Christmas at Mammaw and Pappaw’s House

Once upon a Christmas at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house. It is a special time where elves sleep late, forget to shower, and fill themselves with all the carbs they can.

The elves loved Christmas.

One of the most anticipated parts of Christmas at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house was the biscuits and gravy in the morning. The elves talked about it all year long and were so excited for this breakfast treat.

One elf, Priscilla, was not looking forward to biscuits and gravy. In fact, she dreaded biscuits and gravy. Priscilla was a vegetarian elf, and every time her Mammaw would pour that awful sausage gravy onto her plate: her stomach flipped over.

Every year she asked for pancakes, but every year, she was overruled by her fellow elves for the biscuits and gravy.

Priscilla was tired of being ignored. This is my Christmas, too, she thought to herself. This year, Priscilla decided to take breakfast into her own hands.

Hidden by the dark of night, Priscilla snuck to the cupboard. Ever so quietly, she opened the doors and scrambled into into the mess of container and boxes. She knew exactly what she was looking for.

Silently, she pulled out her trophy. The biscuit mix. It would be hard to make biscuits without the mix. Now, they would have no choice, but to make pancakes for breakfast.

Chattering and giggles started to fill the air. The other elves were up! If they found Priscilla with the mix, they would know what happened. Then they would be upset with her and she would have to eat biscuits and gravy for breakfast. She jumped into the nearest hiding spot.

* * * * * * * *

“Biscuits and gravy time…. biscuits and gravy time!” The elves sang as they scrambled down the steps.

“This is my favorite part of Christmas!”

They wandered into the kitchen, looking for their breakfast.

“Oh, I’m a little behind this morning.” Mammaw explained, “Could you help me and go get the biscuit mix, and we’ll get it started?”

Bruce went to the cupboard to get the mix but only found….

PANCAKE MIX!

“ELVES! GET IN HERE! WE HAVE A SITUATION!”

The elves scrambled to the cupboard to witness the tragedy of the morning.

“Christmas is RUINED!” The elves cried. “What do we do? We can’t have pancakes for breakfast. Biscuits and gravy is a tradition.”

“Could Mammaw have forgotten to buy the mix?” Bryce asked.

“No, I saw it in the cupboard last night.”

“Then, it went missing… we have to find it.” Bruce proclaimed.

With that, the elves went on a hunt. A biscuit hunt, that is.

* * * * * *

The elves, disappointed, sat with their faces in their hands.

“No biscuits and gravy….”

“Where could it be? It didn’t just get up an walk away.”

* * * * * *

Priscilla had no idea the elves would be so sad about the biscuits and gravy. She had never wanted to ruin someone’s Christmas, she just wanted to make her own a little bit better.

Pancakes were not worth all of these sad faces.

Priscilla knew she needed to do something.

The elves gathered around Priscilla, “What is it?”

The biscuits!!!!!

The elves all looked around confused, how did Priscilla get the biscuits?

“I’ve never liked biscuits and gravy.” Priscilla explained. “Every year I ask for pancakes, and every year I get ignored.”

“I thought this year, if I took the biscuits, then I would definitely get my way. I didn’t think about how sad it would make everyone though. So here are the biscuits. Let’s just enjoy Christmas, and have our biscuits and gravy. I’m sorry I ruined our morning.”

The elves felt a little angry at first, but understood. They started to laugh it off, but decided that from now on, hiding breakfast is not the way to win an argument. They still had to decide what to have for breakfast though.

Bruce came up with an idea.

Mammaw, do you mind if we have both pancakes AND biscuits and gravy this year?

The elves had a very merry Christmas at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house, but not without many more adventures.

“This is the best merry-go-round EVER!”

Oops.

“What happened here?”

“He did it.”

Drowning in Blank Boxes

Sunday rolls around (because CLEARLY there has been no productivity all weekend) and it’s time to do work. But wait. First have to check Facebook for any shenanigans that has occurred over the weekend (there is always something). Collect materials to study. Sit down and start. Oh no, forgot the tea. So get up, make tea. Find a snack while in the kitchen. Sit back down.

Now what to do? Normally there’s some more Facebook. Maybe check the news – current events is productive right? Finally my roommate comes in and names me the best procrastinator ever (which isn’t true. There are so many others better than I).

FINE, maybe I am procrastinating. I GUESS I’ll make a to do list then. Then I’ll know what I have to do! But it can’t just be notebook paper, that’s ugly. So I get up, find a sheet of colored paper, my markers, stickers, and other art supplies that always come in my Mammaw’s care packages (see, they ARE appreciated). Then I open up my Google Calendar and start to figure out my tasks for the week, listing them in pretty handwriting (alternating colors OF COURSE). Normally I end up with a pretty list to carry me through the week!

I even spend some time finding a nice quote to keep me upbeat and positive.

