Doors and Windows

I have an open-door classroom policy.

Well, to be honest, it is a 1-open-door, two-locked-door policy, but more on that later.

For the, most part, the kidlets are free to come and go as they please before school, during lunch (except for the weeks I have lunch duty) , and after school. Some come needing help with homework. A few who are still trying to find their place in the jr. high social structure come for a safe place to sit and read. But most of the kidelts just drop by to visit.

On any given morning I will hear a variety of play-by-play reenactments of the previous afternoon's sporting event, a few excited comments about upcoming Young Women's and/or Scouting activities, a smattering of pre-teen relationship updates, and the occasional review of a sketch from Disney's "So Random" (My newest "I should be way to mature to enjoy this" obsession... seriously...have you watched it? I laugh sooooooo hard!).

Of course, the problem with a "for the most part open door policy" is that "for the lesser part" of the time when, for the sake of my sanity, the door needs to be less open.


A lot less open.

Closed, even.

And sometimes locked.

You see, all of that visiting ends up cutting into my much needed last-minute-lesson-preperation-time, so over the years I have learned to come early when I really need to get things done. The problem is that the kidlets arrive pretty early too.

The first bus delivers a group affectionalty known as "the rowdy bunch" at 7:30 a.m., and some kids with working parents are dropped off even earlier.

School policy states that all kidlets must remain outside the building until 8 a.m., a policy that our kindly head custodian conviently overlooks on cold and/or wet mornings. While I usually unlock my classroom's front door right away, some morning I get busy and forget.

I will be sitting at my desk, working diligently, when I hear the doorknob behind me start to shake.

The doorknob shaking is always followed by gasps of surprise, and then more door knob shaking (the other assembled kidlets always have to check to make sure the origional knob-shaker's assessement that the door is locked is actually correct).

Once the "locked status" has been confirmed, the discussion phase starts, wherein they determine that A) The classroom light is on, and B) I am, in fact, in the room.

Then the knocking begins. At first, the knocking is a mellow, "Excuse us, Miss, but we would be very greatful if you would let us in" kind of knocking. Then it morphs into a more intense, Big Bang Theory, "Knock-knock-knock-Penny!" kind of knocking.

When that doesn't work, the kidlets assume that I must have my music up too loud to hear them. Yes. Loud music. That must be the problem.

The next step is the "there-is-an-escaped-mental-patient-chasing-me-with-a-very-large-knife" knock. Some of the really advanced students can actually use both hands for a knocking/knob-shaking combo.


That is about the time I turn around, shoot them a surprised, "Oh my goodness! When did you get here?" look, fumble with my keys for a couple of seconds (just to add a little extra dramatic tenson to the moment) , before opening the door. And suddenly, all is right with the world.


My classroom also has a back door. It is very popular with 7th grade boys who whole-heartedly believe that using that particuar door to get to the outside annex classes is unbearably cool.


I don't have the heart to tell them it increases their travel time by a good minute and a half.

This door has also seen it's share of frantic kidlet knocking. I don't like to brag, but I have gotten pretty darn good at distinguishing between the types of outside-knocking. There is the "I'd like to say hi," knock; the "I left my current events paper on the kitchen counter and need to use the classroom phone to call home before my mom leaves for work" knock; the, "I just learned the coolest new joke that I just have to tell you" knock; the, "I can't wait until 8 a.m. to go to the bathroom" knock, and the ever popular, "I really, REALLY can't wait until 8 a.m. to go to the bathroom" knock.

I hear that particular knock a lot. So much, I think I might rename this door the piddle portal.


And the third door? The door that leads from my classroom to the bandroom/stage? It deserves a post of its own.

It used to be that, when I would come home from school, I would leave all of the knocking behind me. But that was before I got a cat.

And when I say that I got a cat, what I mean is that I in no way have a cat.

You see, over the summer, this cat decided that I should adopt it. The cat even tried bringing me presents to soften me up... a half eaten fish, a dead bat, etc. I have done nothing to encourage the blasted thing. But it must have followed me to school for some reconnissance.

When that doesn't work, Never-Going-To-Be-My-Cat moves around to my kitchen window well. There, it continues to meow for exactly three minutes before giving up and disappearing into the night. Probably to catch more bats with which to gift me.

But I am still not going to let it in. At least, not until it can discuss the So Random Zombie Man skits at the same level as the kidlets.

Dear President Bednar,

I enjoyed listening to your conference address ( Here ) on Saturday afternoon, and I thought you might like to know that my niblets are taking your technology/genealogy counsel very seriously.
Kenna may not be five years old yet, but she knows her ABC's and how to navigate the internet. I bet she could set a new record for indexing names for Family Search before she reaches the age of accountability.

