You never stop being a parent (or a teacher)

Now that I'm a mother (of a human -- I've been a veteran cat mother for eleven years now), I finally understand why people are so desperate to have a free moment away from their precious children. Like all many conventional narratives have shown, I enjoy spending ten hours away from my daughter each day doing work that is not related to my household. The only thing is that for all I can claim about loving my research more (a reality I cannot hide), I spend a good deal of those ten hours worrying about my other children, namely students.

I don't intend to be patronizing by calling 18+ year old students "children" but I just feel that despite the not-so-significant age gap (I would still qualify as an adolescent mother if I had given birth to them), they are my intellectual flesh and blood, and I worry about their well-being inside and out of the classroom, physically and socially. I don't expect them to be smart, per se, but enthusiastic, driven, and cognizant of why effort is so important to invest into a meaningful life.

I have written before about in loco parentis which is not legally mandated but a frame of mind that many educators possess, but it hit me harder this autumn because I will be moving to a new position in the spring. Although I am very excited about what lies ahead, I am nervous about "leaving behind" (I don't like to think of it that since I will remain in Hong Kong, just a hour away from my current institution by bus) students who I have taught but have yet to graduate. I am proud of those who have already left the university "nest" and are thriving in various fields, but their as-yet-studying peers tug at my heart. I hope that with enough strategic planning, I can continue being part of their lives even when I'm physically away from them. What will be harder than the tangible separation will be managing the inevitable pangs of regret that I can't see them through the last steps before they complete the final leg of a long journey towards adulthood.

From Liquid to Solid

I won't give the illogical excuse that I didn't post anything in February because nothing happened. Like parents everywhere, my husband and I were overwhelmed by the plethora of changes that occur in the sixth month of life. We were pleasantly stunned by our daughter's ability to sit up and to begin crawling, and less thrilled but grateful nevertheless about all the hullabaloo culminating in the emergence of her first tooth.

But February was also a milestone for me in particular because I started to realize that "I am a new mother" excuse was starting to become less reasonable for the rapid declines in self-discipline and drive in the past few months. Although it is still difficult to coordinate all aspects of my life, even with lots of help and understanding, I no longer want to feel out of control -- not that, as people who know me well, I have ever enjoyed having less than full command of my actions and thoughts.

So my resolution for the spring and summer, especially as we get closer to my daughter's first birthday, is that I motivate myself to take hold of the liquid-like version of my life, and make it more solid. Just like introducing mashed fruits and oatmeal is helping my daughter transition out of her formula-based diet.

All My Children

This post is not about the soap opera that I remember being on air when I was growing up (pre-college). I never watched the show, and with all due respect to its fans, I have no idea what it was about.

What I do mean by this phrase is that despite our best attempts to remain 100% professional in both emotion and action, professors can't help but thinking of students, undergraduates especially, as "kids." Our kids -- children -- that's right, we're in a perpetual state of loco parentis.

I felt the excitement and anxiety of reuniting with students this past week when I resumed teaching. I was not quite playing my A-game after a semester of working on research and getting used to parenting, but I managed. I saw a lot of former students who are taking my courses again, and met many new ones. I used to complain (in a caring way) that students demand your flesh and blood (not literally, of course, but with everything that they need...). I even thought that the very essence of me was getting stripped out by the stresses of teaching, advising, and administering all things pedagogical. I realize now, I wasn't wrong. Students are like children. We like and care about them. Their problems become ours. We hope that they will achieve bright futures and live happily ever after. We want them to do their best but are ready to help them whenever they make mistakes.

Last year, I just added a full-time, fresh from scratch child to a growing brood.

Thanks to my students for challenging and teaching me to be a better mother.