Monday's Mommy Moment: First Visit to the Rainforest Cafe

The Rainforest Cafe is a rare treat.  There are only a handful in the country, but we happen to have one only 45 minutes away from us in the Westfarms Mall.  If you're not staring at their incredibly large fishtank filled with some of the most beautiful, exotic fish in the world, then you're staring at the larger than life, mechanical butterflies that open and close their wings or the wild, mechanical gorillas beating their chests, or the large elephant swatting his trunk.

The ceiling is a starry sky, which becomes cloudy every 30 minutes when a "thunderstorm" sweeps the rainforest.  Then, the lights dim, thunder rumbles in the background, and the gorillas go wild (just like real ones probably do when looking for shelter.)  

Yes, the Rainforest Cafe is a fantasy land where you can eat a delicious mango salsa burger or yummy chocolate lava volcano cake in the midst of all these mechanical jungle animals and pretend thunderstorms.

My mom forewarned me about taking Lil' Lewie there too early.  "You don't want to scare him," she said.

"No, of course not," I replied.

I heeded her warning during the first year, but now that he was two, I thought he might actually enjoy the restaurant.  After all, there's a lot of cool things to look at and watch, and I've seen numerous toddlers come with their parents.  In fact, some toddlers actually hold their birthday parties there.

With that said, we took the 45 minute trip, and brought Lil' Lewie to the restaurant.  He seemed to like the fishtank as we waited in line to be seated, but he didn't like the first seat we were given too much.  It was next to the gigantic elephant, which even without moving, seemed to intimidate him.  We were finally given a seat at the front of the restaurant near the bar.  It wasn't a great seat, but the restaurant was better lit there and far enough away from all the mechanical animals that could potentially scare him.

Pretend fruit hanging above our heads.

We seemed to be doing fine until our first thunderstorm hit.  Out of nowhere, the lights dimmed and the monkeys started freaking out.  Of course, they weren't the only ones.  My little guy started freaking out too as he started screaming for us to take him out of his seat while pointing to the restaurant exit. 

"We haven't even started eating our meals yet," my husband pouted.

"I know," I answered faintly.  "I guess my mom was right."

Somehow we did manage to get him to stay in his highchair throughout our meal (and three thunderstorms later), but we were highly disappointed that this wasn't a trip that he enjoyed.  I only hope that his fear wasn't so strong that this will be a frightful memory that stays with him for life... If he's twenty and still deathly afraid of monkeys and thunderstorms, then we'll know why.

Rewarding Mediocrity

This week was the dreaded "final exam" week.  I didn't have much time to dedicate to blogging because I had to proctor final exams, correct them, and then issue final grades.  I also had to clean out my old office this semester because I will be working for another college...a decision that still frightens me a little because while the pay is better, this new part-time position brings a lot of uncertainty.  (I see another post in my future.)

Teaching was a challenge for me this semester.  I had a group of eighteen-year olds that, in a lot of ways, fit the stereotype we have of teenagers these days--you know...entitled, unmotivated, self-absorbed, and totally dispassionate.  Dr. Phil has been talking about this "new entitled generation" for quite some time, but it didn't really hit me until I had them in my class. 

This semester, my goal was to instill enthusiasm and passion.  I let my students, for the most part, pick their own topics in the hope that they would find something to get "fired-up" about.  I wanted them to question the government, the media, pop-culture, and their ethics.  I wanted them to think critically about the world around them and think of possible solutions to problems.  I wanted them to learn that nothing really great in life is ever accomplished without passion and motivation.  And yet...I feel like I failed miserably.

As I started tallying up the grades for my students, one truth became apparently clear--I was rewarding mediocrity.  You see, none of my students "pushed the bar" this semester.  Yes, I did have students that completed all their assignments, but none of my students showed a real interest in the class.  While I gave them pointers on how to be good speakers, how to create successful PowerPoint presentations, and even how to research information and cite their sources, none of my students pushed themselves to learn something new.  They also didn't push themselves to do a lot of research or to try to memorize their speeches.  At best, I was giving "A's" and "B's" to students who really only prepared their speeches the night before class.  In reality, they probably deserved "C's", but since every class needs to have a spectrum of grades ranging from A to F, I had to "reward" the students who at least did the assignment.

