Max and Me

My nephew Maxwell and I have always had a lot in common. We are both the 2nd born children in our families, and we have all of the requisite quirks that go along with that birth order position. We both flare to anger quickly and get embarrassed easily. We are timid around strangers and bossy around family. We are tenderhearted but snarky. Max and I are also pretty darn cute. And on Monday, we both got mohawks.

Well, Max got a mohawk. It was his birthday hair cut. Max is very brave when it comes to fashion and he wears his new do with pride. I got a fauxhawk for my back-to-school hair cut, but I only stand it up for special occasions, like concerts, parties, back to school nights, and temple recommend interviews.

And speaking of back to school, that is where I will be bright and early tomorrow morning. My classroom is ready. Bulletin board, check. Decorated podium, check. Desk already covered in random paper piles, check.

My classroom is a bit off the beaten track and therefore difficult for the new 7th graders to find on the first day. This year I decided to try to save them a little time and stress by hanging up some helpful signs. Getting lost and being late for class on the first day can be very upsetting. The goal is to have none of the kinds ENTER my classroom with tears in their eyes.

After all, if any 7th graders are going to cry on their first day of junior high school, I would prefer it to be because their English teacher is a weirdo and not because they got lost on their way to class. And if the fauxhawk doesn't clench me the weirdest teacher title, I will be reviewing Roman numerals on Monday while dressed as a Roman. Toga, check. Laurel wreath, check. Julius Caesar jokes that will sail right over their cute little heads, check.

School year's that start out with mohawks/fauxhawks can't end up being anything but awesome. Thanks for the inspiration, Max-Pax.

Niblets in Wonderland

My dear, sweet, kind, caring, over-anxious, somewhat paranoid older sister Jenny came for a visit this week.

Jenny came to see my new place and to deliver her kids for their 2nd annual Burley visit. She brought all four of her boys...Max, Milo (a.k.a. The Baby), Bentley, and Jonah.



And Ruby came too.
This visit was a big deal for a couple of reasons.

First, due to the fact that it is kind of difficult for Jenny and her hubby to travel with all five of their kids, they usually only make it to Idaho about once a year.

Second, due to the fact that it is kind of difficult for Jenny and her hubby to travel with all five of their kids, Jenny had only been to my cute little cow town ONCE in the seven years I have lived here.

And third, as you may recall from some of my other posts, Jenny worries a great deal about her kids. And when I say she worries a great deal, what I mean is that she worries a GREAT deal.

If she was a superhero, worrying would be her superpower.

If worrying was a baked good, she would have beaten my baklava and won the blue rosette.

If worrying was an Olympic sport, she would have more gold medals than Michael Phelps.

There is a sign post at the gate of our cute county fair, the kind of sign post with arrows that gives basic directions. Most people, when they look at the sign, see this...

But what Jenny sees is more like this...

But, because she loves me a lot and trusts me a little, she drove her kids up so that they could experience the fair with the rest of my adorable niblets.


She and Milo stayed just long enough to get a taste of the fair(figuratively and literally), and then took off so that the older kids could have a couple of parent-free days.

I wish Jenny could have stayed longer, but going home a bit early probably resulted in a little less stress for her, and a tiny but more "fun" for the niblets.

It turns out that, the higher an activity rates on the "parental perceived safety scale", the lower it rates on the "niblet perceived fun scale."

For example....

Playing in a bouncy house supervised by a thirteen-year-old equipped with nothing but a stop watch would probably rate around a high 7 or a low 8 on the "parental perceived safety scale", therefore registering around a 2 or 3 on the "niblet perceived fun scale".


But, if an observant mommy such as my sister were to point out the proximity of the bouncy house slide to a sharp tent spike, the "parental perceived safety scale rating" would drop to a 6.


The "niblet perceived fun scale rating" would not rise, however, unless the niblets were made aware of their mommy's concern. After all, everything is much more fun if Mommy doesn't want you to do it.

Other examples include, but are not limited to..

