A New Favorite Grocery Shopping Story

[image: mbeans.com]

Last month, my mother, niece, and nephew brought me to the grocery store for the first time in over eight weeks. (I'm still recovering from the moped accident and brain injury, and up until now, have been receiving grocery deliveries from others. So getting to go along was a BIG DEAL.) I have never had so much fun grocery shopping.

So many things about it were delightful; I don't even know where to start...

I'm still smiling about my one-year-old nephew's evident belief that we were doing this all FOR him. He displayed his jubilation and expectation with grunts, yells, arm-waving, and leg-kicking every time we put something in the cart. Quite the show, and he didn't lose a bit of enthusiasm throughout the store.

I haven't yet stopped teasing my mom about caving to my two-year-old niece's constant suggestions throughout the store. "Grammy, don't you think we should get a treat? Grammy, don't you think we should buy a ball to play with? Grammy, don't you think we should buy some macaroni and cheese?" The first time I saw Grammy turn her down was when she brought a clock (I know, a clock? In a grocery store?) she'd found down an aisle somewhere. Had the clock been made of chocolate, I think it would have ended differently...

We made our way so, so slowly through the store, and I loved it. (I was a pretty slow person before this brain injury, and now I just have a great excuse.) I chuckled later to realize that my niece and I had constantly walked right in front of people throughout the whole store, though for different reasons. She was lost in her imaginative chatter (and occasional suggestions to Grammy), while I've grown accustomed to wearing my hat pulled down low in bright environments and sometimes miss things peripherally as a result.

But the best part, the cherry on top, was the woman who came up to me as I was waiting at the checkout. Pointing to my niece's hair, she said, "Wow, her hair is so blond it's almost white. MY daughter's hair was like that when she was a little girl..."

I agreed that her hair is white-blond, to which the woman responded with several more assurances that her daughter's hair had, indeed, been so blond it could be mistaken for white. (Apparently, having a small child with you is an invitation for people to conduct random conversations with you in public places.)

I'd almost stopped listening when she ended with this gem: "And you know what was the strangest thing about it?" She paused dramatically, and then continued in a hushed voice. "When it was wet, it smelled like chicken feathers."

I say, every once in a while, you just need a story that ends up being about chicken feathers.

Detours: Under Construction, Part Two

“You might let me cry/ You might let me sing, 

You might let me feel a fraction of Your suffering/ but You won’t let me down.” 

(Never Let Me Down by Andy Gullahorn) 

Image: www.signsshipped.com

While there are multiple word pictures I’m holding on to in this season of life (perhaps I’ll blog another time about beetles or dahlias), the one that resonates the most is the one of construction and detours, leftover from an unpublished blog post written last summer.

Then, many of my thoughts were in the theoretical range. Now, some of those ideas are defining my life, and I have a few more thoughts to add.

The analogy in that blog post broke down because I knew the outcome of the driveway construction in five days. Five days of upheaval, and then poof! Beauty. But life isn’t like that.

Life construction happens more like the massive highway overpass project that’s been underway near my home for the past two years. You don’t build bridges and re-route roads and revamp intersections (all while keeping pace with traffic) in a quick-and-easy fashion. It takes time.

In fact, the first leg of the project was simply bringing massive piles of dirt to settle where the bridge would eventually be erected. They sat there all winter. Big, ugly piles of dirt.

Once the actual construction began, the hallmark was its detours.  Three major roads meet at that place, and none of them was ever closed down for more than a few hours at a time (usually in the dead of night). Those of us who commuted daily on these roads had no alternatives in this area but to keep driving on them. Or, to be precise, to keep driving on the detours which bore their names.

Some early changes remained constant, while other sections were completely new every few weeks. I learned that zoning out while driving home from work was not an option. If I wasn’t paying attention, it was easy to miss my exit or end up heading the wrong direction.

Nearly four months ago, I was in an accident which left me with a mild-to-moderate traumatic brain injury (TBI).  It could have been so much worse, and I’m incredibly grateful for all that is intact in my body and mind, as well as for the myriad ways I have seen the love and faithfulness of God as a result of the accident.

