The Cupcake Incident

                                                                                                  

On Friday my son turned five.  And so it was that on Thursday night I found myself elbow deep in dark chocolate cake batter and made-from-scratch coconut frosting, carefully following a recipe from the very chic Boston bakey Flour.  After asking Conor to name all of the children in his kindergarten class (twice) to be sure I would make enough cupcakes, I filled 18 spaces in my two non-stick pans and stuck them in the oven. Then I collapsed—while I love to cook, I hate baking, since it requires precise measurement and careful attention to detail, for which I have little energy left in the evenings given that such effort is required at work all day long.  Normally I would have taken a shortcut and used a mix to make life easier, but I wanted Conor’s cupcakes to be exactly as he’d asked for them—very chocolate, and very coconut.

Well, what those cupcakes really were—I learned 25 minutes later—was stuck. Glued to the pan, going absolutely nowhere. So much for “non-stick;” those suckers weren’t moving.  No, I didn’t use cupcake liners; I was trying to be “green.”   All of that Penzey's dutch-processed cocoa, organic butter and eggs, for nothing.  

I went to bed distressed.  Now what?  We needed 18 cupcakes by 930 am, and they had to be great.  Yeah, I knew they were for a bunch of 4 and 5-year-olds, but still-- they really just had to be great.  I searched West Madison online for bakeries, pondering the one with the $3 organic cupcakes (really??), the good ol'stanby Costco (not open til 10), and a new place a Facebook friend recommended.  As my eyes closed, I berated myself for obsessing this way. How could I have forgotten the cardinal rules of academic motherhood, and even attempted to bake cupcakes?  My own UW colleague, Simone Schweber, once wrote a brilliant column for the Chronicle about this-- and I had neglected the wisdom of her words, also written after attempting to make perfect cupcakes:  "I was always afraid that I wouldn't be a good mother, much less a perfect one, and indeed, it's much easier to make perfect, if ridiculous, cupcakes than to be a good mother." 

The next morning, I dropped Conor off at school and set myself on a path for the grocery store.  A $5 or $10 box of cupcakes from the bakery department would be just fine for these little palates, I told myself.  I drove towards Sentry.  And then, to my astonishment, I turned left-- and instead made a beeline for Cupcakes-A-Go-Go.  It was a bit of an out-of-body experience; I got out of the car, went in and purchased 18 cupcakes, handing over my Amex and charging $54 -- all the while screaming (silently) at myself "STOP IT, this is CRAZY!" 

What in the heck had happened to me?  I knew the money was better spent elsewhere, that the kids wouldn't taste the difference, and that no one but me was demanding that I do this.  I knew that only children would be present at the celebration, no other parents, and that my kid's school (a Waldorf program) does its best to discourage conspicuous consumption. As a sociologist, I further knew that my behaviors were class-linked, and that I ought to actively resist them. I knew this, I knew that, and I simply couldn't stop.

So I brought the cupcakes back to kindergarten, and my husband and I served them. Conor smiled and enjoyed a chocolate one, and the other kids (including my 2-year-old daughter) licked their fingers happily. The eating lasted all of 10 minutes, and then it was done. $54 worth of sugar, consumed.  

What happened Friday morning is going to stay with me for a long time. Mainly because I still can't understand it.  Was I simply over-compensating for the guilt of being a working mom? I don't think so, since I really don't feel my family is anything but proud of my career.  Was I embarrassed by my baking mishap? Not really-- I know it happens. Was I competing with other moms, whom the teacher mentioned sometimes shop at another organic bakery?  Maybe a little.  But at the end of the day, for all of my intellectual abilities to classify and analyze my own actions, I can't find an explanation that resonates.  Most of all, I can't account for my intense guilt (almost disgust) over that $54. 

What I can tell you is this: I won't be found in a cupcakery again.  Just can't do it. 

What Happens When You Remake Academia? Rick Hess Looks Your Way

Rick Hess is an amusing guy-- witty banter, fun to have drinks with-- and always pushing buttons. I dig that, even though we rarely agree on policy issues.

