Helping Me Find It

Today ended another round of 'FCS Exploratory Kids'.  I welcome a new batch of 13-15 year olds every 5 weeks to 'explore' FCS.  I force them to cook the entire time.  Lets face it, how many people are getting careers in the textiles industry these days anyway?

Sometimes I forget how inexperienced these kids are.  Some of my most hysterical, underwear dribbling, on the verge of silent-laugh-mode, knee-slapping jokes go completely over their heads. 

These kids don't giggle when I introduce the 'Dutch-oven' as the high-schoolers do; yet the word 'balls' and anything that rhymes with 'piss' can make them chuckle and turn their ears red at the same time.  One of my 7th graders even started her very first period while we were studying leaveners last week.  She took a selfie on her phone with me after our final class today.  I'm confident I would be engraved into her memory forever regardless.

On our final day, I let the kids decide what they'd like to make.  This particular group chose Oreo Parfaits.  Or par-fats, as they called them.  They're sophisticated like that.

Each student received the same recipe and same ingredients.  Below is the tray of half-way-done parfaits.  (It was a 2-day lab).

I decided I had a choice.  I could critique their errors or embrace their uniqueness. 

Some followed the directions, some didn't.  Some interpreted the recipe differently.  Some added a little more pudding while others added more whipped topping. 

I realized the parfaits turned out as differently as my students are.

Some are sweeter, some are bland.  Some are creamy and some our crunchy.  Some are picture perfect and some have whipped topping smeared on the outside of the bowl a little.

My job at I-35 is to develop a love of learning among kids. 

Luckily for me I teach cooking. 

Luckily for my students I've experienced corporate life in the grocery industry and an appreciation of "tweaking recipes" to make them original.

Original is what this world strives for. 

So why are we as teachers so quick to critique it?

Answer:  Because we're not always working with pudding, whipped topping and Oreos.

This group insisted on holding hands and praying before eating after every lab.

Perhaps a prayer to prevent food borne illness or swallowing glass?

I never asked.

Small town schools.

Thank God they exist.

Every 5 weeks I have an opportunity to make an impact on 17 kids.

When I worked at Hy-Vee, I earned good money.

I enjoyed what I did.

I ate nice lunches.

My opinion was valued.

I enjoyed my friendships with co-workers.

but;

I missed working with kids 

I didn't feel I was making a difference

I missed working with the 'customer'.

Periods, IEPs, personal backgrounds, zits, black eyes, awkwardness and college plans. 

Those kids are my customers.

Molly and I watched the most beautiful sunrise this morning at 7:05 a.m. on the way to school today.

The song, "Help Me Find It' was on the radio.

Not to get all weird and Bible thumpery on you, but The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Help Me Find It (lyrics)

I don't know where to go from here
It all used to seem so clear
I'm finding I can't do this on my own

I don't know where to go from here
As long as I know that You are near
I'm done fighting
I'm finally letting go

I will trust in You
You've never failed before
I will trust in You

If there's a road I should walk
Help me find it
If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment
Whatever Your will
Whatever Your will
Can you help me find it
Can you help me find it

I'm giving You fear and You give faith
I giving you doubt
You give me grace
For every step I've never been alone

Even when it hurts, You'll have Your way
Even in the valley I will say
With every breath
You've never let me go

I will wait for You
You've never failed before
I will wait for You

If there's a road I should walk
Help me find it
If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment
Whatever Your will
Whatever Your will
Can you help me find it
Can you help me find it

I lift my empty hands (come fill me up again)
Have Your way my King (I give my all to You)
I lift my eyes again (Was blind but now I see)
'Cause You are all I need

If there's a road I should walk
Help me find it
If I need to be still
Give me peace for the moment
Whatever Your will
Whatever Your will
Can you help me find it
Can you help me find it

We'll see what the cat drags in with my next batch of 8th graders on Monday!

Sometimes I Wonder

I wonder why I can't get the smell of perfumed kitty litter out of my nose.  It's like I'm being suffocated with it.

