Homework Grades

The rigamarole began for me this week. I put on the non-T-shirt and the non-shorts and went to work. I felt so much better about my syllabi this year. You best believe we professor types fret over the syllabizzle. I mostly stare at the wide gaping space between FALL BREAK and THANKSGIVING and wonder HOW WILL WE FILL THE TIME? and then I get over myself and figure, aw, let's read a book or something. Sound good? I know you want to take this class now, pahah! School. It's always hard to get back into the rhythm of being away from my kids for long stretches at a time. I feel like I need to be scrambling to finish things so I can rush back to be with them, but then I remember that my daughter is at school and my son is napping per usual and I go back to staring at my syllabi HOW AGAIN WILL WE FILL THE TIME???

A privilege of being a parent who works outside the home is having the "novelty hours" where you are the hot commodity. You are not the one whose presence your kids take for granted. No, in fact, you are the Biebs! Live! In Concert! Right in your own living room. Then they get over you and have a meltdown about having to eat the crust of their grilled cheese. Whatever. It is still good to be the rock star for 35 seconds a day.

I really enjoyed picking Baby Girl up from school today. She showed me the fish tank and the case with the tarantula (I know, I still enjoyed pick-up today!) and held my hand as we walked out to the car. As I was buckling her into her car seat, she said something curious. She said, "Mom, I don't have to be sad that Hadley is in another grade now. Because when people get into the homework grades, they're still the same person."

I mean, first of all, "homework grades"? Is that not slightly adorable? And the fact that she feared people becoming different people THE KIND OF PEOPLE WHO DO HOMEWORK reveals a little bit of that innocent heart that I know we all once had.

I am not so far corrupted that I don't understand what it is to fear the "upper grades." I can still identify with the fear of not being equipped for writing cursive and wondering how those Big Kids taught themselves to read silently INSIDE THEIR HEADS without having to point at words and sound them out. I remember so clearly wondering whether when my baby sister got older, if she would know all of us. I didn't understand gradual progression. I could only focus on the great leaps that I believed necessary for reaching certain precipices in life. Oh those fearful homework grades.

I didn't quite have the perfect assurance for Baby Girl but she seemed to have come to the conclusion on her own that people who moved up to homework grades were still approachable and not totally elite and 8' tall.

From the looks of things, e.g. from the picture texts her wonderful teacher sends me, she is going to be okay.

Appendix A

Women Can't Have it All. But We Can Talk About Some Things.

I'm riding on the caboose car of the train racing to respond to Anne Marie-Slaughter's essay, "Why Women Can't Have It All" in this month's The Atlantic. I know many of you have read it and already discussed it, but I just finally read the whole thing on vacation last week. I won't attempt to analyze the essay point for point, but I will encourage everyone who has a stake in preserving the American dream to read this essay. It is as comprehensive as it is thoughtful, and offers some very specific and (in my mind) achievable solutions to the problems with which women and families are dealing in the workplace and at home today. There is just one point that Slaughter raises that I want to share. Slaughter is an accomplished professional and a mother of two teenage boys.  She is a former dean at Princeton and senior level director in DC.  She says that for years she has taken very express measures to bring her children into the work conversation. That is, if she is running late for a meeting, she will not obliquely excuse herself. She will say it was because she had to drop off her son at practice, if that is the real reason. When she is introduced at professional conferences, she insists that the person introducing her mention that she is *also* a mother. She does not advocate gushing on about one's children while at work. But she does think that women will do each other a great service in refusing to be silent about that which matters most to them.

I agree what Slaughter's preaching, but I find it tremendously difficult to put into practice.

I have worked for some exceedingly anti-family organizations. Work and being present in the workplace was much celebrated; taking time off for family priorities was not. It was often surreptitiously used as a strike against a person's performance.

I am glad to no longer be serving said organizations.

Still, I find it hard to talk about my priorities in the workplace. I want to compartmentalize. I want to not appear un-serious about the work for which I am paid to do. I am fortunate to have female and male mentors who encourage faith first, family second, work third. It is still something with which I struggle.

And struggling is okay. I no longer try to find the balance in my work, but I am ever more encouraged by Slaughter's essay to live out my priorities, not only in deed, but in word. I don't want to deceive my students that they can have it all, because life is about choices and compromise. Some days you excel in one capacity, others you are walking on the treadmill while reading your work for tomorrow while texting with your husband and then you get home and the kids are all asleep and that is awful because you barely saw them, but wonderful because now you can get some grading done.

You can't have it all; no one can. Not even the richest most successful people in the world. Everyone is trying to be more present. Everyone is railing back against the you-have-a-smartphone-therefore-you-are-available-all-the-time song and dance. The song's music is catchy at first but the steps become increasingly more difficult as the multiple beats and multiple instruments syncopate....

I am choosing to live and tell the truth: Maintaining my priorities is a constant struggle, but it's certainly one for which I am willing to fight.

Identity

Hi. My name is Kendra Stanton Lee.

I am an American-born woman, a wife, and a mother of two.

I prefer to go by my full name. The family into which I was born and the family into which I chose to marry are equally important to me.

I have a master's degree. I was able to attend graduate school because my husband supported me: my dreams and my finances.

I teach full-time. I love my job. I like it when people ask me whether I like my job. I like it less when people ask me who cares for my children while I am working. When my husband worked three jobs, people never seemed to ask him the same question.

I was nursing my baby boy until two days ago. I love tucking my children into bed.

I believe my husband is the spiritual leader of our home. I do not, however, believe that he is always right.

I receive a paycheck in my name that is more than my husband earns per month. However, I believe we are both earning the same amount. Whatever is mine is his. It is unimportant whose name is on the paycheck because we are both working hard toward a goal united: to support our family.

I am uninterested in identifying myself as a feminist.

I more interested in claiming my personhood as woman who struggles mightily to be more like Jesus Christ.

There are women like I am everywhere.

Someday there may be more of us; I am raising one of them.