So every once in a while, I treat myself to a day off from my fairly rigid diet plan. When I weigh on a Saturday morning, and things look decent, I reward myself with a much needed day off.
Today was such a day.
I dropped Seth off to clean the church and headed to Einstein's, not to get bagel, but to get one of their positively scrumptious cinnamon twists. These things are so good, ahhhh, long twists of cinnamon and butter covered with sweet icing! A few months ago on a day "off," I went there seeking one of these delectable treats, only to find them sold out. Really? Because I go there about once a week and get a 9-grain bagel on which I place an ever-so-tiny layer of light smear. And I look through the glass at these cinnamon twists. And wish.
Today, I thought, was the day! Surely they couldn't be sold out first thing in the morning. And they weren't. But as I walked in the door, I noticed a sign that read: "No service available." What? The door was unlocked, and there were customers inside drinking coffee and chatting, so I wandered up to the front to find out what "No service" meant. Apparently, their entire system shut down. They couldn't accept cards OR cash. They couldn't sell anything. And what did I see through the glass case? At least 10 fresh, crisp, delicious cinnamon twists! And once again, I couldn't have one.
However, this tale of woe has a bright ending, so don't cry, and don't stop reading. Starbuck's happens to be next door to Einstein's, so I thought a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream, something I also rarely indulge in, would be a good second choice. I got in line for the drive-thru and ordered my tall hot chocolate with whipped cream and added a blueberry scone (whoa, baby!), and proceeded to the window to pay. Only I didn't have to. The barista informed me that the person in the car in front of me had paid my bill. It was a "pay it forward" deal. Woo hoo!
I didn't get my cinnamon twist, but life is still good. Because people are still good.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
What's your learning style?
I am an auditory learner. End of story. I am a polarized auditory learner, and I basically suck at learning in the other two modalities. But what does all that mean? And why should it matter? Let's sculpt it out.
While we all learn to some extent in all three modalities (visual, auditory, and kinesthetic), most of us have a strong preference for one. Once we recognize how we learn best, we can use strategies to become more effective learners in practically all situations, including school. We can also teach our children these strategies. How empowering!
Visual learners prefer to receive learning cues through their eyes. “Let me read it myself!” is often their request when someone tries to explain something to them. Visual learners need to see it in order to remember. They are often good spellers because once they see a word spelled correctly, they rarely forget. They generally do well in school because schools tend to be suited to the visual learning style. Still, sometimes they need to request visual cues: “Is there a website or a book where I could read about that concept?”
Auditory learners (yay, me!) prefer to receive learning cues through their ears. They like to talk out loud and listen. They are often great at learning foreign languages, especially acquiring the proper accent. As you might imagine, they don't always do so well in environments where you're supposed to be quiet, such as libraries and classrooms. Good strategies include forming study groups with other auditory learners to discuss concepts, and proactively asking for auditory cues: “I read that section of the text, but I'm still a little confused; could you explain it to me?”
Kinesthetic learners prefer to receive learning cues through body movement. To learn effectively, they need to be on the move. They sometimes struggle in traditional school settings where students are encouraged to sit down and be still. They tend to excel in movement-oriented classes like P.E., industrial arts, and auto mechanics. Something as simple as chewing gum during an exam creates enough movement to help the brain process information more effectively. Doodling on paper while reading a challenging textbook will help kinesthetic learners remember what they read. Quietly tapping one's foot or swiveling in one's chair during class are also good strategies.
Our oldest son was always a visual learner. School for him was easy breezy because most teachers teach to the visual student. Our second child was auditory, like her mama! She will tell you to this day that the only way she passed high school chemistry was coming home each night and discussing the concepts with her dad. Child #3 was strong in both visual and auditory styles. Lucky him! He could succeed in just about any class with little effort because he was good with either visual or auditory cues. Then came our first kinesthetic kid, child #4. I remember him working on math at home. Why at home, you might wonder? Because at school, he had to sit still at a desk. With a challenging task, he needed to move. He would put his math book on the kitchen counter, his paper on the dining room table, and his pencil on a nearby shelf. And he'd pace around the room from one item to the other as he completed the assignment. Because that's what worked.
