, it turns out, is not the best way to appreciate Russian literature).

So on Thursday morning, I sent Blue off to school and started obsessing about how we were going to accomplish this task. First, I re-read this article in the New York Times and mentally prepared a letter to the district about the evils of homework for children. Then I began to bite my nails. If I got Blue to sit down and start working at 4 pm, could he get through it? Was it too early to introduce him to the concept of an all-nighter? Would that be teaching him good study skills, or would it be child abuse?

Then it occurred to me -- I had the whole day free. I could quickly rewrite Blue's Austria report in his own words...er, my own words. I could turn "majestic" into "pretty." I could turn "goods and services" into "stuff." And who would know the difference?

ACK! What was happening to me? I stopped for a moment to contemplate this story problem:

If Blue copied his paper word-for-word from a book while riding on a train going south at 75 miles an hour, and then his mother re-wrote his paper to make it seem like his, would the paper be more original or even less original by the time Blue reached his destination?

In the end, I stepped away from the abyss. I handed Blue's report, and his integrity, over to him. He worked for 5 hours. He did the illustrations, designed a cover, and signed his name by 9 p.m. His brow was sweaty, and his fingers were cramped. He said, "I think I'm ready for college."

Actually, I believe he's right.

Miss Me?

I know.

I KNOW.

I've neglected you, dear bloggers, and I am sorry. It's been kind of a rough fall for me. I decided to teach a full load this quarter, which proved to be a little too full. It was especially problematic, because one of the classes I was teaching was unfamiliar to me (read: I did not know the subject). So every weekend, like my students, I was reading the core literature in the field. And I was writing a lecture and coming up with fun activities and practicing looking authoritative. It turns out that the acting class I took during my freshman year in high school came in handy (And today the part of the Competent Professor is being played by....).

Then it came to my attention that several of my students were big, fat cheaters. Yeah, you read that correctly: SEVERAL. So here's the thing: If you ever become my student, you might find that I don't always know what I'm talking about. But I usually know if you've copied your paper right from the internet (or from the textbook), especially if you are normally a crappy writer or don't speak English as your native language.

Here's my favorite cheater moment from this quarter. I brought the offending student into my office to "talk about his sources." He sat across from me, looking slightly concerned that my normal "nice professor" face had changed into the face I put on when I yell at my kids. As I showed him what happened when I plugged his sentences into Google, he looked shocked. Then he said, "I had no idea that this paper came from the internet. I had my dad write it for me!"

So I've been a little busy being an academic honesty cop. But, OK, here's my confession. I also started a little relationship with Facebook this fall. I find that it's just as fun as this blog, but I don't have to write essays! The first week I joined, I went crazy (they don't call it Crackbook for nothin'). And I have reconnected in a chit-chatty sort of way with a few people I haven't talked to since, oh, 1981. But slowly the buzz is starting to wear off. I imagine it's kind of like going to a high school reunion. At first, it's so much fun to see how everyone has changed. Then you start to realize that the reason that you didn't keep in touch with all these folks is that you never really did have anything in common. The conversations usually go like this: "How have you been? You have 2.5 kids, a great job at a bank, and a white, picket fence? Terrific!" And then you're done.

Coincidentally, I received my college's alumni magazine yesterday. You know these things -- people send in blurbs about how fabulous they have become (kind of like the Facebook updates, but with more glory: "I have 2.5 BRILLIANT kids, am CEO of a bank that did not require a bailout, and my white, picket fence is eco-friendly"). But, anyway, there was one update that stood out to me. It went something like this: "I wrote (Successful Novel), published by (Fancy Publishing Company) in 2008. I wrote the book while in (Exotic Country), where I played (Professional Sport) for a year. After I finished it, I traveled to (Warm Beachy Island) for a vacation, and I decided to stay!"

I've decided that next time I have the "What have you been doing with your life?" conversation on Facebook, I'm going to use this woman's story instead of my own. But, wait, that would be kind of like stealing a paper from the internet, wouldn't it?

Thank you all for being patient. There will be many new updates soon.

Spring Fever.

I've been rather overwhelmed this week. Somehow, everything is happening all at once, and I'm not dealing with it very well. First, there was Michael's birthday. I barely remember what we did -- except that it involved me getting the boys OUT OF THE HOUSE so that Michael could lie around on the couch in peace. I've noticed that our respective birthday aspirations have grown much less ambitious over the years. It used to be that we would plan ADVENTURES and PARTIES and give BIG GIFTS. Now we say, "Honey, can you take the kids away so that I can have a nap? That's all I need today."