Isn’t that nice?

But THIS week.

Note the post-its ^

This week is my semester finals. So I picked a pretty yellow sheet of paper to make my to do list. But here’s the issue, I ran out of room on my to do list and had to start adding post it addendums. And the worst part? The addendums kept adding faster than they got checked off. There was a point where I thought I would drown in blank check boxes.

I think I dreamt that black pens all ran away from me so I could NEVER check the items off, and the blank boxes just kept spawning and spawning.

I hate that word, spawning. Only ugly things spawn.

All I know is my brain now equates yellow as a color of rage. It is no longer bright and sunshiny and happy.

* * *

In this moment of anger at the to do lists, I think I’ll take a step back and end this on a positive note. You know that beautiful thing when you are in a mood and JUST the right song comes on to make you feel better?

That happened this morning, and I think it just about kept me from jumping off a to do list cliff. I got a reminder that an end is in sight and Santa Clause is in my future!

So for everyone doing finals right now, here’s to you!

Just let Gary Allen sing you comforting lyrics.

It’s THAT Time of Year

It’s that time of year.

What does that phrase even mean? I could say that about every day of the year, every day is that time year for SOMETHING. It’s that time of year in January and February when we’re all bitterly cold and want some hint of sunshine, it’s that time of year in April and May when spring starts to role around and school starts to let out, it’s that time of year in September when school starts again and football season takes over the nation (or maybe it just seems like that because it takes over my world). 

What time of year is it now?

Well that depends how specific you want to get. It’s the holiday season, time for shopping, time for parties and friends and family. For those of us who are cursed enough to be students at this moment, it’s the time of year for finals which means no sleep, no social life, and absurd amounts of caffeine. It’s a weird combination of trying to enjoy the holiday season, but also trying to ensure that our GPA remains intact.

Now do you know what I mean when I say, it’s that time of year?

Since it’s that time of year, classes and my extracurriculars are wrapping up for the semester. It’s a beautiful thing, trust me. There are several people I am thankful I will not have to sit in a room with ever again and there are classes that I am thankful I do not have to endure another session. It’s time to open the next chapter.

This morning my partner, Megan, and I had our last practicum session. It’s a placement we have in a second grade classroom, where we observed and taught for three hours a week over the course of the semester. It’s a beautiful school and the kids are incredible.

Today we walked in to find a gift, a class set of thank you notes, personalized for both Megan and I.

The funny thing was my mentor teacher had clearly taught the students to spell my name based on how my name sounded in her southern accent.

Professional Development Lesson: If you are going to have 26 kids write thank you notes, take the time to look up the spelling of the name of the person you’re thanking.

Regardless though, these thank you notes made my day. They reminded me exactly why I want to be a teacher eventually.

Also, in case you were wondering:

Pumpkin Cheesecake Muffins

This is a SUPER easy, but DELICIOUS fall treat!

Pumpkin Cheesecake Muffins
Adapted recipe from: Sugar Cooking

For the filling:

• 8 oz. cream cheese, softened
• 1 egg
• 1 tbls flour
• 1 cup confectioners’ sugar

For the muffins:

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
• 1/2 tbsp. plus 1/2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 2 large eggs
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup pumpkin puree
• 1/2 cup + 2 tbls olive oil

Directions:

1. To prepare the filling, combine the cream cheese, egg, flour and confectioners’ sugar in a medium bowl and mix well until blended and smooth. Set aside.
2. To make the muffins, preheat the oven to 350˚ F. Line muffin pans with paper liners. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, pumpkin pie spice, salt and baking soda; whisk to blend. Combine the eggs, sugar, pumpkin puree and oil, stir until blended. Stir in the dry ingredients, mixing just until incorporated.
3. To assemble the muffins, fill each muffin about 2/3 full with batter. Add a dollop of filling on top. (I would say I used about a tablespoon of batter and a heaping teaspoon of filling. They were pretty full going into the oven.)  Bake for 17 minutes.
4. Enjoy!!!

And since we are so close to Thanksgiving, here is some musical genius to add to your day!

Seriously, did we learn nothing from Rebecca Black?

Friendship

When you study something like elementary education, in class activities turn out something like this:

Ingredients:

• Smiles

• Long Conversations

• Laughter

• Memories

• Hugs

Preparation:

1. Measure out your smiles

2. Spread broadly across the pan

3. Pour in long conversations, laughter, and memories

4. Sprinkle hugs over the top

5. Let sit up for many years

6. Keep warm and enjoy.

I have one friend who is even more metacognitive than I am. Our conversations are a bit scary.

The other day she made a comment about something negative in her life. The she looked at me and pounded her fist on the table. “No, I’m done complaining, things are not worth complaining about, and there are so many people worse off than me.”

