I’m not a team player

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . March 27, 2009 . 4:04AM

By and large, I love teaching. I was worried I wouldn’t, but teaching my class is one of the best parts of my day. Another best part being treating my clients. And, of course, the best-best part being time with family and friends. However, as much as I love people, a thought has occurred to me that, in our society, signifies certain death to me in almost all realms: I am not a team player.

There. I said it. Throw your stones.

I’ve known it for a while, but I tried to play it off like it was nothing. I’m an introvert by nature and I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. My eyes were opened the day I saw an egg on the front of a book and for some reason decided to read it. It was and still is one of the best books I’ve ever read in my life and I high recommend The Introvert Advantage by Marti Olsen Laney to any and every single person in the whole world who thinks they might be uncomfortable in a group setting. I fought the introvert in me for years by throwing myself into drama, choir, band (yes, I was not the most popular person in high school) and essentially tried to do what I thought I “should” do. I have no idea where I got the idea I “should” be anything, but it felt like the thing to do. Until I read this book.

Now that you have the back story, I’m not a team player. I try to be a team player, I do, and I can be a team player when I really put my mind to it. Last night, in class, there was a narcissist in my group and I about lost it on her. What was to be a group decision became about who could “sway her vote” because with a narcissist it’s all about HER (or him but in this case she was female). I almost walked out of the class. I’m working on self-control in those situations. The woman is in her 50s. I’m almost 30 and I feel like I’m too old for the behavior that says “when I’m in a group you must all fight to change my opinion.” Screw you, lady. We have our opinions and we’ll all pick the last option together. It doesn’t mean that since you now know what we might pick that you get to have us fight so you can change yours.

I also tend to get annoyed when other faculty at my college try to intimidate me. As this is a particularly sensitive issue, I’ll just say this: No, you can’t have it and you aren’t intimidating me because you may bark loud but I’m bigger than you are so I’m not scared. Just because you are demanding, rude and a backbiter doesn’t mean you’ll get your way. I put my name on it and it’s mine. Get your own.

Lastly, I’m an adult. Don’t shush me when I walk into a room to ask you about something of mine that another faculty told me you confiscated without permission and have apparently been hoarding in your office. I didn’t make up the idea, it was expressed to me and I was coming to seek out the truth of the matter so I would know what to do when my class started IN 5 MINUTES. If you shush me again, I will get mean. Really, really mean. Don’t shush me. Ever.

I love my second job. I hate the sidework. I hate grading. I hate talking to kids who I know are giving their all about the drop deadline because I’m worried about their future. I hate talking to kids who I know aren’t giving their all because I’m worried about their future. Most of all, I hate dealing with other people who have varying ideas of how much better than me they think they are (not all of them, sillies, that would be a generalization, some of them are awesome).

But I love what I do. I have two professions where I don’t technically have to BE a team player to do well.

Society can bite me. I’m doing just fine.

Feeling old about music in your twenties

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . March 25, 2009 . 10:23PM

It’s happened. It’s finally happened. “I just don’t understand young people nowadays.”

I thought I did. I was unaware of my own elderly status until I sat in my multi-cultural education course tonight. My class is an education course so I am in there with a handful of psychology majors and a bunch of teachers who are here because their schools or major are requiring them to attend. As such, I’m hearing stories about words I have never ever heard in my entire life.

These words apparently mean something having to do with some form of music, but I only recently learned what “apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur” meant and apparently this has been out for some time now. I don’t listen to the radio anymore. I don’t know the songs.

I DON’T KNOW THE SONGS.

Excuse me while I break down.

Ok, so for someone for whom music has meant so much her whole life, this is a huge deal. I have a rhapsody account and I upload some new music but it’s mainly…adult contemporary/aka easy listening. In other words, John Mayer, you’ve grown on me.

Who is this old person in my body? Where did I go?

I don’t even WANT this new music. It “sounds like garbage.”

That’s it. I’m looking for a nursing home.

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Motherhood: Scrimmage Schrimmage

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . March 25, 2009 . 4:38AM

I’m still learning how to be the perfect mom.

I’m going to let you digest that for a minute.

In Gen Psych, a couple of weeks ago, we discussed Maslow’s Hierarchy and, after much excellent discussion, a consensus was made that we don’t believe in it. We did some critical thinking and while we like stage theories, we think Maslow had it wrong. Self-actualization seems impossible to achieve because there is no way that, while living, you can actually determined that you have hit your uppermost peak. It’s only in death that you can say you are done growing. For some people, they are actualized in the act of death through selflessness. See what I mean? My class was floored by this idea and more than a little peeved that someone as smart as Maslow wouldn’t have come up with this on his own. I love their earnestness.

