Why grammar matters

(Or, why improperly used apostrophes make me twitch)

I judge people by their grammar.

Run-on sentences, improperly placed apostrophes, the incorrect use of their, they're and there, lack of capitalization and punctuation — they all make a little part of me shrivel up and die each time I see them.

Unfortunately, proofreading is part of my job at the newspaper and therefore, I'm about 75 percent shriveled up and dead (inside) every time we're finished with an issue.

•••

I'm not going to blame schools or teachers for the alarming decline in grammar. I'm not even going to blame texting or instant messaging.

No, I think most people just don't care about the rules of grammar. After all, if someone can get his point across without straining to remember archaic elementary school lessons, why bother? What difference does it really make if I write "Its sunny outside today" or "It's sunny outside today" — either way, you know you should probably slather on some SPF.

•••

I am not a great conversationalist. I'm about 50 times better on paper than in person and about 100 times more comfortable with written communication than oral. 

I would so much rather e-mail someone than talk on the phone.

So that's how I know proper grammar and correct spelling are extremely important. Whether you're trying to make a good first impression or communicate a point cogently, people are going to judge you by how you write.

It's not really any different than what happens when you communicate in person. What you're wearing, how you sound, how you gesture — all of these factors play into the impact your message has. 

When you communicate via the written word, you don't have any of that. If you encounter someone like me — and I'm truly sorry for this — she will be more likely to dismiss what you have to say if it's disfigured by bad grammar, no matter how valid your points may be.

•••

If you know me personally, you'll know I'm really not a jerk. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, bad grammar notwithstanding. I do know that bad grammar doesn't mean the writer is an unintelligent person. (The Captain, for instance, is not a stickler and yet I love him and respect his agile mind.) 

But I can't always control my initial reaction to bad grammar. It's part of who I am to appreciate a well-crafted sentence, and conversely, a badly-constructed one causes me intellectual pain.

•••

I realize writing this sort of thing exposes me to hyper-criticism and that's OK. If I walk the walk, I'll be vigilant about my own grammar and if I make a mistake, I'll appreciate the feedback. 

In the end, my goal is to be the most effective communicator I can be. It's not everyone's goal, though, and I'm learning to accept that.

If you find this entire subject distasteful and think I'm kind of a snob for harping on it so much, let this simple rule be your takeaway: When in doubt, don't use an apostrophe.

Just (don't) do it.

For an amazing chart that's funny, informative and slightly irreverent, go here:

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/apostrophe

Mission: Dinner table

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
I have fed my family too many meals quick on convenience and lacking in nutritional value.
I have eaten too many of said meals on my knees in front of a TV show.
I have allowed my kitchen table to serve as a catch-all for clutter instead of a place of conversation.
But I am truly sorry for my sins and sincerely repent of them. 
(And here's how I plan to do better ...)
•••
I don't mind cooking. Really, I don't. That hasn't always been true, but lately, throwing a meal together hasn't seemed as challenging. 
It's probably because Miss E is eating table food now. Before that, all I had to do was thaw a cube of pureed vegetables or fruit — believe it or not, I made most of her baby food — and feed it to her while the Captain's and my frozen pizza cooked in the oven.
But mushed-up lima beans and applesauce don't cut it for her anymore, especially with a few pearly whites peeking through. And I just can't justify feeding my baby the same junk I tend to eat ... which leads me to believe maybe I shouldn't be consuming it, either.
This normally would have been enough conviction for me to change my ways. On top of it, though, I spent last weekend cooking with my grandmother. Well, she cooked; I mostly watched. 
She's not a measurement kind of cook — a splash, a tad, a pinch is more her method — and everything ends up plentiful and delicious. If we lived in a fairy tale, I'd be tempted to believe she has magic pots. But really, it's practice and understanding how flavors work together. 
•••
So that's why on Monday night, instead of being sacked out on the couch, I was monitoring several bubbling pots on the stovetop. It wasn't anything fancy, just spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic bread and salad, but it was fresh, hot and homemade. 
When I told the Captain we were going to eat at the table, he was understandably surprised. It had been an embarrassingly long time since we'd done that. 
Supper didn't last overly long; both of us were tired from working all day and Miss E was extra grouchy from growing teeth. But it was a start toward a tradition I hope will continue for many years. Studies show children whose families sit down for a meal together tend to have healthier weights and lifestyle habits as they grow up. 
The only downside to cooking at home I can sum up in one word: Dishes. 

My two cents

I don’t mean to be insensitive.

I know each person has his or her own level of comfort and standards. Everyone’s measure of what is a livable income is different.

But lately, the discussion of personal income among local government employees has been a hot topic issue in my small town, which is by no means immune from the economic difficulties plaguing the nation.