And Kylie is a whiz on both the ipad and the ipod. With a former temple president and matron as her great grandparents, I'm sure she is destined to spend hours upon hours working on Temple-Ready On-Line. How soon is too soon to start working on Young Women's value projects?

And then there is Bubba. Sure, right now he is more interested in consuming technology in a very literal way (Would you like some ketchup on that remote, Bubba-licious?) but I'm sure it won't be long before he is begging for a turn to play bubble wrap or whack-a-mole on the ipod.

Just look at his two-year-old cousin. Milo has been surfing the internet as long as he has been walking. But not quite as long as he has been making his Popeye the Sailor Man picture face. He may have been a quick-study on the computer, but he came hard-wired with cute and fully loaded with goofy.

Only time can tell what talents Mr. Bubba has brought with him. But no matter what those talents are, I'm sure he will get an early start using them to build up the kingdom of God. But I'm sure his parents will be happy if he focuses his efforts right now on keeping squash in his face and not on his face. Texting and tweeting for temple work can wait for a while. At least until he's eight.

There should be a techno-family history cub scout badge by then, right?

Harvest Time, Service Style

Do you remember how, in the last General Conference, President Eyring encouraged us all to step-up our service in honor of the Church welfare program's anniversary?

Well, way back in May, the Relief Society sister's in our stake were given "service seed" packets to assist them in their charitable endeavors. The sisters were also encouraged to find ways to document and/or represent their acts of service. The service artifacts would then be displayed during the September Women's Broadcast for the purpose of uplifting and inspiring the sisters in attendance.

But before the displays could be displayed, the stake center cultural hall needed to bit more cultural and a tad less hall-ish.

So, who do you call when you need a celestial atmosphere on a terrestrial budget? Diane of course! She took the "Scatter Sunshine" theme and ran with it.

And the same could be said for the wards and their displays.

All seven wards and both branches created beautiful service display tables.

Each table was as unique as the sister's who designed it.

But the coolest part was the various and sundry acts of service that each table celebrated.

The sister's in the stake found so many ways to serve! I was so inspired!

In -Spi- Ered.

When you add the wonderful, beautiful, inspired talks from the General Relief Society Presidency and from Elder Uchtdorf, the even was almost perfect. Almost. We desperately missed our fearless leader, Jolene, and our hard working secretary Jalene. Color coordinating with five is always much more fun.

Lucky for us, our dedicated Stake President was willing to jump on the matching bandwagon with his stunning yellow tie. He is always a great reminder that the brethren of the Church are also very talented at offering service and scattering sunshine.

Case in point: My home teachers. One of whom rescued me and my trunk full of groceries from the Wal-Mart parking lot when my car refused to start on Friday afternoon. The other, the one and only Brother Barker, spent his Saturday morning checking and then replacing my very dead car battery. The new battery is yellow. Sunshine yellow. And he picked it out without a color coordinating text from Diane!

A Tale of Two Weekends

So, for the last few days, my brother Warren has been in New York visiting our brother Spencer. Well, he was kind of visiting Spencer, and kind of visiting his Raiders, who happened to be playing Spencer's Bills. Warren has loved the Raiders since he was in first grade, which is only about five years more than he has loved Spencer.
While Warren was in New York, his sweet wife brought their little girls and not-so-little baby boy to my cute little cow town to visit her family... and me!

I am always excited when they come to visit, but I have to admit that looking at the photos of how Spencer hosted Wo made me feel like a slacker hostess. I mean, Warren got to hang out in Spencer's wife's helicopter.

Warren's girls got to hang out in my Nissan. And not even an Ultima. A Sentra.

But those feelings of helicopter envy only lasted for a minute or two. Then I remembered that I am a pretty darn good hostess. Just ask my nephews. They think my Sentra is Awe-Freaking-some.

Sure, Spencer took Warren to eat Buffalo wings in the birthplace of Buffalo wings.

But I hooked his daughters up with all-you-can-drink chocolate milk. In sippy cups. Oh yeah.

Spencer hooked up Wo with a chance to hang out with the Raiders...

But I hooked the girls up with a chance to hang out with Chloe and Willow. And, for the record, Chloe and Willow have much cleaner bathroom habits than professional football players.

Warren watched the game from great seats in the stadium...

But the girls watched their dad watch the game on my TV while sitting in much more comfortable seats in my drunk-sports-fan-less living room. And then they watched cartoons.

