Wordpress is a pain

I just spent well over twenty minutes trying to write a quick post on how I got my newest Django project to serve CSS.

In the end, it was more difficult to try to get WordPress to format the bits that were supposed to look like code than seemed worth it to me. For a short time, I tried settling to just have it display as preformatted.

In the end, the preformatted tags seemed to always gobble up the surrounding paragraphs, no matter how I tried to go back in and edit them.

Sure, the new WordPress editor is beautiful. But if it makes blogging more difficult, why bother?

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Consequences… and diabetes

discussion that my wife and I have often is that our kids don’t really ever suffer consequences. Partly, that’s my fault. I’m as much a sucker as the next guy for “it won’t happen again” (spoiler alert: it always happens again).

And, partly, that’s a part of us understanding how uncomfortable some things are, and wanting — for good reasons — to spare our kids that. After all, we ‘only’ have three kids and their lives aren’t yet so complicated that we can’t offer a lot of support.

Day to day manifestations

It can be simple things: “Did you do your homework? Show me?” I — the one who never liked school and sees the teachers as ‘the enemy’ — rationalize the teachers should use up their patience getting the kids to do homework. Not us. After all, we barely see the kids during the week, why waste valuable family time on activities that very clearly fall under the heading of ‘school’?

Because my wife — who is German and ‘from’ the German system my kids are in — sees each homework activity as a brick in a set of stairs that will eventually carry my kids to success. And she sees dire consequences if the homework isn’t done.

I’m not German. I’m ‘from’ the American system where the teacher is frustrated and maybe humiliates you in front of your classmates and that’s it. I figure that, if that kind of responsibility is important to the teacher, they should set up their own system of consequences.

Right?

After all, if I say “clean your room” and it isn’t cleaned, then it’s on me to be the heavy and to establish consequences. I certainly don’t get help for the teacher on that.

The thing is: my wife and I don’t completely agree on what’s important, and the kids know which parent to ask for what. That’s not unusual, but I worry that it means my kids live a generally consequence-free life.

Add diabetes to the mix

And now, with diabetes part of the oldest child’s life, things have gotten… More difficult. Plans that I had to send him out on his own (he’s nine — and never unsupervised) with his bike to make a map of the neighborhood now seem riskier.

Even more, I’m realizing he’s trying less and less hard to manage his diabetes calculations, because he only has to guess at the correct injection to give himself for a meal and then his mom barks at him and then gives him the correct calculation. She, of course, thinks that it would take too long to make him do the calculation two or three times while we’re waiting to eat. I — the strict father, I guess — don’t see a problem with saying “are you sure?” and then letting him undercorrect. After all, the doctors made it clear that nothing terrible would happen.

Mom, though, is a diabetic and knows that high blood sugar is no fun. And she’s not willing to subject him to that.

So, she basically does the calculations for him when she’s home.

Why it matters

I’m a big fan of the idea that there aren’t any ‘normal’ childhoods and that, as long as the kids aren’t abused, reality will eventually file off all their rough edges sooner or later. I don’t worry about making an ‘ideal’ childhood for my kid.

But, as a spectator of the world around me, I see parents belittling twelve and thirteen-year-old children for being so helpless. We all know that that is too old to depend on parents. However, the parents belittling their children don’t seem to realize that they’re responsible for training their kids.

And it’s harder to learn new habits with thirteen than with nine.

That’s why I’m a bit frustrated that my plans to introduce consequences — or, rather, to allow my kids to start suffering the natural consequences of their (in)actions — seem to have been set back by this stupid disease.

Stupid diabetes.

How do you manage it?

If you’re a parent and you’re reading this, how do you manage these things? What consequences do you insulate your kids from? What do you do when a diabetic child makes a mathematical error? How do you and your partner negotiate these discussions?

The Diagnosis

The background

A few weeks ago — maybe two months — our oldest had a tick. My wife is fond of telling me that there’s a higher risk of Lyme disease in Germany than in the States, so she was watching for the signs. (Even though we found the tick and removed it.)