•••

I certainly sympathize with the emotions associated with cuts in salary, hours and benefits. Two years ago, I was cut from being full-time to three-quarters time, a change that resulted in a significantly reduced salary. This fall, our health insurance was changed to a high-deductible plan, which increases our likelihood of hefty medical bills. Changes like these are a blow to your self-worth and it’s hard not to take them personally.

What I can’t sympathize with is the attitude of entitlement that seems to permeate the discussion. Quite frankly, you can’t live outside your means for years, only to complain when your salary is adjusted to better reflect the ability of the community that pays it.

I speak from a position of strength here as the wife of a church worker: When you work for a large group of people (a congregation or a community), you don’t do it for the money. You can make better money elsewhere, I can promise you. But you do it for the joy of serving — you simply must — or else you’ll buckle under the weight of dissatisfaction.

•••

I’m pretty conservative with my finances.

Here are my guidelines:

If you can’t afford it, don’t buy it.  

Pay your bills on time and in full.

Cushion your savings account for emergencies.

Set aside a tithe for your church.

Shop second-hand when possible.

Be grateful for what you have … there are many others who make do with much, much less.

•••

Above all, I believe in being a good steward of what God has given me and that’s why I *try* not to complain.

Do I get paid what I’m worth? No. Does the Captain get paid what he’s worth? No. But then, there’s more to a job than a paycheck.

Blow out a candle, make a wish ...

Today is my daughter’s first birthday. Since she couldn’t write a wish list, I helped her out:

• Teeth. Yes, she’s 12 months old and no, she doesn’t have any yet. People tell me the longer they take to come in, the healthier her teeth will be. In that case, I shouldn’t have to spend a dime on orthodontia for this girl.

• Stability. There’s nothing more comforting to a child (or adult) than knowing the basics will hold true each day. I want her to that her parents will always be there for her, that she will always be warm, full and safe, that she will always be loved.

• Independence. I write this with hesitation because I’m not sure I’m ready for it. But I know my daughter and she is nothing if not independent. Most of the time, she prefers to do things on her own — eat, drink, undress — all of which leads me to believe (hope) she’ll be easy to potty-train.

• Self-confidence. I tell my daughter every day that she is beautiful and special and beloved. I want her to know those things so instinctively that she never has to seek unhealthy attention to affirm herself.

• Contentment. I want her to be happy with what she has, whether it’s tangible (clothes, toys, books) or intangible (a relationship, career or salary). I’ve struggled with this my whole life and it’s a battle I’d like her not to have to fight. Like Paul, I want her to be content in every circumstance.

• Faith. I want my daughter to grow up to know Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. Faith is the bedrock of my life, the compass by which I navigate daily life. I want her to be a woman after God’s heart. No matter what negative things society says about people of faith, I want her to know that living a life pleasing to God is a worthy pursuit.  

Happy birthday, my sweet, funny, delightful girl!

A Mini dilemma

If I told you that the Captain and I never had any difficult financial decisions, I absolutely would be lying.

Don’t misunderstand: We live well within our means, own our home free and clear and live in a fairly affordable place. And though neither of our salaries are what you would call generous, we make do with what we have and stick a little into savings each month.

I know we’re blessed to have relative financial security, especially since we’re both under 30.

But to that point … three years ago, we purchased a Mini Cooper because it suited our needs at that stage of life. It is extremely fuel-efficient and what it lacks in seating capacity, it makes up for with style. (Frankly, when we bought it, we figured kids were at least five years in the future.)

Now, though, our needs are vastly different. Instead of tossing a duffel bag in the boot for a weekend, we now have to fit in a car seat, stroller, toys, board books, diapers, wipes, bottles and blankets — and, oh yes, the BABY! Because of the space the car seat takes up, the passenger (usually me) has to sit completely upright … not very much fun on car rides longer than 20 minutes.

Someday, I know we’ll have another little passenger to join us on adventures and I just can’t see it happening in the vehicle we have now. Our other car, a 1998 Chevy Malibu, has more room and runs well enough … for now. I’d like to say we could make it with one vehicle, but our work and civic responsibilities, plus the geography of where we live — everything’s spread out — makes that plan highly unlikely.

What I’m thinking is to sell the Mini, pay off that loan on it, then purchase a larger, used vehicle that’s a little more family- and budget-friendly. The Captain wants to avoid having any loans at all, and while I agree with him in principle, I just don’t think it’s going to happen. 

Here’s my blatant plea for advice: Does this sound like a feasible plan? If you’ve been in a similar situation, what did you do? If you’re older and wiser, what would you suggest to us?

(My back, achy and strained from sitting ever-so-properly for hours on end, thanks you!)