It's important to remember that no correlation exists between preferred learning style and intelligence, and none of these three is inherently better than the others. But knowing your own preferred style as well as your children's can help both you and them learn more effectively. Several different surveys exist to determine preferred learning style; a favorite is the Barsch Learning Styles Inventory.
Try it out sometime. It's quick and easy. And fun!
While we all learn to some extent in all three modalities (visual, auditory, and kinesthetic), most of us have a strong preference for one. Once we recognize how we learn best, we can use strategies to become more effective learners in practically all situations, including school. We can also teach our children these strategies. How empowering!
Visual learners prefer to receive learning cues through their eyes. “Let me read it myself!” is often their request when someone tries to explain something to them. Visual learners need to see it in order to remember. They are often good spellers because once they see a word spelled correctly, they rarely forget. They generally do well in school because schools tend to be suited to the visual learning style. Still, sometimes they need to request visual cues: “Is there a website or a book where I could read about that concept?”
Auditory learners (yay, me!) prefer to receive learning cues through their ears. They like to talk out loud and listen. They are often great at learning foreign languages, especially acquiring the proper accent. As you might imagine, they don't always do so well in environments where you're supposed to be quiet, such as libraries and classrooms. Good strategies include forming study groups with other auditory learners to discuss concepts, and proactively asking for auditory cues: “I read that section of the text, but I'm still a little confused; could you explain it to me?”
Kinesthetic learners prefer to receive learning cues through body movement. To learn effectively, they need to be on the move. They sometimes struggle in traditional school settings where students are encouraged to sit down and be still. They tend to excel in movement-oriented classes like P.E., industrial arts, and auto mechanics. Something as simple as chewing gum during an exam creates enough movement to help the brain process information more effectively. Doodling on paper while reading a challenging textbook will help kinesthetic learners remember what they read. Quietly tapping one's foot or swiveling in one's chair during class are also good strategies.
Our oldest son was always a visual learner. School for him was easy breezy because most teachers teach to the visual student. Our second child was auditory, like her mama! She will tell you to this day that the only way she passed high school chemistry was coming home each night and discussing the concepts with her dad. Child #3 was strong in both visual and auditory styles. Lucky him! He could succeed in just about any class with little effort because he was good with either visual or auditory cues. Then came our first kinesthetic kid, child #4. I remember him working on math at home. Why at home, you might wonder? Because at school, he had to sit still at a desk. With a challenging task, he needed to move. He would put his math book on the kitchen counter, his paper on the dining room table, and his pencil on a nearby shelf. And he'd pace around the room from one item to the other as he completed the assignment. Because that's what worked.
It's important to remember that no correlation exists between preferred learning style and intelligence, and none of these three is inherently better than the others. But knowing your own preferred style as well as your children's can help both you and them learn more effectively. Several different surveys exist to determine preferred learning style; a favorite is the Barsch Learning Styles Inventory.
Try it out sometime. It's quick and easy. And fun!
Friday, February 20, 2015
#TBT: Yep, I hate nicknames. Except...in this one case
I hate nicknames. Of course this isn't a moral issue; it's just a personal opinion. But every time I see a beautiful name on a class roster, and then the student tells me what he or she wants to be called instead, I get sad. "But your parents gifted you with such a lovely name. Why would you want to ruin it?" I want to say. Of course I can't.
Those who know me well, know I am especially sensitive about my own kids' names. On the rare occasion that someone tries to shorten one of them, I get this deep-seeded, intense desire to, uh, claw their eyes out! It's violent really. I have to exercise the utmost self control just to remain sane. I named my children. Well, Gerald and I did. So people better freakin' call them by their correct names.