The phenomena I'm talking about is "grade inflation."  Every college I know these days have debates about it, and yet, none have come up with a real solution to remedy the problem.  My guess is that the "grade inflation" starts in earlier grades like elementary school and then moves on from there.  When students reach college, they have learned that they can get "A's" and "B's" by doing the bear minimum.   Therefore, they set the bar low for themselves and do very little.  

In the past (even as recent as ten years ago when I first started teaching), these students who did the bear minimum received "C's."  "A's" were only reserved for the students who went above and beyond the expectations of the class.  They were given to students who showed outstanding achievement by demonstrating their very best efforts.

Now I sit in front of my list of grades and get discouraged with the system.  In reality, only one or two of my students put sincere effort into my class this semester.  Most may have done some work, but I question whether the work they did really helped them learn anything new.  Will they be leaving my class with a new skill in persuasive speaking and reasoning that they didn't have before?  Probably not.  

All classes must have their ranges of "A's" to "F's".  If I don't issue any "A's" or only one "A", my teaching gets criticized, and I become a  prime target for grade disputes.  Since colleges are now a "business," they want to keep their students (customers) happy.  Even losing one student can cost the college anywhere from $10,000 to $60,000, and since they want to keep this money in their pocket, they will sometimes "encourage" the professor to reissue a grade or to give the student "another chance."   Plus, if we receive too many bad evaluations for being "too hard" on students or have too many grade disputes, our employment is in jeopardy.

Our system has created this mess.  In a lot of ways, we are a culture of complainers.  If we don't get things our way, we threaten people or places with lawsuits or negative publicity.  Parents sometimes do this to see their children do better in school  or extra-curricular activities.  After all, they want to see their child get an "A"  or receive a "trophy" too, even if it isn't deserved.  In fact, I had one student this semester that was completely reliant on his mom.  If he was going to be absent, she called in for him, and if he needed an extension on his assignment, she'd ask me to let him do it a week later.  Yes, she wanted her child, in essence, to be rewarded even though he showed no responsibility or initiative of his own.

Education is a tricky business.  Grades don't have the same meaning that they once did, and while the number of "A's" are going up, the quality of learning is depreciating.  Yes, at times, there are teachers/professors that are unfair, and for them, it's appropriate to question their methods for teaching and evaluating their students' performance.  Still, a number of us are trying to do our best by teaching the skills that are needed in today's society, and yet, sadly, we are bullied into rewarding mediocrity... 

Monday's Mommy Moment: Christmas Memories

The holiday season is magical for kids, especially when they believe in Santa Claus and notice all the beautiful lights and decorations around them.  I'll admit I was looking forward to this year.  I thought my little guy at age two would start to enjoy and appreciate all the activities.  He does, for the most part, find the Christmas tree fascinating, but he's still not a huge fan of all the decorations--he either doesn't notice them or, in the case of the outside Christmas lights, he's downright afraid of them.

In years past, he didn't quite understand the hoopla either.  Of course, that didn't stop me from torturing my little guy and making him dress in special Christmas outfits, etc.  Here are some of my favorite holiday photos:

Four Months-Old--"What's all the fuss about?"

Four Months-Old--"Are you Santa?"

Four Months-Old--"I like my presents."

One Year-Old--"Help!  Get me away from this creepy man!"

One Year-Old--"Please Daddy.  Please come get me, please."

One Year-Old--"My first Christmas Party."

One Year-Old--"I'm waiting for my Christmas cookies..."

One Year-Old--"Really Mom.  Am I just a pawn for your amusement?"

One Year-Old--"Hey, I'm really getting into this whole reindeer thing."

