When freedom is no longer about being free

I read a few articles the other day that really made me stop to think.

The first, by the New York Times, showed a fascinating, if somewhat miserable example of modern-day suburban parenting.

Not Quite a Reporter, but Raking Muck and Reaping Wrath

A local blogger, Daniel Cavanagh, wrote and posted pictures on his blog about a group of kids that decided Halloween night was made for throwing items at passersby: including "rocks, potatoes and other things". Now, unfortunately (as my Grandma would tell me with a sigh reminiscent of my own childhood): These things do happen.


But what truly angered me was not the fact that the children were throwing rocks. It was the parents' behavior that had me appalled. Instead of getting upset with their children for the rude and dangerous behavior, they turned their wrath upon the blogger.


Is this what we want the future of America to believe? What do we teach our children when we blame others instead of accepting the burden of responsibility ourselves? 


Social loafing is a term used by sociologists and psychologists to define a habit that is rapidly spiraling out of control. "Someone else will take care of it," we think. Or that "it's somebody else's job." If we continue this habit, our children will continue these habits, and our society will continue loafing.


The second article was yet another example of deplorable upbringing, or perhaps simply the lack of emphasis upon the idea of reading as a form of pleasure.


Despite Distinctions, Los Angeles Times Loses Standing at Home


The newspaper is for news, folks of Los Angeles. Not society pages (we will leave that sort of journalism to the glossies at the grocery stores), not for the vast wealth of information overload (we will leave that to Bing.com to sort out), and not to comment on who's knocking elbows in the City of Angles (didn't they win a Pulitzer for that story?). 


Learn to appreciate the world-class journalism, and not criticize the "class" of the paper it's printed on.


And then, sit back on the porch with a cup of coffee, and indulge in the pleasure that is the Los Angeles Times.

Life as a Student (and Mother)

Being a college student is hard, that is easy for most to admit. Gone are the days when your parents packed your lunch, helped you with your homework, drove you to school, and glued all those millions of pieces together so you could finish that diorama for science class... the night before it was due.

But what about all the students who are parents themselves?

Personally, the hardest part is the alarm. I set my clock so carefully, making sure to calculate and recalculate the time necessary to get everything done. And then? My child manages to wake me a full thirty minutes before the alarm goes off.

Then its the race around the house, the refusal to wear any shirt but the Favorite shirt, the negotiation of too hot/ too cold oatmeal for breakfast, how many raisins and another cup of milk, playing hide-and-go-seek for a pair of socks, for a pair of shoes.

Out the door, I am already exhausted. We must stop and say hello to the neighborhood dogs on the way to the car, then its time to buckle in, hand over the cup, pop in the cd, and hope to sneak a Pop-Tart or two on the drive to the daycare.

Then it's finally off to school for Mum. On the way, though, is the call from the center wondering if he's already had breakfast, the email reminder that there is a dentist's appointment in the near future, and the text from the husband wondering "How'd your morning go?"

Fighting traffic and pedestrians alike, trying to squeeze a family-sized car into an economy-sized space, and its off to class.

Which is interrupted, naturally, by the phone call from the center: You forgot to bring the diaper bag.

Looking down, you realize with horror that the bag you thought contained books, pencils, and notes contains coloring pages, crayons, and butt paste.

Welcome to the life of a student/mother - in training.

And now a word from our sponsors...

This past year has been one of hectic changes and serious personal adjustments.

First of all, I lost my connection to the digital world with the poorly attached lid of a sipee cup full of juice (I gained comfort only in knowing that the death of my machine was instantaneous).

Then, the realities of living as both a college student and a mother truly sunk in, as the only way we could afford a new computer was through months of ramen noodles and a minor miracle.

And then, the world granted me a minor miracle, and all the noodles paid off. Computer firmly ensconced away from the terror of the two-year-old, I am finally back.