When the Student is Ready

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” 

The quote has been attributed to Tao Te Ching, to Buddha, and probably Abraham Lincoln—because that’s how the internet works.

I’ve been thinking about teachers a lot lately. I have been blessed by a lifetime full of great teachers—my first and best teacher—my mother-- who, in addition to all the teaching that mothers do, was also in turn my kindergarten teacher, and my fifth-grade teacher. And yes, I called her Mrs. Mullins in class. She used to tell the story that one day in Kindergarten, when she had apparently failed to respond to several of my calls for attention: “Mrs. Mullins. Oh, Mrs. Mullins!” I apparently decided to use the one name guaranteed to get her attention and called her “Mommy.” “She called you Mommy!” my classmates laughed; certain I had just made a Freudian slip. I was so good at referring to her as Mrs. Mullins some of my little classmates didn’t realize she was my mom! To them, I was just one of four Mullins kids in the class.

In addition to my mom, I was fortunate enough to have had both the legendary June Rowland and Kenton Smith as teachers. Both were wise and loving teachers who fed my love of words. Science teachers Randy Sharp and John Mullenix shared their love of the natural world with their students and I still remember taxonomy hierarchy: “Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species” to this day. Good teachers shape our lives and our futures.

 

Nova Mullins & Cameron Sume

Teaching runs in my family’s blood. In addition to my mom, my son Cameron is also a teacher. He teaches math--secondary math education, to be precise--at Graham Kapowsin High School in Puyallup. He loves teaching, and the challenges of Covid have him working long hours. Most of his teaching is done “on-line” but he does meet with students who need extra help in-person.

When I asked him the specifics about the differences in lesson planning for on-line vs. in-person education, he said “I have yet to plan a lesson to be given in person and online, but I imagine the two would be very different. The timing of online teaching is a lot slower and transitions take longer.” He also noted that it’s a lot harder to build and maintain relationships with students over distance learning. He shared that he knows of other teachers and classes that are very successful with on-line learning, but that students who struggle academically—specifically in math (and boy, do I relate to that)—are having a hard time.

When I texted him some follow up questions, he begged off, citing the lateness of the hour and asked if we could talk tomorrow instead. 

“Deadline IS tomorrow” I texted back.

He answered another question and then sent “Also you should try to write before the deadline.”

He sent a smiley face emoji and “Sorry, that’s the teacher in me.”

When the student is ready...

Please remember to support our local students by voting YES on our levy. And don’t procrastinate—even I am sending my ballot in early.

 

Adventures in SugarLand Part 2

 

Welcome back to Adventures in Sugar Land, where I share the hijinks my grands and I get up to. I also overshare the mayhem and mishaps, so buckle up—this ride might get a little bumpy.

When we last saw our heroes, they had just successfully completed a diaper change, stuck the landing, and were now relaxing in front of The Big Cat Cage at the Zoo. Editor’s note: It’s not really the Zo—never mind. Whatever. It’s “a” Zoo.

Where was I? Oh yes, THE Zoo—watching the big cats when suddenly my snuggly little grandson seemed a bit more squishy than usual...and sort of—dampish. AND OH DEAR GOD WHAT IS THAT SMELL I DON’T THINK IT’S THE LIONS. Editor’s note: It’s not the “lions...”

Aiden, being the overachiever that he was born to be, has outdone himself. And outdone the confines of his diaper. Everything that one would expect to find in the diaper of a baby beginning to eat solid food is there—just not IN the diaper.

It’s up his back. It’s out the sides, it’s quite possible even in his ears, but by that point I was beyond the ability to retain my powers of observation and was in full-blown crisis management mode.

I know I’ve said before that changing a diaper is a lot like riding a bike—your skills may have gotten rusty but it all comes back to you. What I should have said is “changing a baby is a lot like LEARNING to ride a bike—there will be wobbles and spills, some tears-- and somebody is bound to wind up with a band aid on their knee.” SPOILER ALERT: No babies where harmed in the recounting of this Diaper Event, nor the re-telling of. Only my pride got a little bruised.