What I like most about him is that he takes seriously the idea that academics should bring their research to the public, and in an effort to prod that along, last year he began ranking us. He uses a set of metrics that even he admits are pretty darned flawed, but are at least an ATTEMPT in the right direction. I like it not because I'm ranked (ok, I like that too) but rather because Hess is a prominent guy doing whatever he can to provide incentives to professors to do more than what tenure requires of them. He wants us to use all 5 tools in our work--"disciplinary scholarship, policy analysis and popular writing, convening and quarterbacking collaborations, providing incisive media commentary, and speaking in the public square." And that I can appreciate.

So here are the rankings this year. And here's the methodology.

Overachievers

You don't get to be a professor at a top university by settling or compromising. You get there by striving, competing, and working against all odds to cram extra hours into already-long days. You expect the best, of everyone.

So it's hard to be a professor at a public university right now. Almost by definition, public universities aren't the top of the heap in spending on the things that professors are trained to care most about-- research, salaries, resources. This leads to frustration, anger, and indignation when our talents go unrecognized, our fields disrespected, and our friends leave for private universities.

It's hard to be a professor at a public university, for sure.

Of course, it's also hard to be a kid whose entire future depends on achieving economic stability and that seems to depend on college-- but college is increasingly out of reach. You're told that the flagship college in your state is really the only one that's worth going to and despite your desire to ignore those elitist comments, they nag at you. You want to go there, but annual costs of attendance are more than your family makes in a year. Your parents didn't go to college, and none of your friends managed to get to that place. So really, why bother? Why work your tail off in high school to get the best grades, work after school jobs to save money, and why knock yourself out to take that ACT? You're never going to be able to get in, and if you do, it's gonna financially cripple your family to afford it. The government has never come through with real financial help before, why expect it to now?

Somehow, my heart tells me it's harder to be that kid than it is to be me.

It's time for UW-Madison to be with the children of Wisconsin's working poor families. Offering financial aid -- accompanied as it is by a byzantine system of paperwork, rules, and caveats-- is clearly insufficient to overcome the fear instilled by widespread talk that tuition is high and getting higher. (I am a researcher of financial aid-- it "works" but it by no means demonstrates sufficiently large effects to hold students harmless from high tuition.) Financial aid won't help combat word on the street that the place is so elite it won't even hang with the other UW universities or colleges anymore. It's out for itself--its alumni, current students, and professors-- not for you.

I am not naive-- we are going to take a bone-crushing hit this year. Our belts are going to tighten so much that we can hardly breathe-- at least we will think that's true. But the fact is, UW-Madison doesn't know poverty. Not even close. It's been blessed to have what it needs to be nearly everything it's wanted to be. That's getting harder to do, and now in these times choices will have to be made. Programs will have to be cut. Faculty will have to teach. Class sizes might have to be a bit larger. The truth is, we will survive this-- and we will be more respectable for it. UW-Madison is nothing without the respect of Wisconsin. Leaving the state behind is not an acceptable approach to accommodating our desires to be the "best."

Sunshine on Salaries

Ah, the joys of being a state employee -- our salary info is readily available to the public! Despite the UW System's efforts to keep that information quiet (salaries are very low, making it easy for other universities to lure us away), the Wisconsin State Journal put it online to ensure transparency. Here are some interesting tidbits:

• 9 of the 10 best-paid employees in the UW System are men
• 5 of the top 12 best-paid employees in the UW System are in athletic departments. Director Barry Alvarez earns $500,000 a year-- $85,000 more than Kevin Reilly (System president) and $63,000 more than Biddy Martin (UW-Madison chancellor). An assistant football coach earns five times more than yours truly.
  
• The deans of Madison's law and business schools outearn the deans of letters & science and education by approximately 25%.
• The chair of economics at UW-Madison earns nearly 2.5 times what the chair of economics at UW-Milwaukee earns.

I'm sure you can find more-- have at it!

Valuing Children

Cross-posted from Brainstorm


I am in the midst of what I sometimes feel is an incredibly risky endeavor. Or rather, what some would have me feel is risky.

I’m having a baby. A second baby. On the tenure track.

My ears sense some e-groaning. My fears detect some e-judgment. Maybe, somewhat out there, there is a little applause, and elsewhere sighs of relief.

The truth is, I don’t know what to say—except that I’m completely happy and scared, all at the same time.