So, I was thinking about this need for reaching some higher peak of being a mother. It’s not completely unlike that feeling of self-fulfillment that Maslow touted. I continue growing and learning and it does feel like I work in stages, however, will I ever really know how well I’ve done? AJ is going to make mistakes because he’s growing and learning and it seems irrational to place my success as a mother on his peaks and valleys.

Getting back to what started this whole train of thought: Baseball. Why yes, I can go from abstract psychology to America’s past-time. Frankly, I was doing them at the same time tonight while I was grading papers on Erikson’s psychosocial theory and Kohlberg’s theory of moral development and watching my son whomp one out past second. Both were equally enjoyable and both made me proud. It helped qualm my fears about the mid-term I have to take tomorrow…the one I am not going to think about right now.

As I was saying, I’m new to this whole soccer mom, or in my case, baseball mom, thing. I’m not a stay at home mom. My house is filthy 90% of the time. I work two jobs not because I have to, but because I thought teaching would be fun (and it is!). I would rather spend time cuddling at home than out on stone bleachers cheering. I don’t get what I’m supposed to be doing out there.

And, here’s the kicker: I’m a bad, bad sport. Yep, I’m the one yelling at the ref. I don’t mean to yell at the ref. I truly don’t and I’m not even holding things against the ref. It just kicks in after years and years of softball and being a spectator at required high school events. When AJ played basketball, Husband actually glared at me because I “accidentally” yelled at the ref, “Are you kidding me? Did you even SEE the basket?” It slipped out. Accidentally.

I resolve to do better with baseball. But it’s not going to happen. I played softball for 8 years and I know what I’m talking about. In my head I’m constantly chanting “Elbows up, knees bent, too high, c’mon pitcher pitch ‘em straight and solid, run faster you can do it!, eye on the ball” and about 800 other things. There is no way around this. The only way to make me stop is to make me watch a game I care nothing about. Like golf. You don’t hear me saying “MAKE A FLIPPING BIRDIE YOU FOOL!” at anyone. I don’t know what a birdie is. I keep my mouth shut.

So, AJ is going to have super supportive mom who will chant for him and clap for him, but he is also going to have to put up with “I’m trying my best” mom. He asked me today if I’d ever found a four leaf clover. Maybe I should find one and put it in his cleats. He’s going to need it with me around.

Our Kurt Halsey custom artwork piece

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . March 24, 2009 . 5:38AM

A while back, before Christmas, we had decided to do something special. We’d commissioned artwork before, with disastrous results. When I say disastrous, I will just say it was a learning experience, as those commissions were through a previous friend who has a good heart, but is still learning how to be a professional. As such, we were wary of artists in general and worried about getting jerked around.

For the last year, I’ve been fascinated with the artwork of Kurt Halsey. Kurt rarely, if ever, does commission pieces, and, as an established artist, I think it’s awesome that he is at the level where he is comfortable establishing those boundaries. After being friends with an artist, I know commissions are not fun. The suck the creativity out of an artist faster than most anything and people are picky, finicky and, since it’s their money, they want it like Burger King: to have it their way.

It just so happened that I’d met Kurt online and had the chance to talk to him a couple of times. After I got over my initial awe of his talent, because trust me, I can’t draw stick people and you could ask anyone that knows me about that, I decided to keep an eye on his work. Eventually, as most do, I collected a piece here, and a piece there, as they related to me, AJ or Husband. None of them related to all of us, though, and the pets are our family, too.

So, when I saw that Kurt had ebayed a commission, I was miserable to have missed it. I hinted—ok, strongly suggested—to Husband that Kurt may be willing to do a second piece, with it being around the holidays and all. It turns out, I was right. And he did. We got this around the end of January/beginning of February. This is ours. This is us. This is my family. Duder is there, so is Pea. Weiner and Francis are there in their glory. AJ is playing in the leaves. And Husband and I are doing what we do best. Thank you, Kurt. This is special. This is my life through his eyes. And mine. I love it.

When is it time to fire your doctor?

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . March 24, 2009 . 12:40AM

Remember less than a week ago, in this post, when I mentioned my doctors were in need of money and there were expressing it in the way of having me come in for stupid reasons? Well, today it happened again. Not even a week after the last time.

I called in regarding a routine prescription question that essentially ended in me saying “I’m not taking your stupid medication anymore” except in more polite terminology. It ended with the doctor wimping out by having her nurse call and say that since our options were now limited that I would have to come in for a consultation.

…

Do I really need to say anything else? I doubt it, but since it’s me, I will. Since I’ve been sicker than tuna on creme cake for the last 4 days, I did a walk-in appointment with her today. It ended with her telling me that I just have a virus and that I need to see a specialist because I have exhausted my options with her. I think she’s just tired of dealing with me.

Hrmph. I’m tired of paying her loans. So there.