Complaining is something everyone does, but nobody really respects it when they witness it from another person:

Person A: “I just hate the wall color, and the food. This restaurant is awful. My outfit is all wrong.”

Person B: “You’re my best friend.”

It just doesn’t work that way.

We started to talk even more though. What about when two people are mutually complaining?

How many times do you see this conversation between two people?

Person A: I hate this class, there is so much work.

Person B: I know, I can never keep up.

Person A: Yeah, I had no idea how to do the reading, AND my roommate last night was so loud…

These two people bonded over something negative. They were both complaining, and somehow they forged a relationship out of it. But then I thought about it, is that the type of relationship I want?

Of my friends, the ones I treasure the most are the ones who are positive and push me forward. The ones who look for things to smile about and generally find things to smile about me. It’s something so small, but can characterize an entire relationship.

It’s a small thought of the day, I guess just to always look for the glass half full

Just a Moment to be Thankful

This week my after-school program started back up.

It was crazy when the first little girl walked in and I realized that I had been working with her for three years. She had grown over the summer, but immediately buried her head in my side in a tight hug. Kid hugs may be the best hugs out there. She had grown over the summer and her hair was different, but she was still the same little girl I knew. She was still sassy, sweet, and constantly questioning everything.

It was that moment when I realized that I absolutely am in the right field. I have watched her grow and change, and maybe somewhere over the years, I helped just a little bit. She has also helped me grow and the best thing is I will never stop. I will never stop learning. I am so excited for this year just to see what I learn from the only population on this planet shorter than me.

It’s also interesting now, when I go to neighborhood community events for recruitment, people know me. Families walk by and give ‘Ms. Sarah’ a hug. Teachers and school faculty I’ve interacted with come by and ask how school is going. That’s the part of education that I feel like get’s overlooked, but I’m fascinated by: how the school and the neighborhood can work together to foster a welcoming and supportive community.

I am so happy I do what I do, and I know that once I REALLY start a career (we call that being a ‘real person’) I can get even more involved.

Moral of story:

Kids are great. People are great. Life is great when you look at it the right way.

And How Was Your Weekend?

This weekend has been the epitome of lazy. To be honest, I think it is my first truly lazy weekend since I started at this prestigious institute that takes over my life.

Yesterday my roommates and I woke up and laid around our living room for six hours. Doing nothing. The worst part is we spent all of that time watching the CMT top 20 countdown.

One thing I figured out is that I do not like the new Taylor Swift song. At all.

Seriously? I could write a song better than that. And for those who know me, I am not musical in anyway. Lyrical genius, rhyming ‘never’ and ‘ever.’

Not just the song itself, but the so-called whimsical video is disturbing. A group of grown men dancing in a young girls bedroom is creepy enough, but a group of grown men dancing in animal costumes with stupid smiles plastered across their faces is enough to give ANYONE nightmares.

I can see Taylor Swift’s apartment from campus, and I now will forever wonder if her walls are also covered with cableknit sweater wallpaper.

* * * *

After laying around all morning being overly critical of poorly produced music videos, I needed to move. Our new apartment is right across the street from the recenter, which takes away many of my excuses not to work out (many – not all. Don’t underestimate my ability to make excuses).

One workout options my roommates and I enjoy is a zumba class that’s offered a few times a week. It’s a chance to get out, get a cardio workout, shake our ‘thang,’ and get impossibly sweaty all at the same time.

Over the past few years we’ve tried several different zumba classes with several different instructors. Our first experience was with a professional dancer whose steps we way to hard and we all spent the majority of the class dancing in place just watching her perform these all too complicated sequences. We’ve been to classes with cute girls who bounce around to poppy music. I’ve been to one that was taught by a latino woman who add her latin flavor to the dance.

How would you feel dancing with a room of ladies that looked like this?

By now, we know how to be informed critiques of a class. Were the moves too hard? Are they too repetitive? Did we really get a good workout? The issue with most classes though are that I go, often looking like a slob (because I’m working out, not competing for Ms. America) but then go and stand in a room lined with mirrors and stare at myself take on a variety of poses for an hour. The sweat and make up starts to run down my face, my hair starts to fall flat, and my self esteem drops by the minute. The worst is when you look in that mirror and compare yourself to the other girls who look just so cute and little moving, and you know you like an whale among a sea of sirens.

Recently, we’ve started attending a zumba class with a new instructor, Carney. We walk in and a fairly large woman greets us. This was a shift from the little petite instructors that generally stand front and center in their little workout tanks and Nike leggings. I knew my roommates were exchanging glances (I’m guilty of it too) wondering how this workout class would go.

It took all of one song to realize that this workout was not going to be easy. This lady knew how to make zumba a workout. The best thing about it was she incorporated moves that were easy to catch onto, repetitive, but if done right were challenging.