Yes, it will be interesting to see what memories I will be able to capture this year.  At least, knock on wood, he won't have a horrible bruise above his eye like last year's unfortunate incident...

A Christmas Story

Once upon a time, long long ago (okay just last year actually), in a far off land (okay in Connecticut) lived a little one year old boy who was going to meet Santa Claus for the very first time.  His mother was very excited and took out his best linens (a cute Christmas outfit I bought on eBay), and bathed him to prepare him for the big event.

The little boy was confused about what was going on.  Why all this special attention? he thought.  Still, he took his bath and let his mother dress him up, completely unaware of what would happen next.

"You are going to meet Santa Claus," said Mommy excitedly.  "He has traveled from the North Pole to the Milford, Connecticut Mall just to meet you.  His eight flying reindeer may be there too."

Santa Claus?  Who is this Santa Claus? thought the little boy.

As his mother started getting dressed in her finest linens for the big event too, she let her son play with the closet doors.  He always enjoyed going in and out to play "peek-a-boo," and a few times she joined in the fun too.  "Peek-a-boo, I see you," said Mommy as she hopped into the closet to tickle him.

The little boy, in all his laughter and excitement, ran out of the closet, lost control of his little feet, and boom--crashed into the bed post.

"Oh my," (Okay insert cuss word here) said Mommy.  "How could this have happened?"  She cuddled her screaming boy and discovered he was bleeding above his eye.  "Oh no!  It's worse than I thought," whined Mommy.

She immediately took out her first aid kit to stop the bleeding and the swelling.  She was able to calm down her infant toddler, but the cut above his eye would not be disappearing anytime soon.  "Maybe I can put an elf hat on his head to hide the cut" thought Mommy, but the idea didn't really work.

Soon Daddy came home from work to partake in the big event too.  Upon seeing what had happened, he took a long pause.  (Okay it was about 30 seconds.)  "It seems to me that we should save this event for another day," said Daddy.  Now Daddy often was the voice of reason in the household, but Mommy often had the last say.

"We can't save it for another day," said Mommy in great angst.  "We need to do it today.  You already took time off from work, and we only have a week left before Christmas."

So off went Mommy, Daddy, and Little Lewie to see this wonderful, magical Santa Claus, and just as promised, he sat on his high throne in all his splendor waiting to meet good little boys and girls.  Although his reindeer did not come along for the ride, he did bring his snowflake village of larger than life candy canes, Christmas ornaments, and nutcrackers. 

"Here we are," said Mommy rushing to get a place in line before many of the other mothers with their children.  "Excuse me lady, but we were here first," she announced, knocking one woman to the floor.  (Okay, I really didn't do this, but hey, I probably felt like it at one point.)

So there stood Mommy, Daddy, and Lewie waiting to meet the great, wondrous Santa Claus.  The anticipation was enormous for all, especially Little Lewie who was fighting to get out of his stroller.

"Do you think we should have brought him to the hospital to get stitches?" asked Mommy, surveying the cut above his eye. 

"No, it stopped bleeding," said Daddy, "so I don't think there'd be a need for stitches."

As other moms looked at Little Lewie's bruise in disgust or curiosity, Mommy stood strong, for she knew the bruise was only from an unfortunate accident.

Finally after a long 45 minute wait, the moment to meet Santa Claus had finally arrived.  Mommy and Daddy took their son out of the stroller and proudly placed him on Santa Claus's lap.

 "He's all wet," mumbled Daddy, "he must have peed through his outfit." 

"Shhhhush," said Mommy trying to get a glorious picture of this momentous event.

"Wahhhhh," screamed Lewie fighting with Santa to get out of his grasp. 

And in a few short seconds, the moment the family had all been waiting for had ended.  Yes, the moment had ended with zero pictures, a flustered little boy, and a Santa Claus with (most likely) a wet lap.

And so, the family fled the mall having learned a great lesson--Don't bring your child to meet Santa after he's hurt himself and has already had a bad day.

