Thoughts and Words Ill-Sorted

Blowing a hole in the idea that young people are building skills that the older ones could never dream of: “Multi-taskers often think they are like gym rats, bulking up their ability to juggle tasks, when in fact they are like alcoholics, degrading their abilities through over-consumption.”

No, this doesn’t mean you hate technology: “Even a passing familiarity with the literature on programming, a famously arduous cognitive task, will acquaint you with stories of people falling into code-flow so deep they lose track of time, forgetting to eat or sleep. Computers are not inherent sources of distraction—they can in fact be powerful engines of focus—but latter-day versions have been designed to be, because attention is the substance which makes the whole consumer internet go.”

And yes, that guy two rows up just made you bomb your test by using his laptop for the last three weeks of class:“Allowing laptop use in class is like allowing boombox use in class—it lets each person choose whether to degrade the experience of those around them.”

“Anyone distracted in class doesn’t just lose out on the content of the discussion, they create a sense of permission that opting out is OK, and, worse, a haze of second-hand distraction for their peers. In an environment like this, students need support for the better angels of their nature (or at least the more intellectual angels), and they need defenses against the powerful short-term incentives to put off complex, frustrating tasks. That support and those defenses don’t just happen, and they are not limited to the individual’s choices. They are provided by social structure, and that structure is disproportionately provided by the professor, especially during the first weeks of class.”

https://medium.com/@cshirky/why-i-just-asked-my-students-to-put-their-laptops-away-7f5f7c50f368

Erin

When my kids get a bit sick or tired, they latch onto the weirdest things.  This past week, under the influence of a stomach bug, Nathaniel kept a firm grip on me and wailed that when he grew up he would have no one to marry and so would be “all alooooooone.”  Why marriage is suddenly so important to him, I don’t know.  I pointed out that his father and I would still be there, but that wasn’t helpful, and when I suggested that maybe he would meet someone at school or work, he ticked off the girls in his preschool and then cried harder than ever.  Weird kid.

Katherine, meanwhile, was inconsolable this afternoon when we got a hailstorm that created a temporary river in our yard and caused some damage to Sydney’s garden.  She wailed that she didn’t think we should even have a garden, that it’s too “expensive” to have plants outside, and that she hated rain.  The incessant rain of the past two weeks seems to be getting to her.  Two hours later, when the skies had cleared, the river had stopped, and things looked relatively normal again, she begrudgingly admitted that the world had not ended, but she still didn’t look thrilled.

Erin

“college cheese” – Katherine

Has she been hearing too much about colleges and not enough about cottages?  That’s a shame.

* * *

“instruction workers” and “instruction paper” – Nathaniel

Sometimes, as he catches himself, we get “instructionconstruction workers.”  I’m no help, since I just giggle at hearing my four-year-old talk like an administrator.

Erin

Although you might think it, given that she’s the daughter of two bookworms, Katherine does not have to love to read.  I can insist that she learn to do it well, but I know we can’t pick our children’s loves.  It does thrill me to see her so engrossed in a passion of her own finding (“Just three more pages!” when I called her for breakfast), and I know from experience how rewarding this particular love can be.  Last month I brought home all of the young-adult fiction I own, from the Narnia books to E. B. White.  Katherine immediately latched on to the Little House on the Prairie books for our read-aloud time and by the time Nathaniel joined us we were in the middle of the third one, Farmer Boy.  

Erin

Sydney is currently in Amsterdam, and in a few days he’ll head to Boulder, CO, for a month-long seminar.  That leaves me in our house with the kids, cats, garden, and a flexible summer schedule.  Although I have some demanding research deadlines looming over me, the kids will only be in childcare for a few hours each weekday, so I’ll have the mornings and many weekends and odd days with them at home when I won’t be able to tackle work projects.

In some ways, this is great: I have time in which to play, cook, buy groceries, clean, read to the kids, give Katherine piano lessons, etc.  But as Sydney knows, if I’m not kept running absolutely full-out with work and home care, I’ll invent some new project.  I only have two modes: overbooked and looking for trouble.  It’s rained every day we’ve been home this week, meaning I can’t exhaust myself mowing, so I returned to my goal of painting the bathroom this summer.  It’s kind of yellow and most bits of trim are battered, so anything I can do should be an improvement, right?

But I’m very good at demolition, and not so good at construction.  I am an obsessive weeder outside, but Sydney is the cultivator.  As I washed the bathroom trim in preparation for new white paint, I realized that the grout was dirty.  So I wanted to dig that out.  Both the grout and the trim, though, will need redoing when we eventually replace the worn linoleum, so maybe I should just rip that out, too, while I’m at it.  I peeked under a curling edge and saw hard floor underneath, so how bad could it be?

. . .

Only the thought of having to answer Sydney’s question, “Where did you find money for new tile?” kept me from ripping out the baseboards, flooring, and grout today, since I knew I’d have a month in which to figure out a way to fix it before he got home.  And, hey, we do have another bathroom, if this ends up taking forever.  But I’m still just learning how to paint, never having done even that before.  It may take me a long time to patch up all the errors I’ll make in rehanging towel bars.  And the floor project would spill over into late nights, making me tired and unfocused, which means I might miss some important professional deadlines.  So, Sydney, the ugly flooring is safe for now (ugh, can I just paint it?  or get a big rug?), and I’m dutifully painting the trim that I so nearly pried up with any tool that was handy.

This is why Sydney is nervous: I have almost no practical skills, but an itch for demolition that he’s not here to rein in.  Still, I’ve been home for three days and I’ve successfully fought it off once!

Erin

Erin

We are currently in Arkansas at a Birdsong family reunion.  All except two members of my extended family have made it; we’re not terribly numerous, but we’re a clan of strong personalities, and this is the first time we’ve all been together in many years.  This morning Sydney survived a round of all-adults-in golf (he’s never touched a club) and probably played much better than I did.  I’m glad that he’s had almost a decade of life with me to get used to Birdsong ways, since I’m sure it was good training for this crowd.  Katherine and Nathaniel are still struggling to catch up on sleep after all of the traveling, but they’ve really enjoyed playing with the numerous cousins who happen to be 6 and 4, too, and discovering the fun to be had in a kiddie pool.

Erin

Although a week of rainstorms has kept Sydney out of the garden for much of this past week, we’re starting to see the fruits of his April and May efforts.  And, given that we live in a small town, everyone else seems to have noticed, too; two colleagues cornered me at a garage sale recently to ask about the new plants they’ve seen in our front yard, and I laughed and said, “Talk to my husband!  I have no idea what they are!”

Erin

Erin

Erin