She also made the class a comfortable community. She knew her body and knew how to move it. The fact that she was not a perfectly petite and toned little woman helped the other girls feel comfortable shaking in front of the mirror. I never feel like a whale because she always makes a point that dancing is for everyone, no matter what size they are.

So now, I can shake my thang with pride.

Sum up of my weekend:

Pro: I have a wonderful new workout routine, and have discovered my new love of dancing (even if I look like an idiot).

Con: I wasted 4 minutes of my life on the new Taylor Swift music video.

Overall: I think it’s been a successful weekend.

Would You Like Some Gum?

I’m sitting in class and my friend, next to me, pulls out a pack of gum. She opens it and slides one out. The she turns to me and offers the box.

“Would you like a piece of gum?” She offers.

I shake my head and smile, “No, thank you.”

We turn back to the lecture at hand, not giving it a second thought.

Later I considered the interaction again (when I should have been learning about the literacy rates of American children), and realized that is an odd conversation. In American society, it’s an expectation to share our minty breath fresheners with those in our company.

But why?

When I bring a coffee (or let’s be honest: tea) to a meeting or class, I don’t feel obligated to share with those around me. That’s my drink! Get your own!

Same thing with food. Often there is the comical disclaimer of: “Sorry to eat in front of everyone, I just haven’t eaten since *insert meal before the one that has been skipped here*” and then that person eats guilt free. No offering of their sandwich/salad/or chips. Munch away, baby.

What if I came into a meeting and pulled out a pen, but every time pulled out a pen I would look around: “Does anyone else need a pen? I just bought the value pack.” No one does that! Because it’s an expectation to bring our own.

But gum. Why must we share our gum?

When I originally wrote this post, I had every intention of citing the origin of this tradition, however, after a somewhat intense episode of Googling and Wikipedia, it appears that not too many other people in cyberspace give the offering of gum to other people much thought (Maybe I’m just cutting edge). However, we do this so automatically, that this tradition is in line with offering a guest a drink and not calling a date three days after receiving her number: it is accepted as a norm.

What historically, makes it not only thoughtful, but something that is an expectation in our society to offer our precious gum out?

What if I want to keep my gum?

The Science of Political Science

I am all about education. That’s no secret.

It’s funny because before coming to college, I had no idea what I was interested in or what I wanted to do. I just maybe wanted to be a teacher because I had enjoyed tutoring one of my biology classmates during my sophomore year in high school.

I jumped in the education program and LOVED it. Then my work with the nonprofit world exposed to me how interested I am in issues on a broader scope. So education policy became my new area of interest.

This semester I am taking my first public policy class. Because my program is so specific, I had some class conflicts and had to take a class in the another program to substitute the policy class I was supposed to take.

Political Science 256.

Note the 2. The 2 means that this class is a 200 level class. Let me remind you that I have been taking pedagogy classes for a year and a half. This is a class full of political science majors.

The first day, the professor asks each student to introduce him/herself and share his/her activities over the summer. I was excited to share, I had been in Nashville and actually done something.

Then as students started share, I realized there was a common thread throughout most of the class. 75% of the class had spent their summer in DC and approximately 99% (these are exact numbers) of those students had interned for a congressman or woman. They had worked in the White House, the Senate, think tanks, and a whole assortment of insanely impressive internships.

One other student made me feel better with his lifeguard position at Jersey Shore, but still Jersey Shore. Even that was noteworthy, he probably saw Snooki wobbling around. Why couldn’t it have been the baby pool in Lake Erie?

My Nashville summer was not impressive to the class.

Class started and right away I knew I was over my head. The professor would ask a question and 32 hands raised in the air, and not just half way. A full vertical line extended above each students head. They were yearning to share what they knew. Meanwhile, I was making a list of words to look up after class: constituent, federalism, oligarchy. This was going to be a long semester.

I miss my education classes, those are comfortable and I know what all the big words mean.

Then the professor pauses the discussion to do the traditional review of the syllabus. He stops during the presentation to explain that he is a hard grader and students have specifically avoided his class to save their GPA. Everyone starts with a zero and works up from there.

Welp.

I am just overwhelmed. All I want to is to help America’s education system, but now I have to compete with a room of pre-lawyers and pre-politicians (it’s also incredibly easy to tell which one is which).

Class ended and I approached the professor and explained my plight. I explained that the last study of government I had was my high school government class: and the most I really remember is that Obama is our president. He smiled and took me to his office. There he gave me a book and told me this would help me keep up. He explained that he wouldn’t let me get too far behind and we could do weekly political science bootcamp if we needed to.

I’m still crazy intimidated by the class (although I did ask a question during the last session! I was shaking and praying that nobody was laughing hilariously in their heads), but now I am bound and determined to do well.

We’ll see who wins out: me or 250 years of American political science history.