0 Dear Parent on your iPhone

I received this on Facebook tonight, credited to a "Marshall Miller." It was originally about moms, but that's not fair, so I've retitled it and share it here.  It really hit home for me.  How about you?


Dear Parent On Your iPhone,

I see you over there on the bench, messing on your iPhone. It feels good to relax a little while your kids have fun in the sunshine, doesn’t it? You are doing a great job with your kids, you work hard, you teach them manners, have them do their chores.

But let me tell you what you don’t see right now…..

Your little girl is spinning round and round, making her dress twirl. She is such a little beauty queen already, the sun shining behind her long hair. She keeps glancing your way to see if you are watching her.

You aren’t.

Your little boy keeps shouting, “Hey watch this!” I see you acknowledge him, barely glancing his way.

He sees that too. His shoulders slump, but only for a moment, as he finds the next cool thing to do.

Now you are pushing your baby in the swing. She loves it! Cooing and smiling with every push. You don’t see her though, do you? Your head is bent, your eyes on your phone as you absently push her swing.

Talk to her. Tell her about the clouds. The Creator who made them. Tickle her tummy when she comes near you and enjoy that baby belly laugh that leaves far too quickly.

Put your eyes back on your prize…Your kids.

Show them that they are the priority. Wherever you are, be ALL there. I am not saying it’s not ok to check in on your phone, but it’s a time-sucker: User Beware!

Play time at the park will be over before you know it.

The childhood of your children will be gone before you know it.

They won’t always want to come to the park with you. They won’t always spin and twirl to make their new dress swish, they won’t always call out, “WATCH ME!”

There will come a point when they stop trying, stop calling your name, stop bothering to interrupt your phone time.

Because they know…

You’ve shown them, all these moments, that the phone is more important than they are. They see you looking at it at while waiting to pick up brother from school, during playtime, at the dinner table, at bedtime…..

I know that’s not true.

I know your heart says differently.

But your kids can’t hear your words. Your actions are screaming way too loudly.

May our eyes rest upon those we love, first and foremost, and may everything else fall away in the wonderful, noisy, sticky-fingered glory of it all.

0 The Childcare Crisis

As a mother of two, including a 7-week-old infant, I think about childcare constantly. Who provides the best care? How much does it cost? What's the travel time involved? Can I find an arrangement that accomodates my desire to nurse? These difficult questions are keeping me up at night, as I struggle to find a situation that works for my infant, my toddler, my husband, and (last and possibly least) me and my career.

But I'm also aware that my situation is quite good, especially when compared to others on our college campuses. The number of unmarried parenting students is rising, doubling over the last twenty years from seven to just over 13% of the undergraduate population. More than one-third of black female undergraduates nationwide are unmarried parents, and so are 21% of all Native American undergrads.

More than half (59%) of these folks are really struggling--earning less than $10,000 a year. Unbelievably, 38% earn less than $5,000 annually! They are trying to make ends meet by doing it all--raising children while both working full-time and attending college full-time. For example, national statistics indicate that in 2007-2008 three-fourths of all unmarried parents enrolled in college full-time were working at least 15 hours per week; and 30 percent were working 40 or more hours per week. This represents a dramatic change from earlier times--in 1989-1990, less than half (48%) of unmarried parents enrolled in college full-time worked at all. Given these statistics, we can't be surprised that only 5% of unmarried parenting students finish a BA within 6 years of starting college (another 12% earns an AA, and 30% earns a certificate).

We could do so much more to support these men and women, and we have to start by providing affordable, accessible on-campus childcare. Fully 25% of unmarried parenting students have unmet financial need of $11,500 or more-- approximately the same amount that the U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates it costs to raise a child under age 5 each year.

While surveys consistently indicate that a lack of high-quality, affordable, on-campus childcare prevents full engagement in college life, only half of all institutions of postsecondary education provide any form of childcare on campus, and most are over-enrolled. In fact, national data indicate a severe shortage of campus childcare centers--with existing resources meetings only one-tenth of the demand. This is particularly true when it comes to infant care--only about one-third of campus childcare centers accept infants. At the same time, federal support for the Child Care Access Means Parents in School Program (the sole federal funder of such centers) declined by 40 percent (to just $15 million) between 2002 and 2009. According to calculations by the Institute for Women's Policy Research, this means an allocation of just $8 per family headed by a parenting student. That's just appalling.

