http://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2015/11/23/teachers-parents-often-misuse-growth-mindset-research-carol-dweck-says http://www.salon.com/2015/08/16/the_education_fad_thats_hurting_our_kids_what_you_need_to_know_about_growth_mindset_theory_and_the_harmful_lessons_it_imparts/
These two article were both talking about the difference between the growth and fixed mindset. They are both contradicting to each other. The first article is suggesting parents and teachers should praise for effort not qualities. I felt that Dweck had a valid point until I read the second article. For example, Dweck suggests these phrases: "Wow, you really practiced that, and look how you've improved." "See, you studied more and your grade on this test is higher." "You tried different strategies and you figured out how to solve the problem." "You stuck to this and now you really understand it." In the second article the writer is saying “The more serious concern, however, is that what’s really problematic is praise itself. It’s a verbal reward, an extrinsic inducement, and, like other rewards, is often construed by the recipient as manipulation.” From what I read I believe the growth mindset is adoptable it grows and changes. The fixed mindset is something that is there you can’t change it. I think I have a combination of the two. I have always been good at math and whenever I get a grade other than an A I get a little heartbreak. I am also willing to adopt. I thought I would be more of a growth mindset but I think I can have a fixed mindset at times. Both of the articles had very strong points. The second article is trying to get us see the bigger picture. Getting to the root of the problem instead of staying on the surface.
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Who did I work with to compose my hiraeth project? Was this a good approach?
Well I wasn’t able to work with anybody, I wish I had done so though. What was the most difficult part of my writing process? Why? What did I do to overcome the obstacles? The most difficult part my writing process was figuring out exactly what I wanted to write about. I just couldn’t for the life of me think of any home sickness that was worth writing about. I just wrote, well to be fair I wrote and deleted a few times. (sheeee you did not read those last few words) When did I write this project? Good approach? I started a couple of nights before I had to turn it in. I just had to become more familiar with the word. My Approach could’ve been better. Where did I write this project? Good approach? I wrote the paper at home on my laptop. Right now I don’t have too many places I could write. Why did I choose to write about my chosen hiareth? It was the only topic that when I thought about that really give me that longing feeling. How will I adapt/revise my writing process for future revision of the hiraeth assignment. [Be specific. Review your original six-step writing process plan and consider posting a new six-step plan.] I honestly feel there may be a whole lot of changes to my writing. I’m even tempted to do a whole new one. Rosetta Irving
English 100 I must have been four or five, when he decided to send for me from the Village. I left with no hesitation, non what so ever. My eyes at this point was at its worse. If it didn’t get taken care of I could have went blind. At least that’s what I was told. I don’t really remember exactly what were wrong with my eyes but it was very uncomfortable. They would itch all of the time and when I rub them I’ll rub so hard and so often that I would break the skin around them. Mornings were always horrible between my eyes feeling like they were glue shut from all the build-up and the soreness from me rubbing it all night, I hated it. We left for the city early one morning in hopes that they would find the cure for my mysterious eye trouble. The bus was jammed packed so I had to sit on the lap of the person taking me to the city. We made a stop and the most different looking human I had ever seen in my four to five years of living got on the bus, I got so scare because he looked like he stepped out of one of the scary stories I was told. His head was unusually big for his body and his eyes were too far apart or something like that. There were other things that I can’t really remember at this point. The smile was wiped off my face instantly. I spent the entire bus ride trying not to stare which I failed miserably at. We arrived at his house and it was an unpainted cement two story building. The entrance was in the back we hurried back and quickly climbed the two flights of steps. I waited with excitement to meet him. He got home shortly and I ran into his arms as if I knew him. I studied every part of him, he didn’t look too much like me could he really be my father? Was I really finally meeting him in person? He unlocked the door to the bedroom he was renting. We walked in and he took my things. The room wasn’t that big, there was a full/queen size bed and a couch and I think a table with two chairs at the window. This was it my mother had done her part and it was his turn. I don’t remember exactly why but I was very happy there with him he was a better provider and he had the strongest shudders I could climb on. He always had something for me after work. I loved falling asleep in his lap. He would always tell me to go to sleep but I was never sleepy. We had this bond that no one could touch. We were two peas in a pod. My father was my favorite person in the entire world I never thought I had see the day when I would feel any differently. I’m not sure if it was moving to a new land, new culture or the coming of age but my father and I relationship started going south shortly after we arrived to the U.S. maybe us being apart for two years changed something. I was on the mission to keep him happy with me. He just didn’t seem the same anymore. There was sadness in his eyes. He had four lines of wrinkles on his forehead. The stress of providing for a family of five in a strange land must have played a part. He never had time for a back scratch or late nights stories. He had to keep a roof over our heads and he didn’t take that lightly. As the years passed his smile erased slowly and slowly, he has somehow manage to be a joy sucker. He’s always worried about something now. There’s not that much joking with him. He just seem to take the weight of the world and put it on his shoulders. There’s not much I can do to put a smile on his face. He was is school for a while and I was hoping maybe once he got the degree and the job he always wanted for sure he would be a happier person. I was wrong, he stays to himself, he don’t like a lot of company. He just seem very unhappy all the time and no one can guess why. He has his masters and is working at a job that he is well respected so for the life of me I can’t seem to figure out to get my father happy again. When I was in middle school I had a friend that I was so close to we did everything together. I thought for sure she and I were going to remain friends to the end. Her mother was a single mother with three girls that would make her children tell people that her husband was out of the country and the whole time he was in New Jersey. Her mom was very manipulative and she would always bring this girl down. Nothing this girl did was good enough. My friend was not allowed to think for herself she had this girl feeling like she was nothing. I hated it because she had two other daughters and they were treated like humans. I would always make sure to tell her that the shade of her skin did not define her beauty nor did the size of her lips. Her mother hated me she hated that I had her daughter seeing herself as beautiful. She had to have control over this girl for some odd reason. Maybe it was the fact that she was the only one that looked like her father or maybe she just had a problem but whatever it was she was horrible. The mother would allow her other children to verbally abuse their sister. We graduated high and thing went south after that. I got pregnant and had a baby and her mom was able to convince that was a bad influence and she was not allowed to have contact with me what so ever. I truly miss the friendship we shared. I don’t think we could ever be friends again because we have grown apart over the years. We have different interest. Her mother is still heavily in her life and she pretty much picks out most of her friends. I don’t think I would be able to bite my tough as much as I did then, now.