Yep, I hate nicknames. But then there's this one exception.
My name. Everyone alive today calls me Terrianne, but there was a time when that wasn't the case. The day I was born, my grandpa, independent of what anyone else thought, decided my name should be Tannie, a contracted form of Terrianne. And that was that. My grandma followed his lead, and until the day each of them died, they never called me anything but Tannie.
And I loved it. Because I loved them.
The night I was born, my grandpa was in Canada, presiding at a convention of the International Woodworkers of America, a labor union over which he was the president. As they prepared to sing the familiar labor song "We Shall Not Be Moved," he told the membership that the words would be changed that night. When they would normally sing, "Al Hartung is our leader, we shall not be moved" they would instead sing, "Tannie is our leader, we shall not be moved."
They were the only two who ever called me Tannie. My grandpa died when I was just 12. He was 17 years older than his wife, and he had to wait 21 years for her to join him in heaven. Theirs was a true love story.
I really do not like nicknames, and I never will. But there was this one exception.
Love, Tannie
Those who know me well, know I am especially sensitive about my own kids' names. On the rare occasion that someone tries to shorten one of them, I get this deep-seeded, intense desire to, uh, claw their eyes out! It's violent really. I have to exercise the utmost self control just to remain sane. I named my children. Well, Gerald and I did. So people better freakin' call them by their correct names.
Yep, I hate nicknames. But then there's this one exception.
My name. Everyone alive today calls me Terrianne, but there was a time when that wasn't the case. The day I was born, my grandpa, independent of what anyone else thought, decided my name should be Tannie, a contracted form of Terrianne. And that was that. My grandma followed his lead, and until the day each of them died, they never called me anything but Tannie.
And I loved it. Because I loved them.
The night I was born, my grandpa was in Canada, presiding at a convention of the International Woodworkers of America, a labor union over which he was the president. As they prepared to sing the familiar labor song "We Shall Not Be Moved," he told the membership that the words would be changed that night. When they would normally sing, "Al Hartung is our leader, we shall not be moved" they would instead sing, "Tannie is our leader, we shall not be moved."
They were the only two who ever called me Tannie. My grandpa died when I was just 12. He was 17 years older than his wife, and he had to wait 21 years for her to join him in heaven. Theirs was a true love story.
I really do not like nicknames, and I never will. But there was this one exception.
Love, Tannie
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Just doin' their jobs
Kids often get a bad rap, especially toddlers and teens. The terms “terrible twos” and “trying teens” make us laugh, cry, or at least nod with understanding. But what if the behavior that drives us crazy is really just normal, age-appropriate, human development? What if our kids aren't hatching evil, subversive plots to manipulate us or ruin our lives? What if they're just doin' their jobs?
It is an infant's job to suck and cry. And wake in the night. Several times. It's what they do, and no, they cannot “self-soothe,” nor should they be expected to. Cuddle them close and meet their needs.
It is a toddler's job to whine, say no, run wildly, dawdle, hit, bite and throw both food and temper tantrums. They are little people with tons of mobility, limited language skills, and not an ounce of common sense. It's a frustrating life to live, but it's also joyous. Celebrate it!
It is a teenager's job to sulk, be moody, resist, overreact, and demonstrate bipolar-like tendencies. Bodies are a-changin' and hormones a-ragin.' They are searching to figure out life, their place in it, and their relationship to us, all the while feeling at times so insecure that it hurts to walk out the door. Walk next to them. Love them through the tough times. Their potential is great and their hearts are good.
Parenting is not for wimps, but if we switch up our perspective, perhaps it can take the edge off. If one of my former toddlers was on the floor throwing a colossal tantrum, and if I could look at him and think, “Wow, you are totally excelling at your job; I'm impressed!” it was far easier not to react in anger, but rather to rub his back and whisper, “I can tell you're really upset that you can't have another cookie, but well, that would be too many cookies. Would you like to go for a walk (or build a tower of blocks, or take a bath, or whatever) instead?”
