Eek! It's a MOS!

In the Office Professional program, this is the time of semester when MOS is a common topic of conversation. For some, MOS is something they'd just as soon run away from. For others, it is a valuable opportunity to hone their skills and prove their expertise. So what is a MOS, anyway, and why can it be so scary?

What's a MOS?

MOS is an industry certification. It stands for Microsoft Office Specialist, and attaining MOS certification represents having achieved an objectively measured level of expertise in an Office application. The certification is gaining recognition among employers who are looking for employees who not only know applications, but know them well. 

There is a different MOS exam for each major Microsoft Office application. For Word and Excel, there are two levels of certification: Core (which requires passing one exam) and Expert (which comes in two parts, or two exams). 

MOS exams are challenging. They require you to not only know how to use the software, but to use it without step-by-step instructions. Sometimes they even test on skills not covered in class. As noted above, this is an industry certification, which means your Parkland instructors have no control over how it is created or scored. And though many of us are MOS certified in one or more applications, we don't even know exactly what's on them. And if we did, we couldn't tell you.

Here are a few more details regarding MOS exams:

• Taking a MOS exam requires agreeing to a non-disclosure agreement. This means that test-takers agree not to tell anyone the details of what's on the exam. 
• The MOS exams are project-based. The test candidate is presented a project to complete and specific instructions regarding how to complete it. 
• Test results are given in the form of categories and percentages. We never know exactly which questions we got right, and which we got wrong. 
• Practice exams are available to CSIT students. 

How can you take a MOS exam?

MOS exams are administered at approved Certiport testing facilities, and you have a couple of options for taking them.

• Purchase a voucher through Certiport, where the cost ranges from $100-$150, depending upon retake and study material options. Then, arrange a time with the testing facility of your choice, present your voucher and photo ID, and take the test. 
• Take an applications class through the CSIT Department at Parkland. Students who successfully complete CIS 131 (PowerPoint), CIS 134 (Excel), CIS 135 (Word), CIS 138 (Access) or CTC 119 (Outlook) are offered the opportunity to take the MOS exam for that application. Students who complete the courses via the equivalent CTC sequences are also eligible. For some courses, the MOS exam is required. For others, it is optional. In either case, work with your instructor to arrange an exam time at no additional cost.

What about multiple MOS certifications?

Some students take full advantage of the opportunity and take as many MOS exams as their program (or budget) allows. A few things can happen here:

• They might earn Parkland's Microsoft Application Specialist Certificate, which requires 14 hours of coursework (five courses, four applications) and passing at least three MOS exams. 
• They might become MOS Master certified. 
• Job opportunities and/or professional advancement might be aided by their documented deep knowledge of software applications. 

So the next time you hear someone worrying about a MOS, there's no need to glance nervously around the floor. It's only a test. 

Why we do it

Oh, man, I did not plan my morning well. I'd like to say that's the exception; unfortunately, it tends to be my pattern. I carefully chart out my day, my schedule, my path--and then something distracts me, and I'm running behind. Again.

So it was this morning. I wasn't actually late, but I was scrambling to get myself where I needed to be by 10 a.m. And as I was scurrying through the parking lot and jumping onto the sidewalk, I exchanged greetings with a student (I will call her Gloria) and fully intended to keep up my brisk pace to the B-Wing. But I felt a tug, a sense that there was a little more to the exchange that wanted my attention. I could tell that Gloria wanted to talk just a little bit. "I'm coming down to the mark," she had told me, her smile beaming. "But you know, I can't think about it too much or I'll start to cry."

I paused in my thoughts. I reminded myself that I wasn't really late yet, and my teacher gene kicked in. I slowed down my pace to match hers, and we chatted.

I asked Gloria what would make her cry about earning her degree. Such a marvelous milestone should be met with smiles, not tears. She explained. Just a tick over 50 years old, she had not completed high school. She'd quit after the ninth grade. A few years later, she decided she should get her GED, and after 15 back-and-forth years, she finally made it. Next came Parkland. She never truly believed she would actually make it through the whole program. But here she is, on the cusp of graduating, with a whole new world of opportunities ahead.