Parents who try and juggle too much often end up stressed out, and stressed out adults don't make for the best parents. This is a no-brainer--support these parents and not only will they complete their own degrees, but their children will also benefit--and be more likely to grow up to earn college diplomas of their own.

*** The statistics in this post come from a paper authored by UW-Madison graduate student Kia Sorensen and myself, to appear in the journal Future of Children this fall.

0 Resisting the End of Childhood

As I read the story in Friday's New York Times, my belly twisted with the sharp movements of the nearly 9-month-old fetus inside. My daughter's little hand punched forward when I came to this line: "Children often have to be trained to listen to questions from strangers and to sit still for about an hour, the time it takes to complete the two tests."

It's ok, I found myself whispering to her (out loud): I won't let this happen to you.

But can I really protect Annie from the world outside, a world in which New York City toddlers are being raised by parents willing to spend $90 a session to prep their children for tests used to determine admission to KINDERGARTEN? When my highly-educated counterparts are willing to go this far to secure early education that's a 'step up in caliber,' what kind of mama am I if I resist? Am I giving up the ability to have educational choices which could improve the lives of my little boy and my girl-to-be?

Thankfully every single bit of me -- my brain, my heart, my gut -- answers this question with a resounding "NO." In fact, I'm awfully confident (too confident?) that my resistance bodes quite well for my kids. My instincts stem from a fairly robust research literature indicating that socioeconomically advantaged children like mine will thrive in virtually any school environment. As I've said to many friends when defending my choice of preschool (Waldorf), elementary and secondary schools (public), and my planned choice of college (again public, perhaps even a community college to start)-- you could put my son in a virtual "box" for years and he'd still be exceptionally bright. (For those of you getting concerned please note: by "box" I mean a less-than-stimulating classroom environment with a less-than-highly qualified teacher-- not the cardboard apparatus my Amazon deliveries arrive in.)

On a daily basis I find myself actively resisting what researchers identify as normative behavior for my social class group, what Annette Lareau calls the "concerted cultivation" of children. Instead of signing my kid up for a preschool where ABCs are taught at 3 and children are offered music and language electives and ported from one classroom to another, I chose a school based on feelings of warmth and kinship. That's right-- I put my son in a classroom because I liked its pink walls, filmy scarves hanging on hooks, and the rocking chairs in corners. And because the woman in charge, the glowing, smiley "Miss Itzel," serves Conor peach tea and makes sure he gets to spend at least an hour each day playing outside. You got it--that's what's most important to this professor of education.

In fact, I feel much more kinship with what Lareau deems a working-class approach-- the "accomplishment of natural growth." What I want is for my son to play, to laugh, and to interact with other kids based on what they find fun-- not how many numbers or words they know. Of course I found this other article from the New York Times comforting, since it said my instincts are supported by good research on child development. But the truth is, whether or not research affirms it my husband I aren't going to change what we plan to do.

Given that it seems my mind's made up, I have to wonder--why did this week's article on admissions tests freak me out at all? Perhaps because of the tone of inevitability it expressed- a sense that those in power have decided (affirmatively) that this is the new order. An unethical order perhaps (thankfully, the article at least acknowledged that possibility), but one that's here to stay. Witness the New York City schools expert who purports to have no evidence that test prep is on the rise-- while citing an increase in average test scores accompanying an increase in test-takers. She's turning a blind eye; normally expansions in test-taking are accompanied by declines in overall scores, not the other way around. Something else is going on. And it's being described as "normal."

Well, consider me mad and not going to take it anymore. I want to see a widespread protest in response, the formation of a group of powerful people intentionally not signing up for prep classes. A cadre of folks working to make sure their 3 year olds refuse to sit still for an hour, and actively discourage them from taking questions from strangers (whatever that means). Those are the people I plan to surround myself and my kids with, and we'll fight to protect childhood, at whatever cost. That, I think, is what being the "adult" is all about.