Why happy? Because having a family is exactly what my husband and I always wanted. And having our first has proven to both of us that professional success is entirely eclipsed by the sheer joy of watching our son learn to eat a popsicle, or experience his first swim lesson.

Why fear? Because it is far from clear what baby #1 means for my tenure prospects, let alone baby #2. Because I have already been the recipient of far too many stories about pregnant professors overburdening their colleagues when they take leave, of comments from both men and women who say “well, one kid pre-tenure is one thing, but two…?” Because the question of how I am to juggle a late December birth with a two-course teaching load come spring has not yet been resolved.

I know I’m in good company—plenty of American working women have more than one child, and do it while working far less cushy jobs than I. Many have to forgo the pleasures of nursing, a job that requires upwards of 30 hours per week initially by itself. And a scary proportion do it all without healthcare.

I am lucky, to be sure. I am also—however—completely freaked out. Maybe that will change? I’ll keep you posted.

I (Finally) Figured Out Why I Want Tenure

Today was a big day. This morning’s paper ran a story containing quotes from me and from this blog that many of my colleagues will likely view as uncouth. Others will misinterpret it as desire for publicity and name recognition. These folks just don't know me like my family, and particularly my Poppa, does.

To my mind, I had little choice but to do what I did. My University is moving in an untenable direction, one that makes middle-class folks feel good, while at the same time trampling the long-term opportunities of the voiceless. I'm not alone- my family members have a long history of doing exactly this. I went on the record as opposed to a policy that is strongly supported not only by my administrators and supervisors, but also by most of the faculty around me. I wish I could say I felt brave and confident as hung up the phone with the reporter. I didn’t-- in fact, I ran to the bathroom and lost my lunch.

Over the course of the past many months, I’ve received a lot of advice about the Madison Initiative. Advisers have patiently explained to me that the policy is going forward with or without me, and that my time and energy spent fighting will be wasted. I’d be better off simply recommending a few minor alterations and falling in line; at the bare minimum this would help to ensure I could devote my energies to peer-reviewed publications and the kinds of thing academia typically rewards. A fight like this one, I was told, was something I had to earn the right to participate in—something I needed tenure for.

This is all undoubtedly true. The numbers of hours I’ve spent agonizing over the Initiative, pouring over its details, listening to the administration, reading what students have to say, reviewing relevant research on the topic again and again—it’s taken plenty of time and left room for very little sleep. If I were more prudent, that time could have been spent on my many R&Rs, helping put the icing on my tenure case.

Except until now, I really wasn’t sure what tenure was good for. I never set out to be a professor—I just wanted to question conventional wisdom and address it with the best available social science evidence. I'd do it in whatever setting allowed it. I never worried about unemployment; heck at times I find myself with 3 or even 4 jobs at a time. I am insanely fortunate, I know it, and so I thought how could I expect more? Tenure, I began to think, could be phased out in favor of more competitive salaries.

But today, I get it. At the end of my 5th year as an assistant professor, I just spoke out in a manner that could hurt my job prospects, possibly my research agenda, and who knows what else. I’m not saying anyone will directly throw the hammer at me- not at all. But people will be pissed, and they’ll find ways to make my life difficult. I recognize that.

So why bother? Why not wait until I had tenure- and true academic freedom? Because I’m not a professor just anywhere—this is Madison. Madison, for pete’s sake—the place where every academic in the country believes anyone can and does speak their mind, and is praised for it. I am deeply proud of this University’s tradition, and I want it upheld.

And in this case, the truth simply couldn’t wait. In my reading, the research here is unequivocal. I’ve got mountains of evidence that truly open discussions were not occurring, and could not under institutional constraints. I spend my days with students who have struggled to gain access to UW-Madison, and also with many of those who’d hope to attend but for major financial barriers. Yes, this policy increases financial aid—and that is a wonderful thing. But there were other routes to achieve the same end, and much better policy designs that were never considered or outright rejected. And so it was time to stand up for my students—and even more importantly for the Wisconsin high school graduates from poor families who will never find their way here. My own personal interests (e.g. salary, community of faculty, even tenure) be damned.

I have a two-year-old. When I leave the house every day I think about why I’m bothering. Today, the world knows why. And honestly, I’m both proud—and scared.