I guess the most important thing to remember is that everyone enjoyed their weekend (except for Warren's baby Bubba, who was cutting teeth. And anyone who was around Bubba while he was cutting teeth. And the Raiders who lost to the. Bills in the last minute and fourteen seconds of the game). Buffalo and Burley both have their own unique charms and both appeal to a different demographic.

I just happen to be popular with the under-ten-set.

Of course, Tim Horton's will always be popular with me. So start airing out the guestroom, Spencer and Brianna (Yes, that was a comment on how Warren smells). I'll be out to see you this spring.

And I might want to take a little tour of that NFL locker room at some point too. After the Timbits, of course.

Walk This Way

Once upon a time, I started walking with my pal Lacie at 6:30 a.m. That lasted for a whole summer.

Ahhhhh. 6:30 a.m. Those were the good old days. It was a beautiful and wonderful summer.

Then our good friend Elizabeth returned to town and somehow tricked Lacie and I into walking at 5 a.m. F.Y.I. :Nothing is beautiful and/or wonderful at 5 a.m. NOTHING!

Elizabeth and I kept up the 5 a.m. walking thing for a couple of years. Then Elizabeth married Ratha and mysteriously became waaaaaay too tired to walk at 5 a.m.

That is when the lovely and talented Krystal started walking with me at 5 a.m. For two years, we would meet up at the crack of dawn for some serious walking and talking.
Exercise with a healthy side of therapy? Wonderful! 5 a.m.? Not so much.

But then Krystal decided to move to Boise, which made it kind of difficult for the two of us to meet up for some early morning exercise. I was sad. And lumpy. Not a good combination.

But then yesterday, Krystal (and her cute boy!) came for a visit and I stopped by to give her (and her cute boy, and her cute family) some baked goods (that were full of carbs in an uncharitable effort to spread the lumpy around) . While I was there, Krystal's mom, Diane volunteered to walk with me at 5 a.m.

How sweet is she? So we meet up dark and early this morning to get our walk on. It was a blast. I wanted to get some photos to commemorate this new chapter in my walk of life.

Behold: Miss H and Diane walking @ 5 a.m.
I was about to say that it is unfortunate that it is so dark at 5 a.m., but then I remembered what I look like when I roll out of bed at that time in the night/morning. I think darkness at that time of day is probably nature's kindest, most under appreciated gift to mankind.

Diane looked impeccable as always (her clothes matched and everything!), but since nobody really enjoys having their photo taken that early in the morning, I thought it would be best to use some stand-ins who significantly resemble us.

Thanks for being my new walking buddy/therapist, Diane! And to those of you who used to do the 5 a.m. thing with us in the past, you are always welcome to repent and come back to the fold.

Really Elizabeth. You can even bring Ratha.

By the Numbers: The First Seven Days of the School Year

5 = The number of school days thus far.
4 = How many days I walked to and from school.
1.5 = The number of songs on my ipod I go through while walking from my apartment to my classroom.
189 = The number of students are on my various class lists (as of Friday morning).
4 = The number of student aides on my various class lists (as of Friday morning).
67 = The number of anticipated changes to my various class lists before next Friday.
189 = The number of names that need to be written on Popsicle sticks.
8 = The number of Cups of Destiny that are needed to hold the Popsicle sticks.

2 = Days I dressed like a grownup teacher.
3 = Days I dressed like a Comic-Con nerd.
32 = The number of "clickers" (student answer device thingies) in my room.
5 = Times I tried to use the "clickers" in class.
3 = Time the "clickers" actually worked.
12 = New cuss words I invented while trying to make the "clickers" work.
5 = Days I had 7th grade lunch duty
1, 794 = Approximate number of times I had to tell the 7th graders that they couldn't go back to their lockers until after the bell rang.
59 = The hours I worked at school last week.
40 = The hours the State of Idaho is going to pay me for working last week.
Not as many as you would think = The number of times I thought about moving to Wyoming.

1 = Mt. Timpanogos Storyteller Festival events that I attended on Friday night.
63 = Minutes it took me to travel 12 miles on a Utah freeway.
734 = Times I said/thought/screamed horrible things about Utah while sitting on the freeway.
5 = The number of niblets I got to see over the long weekend.
1 = The number of niblets who got baptised by his dad over the long weekend.
4 = The number of niblets who got dunked by their evil uncles over the long weekend.
1 = The number of times I got dunked by my evil brother over the long weekend.
4 = The number of options I am considering getting even with the offending brother.
3 = The number of those options that involve biting insects and/or a fake Facebook account.
10 = The number of hours before I am back in my classroom.
2 = The number of revenge oriented dreams I will have before then.
Sweet dreams Mikey!

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.