I also wonder why the instant a cat pinches one off, whiffs of old-people flower perfume with undertones of cat poop hit me in the face as though I've been slapped.  I don't understand this.  First off, whose idea was it to add perfume to kitty litter and secondly, who thinks the funeral-home flower smell is a good one?  Can't the litter people hook up with the Glade people and try a Hawaiian Breeze scented litter?  Or what about Scensy?  I don't think I have a ton of time on my hands to ponder things like this, however it's definitely something I've been wresting with. 

I also wonder why a simple fall down a single step has me hobbling around like a 92 year old woman in need of a hip replacement.  I'm not that old.  Again, I don't get it.

I wonder if Molly will talk at school today.  She's taken on a vow of silence at school and we're trying our hardest to break it.  Saturday she had a preschool friend over to play and they did really well together. 

They played Barbies, painted nails, drove the jeep, made a mess in the Easy Bake Oven, dressed up and played school.  Neither one of them can say their 'R's' well and I feel like my hearing is on it's way out, so you can imagine how the afternoon played out.

At school she won't talk, yet at home she's obsessed with saying

"Honk if you're horny". 

All. The. Time. 

I have no words.

Another concept I find myself struggling with is the invention of the Easy Bake Oven.  Who in their right mind thought baking a $5 cake mix in a cupcake pan made for someone the size of Tinkerbell, with light bulb as a heat source was a good idea?  Then, when the batter gets smeared all over the inside of the 'heating compartment' there is no physical way to clean it.  Therefore, each time it's heated, the smell of burned blueberry muffins fill the house.  It's got to be one of the stupidest toys we've ever owned.  It's probably right behind a pogo stick.  I can't believe it survived the move from the Winterset house, to the rental and finally to our new house. 

Apparently it's a fighter.

I also wonder how this creature can be so obsessed with food.  He walked an entire hour with me down a gravel road this afternoon.  He stayed next to me the entire time knowing I had treats in my pockets. 

Again, fascinating.

Our path.  Which beats any gym scenery as far as I'm concerned.

And lastly, I wonder how I found someone as strange as myself to marry?  I've battled dry skin on my heels since.... forever.  It occurred to me ditch thr pumice stone and plug in the electric sander. 

Worked like a charm.  Once Mike got over the ticklishness of it, he was hooked as well.

This is how we spent Saturday afternoon.  Nothing says true love like using the same sandpaper to smooth out rough heels.

As I finish this post, there's a cat rubbing against my leg and the dog barking at the door wanting to eat 'em.  A foam football nearly hit me in the head and my kids are eating me out of house and home an hour before I waste my time making dinner.

I have no real problems, and for that I am beyond grateful.

Friday Night Football, Karaoke and Litter

Our living room on a Friday night.

Ross and Molly play a heated game of 'throw the foam football at each other full-force'

Yeah stud, you too.

Maisie was occupied singing karaoke. 

She's preparing for her debut at Open Mic Night at the Winterset Stage next weekend. 

More on this later.

Isn't it fascinating how our cats match our flooring?

Thursday afternoon I tripped off the garage steps while carrying the litter box (full and dirty).

Not fun. 

Especially when a black lab was eager to greet me on the ground and sniff cat turds.

Now my back and hip are totally wacked out.

And these are the days of our lives...

Smoke

Foods class on Tuesday was a smoky one.  I'm teaching a unit on food safety which goes hand-in-hand with food borne illness.  I had the students use  meat thermometers to panfry a bone-in chicken thigh to 165-degrees.  Nothing too crazy as it was this semesters first day in the labs.  Before I could flinch, hot oil was popping out of pans and the smell of burning chicken skin was filling my classroom.  Associates left my classroom to stand in the hall as the smoke was getting heavier and thicker.  The students had burnt the outside of their chicken, but the internal temperature hadn't reached 165.  So they kept cooking.  Teachers and students began stopping in to tell me smoke was filling the hallway.  I felt like Gfunk as I replied, "It's not my fault we don't have a good ventilation system in here".   

My students laughed through the smoke as they searched for box fans and snow blew in my cranked-open windows.  I prayed and prayed the schools' smoke alarms wouldn't go off. 