Hiraeth is defined as a deep longing for home, homesickness tinged with grief. I think it is somewhere you would like to go but can’t anymore. It said in the definition that it is heard to translate into English. I read the history on this word and I think it’s more like a place that was once home but somehow doesn’t feel that way anymore. Here is a small example. I love my parents a great deal, I love going over and having my mother’s cooking but I won’t be able to live with them anymore. I have gotten a custom to running my household the way I want and my parents have gotten use to not having any of their children living with them. However my family and I had no choice when we had to stay with them for a month while our house got ready. There were five of us coming to invade my parent’s space. They were very welcoming but there was a few things I had to readjust to and so did my family. My father is not a fan of leftovers avers and we love leftovers like it is a part of the family. He thought me being there was is joy ride to fresh cooked meals town every day. He was so wrong. I would always try to make sure there was food in the house. Those 30 days could not go by fast enough. We love each other but distance makes the heart grows fonder. It’s so funny how we forget how your parents parent. They were parenting me parent my children. I would probably wright about a person that I wish I was still friends with. I could also wright about my first apartment. There are a few ways I can go with this.
I will get an assignment and think ok I have some time and I will procrastinate until a day or two before it’s due. I always manages to forget something at the last minute. Not printing out papers that could help me with the assignment. See my husband works 11-7 so I’m in charge of stopping fights physical and verbal, homework, baths and dinner. Usually I’m at the computer and feeding the baby or cooking. Sometime I even have to feed my youngest daughter because she tends to play with her food to avoid going to sleep after. After dinner I get the two little ones in the tub, lotion down and PJs up and off to bed. No we don’t read a book because my kids thinks they know everything they want to turn the pages and try to read and fight over who’s going to turn the pages. I say goodnight to the girls and get back to work. The baby is my teal he’s always two steps behind me. He don’t want to miss nothing I guess. I sit at the computer cracks my knuckles (not really but in my head I do) start looking at all the work I have to do and see the time is later than I thought. I get going and now my son is tired and ready for bed but not without me. So I put him in my lap and try to rock him. The light from the computer and the noise from me typing on the keyboard distracts him, now he thinks it’s a toy and wants to play too. He’s adding unwanted letters and deleting needed ones. Every effort to stop him is leading to him crying because all he really want is for us to go get in the bed and sleep (yes we co-sleep don’t judge me). At this very moment I start to think how much easier life would be if I went to school before having children. At this point I’m willing let him have his way so I put the laptop away and rock him to sleep. When he falls asleep I can’t lay him down right away so I have to type with him on my chest. As I’m doing this I’m telling myself, Rosetta next time just start sooner.
I believe I can become a better writer I just need to work on my time management skills. Becoming a better writer is achievable with these 6 steps:
Most of my writing is done as a form of communication, via texting, Facebook, IG, and emailing. There are times when I write only when I have to for work or school. Joan Didion said “she writes to make sense of all the pictures in her head.” I honestly wish that this was the case for me. I am more of a talker than I am a writer. Maybe I should start writing things down as I think them instead of talking my husband ears off. Here are a few examples on why I write. Facebook: A nice sunny day driving with my car radio on listening to one of my favorite station a song comes on that I’m really loving I start to sing along …..I’m living proof grace wins every time…. (Air drumming a few head banging) singing and driving a light bulb goes off (ting) this would make a really great Facebook status. Driving and hoping I catch a red light and making sure my phone is near. I see yellow normally I take but because want to make this status I slow down and grabbed my phone and opened the Facebook app and started to write. Wait how did it go again? Oh yeah I’m living proof…(beeeeep, beep, beep) oh shoot green light. I floor it before someone get out of their car in anger. After being called names that are not on my birth certificate I decided to wait on finishing my status. I arrived at my destination and was able to finish writing and post my status.
Texting: At the market deciding what I want, I almost never make a list. A habit that needs to be broken. Me: Hey I’m at the market what do want for dinner? Hubby: Which market Me: Giant Hubby: ummm I don’t know surprise me. (rolling my eyes and sighing) I hate when he tells me to surprise him, because he is the pickiest eater I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. There’s no surprising him when it comes to food, because every time I have ever tried to has led to an argument. Me: I need a little more than that babe Him: It don’t matter just get something good. …….few minutes later Me: Grilled chicken alfrado it is Him: I don’t really feel like chicken today Me: Get home with some frozen turkey burgers because he don’t eat beef. |
Rosetta Irving I will use this blog to become a better writer. Archives
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