A Room with a View

The transition to online learning has changed the way I see my students in so many ways. An ode to embracing the chaos…

We made it through our first few weeks at COVID-U! The fast and furious transition to distance learning is starting to manifest itself in new and interesting ways.  Professors are settling into the new cadence of muted screens and electronically raised hands while students are getting more and more comfortable in the pants-optional environment.  Struggling to find normalcy in the digital classroom, we cling to the familiarity of the material as we work to preserve the dynamics of the classroom.  But it all feels different. 

I’ve always been baffled by the idea of FaceTime.  I grew up in a world where telephones tethered us to home, where we spun ourselves into spiraly phone cords over hours-long conversations.  Where three-way and call waiting were the height of sophistication.  “No – you hang up!”  I didn’t get a cell phone until the year I graduated from college.  I know, I’m old.

Now I buzz around in a world where students FaceTime with their parents while walking to class.  No one is as worried about being camera ready as I feel like they should be.  Several times a day, as the door to my classrooms open, I hear them say, “Mom!  Mom!  I gotta go.  I just walked into class.”  The concept of simple audio conversations seems lost.  They opt to see everyone they speak with, including their parents.  And I’ve never understood it.  As much as I love my children, I have no desire to look up their noses as they commute to class.

Alas, in this new and evolving socially-distanced world, my professional life has morphed into a constant video stream.  We Zoom lectures.  We Zoom meetings.  We even Zoom happy hour.  I’m here for it.  I’ve been delighted to see everyone’s sweet faces, even if it is online.  I don’t mind the brow shots with spinning ceiling fan overhead.  I’ve embraced the perfectly curated backgrounds (the Tiger King ones are my absolute fave!).  Heck, I don’t even mind the occasional up-the-nose view.   

I now get to see my students through a lens I never have before.

We no longer meet in sterile classrooms and cluttered offices.  We meet at home.  Students don’t sit behind desks.  They lay in their beds or out by their pool or sit at their kitchen table.  At home.  

I don’t stand at the front of class in my sensible shoes lecturing, dry erase marker in hand, doing my best to keep students engaged.   I sit in the quietest corner of the house, trying to juggle the imminent needs of my children with my commitment to teaching.  I’m connecting with the faces and voices that are so familiar, broadcast from a wholly unfamiliar environment. 

This is a room with a different view – a view from home.

I’ve met more moms in the past two weeks than I have in my entire professorial career.  They pop into the screen, and we take a minute to chat and catch up.  Because why not?  This whole thing is weird.  Their grown kid is finishing college at home, back in their spaces months before expected (if at all). And as a mom myself, I know they’re low-key checking out the whole Zoom university thing because, let’s be honest, it’s fascinating.    

I’ve also started ending classes with open discussion and ‘Pet Show & Tell.’  My kids love showing off our cat, Noodle, and I am delighted to see the dogs and cats and horses that are keeping my students company at home.  Ask me how many students’ pets I’ve met in my life.  One.  Only one puppy who was brought to a summer class in a lapse of judgement and caused such a commotion that I had to ask that it not happen again.  

In this new digital learning environment, I welcome puppies and moms and little sisters and whomever else is in the room.  You can eat, drink, exercise, watch television, text your friends, shop for shoes – anything goes now at COVID-U.  And showers are always optional.  I’m embracing the loss of control of my classes and choosing to embrace the chaos.  Because it’s all chaos right now.

The pedagogical paradigm has shifted in light of this world-wide pandemic. Learning objectives now center on the preservation of both physical and mental health. Course curriculum has taken a backseat to empathy and compassion. The classroom looks different, but it’s the meeting of the minds that matters most. And I am excited to meet my students where they are.    

I would love to hear about your adventures in online learning. Please share them because we’re all in this together.

Shoutout to my Nonprofit Management students for agreeing to be photographed for the feature image! 📷 You are the best models a professor could ask for.

In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.

Carl Jung
Dallas Mom Blog

Coping with Coronavirus: Meme Therapy

I’m channelling all the feels through random memes these days. Feel free to comment and share your own.

I’m creating these as the mood strikes. And moods are striking often. Enjoy!

As we must account for every idle word, so must we account for every idle silence.

Benjamin Franklin

Follow @beingbonmot on Instagram for the latest memes and other updates.

This Box

A metaphor for life in the age of homeschooling and quarantine.

This box represents so much to me.

We picked up our kids’ school materials last weekend to prepare for an indefinite period of homeschooling.  Like the rest of the known universe, our schools are closed. I am henceforth in charge of simultaneously managing the formal education of a 6th grader and a 2nd grader. I teach adults for a living; I’m well aware that I have neither the skills nor the patience to engage in primary school instruction. This box represents unfamiliar territory.