In that brief walk from the parking lot to the door, we shared about five minutes of conversation. And in a mere five minutes, I heard a story, a great story, a touching tale. Here was a woman who for years has had few professional opportunities; someone who has a great deal to offer, but was tied up raising a family, being a friend, doing what everyone else needed doing.

And now Gloria is about to graduate from college.

I felt tears well up in my own eyes, and I told her so. How proud she must feel! I walked into my office with a full heart and a smile on my face. This is why we do it.

There are lots of cliches about how deeply we teachers care about our students, and I recall from my own college years not believing that I really mattered to my professors. They spoke a good line, and they were there when I needed a little extra help. I thought it was awfully nice of them to say they cared, that it mattered to them whether I learned or not. But I knew they weren't really thinking about me or any of my classmates beyond the boundaries of the classroom. They were just being kind and saying the kinds of things that teachers are supposed to say. How wrong I was!

I don't know if it's the "teacher's heart" that drives us to our vocation, or if we grow the heart because we are teachers. But it is not a myth. The teacher's heart is like no other. It is our heart that drives us.

When you accomplish something wonderful, we celebrate. When your assignment is a hastily done mess, we are saddened. Every F we enter in the gradebook hurts, as we tend to take it personally. "Why did I lose this student? How did I fail him or her? What could I have done better?"

And when we get to share a few moments with someone as I did with Gloria this morning, the joy and pride runs deep. Joyful in our empathy with a successful student who has made it through some very challenging coursework and is ready to take on new challenges in the workplace. Pride in being a part of this college that has helped with that success.

This is why we do it. The odd hours, the eclectic student body, the need to continuously upgrade both technical skills and teaching methods, the frustration of trying to figure out new ways to explain old concepts so that maybe everyone will understand it this semester, the demanding students who seem to assume that we live our work 24/7 and have no other obligations or interests, the ever-increasing pressures from government and other external bodies to keep finding new ways to prove that we're doing a good job, and don't even get me started on the meetings....

All of that "stuff" fades into the background when we are celebrating your successes with you. Whether it's completing a degree, making it through MAT 095, or finally mastering the dreaded AVERAGEIFS function, we feel it. We relate. We are proud for you.

Some say teaching is a thankless job. Nothing could be further from the truth. As long as our focus is on our students, this profession is chock-full of rewards. And while it is a job, and we do work for salary, the real reason for our choice of profession comes from something deeper. It comes from our own sense of pride, joy, and accomplishment that arises from helping others to find their successes.

It's true. We do it for you.

Blogging for Dollars

Have you noticed that "Earnings" link here in Blogger?  Oh, not in this view. I mean when you're logged in and looking at your posts, statistics, and such. I've clicked into that Earnings link a couple of times, staring and wondering. How cool would it be to make money for blogging? It looks easy enough to sign up. And I do love to write. Wouldn't that be grand!

Of course, blogging to earn money would up the ante a good deal. I'd have to attract more readers so that more eyes would see the ads appearing on my blog. And in order to attract more readers, I'd have to be more compelling and consistent. One can't go adding a post only every month or two, offering a few self-reflective words, and expect to grow a loyal readership. 

I suppose I'd have to be more consistent in terms of content, too. What to write about? Teaching topics? That seems a natural fit; but when it comes down to it, if I'm going to make money off of my writing, I'd rather it involve notions other than those I already get paid to write and talk about. And I have many interests to draw from, such as gardening, music, or even my happy Havanese. I do love to write, and some folks tell me that, when I really get inspired, I'm not a terribly boring read. Yes, I could make money off of blogging. I'm sure of it! 

All I have to do is find a focus and inspiration, write consistently, and--oops, hold on. Another student has her hand raised. 

Ah, such a good idea. Perhaps someday I will hone my craft and make a few dollars here. But not today. Today, I have students waiting for my attention. 

Maybe tomorrow.

  

Please Make Mistakes

Fall Semester 2012 is winding down. We have just one more day of regular classes; Final Exams come next week.

As is my habit during this time of the semester, I'm reflecting upon my students and how well they have--or haven't--learned the material. And as I've observed for the past few semesters, there seems to be a growing trend toward fear of doing something wrong. As a teacher, this distresses me.