This blog post is named ‘the diagnosis.’ You can guess what happened next: he had Lyme disease. All the classic symptoms and a blood test. No worries: German medical care is excellent. We felt bad for him, but a three-week course of antibiotics was prescribed. I’m a big fan of the microbiome, but I’m familiar with what Lyme disease turns into, so, I don’t think we had a choice.

After a week on antibiotics — and the return to school — he began to get really, really tired. But, antibiotics and school were explanation enough, right?

It gets worse

We tried to spoil him as much as we could and counted down the days until the antibiotics were finished. The doctors had said that they could give him a note to get out of school if he got too tired, so the wife took him in for the note.

Only by chance — the note could have been a matter of course — they talked about the symptoms and the doctor asked him to pee into a cup. The way the wife tells the story, the doctor went off and, when she returned, obviously had bad news.

“What?” My wife asked?

“Diabetes.” The doctor said. “Sugar.”

My wife just sent me a photo of the referral to the hospital with the diagnosis written on it with a comment and I read it between lessons.

A lot to process

Let me be clear: I don’t feel bad for him. I don’t even feel sorry for myself (even though I tend in that direction, anyway). But, the poor guy has a lot to learn, and new habits to form. And, I’ve got quite a bit to learn along with him, as well as a set of ‘soft skills’ to help him learn his new habits, as well as the application of willpower, without adding to his current level of stress (which is high enough as it is).

I’ve benefitted from blogging about stuff here, but I’ve refrained from writing a lot about my family (I imagine teenage kids stumbling across what I write — or, worse, classmates). But, I’ve decided that I would benefit from writing about it. And, though I don’t strike up much communication via this blog, if I contact other parents of kids with diabetes… that would be okay, too.

Build Your Inner Citadel

In my continuing The Obstacle is the Way project, I’m writing on this chapter of the book.


In another chapter that provides a great tip, but doesn’t explain how to follow through with it, Ryan Holiday begins this chapter of The Obstacle is the Way by referening my (sometimes) favorite American president, Teddy Roosevelt.

[speaking of asthmatic, weak young Teddy] One day his father came into his room and delivered a message that would change the young boy’s life: “Theodore, you have the mind but you haven’t got the body. I’m giving you the tools to make your body. It’s going to be hard drudgery and I think you have the determination to go through with it.”

You’d think that would be lost on a child, especially a fragile one born into great wealth and status. But according to Roosevelt’s younger sister, who witnessed the conversation, it wasn’t. His response, using what would become his trademark cheerful grit, was to look at his father and say with determination: “I’ll make my body.”

I love Theodore Roosevelt for a number of reasons, but I think his relationship with manliness is problematic. (I read an article that suggested he may have driven a son to suicide with his expectations.) Still, his determination is enviable, at the least.

Moving on philosophy, Holiday talks of developing “mens sana in corpore sano — sound mind in a strong body,” and matches this to what stoics called their “Inner Citadel, that fortress inside of us that no external adversity can ever break down.”

Then, the narrative returns to Roosevelt:

To Roosevelt, life was like an arena and he was a gladiator. In order to survive, he needed to be strong, resilient, fearless, ready for anything. And he was willing to risk great personal harm and expend massive amounts of energy to develop that hardiness.

And all that is great… but that’s where the chapter winds down. (There’s one last quote that I’m saving for the end, as seems to have become my tradition.)

And, as a guy who flirts with an obsession with fitness, it’s easy for me to think that I’m moving down the right path. But, I don’t know. Holiday doesn’t end the chapter with his list of “Ten Things You Can Do Today to Become the Architect of your Own Inner Citadel” and I’m left with a list of questions:

  • Should I invest more energy in meditation?
  • Do the things I do to practice practice help?
  • What about cold showers: they certainly demand willpower, do they also strengthen it?
  • Does enduring voluntary adversity help when involuntary adversity comes knocking?