The amazing teachers, administrators, and counselors at the school cleaned out lockers and desks (think about all of the fun and yucky stuff they found). Then they packaged all the supplies we would need to ease the transition.  They put everything into carefully labeled boxes for the kids, ready to be opened and absorbed in a new environment. This box represents a dedication to learning.

I felt the love and attention each box was given as they were carefully loaded by volunteers into the car.  But something wasn’t right; it felt cold.  The sterility and caution of the current environment was apparent.  Everyone wore gloves and stood awkwardly far apart from each other.  The typical warmth of our school community was missing. This box represents social distancing.

It broke my heart to tell my daughter she couldn’t get out of the car to hug her favorite principal when we arrived at school. Teachers were fighting back tears as they waved from afar and told us how much they missed their students.  This week we’ve gotten so many emails and check-ins from everyone at school saying how hard the physical separation is. We feel it.  This box represents the love teachers have for their students.

We’ve spent the last week foraging through the books and supplies in the box.  Both kids were relieved to have familiar materials as we worked through the first week of homeschool.  The textbooks, pencil stubs, and incomplete sets of crayons provided surprising comfort.  This box represents my kids’ nervous excitement about schooling at home.

This is our daughter’s last year on the ‘lower’ campus of our school.  The thought of her not returning to her second-grade classroom, sitting with her friends, and listening to her fantastic teacher is devastating.  She may not swing at recess or eat in the cafeteria or worship in the chapel again.  This box represents an unfamiliar grief.

Our first week of distance learning, utilizing the tools carefully packed in this box, was fraught with highs and lows. We are all adjusting and finding ways to connect to the material, to normalcy, and to each other. There were no instructions in the box. There were no answers in the box. This box represents an indefinite period of uncertainty.

Also, I’m really delayed in getting this post together. It has been on my ‘To Do’ list for almost a week.  I find my ability to focus and prioritize my own needs has significantly diminished in quarantine. I’m working hardest to preserve calm and stability within the walls of our home without the freedom of exploration or luxury of socialization. And we’re adjusting. We’re practicing grace and finding fun where we are instead of seeking it somewhere else. This box represents a new (albeit temporary) normal.

Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.

Brene Brown
Dallas Mom Blog

Making Lemonade

Spending Spring Break at home in the midst of a social distancing voluntary quarantine provides this mom/professor/realist an opportunity to make some lemonade.

Greetings from my couch without a view!  

It’s officially spring break, and I’m supposed to be on a beach somewhere.  Instead I’m quarantined with my children and husband, removed from the comfort of our schedule with no vacation in sight.  Our schools have closed.  Our movie theaters have closed.  And we haven’t a square to spare. 

We’re in uncharted territory facing a real-life public health crisis.  People seem more anxious now than ever, yet I’m trying to maintain calm at home.  Without it, we’re doomed to constant fighting and pre-pubescent attitude. 

There is officially no break in Spring Break.  

Sure, the kids are psyched at the notion that they won’t return to school for weeks.  Their souls will be crushed when I convene ‘mom school’ this time next week. Until then, we’re playing board games, building Lego, limiting screen time (the struggle is real!), and trying to make lemonade.

At work, I’m being asked to migrate my courses online DURING spring break.  Unlike most other universities in this situation, my employer has not offered us an additional buffer week to ramp up to the e-learning platform.  Luckily, I’m familiar with the tools available to us, but the adaptation isn’t as easy as it seems.  But again, we’re making lemonade.  This time it’s with a squeeze of Zoom and a dash of Canvas.  What’s more, as you can imagine, college students are nervous about everything – grades, exams, lecture formats, cancelling graduation, everything.  And rightfully so.  

None of us knows when we’ll return to campus or school or Nordstrom or Starbucks.  It’s a pandemic, for crying out loud. It’s time for jazz hand greetings, social distancing, surgical hand washing, and an out-and-out lifestyle paradigm shift. We’re in this together.  We can do this.  We WILL do this.

2020 has served us a freaking bushel of lemons so far (part of the reason I haven’t posted since November), but we’re furiously stomping them to a pulp. We’re only a few months in and already thinking about putting up our Christmas trees to finish this crazy year. And we’re making lemonade – sweet, delicious, effervescent, slightly tart lemonade.

Over these next few weeks or (God help us) months, follow me into uncharted territory whilst, ironically, rarely leaving the house. Along the way, I’ll write and post useful links to try to help cope with madness as our worlds collide. Cross your fingers that the kids stay quiet as I live stream lectures from home…

Interested in following my adventures in the not-so-great migration to the online teaching platform? Enroll in COVID-U now!

I hope you’ll check back and share information you find interesting, helpful, or funny. I look forward to hearing from you!      

Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight.

Benjamin Franklin
Dallas Mom Blog