It goes something like this: I assign a chapter that includes tutorial exercises, hands-on assessments, and a couple of short exams. Students get three shots at each exam, so the pressure should not be huge. For the hands-on parts, pretty much every software application has an Undo command. When Undo isn't available, we have other ways to recover from whatever went wrong. In the worst case scenario, a student might have to start an assignment over. No one (except, perhaps, the student) will be mad about the error. No corporate downtime will be suffered. No clients will be inconvenienced. No jobs will be lost.

Yet increasingly, as I attend to a students with raised hands, they're sitting and staring at their screens, a task not yet complete, hesitant to commit to the last keystroke or mouse click until I look at what they've done so far and assure them that they aren't about to make a mistake. 

   Student: "Is this correct?"

   Me: "I don't know. Looks pretty good to me. Let's see what happens when you click OK"

   Student: "But is it correct?"

   Me: "Well, it could be. Or it might not be. Worst case scenario, it'll be wrong and you'll have to go back and figure out why. Let's just click OK and see what happens."

   Student: "OK. But please don't go anywhere until I know if it's right or not."
 
No matter how I urge my students to loosen up a bit, to experiment, and to risk making mistakes, the phenomenon continues. People so fearful of doing something wrong, they're not approaching their learning in the best way. In striving to do something correctly, and to always do all parts of all assignments correctly, they become blinded to all of the other nifty tricks and tools and features we don't have time to cover in class, but can be nonetheless useful. I believe this can also prevent students from grasping the bigger picture: why are we doing what we're doing? How might this be useful in a business setting? What other approaches might one take to meet the same objective? No, in the highly detailed, nervous world of "no mistakes allowed," these thoughts don't usually get much mental space to work with. The noggin becomes so concerned about getting it done, getting it right, there just isn't much room for anything else.

Mistakes can be tremendous teachers, particularly in the realm of computer software. Click the wrong button and "Oh, my, that's a surprise! Not what I wanted at all. So that's what that button does..." At which point we either Undo, or sometimes, when feeling particularly adventurous in our studies, we might set on the quest of fixing the mistake without Undo. A lot of good learning can come from digging around, experimenting, and just playing around with the software.

Alternately, those who are so fearful of doing something wrong hobble their own mental processes. They generally don't learn as well, the material doesn't settle in as deeply as it does for those who courageously dive in and take a chance that they might be doing something totally wrong.

College is, by definition, an institution of learning. Learning comes in all sorts of forms, including mistakes. College is the best place to make those mistakes. This is the place to stumble, where assignments are purely academic and where there is someone standing right beside you to help you get back on your feet. Better to take those stumbles here than on the job, where the quality of your assignments will impact other employees, your supervisor, and perhaps the entire organization.  

This is college. We're all about the learning. Please, make some mistakes. You'll thank yourself for it in the years to come.

The Content Part

Here's the deal: this blog exists only because I teach a module on blogging in my Google Applications course. I want to give my students an example of a blog, and a place where they can freely experiment with commenting if they wish. Unfortunately, I can't yet boast much of an example.

In order to be a good blog, it needs to feel alive, and that requires frequent updates. And I have been woefully neglected of adding new posts here. The problem I'm facing is coming up with content.

As noted in my "Why Blog?" post, a blogger needs something to say. Because this is part of my class, I feel obliged to post class- and teaching-related content. And that's the kicker. I already write a good deal of content that is posted to individual classes. By the time it comes to blogging, I'm not often inspired to write about my work. Much as I love teaching, it is a job, and I don't always have much more to say about it.

So how do I fix this and try to turn this into a good example of blogging? Easy. I make a stronger commitment to adding content, keeping it up-to-date, breathing a little life into it. And the only way to do that is to loosen up my expectations. Not every post needs to be a teaching moment. I don't have to try to force a lesson into each post. Doing that just turns an enjoyable activity into a chore. I just need to write, and if something instructional  happens to bubble up, that will be icing on the cake.

Yes, you'll be hearing from me more often out here. But I don't expect to adhere very closely the "Classroom Reflections" title. I'll be writing about whatever strikes my fancy. Some, maybe most of my posts will just be talking. And who knows? Maybe sooner or later, some folks will start talking with me.