There aren’t answers, and I’m left reaffirming my commitment to fitness and “making the most of my time.” (Whatever that means.)

However, I did mention that there is one last great quote. It’s as close as Holiday comes to direct advice in this chapter, and I like the first sentence enough to maybe write it on my wall:

The path of least resistance is a terrible teacher. We can’t afford to shy away from the things that intimidate us. We don’t need to take our weaknesses for granted.

Some Coding Goals

Setting my own goals

It was not a super-productive summer for me, coding-wise. However, as I get away from ‘vacation-mode’ and back to ‘real life,’ in addition to improving as a teacher (more on that in another post), I want to improve as a coder.

Here’s the thing: There are a million ways to improve as a coder. And, I’m sticking to the ‘hobby coder’ label, so I don’t feel compelled to even try an know everything about coding, or even a specialization under the ‘coding’ header.

My task: is to be able to do the things I want to do, nothing more, but also nothing less. (To be honest, it will always be something less — I have an active imagination for what’s possible.) Now though, what I’d like to do is to make the things I make seem more like a ‘web application.’

What’s a web application?

The short answer is: it doesn’t matter. As a language teacher, I’m a big fan of the idea that words only mean what you and the person you’re speaking to understand. And, when I say web application, I mean it in contrast to a ‘web page.’

To me, a web page is static: Some guy (me) writes a bunch of stuff, takes a bunch of photos, makes a video, maybe, and puts it online. The web page is your chance to interact with what I’ve made, on my terms.

A web application, on the other hand, is magic. Sure, some guy (me) made it, but it’s a tool that I get to pick up and use how it best fits in my life. A web application is my chance to take something algorithmic I’ve made, and let you run with it.

Don’t you already do that?

To be fair, yes, I think that Dynamic EFL already qualifies as a web application. But, it doesn’t feel like it yet. It feels like a series of web pages that the user moves through, ending with a PDF, the most static document format of all time.

It’ll always end with a PDF, because the whole idea is that it’s supposed to be hidden. The learner isn’t supposed to know you used a ‘tool.’ The learner might hear the word ‘tool’ and think ‘shortcut.’ The whole idea is that the learner thinks “wow, the teacher invested time in me. I’m getting my money’s worth.”

So, maintaining the PDF format at the end, the way I see to make it feel more like an application is to make better use of transitions between pages and modals (the ‘foreground’ pages that open ‘over’ the rest of the page — logins are often done in modals).

The best web applications — gmail, Google calendar — don’t feel like pages at all. It feels like you enter an address into your browser, and then you interact with an application. That’s what I’d like to do.

A good argument for it

First, I rationalize it would help make what I do clear in comparison to what teachers are already paying for — static resources presented on web pages.

Second, it’s a sales point. Done smartly, the transitions and ‘web app experience’ simply feels more ‘modern.’ It helps to explain why I’m taking money.

A roadmap

I don’t have a roadmap in the traditional sense. That’s where this little goal-setting exercise breaks down. I’ve started experimenting and I’m finding it pretty hard. I have used JavaScript to dynamically change content on a web page, but I haven’t made the animation part of that work, and I haven’t been able to load a new django view into one <div> of a page.

So, I guess I have my work cut out for me.

The plan, now, is to leave Dynamic EFL how it is as I begin attracting beta testers. Instead, I have a new project idea that I want to start from scratch as a web application (using Google APIs, no less!) (more information on the actual project in a future post). Then, when that’s working, I’ll be able to apply lessons learned to Dynamic EFL.

Wish me luck.

Love Everything that Happens: Amor Fati

Continuing my The Obstacle is the Way project, I picked this chapter to read and write about because it keeps catching my eye. Who doesn’t like a bit of Latin in the title?


This chapter starts with a quote from Nietzsche:

My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it… but love it.

And, that is the whole chapter in a nutshell.