Swimming, splashing, dunking, wrestling, and jumping for hours upon hours in a lifeguard-less hotel pool:
Parental perceived safety scale: 4
Niblet perceived fun scale: 7
Feeding treats to sweet puppies with sharp-ish teeth:
Parental perceived safety scale: 5
Niblet perceived fun scale: 5


Playing on the super slide and/or Harry Potter ride:
Parental perceived safety scale: 3
Niblet perceived fun scale: 8


Riding on the mini kiddie coaster... with no hands:
Parental perceived safety scale: 2
Niblet perceived fun scale: 9


Ridding the giant ferris wheel:
Parental perceived safety scale: 3
Niblet perceived fun scale: 7


Taking a serious spin in the Gravitron with only your 8 year old brother as company:
Parental perceived safety scale: 0
Niblet perceived fun scale: 11


Eating more junk food in one evening than during the other 84 days of summer vacation combined:
Parental perceived safety scale: 4
Niblet perceived fun scale: 8

Getting seats so close to the rodeo action that you are frequently sprayed with arena "dirt", bronco slobber, and bull snot:
Parental perceived safety scale: 2
Niblet perceived fun scale: 9

All things considered, I think the niblets had a pretty darn good time. They ate fair food, learned Burley slang, played hard, swam harder, and developed a healthy appreciation for rodeo.
If there was an open class fair competition for best weekend, I think we would have scored a blue ribbon. But now, if you will excuse me, I am going to try to score a nap. School starts round these parts in one week, and I think it is going to take me that long to recover.

Thanks for loaning me you kids, Jenny and John!

All's Fair in Love, War, and Open Class Fair Competitions

I spent last Friday morning shellacking a loaf of homemade bread, and that can only mean one thing...Fair Week!
Last year I decided that, in order to have the full county fair experience, I needed to enter something into the fair competitions. But what to enter?

I don't sew.


I do quilt, but not well.



I don't know the first thing about raising show-quality sugar beets.


And the no pets clause in my rental agreement made any of the livestock competitions out of the question.


I ended up entering a couple of things in the open class baking division: poppy seed muffins (Class 100 Breads and Rolls, Lot 10 - Muffins) and baklava (Class 106 Unfrosted Cookies, Lot 3 - bar-other types) .

I had high hopes as I was planning and baking, but by the time I had hauled my goodies down to the 4-H Home Economics building, I was just shooting for not being disqualified.

But the baked goods competition is just crumbs compared to the real blood sport of the county fair: The open class church display booth decorating contest.

In our stake, the fair booth is the responsibility of the stake relief society presidency. And it it a responsibility that we take very seriously. So seriously that Sue kicked off one of our presidency meetings with a plea for heavenly help for us to be "humane" in our planning and preparation.


After our booth's second place finish last year, we knew we needed to bring in some serious big league talent in order to score the blue ribbon. Not wanting to waste any time, we asked Lacie and Timbri to be in charge way back in March or April.

They came up with a beautiful idea, and put a ton of time and work in to make it all come to life.
Lacie and Timbri did have a few other helpers, but they were the brains (and in most cases the brawn) of the whole operation.


I think the whole thing is amazing, but my favorite part is the "Cassia County" lettering. The letters are made out of photos of Cassia County signs and landmarks. Brilliant. Beautiful. Love it, love it, LOVE IT!

I love that Lacie and Timbri decided to embrace the chicken wire instead of covering it. I love the hand-sewn pennant flags. I love the old wood and distressed metal sign. I love the old windows that doubled as picture frames. I love the linen covering the steps. I love my decorative shellacked bread. I love it all.

In fact, I love it so much that I don't even care if we win one of those silly official fair ribbons.

Let the ribbons go to the Oakley Stake, or to Burley Unleaded. The Burley Best Stake, I mean, Burley WEST stake doesn't need validation from anyone else. I'm going to give our booth my own best of show award.
After all, winning ribbons isn't what the fair is all about anyway.

And I think it is time that we all stopped focusing on the whole winning or losing thing, so that we can focus on the part of the fair that is truly the most important: The Rodeo Cowboys.
POST SCRIPT:


Ummmm.... remember earlier when I said that winning and ribbons weren't important?

Well, that was before I found out that WE WON! WE WON! WE WON! WE WON! WE WON!


Thank you Timbri and Lacie! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Burley West Rocks!!!!

Sorry Sue. I'll be humane tomorrow, after I finish celebrating.





Because, not only did WE WIN, but...





I WON! I WON! I WON I WON! I WON! I really, REALLY WON!!!

But don't worry. I won't my blue ribbon's or my rosettes cloud my vision of what is truly important.
I hear rodeo cowboys like girls with ribbons.

Ye haw.

I Dreamed a Dream

Every August I have my official "Back to School Dream".

It started the summer before my 7th grade year. At first, the dream involved forgotten homework assignments, unfortunate fashion choices, wrong turns into dead end hallways, and the ever-terrifying locker room showers.

Little details would change from year to year, but the feelings of confusion, panic, and embarrassment made identical appearances annually during my junior high, high school, and college years.

When I started teaching, my official "Back to School Dream" changed.

