Category Archives: Education

Lessons from a woman and her tools

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remodelI’m talking about real tools here. Man tools. There is an immediate rush of authority when you put your hands around a tool and with the push of a button realize that you could literally lose a limb if you slip. Sounds a little sadistic, but it’s actually very empowering for a woman whose previous power tool experience was limited to the dust buster and a steamer vac.

I got an early jump on two New Year’s Resolutions this year — remodel the bathroom and learn something new. Got my money’s worth out of that second one as I actually learned a few things about tools, men and anatomy.

1) Men keep us out of the garage because they don’t want us to know how fun it is to play with tools! The stiff backs and the sore knees are just a ruse to earn sympathy and a cold beer at the day’s end.

2) Don’t tell your Facebook friends that you need an “axe” to start demolition. It’s called a sledgehammer.

3) It’s not cool to get caught washing the crowbar with dish soap and hot water. No matter how sticky and gross it is, let it be.

4) While not very creative, the Sawzall is the most aptly named tool in the shed.

5) There is a muscle in your arm called the flexi carpi ulnaris. After swinging a hammer at wall and floor tile for several hours, this muscle gets very angry.

The bathroom demolition is now complete and the rebuilding has begun. As much as I enjoyed my day letting off steam by busting through old pink tiles, my manicure is a mess. I’ve decided to leave the drywall hanging and plumbing to my husband. I’ll be back when it’s time to choose a paint color and provide direction about where to hang the towel bar. That’s right, I’m a Foreman. On second thought, make that a Forewoman.

The politics of voting

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The White House, as perceived by my childhood self.

When I was in elementary school, we always held “mock elections” on November 6 as a teaching opportunity to learn about democracy and the process by which our country selects its own leader. Every Election Night, we piled into the red Mercury Zephyr and drove out to the Koshkonong Town Hall so that my parents could exercise their right to vote. My brother and I were usually asked to wait in the station wagon for what seemed like hours.  I was fascinated by the volume of people streaming in and out of this tiny building that I was truly convinced was the White House. Then again, I also thought that our Catholic priest, Father Endres, was the Pope…so I may have been a bit out of touch with reality.

The thing that drove me truly insane is that my parents would NEVER tell us how they voted. I didn’t understand it at all. Why wouldn’t they tell me? What was the big deal? Didn’t they trust me? Were they ashamed of their choice?

Then that crazy ironic role reversal happened in my very own home last night when my six-year-old son asked me how I voted in the election. This was shortly after he informed me who he had voted for during mock elections. I inquired about how he made this important decision. His answer was mixed: Sam voted for this guy too; He had an American flag in the photo behind him; and he was the “most handsomest” candidate.

It was at this point that I finally understood why my parents spent so many years torturing me with the mystery of their political affiliation. I explained to Noah that there are two main reasons why I was not going to tell him how I voted:

1) I never want his vote to be influenced by how his mommy and daddy vote. He needs to form his own opinions and choose the candidate he believes can best lead our country.

2) There’s a chance that Noah will tell Sam how we voted and then Sam will tell his parents how the Tiedes voted. Maybe Sam’s parents didn’t vote for the same candidate and now they think less of us because of our decision. I explained to Noah that this is completely unfair and you should never judge somebody based on their voting choices, but unfortunately it happens quite often in today’s society. If Noah were on Facebook, it wouldn’t take 5 minutes for him to learn this lesson for himself. It’s probably even unfair of me to assume that Sam’s parents might judge us based on our vote, but I’ve seen it happen time and time again between friends, neighbors and family members.

Today is November 7, 2012 and the people of this fine country have decided who will lead us for the next four years. You may be crying tears of joy or tears of sorrow. But don’t spit in the face of those who don’t share in either your celebration or your grief. We are Americans and we are free. Be thankful and be kind to each other.

Nobody was naked

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Remember that old trick to picture your audience naked while public speaking? I have always thought that was possibly the worst advice ever given. Multiply that horror tenfold when your conference room is filled with managers and directors whom you support.

I spent last Thursday and Friday in what could have been the most terrifying of all workshops…learning to be my own brand, engaging my listeners, leveraging my body language, and persuading my audience to acknowledge my vision. Sounds like a nightmare, right? Actually, I didn’t hate it.

While I thoroughly enjoy believing that everybody is interested in what I have to say, it’s very humbling to find out that’s not so much the case. Thanks to workshop facilitator, Tamara Jacobs, I’ve learned that my content accounts for only 7% of my effectiveness. The remaining 93% of my success is dependent on my verbal style (38%) and my non-verbal or “personal packaging” (55%). By the way, it’s the same for you.

What does all of this mean? In a nutshell…smile more, speak emphatically, connect with your audience, dress professionally, pause often, tell a story, believe in your objective, don’t rely on slides, gesture appropriately, ditch the laser pointer, and stop using words like just, briefly, kinda, and lil’ bit.

Think you have already mastered these skills? So did I…until I gave two entirely different presentations while never cracking a smile, speaking barely above a whisper, and folding my hands as if I was going to bust a tune from “The Sound of Music”. I honestly wouldn’t have believed it until I saw the bloody evidence for myself. Oh yeah, did I mention that these sessions were recorded for future group critique (a.k.a. humiliation)?

My former self would have dove into the sea of other red-faced losers, but I have chosen to embrace my new knowledge and will not soon forget the lessons learned from Ms. Jacobs. The next time I am tasked with trying to persuade the VIPs in my company to fund my next big idea, I will bid adieu to Julie Andrews and be memorable for the right reasons.

Fundraising is not fun

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Three weeks into kindergarten, Noah brought home his first fundraising packet. I couldn’t wait to ditch…I mean dive into that catalog of overpriced wrapping paper and cans of mixed nuts that could send both of my minis into anaphylaxis. Did the school run out of money during the three short weeks since I dropped Noah off bearing $100 dollars worth of folders, crayons, markers, glue, water paint, Kleenex, paper towels, crackers, and a resting mat? You heard me — a resting mat. They do know that those 20 glue sticks should not be applied to chapped lips, right?

Today, we got our second monthly Scholastic Book Club flyer. I cherish books and will always encourage my children to read. However, when those books arrive in the classroom, they are handed out to students like Christmas presents. Some kids get 5-6 books while others get none. Maybe it’s because their parents are having a rough month. Maybe (as in our case) it’s because I’ve been buying children’s books since before they were born, so we have shelves overflowing with stories we haven’t even touched yet.

Schools preach to “just say no” and not succumb to peer pressure. What about the pressure they apply to children? Sell more, buy more, earn more points for the classroom so we can have a pizza party or a movie day.

It’s important to me personally that my child doesn’t feel different just because his parents disagree with the system. But I refuse to peddle those overpriced goods to my family, friends, and co-workers. I will be the mom who writes a check for $75 and you will be the friend who receives the most expensive can of mixed nuts wrapped exquisitely in the shiniest paper you’ve even seen. I bet you can hardly wait!