At one point in the diaper change I had a super squishy baby, with the shoulders of his Onesie down around his mid-section, hovering somewhere between the changing table and the floor; wishing I had six more hands and/or the ability to cause small humans to levitate. I was also lamenting the nation-wide shortage of PPE, because at that moment I sure could have used an Ebola-proof haz-mat suit. And some salad tongs, possibly a garden hose.

Baby Toes!

Mercifully, most of the rest of that event remains a blur. It’s quite possible I put the Onesie in the garbage and the disposable diaper in the laundry, but you know what? It doesn’t really matter--Aiden still squeals and smiles when he sees me, my knee has healed nicely, his parents are still speaking to me and I’m sure it’s just coincidental timing that his mother quit her job to stay home and run a wedding consulting business with a baby on her hip. 

Probably.

Mother of Dragons

I am the mother of boys.

I have very little experience with girls—other than my own distant memory as a girl of being told to pull up my knee socks and to comb my hair. SPOILER ALERT—as an adult I solved those two problems by no longer wearing knee socks and... come to think of it, I still need to comb my hair, but that is not my point.

My point is that put in my time in the Boy Trenches of parenthood—where prom dresses and princess hair weren’t really a thing we did. We did lots of mud and motorbikes and rolling around on the ground. Eventually, my boys have all grown up to be men, realized that girls don’t actually have cooties and have fallen in love.

 I really enjoying having these girls—women-- in my life. And while we don’t go prom dress shopping together—apparently there aren’t a lot of Adult Proms—they have each graciously invited me to go bridal gown shopping.

Bridal gown shopping is THE BEST SHOPPING. And I’m not just saying that because of the mimosas. Although mimosas are delightful, I’m not gonna lie. Bridal gown shopping always entails brunch and the entire reason for brunch is not to have a mix of breakfast and lunch foods as I once believed, but to have a boozy breakfast/lunch with out the “is it five o’clock somewhere” guilts. Add a wee splash of juice to champagne, call the meal “brunch,” and celebrate at will. Being a girl is awesome! Who knew?

After brunch we head to the first of two bridal shops—always conveniently located within walking distance. So consistently convenient that I wonder-- which came first, the bridal shop or the brunch spot? “Gee, I’d really like to open a Bridal Boutique on this block but there are no brunch places nearby. Sad.”

Without fail, we never find The Dress at the first shop. It is entirely possible that we are only at this first shop to kill time while we sober up before driving to the next shop where we will find The Dress of her Dreams.

For Devin

I wrote this a couple of years ago for my middle son...
On Monday, February 3--he became a parent.
I love you, Devin.

Hostages to Fortune

They say that when a child is born, so is a parent. I have watched my First Born and his Beloved undergoing this radical transformation. With six weeks to go until B day, Baby Sume has already reshaped the people that are becoming his parents. The car seat is ready. The crib is assembled. Conversations these days tend to revolve around child-rearing theories and the best brand of diapers.

Over the weekend, my gravid daughter-of-the-heart was showered with baby gifts: hand sewn blankets so fuzzy and inviting I immediately wanted a nap, impossibly tiny baby socks, all the latest baby gear and tools, books, and toys.

Served along with Great-Grandma Grethe’s multi-tiered, melt-in-your-mouth carrot cake was the opportunity for the party guests to offer their best time-tested parenting advice. So much to say and such a small piece of paper on which to offer it. Where do you even start?

“To have a child,” Elizabeth Stone wrote, “...is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” I think every parent can relate to that feeling of tender vulnerability, the terrible joy exposed; pride and fear and celebration at war with one another as we watch them take their first steps.

We have given hostages to Fortune, and worry for their future—will the other kids at preschool be kind? Is college hazing still a thing? Should I worry more about the national debt and the imperviousness of plastic? What SPF is enough? 30? 50? 125? Is my car safe enough, is my house safe enough, is my neighborhood safe enough? What about the school district? Clearly, I need to move. My child needs a yard, and a best friend and a great art/science/sport/math program. And probably a dog. Pony? Goldfish?

Because we love our children, we would move heaven and earth for their happiness, walk on hot coals to ensure their safety---even drive a mini-van if that’s what was required of us. That’s our job. It is what parents do. It’s the universality of Love. We see it reflected in current events, we see it in our own families and I am awed at the transformative force. 

When a child is born, so are the parents.

AND the grandparents---anybody know where I can get a pony?