the fliptmom neurosis

An irrefutable constant about me is that I love to read. The only challenge I've ever seen to that fundamental has been the recent disruption of social media, and even that is mostly an interactive form of reading.

I also love to take ownership over those gems I come across when I read by flagging them for later. As a teacher this habit is useful and makes it easier for me to cross reference with students in the online classroom- unlike the face to face superstars, an online teacher has the luxury of looking up that "tip of the tongue" example that is just so apropo. 

I also have a three year old boy. And my bookmarking flags look like this:

So more than half the time I find them stuck to my son and all over the floor like this:

I laughed the first time. Then realized he had not pulled them out of the package but out of my dang book! I've hidden them in drawers, started putting them up high. But I still occasionally end up leaving them out next to a book and coming back to find the inevitable.

As flags should be, these are highly symbolic for what my children have been doing to my brain. For my reading habits, I make wise choices, I use the tools available, I establish good routines. Yet, this little guy doesn't care. Not because he's heartless but because he has no idea I exist beyond his reach... and hey, look! sticky colors!

In his wake, I lost my cool. my collected wisdom. my place.

And the neurosis sets in. 

Asking stupid questions. Why did you do this? Why can't I just read and mark my pages? Why can't I have anything???  

Pondering inconvenient truths. These flags are all wasted now. They're really a waste to begin with. Is this sustainable?

Listing the inconveniences. Now I've got to clean this mess up. Pick these up. And read this entire book over!

Reporting the injury. He got into my dang flags again. I had just finished re-marking this new edition. How much money have we wasted on them now?

Broadcasting the banality. This might make a good blog post. It's perfect for fliptmoms. I'll have to put some flags on the little guy and take a pic. *serendipity interceded and no staging was necessary. 

Rich content microblogging

I just learned something new on Twitter!

Using Slideshare, you can embed a full presentation into one tweet.

I have seen pictures and videos embedded, but this is the first time I had seen a slide presentation embedded, and it was from my own tweet. I uploaded a presentation onto Slideshare this morning, and used their Twitter link to share it. When I went to view it on my Twitter feed, I saw that the slide presentation is embedded in the tweet itself.

I find this exciting because so many people say that social media networks like Twitter only allow for snippets of learning or may be damaging to our attention spans. I think this is a legitimate concern, but I have found participating in Professional Learning Networks through these outlets to be quite edifying. I follow links to in-depth articles, I view informative or inspiring videos, and now I see that traditional forms of presentation adapt well to microblogging as well.

There are limitations with Slideshare. For example, only the most traditional forms of image + text do well in that format. I like to use animations and non-traditional layouts for live presentations, and this doesn't translate well for Slideshare. But there is a time and place for quick tidbits of info that your audience may find useful and slides offer a more engaging way to present some material than just blogging.

I plan to keep this in mind as an alternative to some of my blogging. I can start picturing PowerPoint as another blogging and microblogging tool through the use of Slideshare.

The Rainbow Inside Her

I sobbed uncontrollably when a developmental pediatrician told me our 6-year old daughter may never go to college. In front of a nursing student, the doctor told me it was okay to mourn the loss of the child we thought we would have. She then advised me to consider genetic testing if we were going to have more children. If I had my wits about me, I would have said, “Why? To ensure that we do not have another child like her? How dare you!”

After a minor mêlée with depression, I picked myself up and did what any over-educated parent would do – got a second opinion.

As the impressive pediatric neurologist from Johns Hopkins walked in the room, I guiltily hoped this doctor would disagree with that heartless pediatrician, tell me our child would outgrow all challenges, and successfully graduate from college one day. Instead he said the following, “If I could predict the future, then I would quit my job and go on Oprah.” Oddly, this ambivalent and noncommittal comment gave me hope.

Yet, the depression arrived again, but this time it was not because I worried about our child’s future. This time it was because I had allowed my intellectual prejudices to define and limit her happiness by academic victory alone.

Our daughter did not talk until she was four because she had an expressive and receptive language disorder, yet she is now a voracious reader and a competent speller. She has a processing disorder, and yet she can play the piano and do long division. These remarkable successes impress me as I watch her overcome significant cognitive challenges that are out of her control.

However, what inspires me the most about our daughter is the kaleidoscope of colors that radiate from her soul. She befriends and hugs the watermelons in our garden. She sings to narrate her daily activities, and the melodies are rhythmic and jubilant. She remembers everyone’s birthday because it is a joyous occasion for them. Typically, she accepts the big stuff in life casually and the little stuff intensely.

The rainbow inside our daughter brings me pleasure and joy, but sadly, it does not sufficiently remove my fears about her future. What I have discovered and will rediscover as our journey continues is that our daughter carries hope, faith, and courage inside her; they are the rays of her rainbow heart.

And I need to remove the labels from my mind and support her imaginative spirit and prevent the world (and myself) from inhibiting and restructuring her variegated path. E.E. Cummings said that “it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are,” and I must give her the sun and rain to do so.