If my teenager is sulking and in a bad mood for heaven knows what reason, and I can think to myself, “You are really doing your job well today,” it's far easier to react in a supportive way: “You seem to be struggling today. I love you. Let me know if I can help.”
Kids often get a bad rap, especially toddlers and teens. But most of the time, if we stop and think about it, we realize that they are just doin' their jobs.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Because this restaurant can't manage a V-Day without my children
For about as long as I can remember, one or more of my children has been employed at Romano's Macaroni Grill. Shulamith started working there as a host when she was 19 and a sophomore at Westminster College. Four years later, when Isaiah moved to Salt Lake also to attend Westminster, he got a job there. For a short time, Shulamith's husband Mathew worked there, and then Eli hosted there just before his mission. Currently, Eli is the only Mac. Grill employee; Shulamith and Matt and Isaiah have all moved on to bigger and better things.
But apparently this restaurant can't manage a Valentine's Day without my children.
In its defense, this is the busiest day of the year. Mother's Day is second, but since Mother's Day is on Sunday, Valentine's Day still wins for busiest. When Shulamith was in college, the manager would pay her to work all day, just answering the phone and taking reservations. This year, because it falls on a Saturday, they expect total craziness. And yes, every single employee will be working, but no, that won't be enough. Since they can't exactly hire new people to work only one day, the answer is to call former employees and beg them to come help out.
Enter Isaiah. I really thought he would laugh at the idea, and he did at first. Then he thought about it again: "Wait, I made over $300 last year on Valentine's Day, and it wasn't even a Saturday." So he said yes.
Shulamith was a harder sell. She basically does not leave her baby. Ever. But the former general manager who is now over several Mac. Grill stores, seems to think that only Shulamith can handle the front end of the restaurant on V-Day, manage the hosts, and make sure that the whole wait list and seating process goes smoothly. So he promised to make it "well worth her while" to be there. He'd better.
Consequently, tonight, not one, not two, but THREE of my children will be working at Macaroni Grill. So what does any self-respecting mother do under such circumstances? She makes a reservation, of course! Gerald, Seth, and I will be dining at 6:30.
And the memories will flow. We dined there after Shulamith's college graduation, my whole family (minus Luke, who was on his mission), plus my mom and brother. The manager insisted we order all sorts of extra things: several appetizers, drinks, desserts, and then he comped our entire ticket. Another time, Shulamith and I ate there in the corner table by the fireplace on one of my weekend visits to Salt Lake. She had just barely started dating Matt, so through most of the meal, she waited, and waited, hoping he would text her. Finally, he did. And then she was happy. And then I was happy. Memories.
Tonight we make another Mac. Grill memory. We will wave at Shulamith, who will be too busy to stop and talk. We will sit in either Isaiah's or Eli's section, and sneak both of them bites of food when no one's looking, because they will be starving. They went in at 11:00 AM and will likely work all night with no break.
But apparently this restaurant can't manage a Valentine's Day without my children.
In its defense, this is the busiest day of the year. Mother's Day is second, but since Mother's Day is on Sunday, Valentine's Day still wins for busiest. When Shulamith was in college, the manager would pay her to work all day, just answering the phone and taking reservations. This year, because it falls on a Saturday, they expect total craziness. And yes, every single employee will be working, but no, that won't be enough. Since they can't exactly hire new people to work only one day, the answer is to call former employees and beg them to come help out.
Enter Isaiah. I really thought he would laugh at the idea, and he did at first. Then he thought about it again: "Wait, I made over $300 last year on Valentine's Day, and it wasn't even a Saturday." So he said yes.
Shulamith was a harder sell. She basically does not leave her baby. Ever. But the former general manager who is now over several Mac. Grill stores, seems to think that only Shulamith can handle the front end of the restaurant on V-Day, manage the hosts, and make sure that the whole wait list and seating process goes smoothly. So he promised to make it "well worth her while" to be there. He'd better.