Second, there was the end of the teaching quarter and its accompanying stack of student papers. Unfortunately, while forcing myself to read at a steady pace without drifting off into a numb and bored sleep, I had a violent encounter with a box of thin mint girl scout cookies (Guess who won?).

Third, T-ball season started. You'll be glad to know that Blue and Green are now proud members of a team called the "Peckers." No, I'm kidding. Their team really is called the "Penguins," though. Green's winning suggestion for a team name beat out the "Fire Breathing Dragons" and the "Snakes."

Fourth, there's Easter, which is strangely situated in mid-March this year. It was challenging to squeeze the egg-dying in, because we're still busy getting over the leprechauns and the pots of gold from St. Patrick's Day. The boys each made three "leprechaun traps" at school last week, and we're waiting patiently for some evidence of the mischievous little green guys. I didn't tell the kids, but I think a trap dismembered one of the Easter Bunny's back feet. There was a bloody pile of toes and fur by the front door this morning.

It's been exhausting. Good thing we're going on a trip! Yes, this week Michael, the boys, and I (along with the stuffed peckers) are taking off for California, where we plan to swim in frigid water and pretend like we're real penguins in Antarctica. I will try to update from the road.

Today I will leave you with the winner of the Winter Quarter 2008 Absurd Sentence Written by an Undergraduate Award:

"One plus one may always be two, but there is more than one way to come up with that answer."

Huh.

I don't even know what to say about that one.

Email Excuses

Dear Professor:

I apologize that I could not come to class but
I had a migraine
Lymphnoids en-flamed
My flight was delayed
I had the flu
The longest cold on record
I thought I had mono because I could barely get out of bed
My grandmother’s dead
Again
This weekend was nothing short of a disaster
My sister, she’s very ill
My uncle’s not well
This was not in my plan
Please understand
I’ve had ovarian problems, staph infection, strep throat
Do you want a doctor’s note?
I have been up for 36 hours straight
The reason I’m late is that I just found out I’m pregnant!
I know you don’t want to hear my sob story

Merriment

Sorry about the small blogging hiatus. I was socked by my annual Christmas virus, which coincided with the end of the teaching quarter. I found myself shaky with fever, preparing for my inlaws' visit, and tackling the grading of 40 papers all at the same time.

I have a small problem when faced with big tasks. Rather than address whatever unpleasant project is at hand, I divert my attention to a different but still monumental endeavor. Here's an example. Back when I was in graduate school, we lived in this little 1960s apartment (complete with bright orange sink and avocado green gas fireplace). It also had the original refrigerator and ICE BOX. Over time, the ice box would freeze over, and the food would need to be rescued. So it was finals week, and I had 3 large research papers due on the very same day. I was woefully unprepared. On the night before the papers needed to be turned in, I decided that RIGHT THAT MOMENT I needed to chisel out the ice box. Of course, it took hours to get the ice out, and then another hour to clean up the puddles of water on the floor. Michael asked me why, when there was so much reading and writing left to be done, I would find it imperative to address the freezer situation. I shrugged. I may not have finished my work, but at least the tater tots were free from their icy prison.

So, here I was last week with those 40 papers, and it occurred to me that there had been a funky smell in the kitchen for awhile. All along I had been blaming the odor on Green's poor hygiene, but I was beginning to suspect that the problem might reside in the refrigerator. So what did I do? All the food came out, and all the shelves came out. And there, underneath the vegetable crisper boxes, I found the source of the aroma -- a small but pungent arboretum.

5 whole hours later, the ecosystem was destroyed, the appliance was pristine, and I was sufficiently disgusted. But I still had those 40 papers to deal with, and there was only one day before grades were due. When my inlaws arrived, I barely had time to raise my head out of the pile of puzzling essays (Here's one of my favorite sentences from the batch: "The purpose of American schools is to produce intelligible citizens." What? If that's the case, we are clearly failing.). But at midnight, I penciled my last grade onto the bubble form, and I was DONE.

Finally, we were able to rev up the Christmas merriment.



The boys had been antsy to visit the jolly old elf for awhile. We had been using Santa as a threat for weeks: "Blue, you need to get your dirty underpants off your brother's bed right now! Santa's watching!" or "Green, if Santa sees you hit your brother on the back of the head with that pirate sword, he's not going to bring you any presents!" Both kids were a little skeptical that one pudgy old man at the North Pole could monitor the behavior of all the world's kids at the same time. Did he have a bunch of cameras installed in everyone's house? Since I am unclear about the exact nature of Santa's surveillance equipment, I told them they should ask him themselves.

