One day, I casually mentioned to a friend that I was still paying off my student loan. "But," I was quick to explain, "It was only for living expenses--Florida has really great scholarships for covering tuition." "That's good," he agreed, "Otherwise going to college would have been a pretty big waste." And something about that offhand remark rubbed me the wrong way. I knew exactly what he meant--paying for a college education would have been a waste because I am a stay-at-home mom not applying my degree to a career. The implication, in fact, was that college degrees are useless to moms in general--a widespread sentiment that I think probably contributes to mothers returning to the workforce after childbirth sooner than they would prefer. I sometimes find myself trying to apologize for or explain away my degree. "I know I'm not using it right now," I say. And that is a lie.
Do you know why a college degree is important? To secure a job, certainly. But many people enter the workforce in areas completely unrelated to their degrees. Some degrees--like English literature--won't help you get a job at all.
For me personally, I suspect that I wouldn't be in Canada at all if I hadn't attended University 2 hours away from my childhood home. Though the distance was relatively small, it was my first experience living on my own--having to scrounge for my own food and get along with roommates (which I wish I'd done a better job of, by the way) and solve some of my own problems. I visited churches, attended counseling with a woman who I still love dearly to this day, navigated my first painful breakup, and just learned how to function as an adult. I don't think these things could have happened in the magnitude that they did if I had stayed in my hometown and gotten a job straight out of high school. And nothing besides school could have convinced me to leave home at that young age.
Cutting the proverbial apron strings aside, though, the knowledge and skills that I obtained in college have been invaluable to my personal growth. I have dissected so many books and articles and written so many papers that require me to organize my thoughts in a rational, coherent manner. I have learned to research whether something or not is true or find out more about a topic that interests me. My curiosity about the world has been aroused. I have learned to pick the important points out of a speech or passage of writing and commit them to memory. I've read great literature--and not-so-great literature. I've studied child psychology and gotten insight into eating disorders. I've learned how language is formed and the different prevailing views upon how it is learned and if there is an age limit to when it can be acquired with fluency. And though I remember very few details across my 4 years of study, the methods and the overarching principles have stayed with me.
But if education only serves one person, it isn't terribly useful. Now I have a daughter (you knew I was going to bring her up, didn't you?), and I am her entire world. For more than a decade, I will be the lens through which she views the world--I will pass on to her my insights, my prejudices, and some of my skill sets. I cannot think of a more compelling reason to have an education.
And truly, if all of my education has taught me anything, it's really that we know very little. Do not make the latest science or psychology or social media or political ideal your god, because they are all continually in flux. I am often amazed by the completely opposite points of view that are presented as "scientifically verified"--and really, unless I am to perform my own, unbiased, longitudinal study on many thousands of people (don't forget the control group!) for every little "fact" I hear, I really can't know anything with certainty. I recall hearing recently that there is new evidence showing that sunscreen can CAUSE cancer. I don't know what is true in that particular case, but it's just another example of the vacillating nature of our knowledge of the universe. Learn to question it.
So to all you moms with your "useless" college degrees, be proud of how your education has shaped you and for the difference it makes in how you raise your little ones. Let your own experiences ignite the spark of curiosity in them and never take for granted how fortunate you were to have studied in one of the most privileged countries in one of the most enlightened ages in the world.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Trip to B.C.
We made it through our annual summer excursion to Great Grandma's house in the mountains of B.C.! It is such a beautiful place, but the drive can be made much longer by a baby. I can't begrudge Q the extra stops, though, because they were breathtaking and gave us a chance to stretch our legs and not feel like balls of pent-up energy by the time we arrived.
Do you know how many times you think to yourself, "I should write this down, or I won't remember it"? That's why I am chronicling our vacation. Q is reaching an age where she is so self-possessed, intelligent, sweet, and fiercely insistent on attempting everything on her own, that I want to remember all of it. Photos help, but a few words can't hurt, either.