Consequently, tonight, not one, not two, but THREE of my children will be working at Macaroni Grill. So what does any self-respecting mother do under such circumstances? She makes a reservation, of course! Gerald, Seth, and I will be dining at 6:30.
And the memories will flow. We dined there after Shulamith's college graduation, my whole family (minus Luke, who was on his mission), plus my mom and brother. The manager insisted we order all sorts of extra things: several appetizers, drinks, desserts, and then he comped our entire ticket. Another time, Shulamith and I ate there in the corner table by the fireplace on one of my weekend visits to Salt Lake. She had just barely started dating Matt, so through most of the meal, she waited, and waited, hoping he would text her. Finally, he did. And then she was happy. And then I was happy. Memories.
Tonight we make another Mac. Grill memory. We will wave at Shulamith, who will be too busy to stop and talk. We will sit in either Isaiah's or Eli's section, and sneak both of them bites of food when no one's looking, because they will be starving. They went in at 11:00 AM and will likely work all night with no break.
Happy Valentine's Day 2015!
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Name the Childhood Addresses You Remember - Now That's Hilarious
One item on the list of 365 questions is "Name the Childhood Addresses You Remember." Well that made me laugh out loud. You see, I lived in 21 different residences, all in the Portland Metropolitan Area, by the time I left for college at age 17. My mom really, really likes to move. I'm not exactly sure why that is, and I certainly did not inherit that particular character trait. Gerald and I only move when we are relocating to a different city. And then, we don't think it's fun. It's just necessary. But my mom thoroughly enjoys the whole process of moving: looking for a new place, packing up her stuff, unpacking, and especially rearranging everything and decorating a new space. My dad's friends used to say, "If you want to know where Tom lives, just stand out on the corner and watch for a moving truck and follow it!"
I can't even begin to remember all the places we lived. The only reason I know the number is 21 is that just before I left for college, my dad and I sat down together and counted. Of course he remembered several places we lived long before I was old enough to remember anything at all. Which, I suppose, is a good segue to answering the question at hand: What are the addresses that I can remember?
My earliest memory is a little house on N.E. 121st Avenue. I lived there from 1st through 3rd grades, so a long time for our family. It was green, and I don't remember much about the inside, but the whole front yard was landscaped with bark chips and shrubs. That's because my dad hated yard work, especially mowing the lawn, so he had all the grass pulled up and then substituted these shrubs. When I think back, it really wasn't very attractive at all, but no, it did not need to be mowed. In the backyard was a cement patio that had a hole in it with sand inside, which I decided was the beach. You can read about that whole deal here if you like. It was a good house, and I remember being happy there.
But all too soon, in the middle of fourth grade, we moved again, this time to a larger house on S.E. 159th and Division, where we stayed until the middle of 8th grade. This move was not easy for me. It was difficult to fit in at first, and I struggled to make friends. I did not like my new school, an old, old building, and my teacher was mean. In time I adjusted, though I never loved the school; it was a terribly outdated K-8 plan, which in my 12-year-old mind was just wrong on so many levels. If we had stayed in our previous house, I would have gone to middle school in 7th and 8th grades, so I felt terribly cheated. Nevertheless, I found friends in the neighborhood and have fond memories of long summer nights playing softball and hide & seek and tag.
In 8th grade we moved back to the same area of the first house, this time to an apartment complex. Through high school, we moved in and out of various apartments, some I don't remember, but my favorite was one called the Anne Marie. We actually lived in three different units of that complex at various times in those 4 - 5 years. We would move away and then return. I loved the pool there and the feeling of community that existed among residents. I remember the day I had four permanent teeth extracted in preparation for braces, coming home in terrible pain, and retreating to the pool where I floated for hours. I remember taking prom pictures out on the balcony with my date and the other couple we went with.