It still shows up at the same time of year, when the sun comes up later and the cross walks have all been repainted. But now it involves an unprepared classroom, uncopied copies, pajamas, and students who are much, much smarter than me. I would wake up just as the first hour bell was about to ring, much like when you dream you are falling off a building and you wake up just before you hit the ground.

For the past seven summers, I have woken up on a mid-August morning with those very familiar feelings of confusion, panic, and embarrassment. That dream makes it official: it is time to go back to school.


Every year: the same dream, the same feelings, the same knowledge that summer is winding down.

Seriously... it is the EXACT SAME DREAM. Every year. Exactly the same.

Except for this year.

Oh, I had a "Back to School Dream" alright, but it wasn't MY "Back to School Dream."



I was still woefully unprepared. I was in my pajamas, with no copies of my syllabus or lesson plans, but I wasn't in MY classroom.

I was in my buddy Elizabeth's classroom at the high school across the river. It was her room, with her students, and it was her principal who was telling me that class needed to be started right away. Elizabeth was there, dressed in teacher clothes and holding copies of her syllabus. Elizabeth was ready to roll. But not me.

I woke up just as the imaginary tardy bell in my head was starting to ring.
So I woke up Tuesday morning with this dilemma: Does that count as my "Official Back to School Dream?" Was that my annual signal from the universe to start getting my classroom in order, or was it just a random dream that resulted from spending time with Elizabeth and her students while breathing in fried Twinkie fumes?

I mean, sure, I still felt those familiar pangs of confusion, panic, and embarrassment, but it wasn't MY dream. It wasn't my classroom. Those weren't my kidlets. That wasn't my principal. The uncopied copies and the empty lesson plan book weren't mine.

Well, after much consideration and seeking the counsel of Pam who swims in the lane next to me every morning, I decided to error on the side of caution. I set up my classroom. I started making lesson plans. I made the first copies of the year. And I practice using the bathroom once every eight hours.
So I guess that, even if that wasn't my official dream, at least I will sleep better knowing I am that much closer to being ready for the first day of school.

But just a few notes for Elizabeth, just in case you have MY dream: Try to dream yourself into pajamas that don't have attached feety things, the master copies of the syllabi are in my "If I get hit by a bus binder" on my desk, and be sure to wake up before the tardy bell rings.

How To Deep Fry A Twinkie

Step #1: Make friends with an amazingly wonderful, overworked, under-appreciated orchestra teacher. Be sure your orchestra teacher is willing to do anything short of selling her left kidney to raise the money she needs to keep her district’s strings program going.

Step #2: Find a large group of pre-assembled people who would be willing to buy and eat deep fried Twinkies, i.e. monster truck rallies, Comic-Con, county fairs, Daughters of the America Revolution afternoon teas, medical marijuana dispensaries, the South, Ivy League University class reunions, or Canada.

HELPFUL HINT: If you decide to go with the county fair option like Elizabeth, be sure to secure booth space next to as much livestock as possible.

Step #3: Recruit willing orchestra students, orchestra parents, and friends from other school districts to serve as salespeople, money-takers, tally-mark-makers, and fry cooks.
Step #4: Purchase supplies, including fryers, Twinkies, cake mixes, napkins, forks, paper boats, tarps, folding chairs, large pointy forky thingies, and eggs.

HELPFUL TIP: When entrusting high school orchestra students with the responsibility of returning the perishable items to the booth cooler or the 4H freezer, make sure they know in which area the eggs should be returned. HINT: It is NOT the FREEZER.

Step #5: Advertise!

HELPFUL TIP: When affixing signage to bouncy little 6th graders, duct tape works much better than twine.

ANOTHER HELPFUL TIP: When allowing bouncy little 6th graders to CREATE signage, be sure to have an adult check the spelling before posting that signage on your booth.

Step #6: Fry those Twinkies!

Step #7 (Optional): Toss in some Oreos too. The chocolate lovers will thank you, as will their cardiologists who will then be able to afford those new vacation homes on Martha’s Vineyard after the post-fair week bypass bills are paid.

Step #8: Attempt to talk passersby into purchasing and consuming the Twinkies and/or Oreos.

HELPFUL TIP: Try coming up with different slogans to yell at the passerby, such as:”It’s fair week! Live a little!” or “Buy a Twinkie: It’s for the children!” or “Consume some bad carbs for a good cause!” or “Just one won’t kill you… probably!”

Step #9: Eat one, or two. Remember, it’s for the children.
Step #10: Go on a strict diet and begin an aspirin regimen in preparation for your own county’s upcoming fair week. Rumor has it, there might be deep fried butter and chocolate covered bacon.

Cardiologists of the Magic Valley, Rejoice! I see new sports cars in your future.