Day 1: We stopped at Crow's Nest Lake on the way there to eat some lunch, and it was perfect. Q ran around in the grass, sat at a picnic table to eat her sandwich while she looked over the lake, and tested the frigid lake water by dipping her entire shoe in it. I used an outhouse which was something straight out of a horror film, with a cement toilet that dropped unfathomable depths into the ground and a dim, flickering light right above that was guarded by a small cage.
We went straight to Wasa Lake for Great Grandma's 88th birthday picnic. This is one of the few pictures I got because Q was insistent upon running full speed at sandy slopes and unassuming sunbathers. The gophers, I think, delighted her. She was scared of her 10-year-old cousin with his goggles on, and a grand time was had by all.
Day 2: We discovered that our air mattress had a leak in it, which resulted in Steve and I moving to a different bed at around 3am while Q stayed in her port-a-crib in Great Grandpa's old stone workshop. Later that morning, I found Steve cuddling Q to sleep on the slouchy mattress. Next we went downtown to see the big longboarding competition that cousin Dan was in. Steve ate up all the photography opportunities and got some amazing shots of the racers. It was a hot day, so Q and I shared a root beer float. She also took her pacifier out and rubbed it in the sand by the curb, then popped it back into her mouth before I could stop her. It might just be my new measure of grossness ("Well, is it grosser than the time that Q ______?"). Then we explored the little shops around the Platzl, and Nanners bought Q a beautiful hand-sewn dress from Guatemala.
Day 3: On our final full day, we took Q to meet her great-great-aunt and eat some pineapple cake. Despite being a little cranky, she did well, and even gave her aunt TWO kisses upon departure. That evening, our little family traveled back to Wasa Lake to swim, and Q ate up every moment of it. She cried the entire car ride back because she wanted to go back in the water. This is the occasion during which I found the fabled aviator sunglasses that fit my gigantic-melon-of-a-head. It's like they were calling me there in the sand.
Day 4: Q woke up and remembered in a creaky morning voice, "Go home. See Charlie and Bella." We had a hearty breakfast of blueberry waffles (which Q quite enjoyed, in part owing to the fact that she now believes her last name is Waffle), said our goodbyes, and headed home. We stopped in Fernie to walk around a small pond and ate our lunch on a little dock. Many-a-goldfish-cracker was dropped through the wooden slats. We also stopped at a playground in Fort Macleod for lunch and a little play, and Bow Island to stretch our legs and get a picture with Pinto the pinto bean.
Things I want to remember: Q would become full of energy in the evening, invigorated by all the new people and places. She loved to take the cushions off of the wicker furniture on the porch, set them on the floor, then plop onto them on her bum, laughing. She stomped her feet in silliness. She ate everything offered to her--she's in the middle of a major growth spurt, I think. She dragged the big, stuffed, orange kitty around. Her older cousins made little bracelets for her out of their rainbow loom kits. All the cousins and grandparents and aunts/uncles, etc. gathered on the porch for a big family picture, and we were vaguely concerned that that corner of the porch might not hold us all. Great Grandma would often dissolve into a fit of giggles when Q said something particularly funny. We taught her to say, "Onomatopoeia," which she said as clear as a bell. She spent copious amounts of time trying to put on her own clothes and other people's shoes, at which she was never quite successful. She would pitch a fit if anyone tried to help her (the shirts would hang limply around her neck and her legs would be shoved into a single leg hole in her shorts). Nana's sandals were her favorite to try on. She slept quite well at night, though she woke up early, and her naps were much shorter than usual. She was also much more sociable than she has historically been, and warmed up to various family members quickly, taking strangers in stride (she even gave a very cautious hug to her grown-up distant cousin, whom she'd never met before). We all enjoyed making family vacation memories together. It feels like the best parts of our lives are just beginning.
Do you know how many times you think to yourself, "I should write this down, or I won't remember it"? That's why I am chronicling our vacation. Q is reaching an age where she is so self-possessed, intelligent, sweet, and fiercely insistent on attempting everything on her own, that I want to remember all of it. Photos help, but a few words can't hurt, either.