I know my students will have oodles of successful labs this semester.  They will learn to properly cook pasta, emulsions, proteins, sauces, yeast breads, muffins and cakes.  They will become masters at all of it.  Most of it they'll forget by the time they graduate.  However, something tells me they'll never forget chicken must be cooked to 165 degrees to kill salmonella.

Ironically, the smoke alarms didn't go off.  Slightly frightening considered the amount of people who stopped by asking if there was a grease fire in my room. 

Yet on the flip side, certain smoke alarms can be a little too sensitive.  Certain ones like the smoke alarms we installed in our house.

This wasn't the first time the alarms have gone off for no good reason.  And when one alarm goes off, they all go off.

You can see how seriously we take these matters.

Luckily, the fire starter reached high enough to shut the darn thing up.

Ironic.

 

We don't have nice furniture

A cold fridgid day makes for restless kids.  Especially on a Sunday...

Can you find the gum?

A hurdler, perhaps?

And this my friends, is why we can't have nice furniture.

These smiles somehow justify it.

Nice furniture's probably overrated anyway.

In other news, Molly's hilarious. 

For as shy as she is, she's got personality for days.

Her new favorite face.

I can't seem to get enough.

'A He'

Several weeks ago we heard 'meowing' on our front porch.  The sun hadn't come up yet and the dog was locked in the garage.  Kuda was digging in the litter box, so I knew it wasn't him.  Mike and I looked at each other without saying a word and went for the front door expecting hoping to find Kratt.  I knew immediately it wasn't him by the face.  Mike thought otherwise.  We let it inside and fed it Kratts old food.  We all wondered, "Could it be Kratt?"  That's when Mike noticed it had a vagina. 

Crud.

If nothing else, it confirmed our suspicions that Kratt was gone for good.  We named her Catniss (from the Hunger Games) and welcomed her inside to eat each morning and night in the days following. 

Eventually, Goose spied her and chased her off.

She never came back.

Then last Sunday arrived.

I was still in my robe when Mike answered a call from his parents.  A neighbor had an orange cat with an injured leg on his back deck.  He wondered if anyone was missing an orange cat. 

Of course, we all piled in the minivan hoping to discover Kratt had been found.  Upon our arrival, it was clear Catness was the cat on his ice-covered deck, pacing back and forth with her back paw dragging behind her.  Of course the neighbor was allergic to cats and couldn't bring her inside.  He'd already called all the other neighbors and nobody would claim her. 

We were in a sticky situation, to say the least.

So we brought her home.

We decided to take her to the vet Monday morning.  We didn't know how old she was, her health condition, if she was pregnant, anything.

Catness tolerates Kuda's constant 'kittenness'

By 4:30 Monday afternoon Mike received a call from the vet.  Turns out Catness was a "He". 

A 'neutered he'.

That's when I began downloading old photos of Kratt.  We looked at Kratts color patterns and compared them to Catness'. 

Guess what?

Catness is Kratt.

We brought Kratt home Tuesday night.  He's in a splint and a cast.  If the leg doesn't regain feeling in the next 3-4 weeks, he may end up being a 3-legged cat. 

Ross wasn't 100% convinced it was Kratt until Wednesday afternoon when he noticed a single black whisker on Kratts face.  "Yep, it's definitely Kratt", he agreed.

Kratt in his cast.

It's like an orthopedic rehab facility around here. 

Whatever... Kratts home.

Skates

My single ice skating memory occurred in the late 80's at Scott County Park... I think.

It was probably frigid and I most likely wore the moonboots we pulled out of Hannah Morrels garbage. 

Around Christmas, I came across a Groupon for ice skating in Des Moines.  I decided to treat the kids to their own childhood ice skating experience.

 Of course I brought Maddie to help with the girls.  She's never ice-skated before either.

 Molly spent most of her time laughing on the ice.

When we arrived home, Molly decided her new doll, Lyla needed to skate too.

She'd push Lyla, halfway expecting her to skate across the floor on her own. 

It didn't work. 

Perhaps she'd do better in moonboots.