Selective Eagerness

I'll be hiring a house cleaner on Saturday. Someone to come in every two weeks and spiff up the house like I'm not finding the time to as often as I'd like.

Actually, I'll be interviewing a house cleaner on Saturday; but I'm pretty sure we'll get things set up. The recommendation from trusted friends opened the door, as is often the case. And then we spoke on the phone yesterday, and it was clear that the interviewing will go both ways. She'll be looking at me just as closely as I'll be looking at her. She won't work for just anyone. She's picky, she says, wants to select her own supplies, and I was left with the impression that she pretty much wants to be left to herself, to do her cleaning the way she feels is best.

Yet she conveyed this in a warm and friendly fashion. She has time to take on another client and wants to fill those hours. It was clear that her pickiness comes from a sense of pride in her work. She considers herself a professional and will work only in an environment where she's given the freedom to perform as such. She's proud of her list of long-term clients.

For me, it was the perfect sales pitch: enthusiastic, but not overly eager.

I think this posture can be translated to many scenarios, from approaching job interviews to forging new friendships. It's important to demonstrate a certain amount of enthusiasm in our interactions. But too much eagerness can be off-putting. The person on the other side can feel overwhelmed by the energy or even suspicious of the eager one's motives. If you don't appear to be at least a little selective, a person starts to wonder how much value you're really bringing to the relationship. Are you that desperate for a job, the interviewer wonders. And if so, why should I take the risk? Aren't you close to anyone at all, questions the potential friend. And if not, perhaps there's a reason. Maybe I shouldn't open up to you so quickly. And in the case of my potential house cleaner, too much eagerness would leave me backing off, wondering if she's really as good and trustworthy as she claims. I would be approaching the interview with a more critical eye.

Instead, I look forward to meeting a woman who has enough confidence in the value she has to offer that she doesn't have to accept every job that comes her way. And I look forward to showing her how easy I am to get along with. I expect we will find our goals are neatly aligned: I, too, am looking for a stable working relationship with someone I can trust with my home. And in the course of interviewing each other, I have a hunch we'll get along famously.

Lost in Thought

I love my walks. Every morning, I go out walking with my little dog, Arlo. And every morning, my mind races with thoughts of the day ahead. For work, it might be preparing class materials, grading assignments, ordering textbooks, or tending to other administrative tasks. At home, the housework is never done, the laundry basket is never empty, the garden always needs weeding, and at this time of year, I'm starting to think about when I should dig up those bulbs, disconnect the water fountain, and tend to those other tasks that need doing before winter sets in. Yes, my mind is always racing. Except when it isn't.

Every now and then comes a moment I think of as simply lost in thought. One of those moments when I realize that, for some span of time, I've been thinking of nothing but the walk, nothing but the "now." This morning gave me one such moment.

Walking around the neighborhood as we do every morning, Arlo and I came to one of our favorite spots:

It's far from wilderness, but it still feels a little wild. The summer growth obscuring the path, the bright yellow wildflowers signaling the start of fall, the knowing that small animals are skittering about in the brush, whether I can see them or not. It's the kind of path I would have loved as a child, the kind of scene that still lures me in as an adult.

Feeling no rush to get back home, Arlo and I trekked down the trail to see what we could see, my childlike sensibilities dancing with this modest sense of adventure. And it was on the way back up that it struck me: for at least five minutes I had thought about absolutely nothing of any importance. No books that need reading, no notes that need writing; no dishes to wash, emails to answer, or phone calls to return.

For those minutes I thought about nothing important at all. Yet during those minutes lost in thought, lost in the moment, I was doing something very important, indeed. For those few minutes, my mind was totally occupied with the sights and smells of autumn, the way my short dog had to bounce to get through the tall weeds, and the observation that the ground beneath my feet was feeling a bit squishy after the rain. For a few blessed minutes, my mind was devoid of worry and stress. And just those few minutes of absence, those few moments lost in thought, made all of those worries look just a little bit smaller, my tasks ahead just a little less daunting, and the possibility that some of them might not get done today just a little less disastrous.

Lost in thought. Whether we find it through meditation, jogging, yoga, or simply walking around, it's something each of us can use a little of. And dare I say, it's something most of us could use just a little more of than we're getting.