The end.  

Gibberish

For a while now, I've been worried about my two year-old's speech.  At six months-old, he started to say the famous "daddy, daddy, daddy."  "Ma ma" didn't come until he was closer to a year old.   And after that, well "hi," "bye," "no," and then...nothing.  He was always interested in watching us communicate, and he was particularly fascinated with the phone.  Since he couldn't say our words yet, he started his baby gibberish, and now, another year later, he's still hooked on his baby gibberish. 

For some children, baby gibberish actually sounds like something.  One of Lewie's playmates speaks very softly with a whine.  To me, his words didn't sound like anything until his mom would repeat them, "Oh, you want chicken nuggets?"  Once his mom repeated his words, I realized that her little guy was actually speaking.

I tried listening more carefully to Lewie's gibberish, "Ma lay ba ba ti um oom gee?"  Nope.  I got nothing.

Another one of my friends pointed out that her son actually made up words for things.  "Yeah, he doesn't like to say the word truck, so he calls them 'gagas'."

"Really?" I asked.

Sure enough, her son would point to the truck and say "gaga."

Once again, I'd listen to Lewie's gibberish carefully to see if he invented some words to mean things...but since his words came out as full, long sentences, with tone inflection and everything, I realized he wasn't interested in connecting words to things.  He was just doing his best to pretend he was having a long conversation with us like a big person.

"What did he say?"  lots of strangers would ask me as we passed by them at the store or mall.

"I wish I knew," I'd answer in response. 

As Little Lewie's friends started saying more and more words, I became concerned.  One of his younger friends already had about a 50 word vocabulary, another friend was saying sentences, and still another already knew how to count to ten in both English and Spanish.   These were all boys.  I didn't even dare try to compare his linguistic skills to any girls.  They were even more advanced.

So, as concerned as I was, I started listening to people's advice--you know, the well-intentioned people that think since their children know more than yours, they must be better at parenting than you.  Some encouraged me to read books to him.  (Um, yes, I've been doing that since he was a month old.)  Another told me that I shouldn't let him have something until he says it.  For five minutes one day, I held his sippy cup in the air trying to make him say the word cup.  He screamed, he cried, and after thinking his ma ma was the meanest woman in the world, I finally gave it to him.  The advice succeeded in tormenting my child; however, it didn't actually work in getting him to say the word cup.

Several weeks ago, a friend gave me a copy of her Baby Babble DVD.  She said it had helped her son say more words and thought it could help my little boy too.  So one evening, I played the video, and while it seemed rather amateur (with very simple pictures of toys moving and people making funny faces and sounds), my little boy was hooked.  Not only was he hooked, but he started taking an interest in repeating words and sounds.

 How is this possible? I said to myself.  I've said the same words and sounds to him a million times before, and he never showed interest in repeating them.

Now that he's watched this video half a dozen times, he's now been trying to say our words.  Every day, a new word or two seems to be added to his vocabulary, and although he might not repeat the same word again if we ask him, he's at least trying.  Now, new words include   car (kar),  cookie(gookey),   butter (butr),   bath (baa),   baby (babe),   up (uh),  down   (own).   His sound effects have improved too.

Yes, milestones are fun because they are a sign that your little one is growing into an adult, but at the same time, I've also learned that milestones can instil fear, especially when your little one isn't meeting the same timelines as other children.  On the one hand, I want my little guy to stop his gibberish and start saying our words, but I have to admit...Oh how I will miss the days when his baby gibberish is gone!

Am I THAT Mom?

I still remember the days when I was young and single.  I'd be out in the mall shopping or eating at a restaurant when suddenly my shopping or dining experience would be interrupted by the sound of a screaming toddler.  You know the sound or, at least, variations of it:

Wahhhhh!  I don't want to.  I don't want to.  No. No. No.

Okay, and if the child was still too young to verbalize his or her feelings, then the meltdown would sound more like screaming and shrieking. 