This is one of the chapters that focus on a few incidents from famous people’s lives: Edison’s factory burning down and the boxer Jack Johnson. (I wasn’t familiar with Johnson or his story: he was a black boxer who was hated for being black.) Both men were able to smile in the midst of their adversity and to turn that cheerfulness into a strength.

There’s a lot of talk in the chapter about this, but I think one paragraph summed up the mechanics of this pretty well:

It is the act of turning what we must do into what we get to do.

We put our energies and emotions and exertions where they will have real impact. This is that place. We will tell ourselves: This is what I’ve got to do or put up with? Well, I might as well be happy about it.

I like that. I like that it’s something we choose — I don’t know if I’ll be reflexively happy in adversity in the foreseeable future — but I can make the choice when I realize I’m in adversity. Further, there’s a certain wisdom in saying “okay, I’ve chosen my path, but I won’t truly own this path until I enjoy it.”

After all, why would you be miserable if you’re happy with the choices you’ve made?

To a certain degree, I think I’ve gotten good at this with my kids. I’ve learned to lean into the time I have to spend looking after them as the only chance I’ll get to have them. After all, there’s nothing quite as ephemeral as a childhood — especially if it’s not yours.

And so, even when I’m frustrated because I’m comforting a child who is crying for no great reason I remind myself: this is the dad I want to be, the dad I get to be, so why not just relax and enjoy getting some extra cuddle time with a kid.

It’s something I tell myself because I’m still too self-absorbed to do it automatically. But, it’s also a source of strength (in this case, patience) to me, and I can see the wisdom of applying the logic in the rest of my life.

What’s Right is What Works

As I continue my reading in The Obstacle is the Way, I felt like reading something about action again, as I begin gearing up to work on my own projects for a bit. The pragmatism in the chapter of this title really appealed to me.


This chapter begins in an unlikely place: in a battle between two American fruit companies in South America. I don’t know the last time they were considered models to emulate, but the moral of the story was clear: two different people claimed to own land that both companies wanted to own. One company did the ‘right’ thing by hiring lawyers to figure out who the land belonged to. The other company did the right thing by simply buying the land from both people and then clearly owning it outright.

What’s right is what works.

My own story

I have my own story along these lines that I think of often. It involves an amateur volleyball tournament that I agreed to join on the condition that our team would play ‘just for fun.’ We traveled to a lake and camped at the beach where the tournament was to be held.

Then, when the tournament started, the competitiveness of the neighbor who put the team together took over. Having fun was no longer important, winning was. And the thing was, we had the wrong strategy for winning.

At lower levels of volleyball, most teams score against themselves by hitting the ball out of bounds or failing to get it over the net in their three hits. My strategy was to just put the ball over the net and let the other team mess up by trying to be perfect with ‘pass, set, and spike.’ But, the team captain insisted that we pass, set, and spike.

We lost consistently, by giving our opponents points. Or, when the opponent made a mistake and gave us the serve, we’d serve overhand (the ‘correct’ way) and into the net, giving up the serve.

I’ve since gotten over the experience, but it wasn’t fun, and we didn’t win. So, neither the team captain nor I was really happy. And, it’s what I think of every time I think of people putting the “right way” to do things over the value of getting results.

A radical pragmatist

There’s a paragraph towards the end of the chapter that I really like:

Start thinking like a radical pragmatist: still ambitious, aggressive, and rooted in ideals, but also immenently practical and guided by the possible. Not on everything you would like to have, not on changing the world right at this moment, but ambitious enough to get everything you need. Don’t think small, but make the distinction between the critical and the extra.

In these days of perfectly-executed solutions and people presenting their brilliance on social media as though it bust fully-formed from their heads like a latter-day Athena, it can be worthwhile to say that “when I don’t think I can, I’ll focus on what I need.”

Sure, I might never be a fully-qualified software developer if I never sit down and take structured courses and intern in a real software company. But, as long as I’m able to execute the projects that matter to me, why would I waste time on being more of a developer?