Day 1: We stopped at Crow's Nest Lake on the way there to eat some lunch, and it was perfect. Q ran around in the grass, sat at a picnic table to eat her sandwich while she looked over the lake, and tested the frigid lake water by dipping her entire shoe in it. I used an outhouse which was something straight out of a horror film, with a cement toilet that dropped unfathomable depths into the ground and a dim, flickering light right above that was guarded by a small cage.
We went straight to Wasa Lake for Great Grandma's 88th birthday picnic. This is one of the few pictures I got because Q was insistent upon running full speed at sandy slopes and unassuming sunbathers. The gophers, I think, delighted her. She was scared of her 10-year-old cousin with his goggles on, and a grand time was had by all.
Day 2: We discovered that our air mattress had a leak in it, which resulted in Steve and I moving to a different bed at around 3am while Q stayed in her port-a-crib in Great Grandpa's old stone workshop. Later that morning, I found Steve cuddling Q to sleep on the slouchy mattress. Next we went downtown to see the big longboarding competition that cousin Dan was in. Steve ate up all the photography opportunities and got some amazing shots of the racers. It was a hot day, so Q and I shared a root beer float. She also took her pacifier out and rubbed it in the sand by the curb, then popped it back into her mouth before I could stop her. It might just be my new measure of grossness ("Well, is it grosser than the time that Q ______?"). Then we explored the little shops around the Platzl, and Nanners bought Q a beautiful hand-sewn dress from Guatemala.
Day 3: On our final full day, we took Q to meet her great-great-aunt and eat some pineapple cake. Despite being a little cranky, she did well, and even gave her aunt TWO kisses upon departure. That evening, our little family traveled back to Wasa Lake to swim, and Q ate up every moment of it. She cried the entire car ride back because she wanted to go back in the water. This is the occasion during which I found the fabled aviator sunglasses that fit my gigantic-melon-of-a-head. It's like they were calling me there in the sand.
Day 4: Q woke up and remembered in a creaky morning voice, "Go home. See Charlie and Bella." We had a hearty breakfast of blueberry waffles (which Q quite enjoyed, in part owing to the fact that she now believes her last name is Waffle), said our goodbyes, and headed home. We stopped in Fernie to walk around a small pond and ate our lunch on a little dock. Many-a-goldfish-cracker was dropped through the wooden slats. We also stopped at a playground in Fort Macleod for lunch and a little play, and Bow Island to stretch our legs and get a picture with Pinto the pinto bean.
Things I want to remember: Q would become full of energy in the evening, invigorated by all the new people and places. She loved to take the cushions off of the wicker furniture on the porch, set them on the floor, then plop onto them on her bum, laughing. She stomped her feet in silliness. She ate everything offered to her--she's in the middle of a major growth spurt, I think. She dragged the big, stuffed, orange kitty around. Her older cousins made little bracelets for her out of their rainbow loom kits. All the cousins and grandparents and aunts/uncles, etc. gathered on the porch for a big family picture, and we were vaguely concerned that that corner of the porch might not hold us all. Great Grandma would often dissolve into a fit of giggles when Q said something particularly funny. We taught her to say, "Onomatopoeia," which she said as clear as a bell. She spent copious amounts of time trying to put on her own clothes and other people's shoes, at which she was never quite successful. She would pitch a fit if anyone tried to help her (the shirts would hang limply around her neck and her legs would be shoved into a single leg hole in her shorts). Nana's sandals were her favorite to try on. She slept quite well at night, though she woke up early, and her naps were much shorter than usual. She was also much more sociable than she has historically been, and warmed up to various family members quickly, taking strangers in stride (she even gave a very cautious hug to her grown-up distant cousin, whom she'd never met before). We all enjoyed making family vacation memories together. It feels like the best parts of our lives are just beginning.
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