Teachers have things to learn too

I learned an important lesson recently. 

When introducing a new math unit to the second graders that I student teach, I used a bakery theme to make things more interesting. I talked about donuts, cookies and cakes, and by the second day, the entire class was convinced that I had promised them donuts. 

Not so. 

However, about a week later, I did tell them that if they all passed their upcoming math test, I would bring donuts in for everyone. 

Well, the students did an AWESOME job on their test.

I strategically showed up at the grocery store that night at the very moment when donut prices dropped to $0.25 each and guiltily packed away all but three of the donuts while other would-be donut buyers walked away defeated.

The next morning at school I had this great idea that if I hid the donut boxes in the back of the room on the floor, nobody would find them.

Well, the kids did find them...and so did a few hundred ants.

So when it should have been time to celebrate having mastered the art of three-digit subtraction, I was struggling to appease a classroom full of eight year old ant haters. Thankfully my mentor teacher had time to pick up new donuts and put on a Magic Schoool Bus video all about an ant colony. So it turned out to be somewhat educational for all of us.

And the next day, when the students each wrote advice to me on how I can be a better teacher, one of them wrote, "Buy ant killer spray!"

So learn from me : do not leave food on the floor unless you plan on never seeing it again.

 Oh, and always buy the budget donuts.

Grandma's Pearls

Today I wear these pearls in honor of my grandma Marilyn, who passed away yesterday at the age of eighty-three.

Last year, my mom visited her mom in Washington and made off with these pearl necklaces, which she then gifted to me as a sort of family heirloom.

Grandma also passed her height on to me. She was a very tall and beautiful woman, and she is missed by many, but we will see her again some day.

I Make a Difference

These last few days have been ones of excessive water drinking and iron-pill popping, all in preparation for making my blood as runny and red as possible. After years of eluding them, the Red Cross cornered me and somehow convinced me to donate my blood.

Upon arriving at the donation center (cunningly situated in a church) I was immediately given a large red sticker with the proclamation, "I MAKE A DIFFERENCE" scrolled across the top. At least now I don't have that to worry about while on my death bed.

I was then given a packet of instructions and warnings to read over before proceeding. While skimming over the long list of countries I know I haven't lived in within the past five years, and reading about what will happen if I lie about having AIDs, I peered over at the "recovery station" and knew what I had truly come here for. A buffet of Keebler Elf cookies in exchange for a pint of blood? Done.

My preparations for this moment proved to be effective.

"Iron levels have to be at a minimum of 12.5 in order to donate, and it looks like yours is at...13.2"

Nailed it.

"Your husband filled his bag in 6 minutes. You took 14.29 minutes."

Couldn't have done better.

But the highlight of the evening (other than the cookies) came when one of the phlebotomists glanced at Jared, then back to me, and whispered, "Does he look pale to you?"

"No, he's always pale", I replied.

"Oh..."

6 Months

6 months...I almost can't believe it. Has it really been that long since I first kissed a
Spanish-speaking dolphin?

Well, not quite that long. But it has been six months since I wore that big white dress and said my "I do's". For a newlywed, an entire half of a year seems monumental - "Look how far we made it and we're still in love!", "We haven't killed each other yet", and "I can't spend one night without him" is something to celebrate. And don't they say that the first year is the hardest?