In the middle of my freshman year, and in between stints at the Anne Marie, we rented a house. I really liked that house. It was a gray rambler with a big backyard. I had my favorite dog there, a tiny black poodle named Misty. I remember each morning sitting on the couch with my dog on my lap watching The Flintstones as I waited for the bus. And all too often I missed that bus because I was so involved in the antics of Fred and Barney. It was the only cartoon I ever liked, ever, and that is still the case today.
During part of my sophomore year, we moved to an apartment way east in a town called Troutdale. This took me to a whole new high school (not so fun), but we only stayed there part of the year, and before I knew it, we were back at the Anne Marie and Parkrose High School, where I ultimately graduated. But that time in Troutdale stirs memories of silver ice storms, freezing rain that made the whole world look like a crystal palace. Power lines broke, and travel was treacherous, but oh it was beautiful!
Name the childhood addresses you remember. Yeah, that's fairly hilarious. But I did my best.
I can't even begin to remember all the places we lived. The only reason I know the number is 21 is that just before I left for college, my dad and I sat down together and counted. Of course he remembered several places we lived long before I was old enough to remember anything at all. Which, I suppose, is a good segue to answering the question at hand: What are the addresses that I can remember?
My earliest memory is a little house on N.E. 121st Avenue. I lived there from 1st through 3rd grades, so a long time for our family. It was green, and I don't remember much about the inside, but the whole front yard was landscaped with bark chips and shrubs. That's because my dad hated yard work, especially mowing the lawn, so he had all the grass pulled up and then substituted these shrubs. When I think back, it really wasn't very attractive at all, but no, it did not need to be mowed. In the backyard was a cement patio that had a hole in it with sand inside, which I decided was the beach. You can read about that whole deal here if you like. It was a good house, and I remember being happy there.
But all too soon, in the middle of fourth grade, we moved again, this time to a larger house on S.E. 159th and Division, where we stayed until the middle of 8th grade. This move was not easy for me. It was difficult to fit in at first, and I struggled to make friends. I did not like my new school, an old, old building, and my teacher was mean. In time I adjusted, though I never loved the school; it was a terribly outdated K-8 plan, which in my 12-year-old mind was just wrong on so many levels. If we had stayed in our previous house, I would have gone to middle school in 7th and 8th grades, so I felt terribly cheated. Nevertheless, I found friends in the neighborhood and have fond memories of long summer nights playing softball and hide & seek and tag.
In 8th grade we moved back to the same area of the first house, this time to an apartment complex. Through high school, we moved in and out of various apartments, some I don't remember, but my favorite was one called the Anne Marie. We actually lived in three different units of that complex at various times in those 4 - 5 years. We would move away and then return. I loved the pool there and the feeling of community that existed among residents. I remember the day I had four permanent teeth extracted in preparation for braces, coming home in terrible pain, and retreating to the pool where I floated for hours. I remember taking prom pictures out on the balcony with my date and the other couple we went with.
In the middle of my freshman year, and in between stints at the Anne Marie, we rented a house. I really liked that house. It was a gray rambler with a big backyard. I had my favorite dog there, a tiny black poodle named Misty. I remember each morning sitting on the couch with my dog on my lap watching The Flintstones as I waited for the bus. And all too often I missed that bus because I was so involved in the antics of Fred and Barney. It was the only cartoon I ever liked, ever, and that is still the case today.
During part of my sophomore year, we moved to an apartment way east in a town called Troutdale. This took me to a whole new high school (not so fun), but we only stayed there part of the year, and before I knew it, we were back at the Anne Marie and Parkrose High School, where I ultimately graduated. But that time in Troutdale stirs memories of silver ice storms, freezing rain that made the whole world look like a crystal palace. Power lines broke, and travel was treacherous, but oh it was beautiful!
Name the childhood addresses you remember. Yeah, that's fairly hilarious. But I did my best.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)