So Granny, Grandpa, Blue, Green, Michael, and I headed downtown to visit Santa. Afterwards, we rode the holiday carousel:



And we went and saw a gingerbread model of the Kremlin:



And that evening, we ate an eclectic pre-Christmas feast of grilled salmon and mashed potatoes and green beans (and ketchup). After that: presents! The boys were wild with excitement, and so was I. You see, I had found my father-in-law the perfect gift. He is a man who continues to have particularly strong views about the Clinton presidency, so I bought him a talking Bill Clinton doll. There was nothing more entertaining than watching him cringe when the doll said, "I did not have sexual relations with that woman...."

But anyway, the build up to Christmas is such a funny thing. It starts before the leaves drop from the trees, and there's such a pressure to buy, buy, buy. And in a world so full of trouble, the cheery cards that say "Peace on Earth" seem to sit in an ironic pile on the dining room table. But when you have a five year old (or two), something really does crack open when the Christmas tree lights go on for the first time, or when Santa places a candy cane in his nervous little hand. I wish I had a picture to capture the instant when Blue opened his first present from Granny and Grandpa, when he jumped in the air with his hands above his head and screamed, "Oh Granny, how did you know? How did you know this is just what I wanted?" Sometimes life can be so hard it brings you to your knees, but there are moments, like that one, when I know that everything is right and good and possible.

Ramblings About Growing and Building and the Ph.D

The fall season is definitely here. The leaves are turning, the air is cold, and giant pumpkins are sitting in the parking lot of every grocery store, waiting like pound puppies for a good home.

Do you remember how I said that we’re participating in a pumpkin growing contest with the neighbors? Well, things are not going well. First off, my pumpkin plant decided to escape. One night we heard faint screams coming from the yard. If you listened closely, you could hear a voice wailing, “Let me out of here!!!!!! She’s killing me!!!!” And then the next day, I noticed that my pumpkin plant had grown itself out through our fence and was heading away in search of a more suitable family.

There are only a few weeks until Halloween, and the plant's two pumpkins are pretty puny. I don’t even think you can officially call them pumpkins yet. Is there such a thing as a fetal pumpkin? And the sad thing is that someone has taken a hearty bite out of the side of one of them.



It’s not all that surprising, considering I have never actually nurtured a plant successfully. I don’t have that je ne sais quoi, that green thumb, that whatever it is that makes some people able to cultivate a nice yard. I’m not even sure that it’s fair to call our yard a yard; it’s more like a plastic toy-filled jungle.

But anyway, I like to think that the reason why I’m not good at plants is because I’m showering all my love and attention on my kids. You know, all the bushes in the front of the house might be dead, but look at these robust, flourishing children! Woo!

Apparently, Blue and Green think differently. The other day, when the sun had not even come up yet, I felt a small tap on my arm. “Mama?” Green said. “Huh?” I garbled, not yet awake enough to communicate. “Where are the hammer and nails?”

I almost said, “They’re in the top drawer under the microwave,” but something nagged at me. Why would a five year old be asking for the tools? “Green,” I asked, “why in the world would you need a hammer and nails?” “Because,” he answered, “today Blue and I are going to build a house just for us where we can make up all the rules.”

Well, there you have it. The pumpkins left me, and the kids are moving out.



In the meantime, however, the boys are cluttering my world with all sorts of building projects. One hot activity is creating a "nurse's office" out of their bedroom. To make this work, they gathered all of their plastic medical equipment and drafted some architectural sketches:



And now they are in debate about one crucial element. Who's going to be the nurse? Neither one wants this job. While they were working out the details of the project, I overheard this conversation:

Green: Mama can be the nurse, because she's a doctor.
Blue: No, wait, she's not really a doctor.
Green: She used to be a doctor, but now she's a teacher.
Blue: I think we need to find someone else's Mommy to be the nurse.

I'm glad to see that my confusion about my career does not belong to me alone. The Ph.D is such a vague thing. On the one hand, it's a badge that represents lots of hard work. But on the other hand, I get to wander through life being "not a real doctor." The boys asked me to tell them about what we do in my classes. I could see on their faces that they were expecting me to talk about the kinds of things they do all day: drawing apples, counting, finger painting. "Well," I answered, "in my class we talk about ideas and issues." They both blinked. "Mama," Blue said, "that doesn't sound like very much fun."

Blue actually has a sense of what he wants to be when he grows up. This boy is not going to hang around for 10 years trying to earn a degree that no one understands. He has decided that he's going to be a "plan maker." And he's already practicing. Sometimes, at the end of the afternoon, I stand in the school hallway and spy on the boys. More often than not, Blue is perched on a chair that towers above all the little kids building castles and forts with the wooden blocks. When I ask him why he's just sitting there, he tells me that he is "hard at work being in charge."

Smart kid. This one's gonna make me proud.