In any case, usually at times like this, I'd roll my eyes.  Perhaps I would even glare at the exchange between mother and child.  I almost always had an opinion.  Wow, that mom can't handle her kid.  I know my kids would never behave like that. 

Oh, if I could ever take back those words or those ridiculous judgements, I would.  Really, I was young, single, and never had any siblings.  I honestly didn't know what it was like to have a toddler, and so, like many people, I sat on my high throne, casting disapproving glances to others.

Fast forward.  Now I'm the one with the screaming two year-old having meltdowns in stores, restaurants, and even at my place of work.  It doesn't happen all the time, but there are a few...um...interesting moments like--

The time I placed a monkey backpack leash on him at the airport.  He revolted so tumultuously that he made my husband spill a smoothie on the plush new airport carpet.

The time that he screamed, kicked, and almost tried hitting me while I was trying to pull him away from the elevator at work.

The time that we had a heated exchange in the parking lot because he wouldn't go into his car seat and kept sneaking around me to get to the driver's seat.

Yes, these are less than stellar moments for the baby books.  And all of a sudden, like magic, it became roll reversal.  I had my audience of judges, and I was THAT mom.  I was now the mom that people were glaring at...I was the mom receiving scolding looks from passerbys.  It was embarrassing, frustrating, and humbling all at the same time.  Was this karma coming back to get me?

Today, I now know what it's like to be a mom with a toddler.  I've now learned that toddlers don't always listen, and their anger and stubbornness only become amplified when they haven't taken a nap.  When I see a mom in this meltdown situation, I cast a sympathetic glance and maybe even call out, "Oh, I've been there."   It's the least I can do.  After all, you know the mom doesn't want this kind of attention.  She's not deliberately trying to ruin everyone's dinner.  Her child just doesn't know any better.

I've now made a promise to myself.  Even when my little boy is older and grown, I will not block out those less than stellar toddler days.  Yes, they might not be fun at the time, but they carry a life lesson--a lesson that sometimes we all need to sit back, chill, and not take life so seriously.  The moment, the tantrum, the screaming will pass, and in the end, we'll always love our toddlers just as much as we did before they started to misbehave. 

Oh, and to those onlookers who are still casting disapproving glances, especially those who have been moms themselves...please, be patient. The interruption will pass...I promise.

The Toy Project

It's that time of year again.  The time for 'Santa' to start assessing Little Lewie's toys.  Since most of his toys are scattered around our living room, I begin to make piles--the first pile are the toys he still likes to play with and the other pile are toys that he hasn't touched in months.  Since he's not old enough to make a list for Santa Claus, I need to start playing a little guesswork.  A million thoughts run through my head... 

My living room on a 'good' day.

Since he really loves to play cars, maybe I should buy him a few more...Although, maybe he has enough cars already.  Does he really need more than four cars?  Maybe I should buy him something educational--maybe something like a LeapFrog Laptop that teaches him his alphabet.  Or, maybe something crafty?  Well, he doesn't like clay, so play doh is out for the moment...He already has enough crayons and markers.  Does he like to build?  Maybe Legos.

The list in my head goes on and on, but at the end of all the considering, I usually come to one main conclusion:  We already have enough toys.  We already have educational toys, crafty toys, building toys, bikes, cars, and trucks.  Do we really need to buy more stuff?  What is the limit?  When does an innocent holiday like Christmas turn into a day of materialism and greed? 

I've been to Christmas get-togethers where children have so many presents that they don't even get excited when they open a new one.  In fact, if it's not something they wanted, they simply throw the toy in a heap of other 'misfit toys.'  When this occurs, the holiday is no longer about the feelings of love and appreciation; it's more about "Did I get what I want?"

For now, I think I've narrowed down the list to four Santa presents.  (Of course, he will get more from friends and family.)  I want the holiday to be magical, but I don't want to go overboard.  Besides, there simply isn't any space left in our living room.

How about you?  Will Santa be leaving a lot of presents under your Christmas tree?