On Tenure

A hot topic in my life lately, though unfortunately something I know next to nothing about. (All's I know is that guaranteed academic freedom is and will continue to be important in my life). So I want to highlight another person's wisdom, from a cool article from Inside Higher Ed entitled "What I Wish I'd Known About Tenure".

These days I'm especially intrigued by the following pearls:
1. "Tenure is based on the university’s needs, not the achievements of those seeking tenure, and the university sets the rules and controls the odds."
2. "...the tenure process is like a form of academic hazing...Your chances of success may also improve if you do not get mired in departmental politics or have major conflicts with powerful departmental members."

So much for the "meritocracy."

Ones to Watch

I tried out a new conference last week-- the American Education Finance Association annual meeting, which was held in Nashville. And while it took awhile to get used to being around so many economists (I'm kidding, just kidding...), I was struck by all of the incredibly bright folks around me, and how many of the junior ones I'd never heard of. It really is so exciting to see where education scholarship is going, with all of these cool 30/40 year-olds running around now!

So I thought I'd highlight a few, in the hopes that others of you will keep an eye on their work too. Here we go, in no particular order:

1. Peter Hinrichs-- Assistant Professor, Georgetown Public Policy Institute. Peter gave the best presentation I heard all week, on a very cool paper about the effects of affirmative action bans. He's clearly got his eye on what matters and how to make snazzy little econometric tricks useful.

2. Tammy Kolbe-- Assistant Professor, Educational Leadership & Policy Studies, FSU. Tammy is a former Abt gal and AERA/IES postdoc, and she's bringing lots of real world experience to her teaching and research. This woman is a treasure trove of useful information, let me tell you!

3. Judy Scott-Clayton-- Soon-to-be Assistant Professor, Teachers College. I can't tell you how psyched I am that the Community College Research Center is getting a scholar with the chops and pizzaz of Judy. She's done a nifty dissertation on West Virginia that highlights and lowlights all that is merit aid. Plus, you gotta give a girl props for being this insanely bright and productive while raising a toddler.

Next year AEFA will be in Richmond VA-- I know I'll be there, and hope you will too!

Ideas Worth Exploring

You'll have to forgive me for not writing a nice post in complete sentences this morning, as I'm running/flying between Santa Monica and Nashville with hardly any time to spare. But since the policy conversations in Washington these days feel friendly to good ideas, I want to throw some out there -- and see what kind of support we can generate. I'm not claiming any of these are uniquely mine, just that I think they're worth researching further and potentially backing as policies. Here we go:

1. Tie loan forgiveness to college completion. Create incentives for students to choose a loan over long hours of work while in college, and give them a reason to be sure and finish a credential.

2. Forgive student loans as a way to stimulate the economy. Instead of sending people checks, let them keep the money they already have.

3. Do NOT tie need-based grant aid to college completion.

4. Start teacher induction/mentoring programs for junior professors. If we know new k-12 teachers need help getting started teaching kids, why would we think new assistant professors are prepared and able to teach 18-year-olds?

5. Make one during or post-college service option (e.g. for loan forgiveness) serving as a 'college coach' in a high-poverty high school.

In Search of Adult Suspenders

It's hard being junior. After years of starving to get through a dissertation, swimming through the murky seas of the job market, and climbing into a jungle full of publication nightmares and man-eating beasts disguised as service, we assistant professors sometimes find it hard just to wake up in the morning.

It's not that the work is too hard. Nah, we're up for that. Working 80+ hours a week is what we're used to.

And it's not that the pay is too low. Again, we know how to get by.

But what's especially hard to take is the heaping pile of steamy stuff piled on us day in and day out by a system that rewards seniority over innovation and grizzliness over sheer effort. No matter how many times a bright new idea threatens to change the status quo (or perhaps because it does), we get shoved back down. Bring a landmark opportunity to the table? Forget about it, grow up, and go get yourself a pair of adult suspenders before you dare to wear pants. (Meaning, of course, put a real professor on your grant apps or don't bother applying.)

Everyone means well, I know. But look at the evidence: Nobel Prizes are won for the work people do when they're young (e.g. under the age of 50). We're hungry, we're tireless, we kick butt. Why deny it, and question our capacity? What are you afraid of?