However, the recovery has been one of detour upon detour.

In the hospital, I was told that I’d likely be back to normal in a month. (I now know that 80-85% of people with this type of head injury recover fully within a month, so to be told such wasn’t out of line.)

Nearly a month later, and nowhere near my former “normal,” I learned that it could be more like three months before I could drive again or return to work. Starting the school year with my students was out of the question. I cried for hours after that appointment.

Just recently (fourteen weeks after the accident) I had a similar appointment with that doctor. This time she delivered the news that I cannot return to work at all this school year. My progress has not been consistent enough to consider adding the load of teaching (or any work right now).

Detours, and more detours. Just when I think I know where things are headed, the road veers a different direction, and I squint into the future, looking for signs of any sort. Any reassurance I’m still on the right road.

There have been days lately when I've been consumed by wondering about this detour. How long will it last? Will it ever end? Will I be able to cope with the transition to the next season? If this detour has been difficult, how will I ever face more challenging things?

Two thoughts are lighting the way before me, giving me enough confidence to keep moving even though this detour is both uncomfortable and unrecognizable.

First, I trust the One who can see the whole project, both the work inside my heart and the work in His world. He has demonstrated His trustworthiness to me time and again, and the past sixteen weeks have been no different, except in one measure: the acuity of my need. Keen awareness of my need for God –not as an insurance policy over my agenda at large, but instead as the air I breathe and the strength I must have to do whatever He’s placed before me- is a gift, however it is packaged.

Second, when I picture the final result of that overpass project by my house, I smile. The finished product is far superior to the previous, dangerous intersection. Whoever planned and executed that project did a good job. How much more can I trust my Heavenly Father to do a good job in me?

 “What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:31-32)

Demolition: Under Construction, Part One

[Note: I wrote this entry over a year ago (August 2010), but didn’t feel right about posting it then. I do now. How strange to peruse my drafts folder recently and realize that I’d received a word picture for a future time frame! Have more to say, but that will be another post.]

[Image from seamanconstruction.com]

Several weeks ago [as I said, August 2010], I woke up early on a Monday morning to the sound of a giant piece of machinery pounding our driveway into bits, while a Bobcat zipped around leveraging chunks out and lifting them into waiting dump truck. By the end of the day, the assault was over, and no pavement remained. (Things like this can happen to your driveway when you share it with all the other townhome residents and the association decides what happens to it and when.) 

As many things do, it got me thinking. I've felt a little like I've been under construction this summer.  A brush with ill health and physical limitations, along with a shift from many of my typical activities, have left my identity on the ground, cracked and fragile. I'm pondering who I am underneath, what's left beneath the things I do.

Being sick -even though it only lasted a few weeks- revealed how flimsy my grasp on health and independence is, and it scared me. Life changes quickly, easily, and we don't usually see those demolitions or detours coming. Instead, you wake up one morning and something you have no control over is tearing up the pavement. The things that defined you, gave you purpose, secured your position in the world -- those same things are being mercilessly hauled away. And you wonder what to do with what's left.

I've recently watched several people in my life face this kind of major upheaval, due to health problems, loss of a job, consequences of choices, or fallout from the choices of others.  Few, if any, have the luxury of seeing where they're headed; all they know is that life is different. Entirely different.    

In front of my house, the purpose behind the upheaval was revealed soon enough. Over the rest of the week, other workers (and vehicles) arrived to level the dirt, pour new concrete, and eventually spread and smooth new asphalt.  [The freshly minted driveways make me want to dig out my rollerblades and go for a spin. If a driveway can be drop-dead gorgeous, mine is.]

It's at this point that this comparison falls apart, because life construction happens at a MUCH slower pace.  We see the piles of rubble, but we cannot envision what will replace them. 

  

Seems that God knows we won’t usually sign ourselves up for construction.

I don't know God's timetable, but I do know that the big-picture blueprint states that He is working to transform me into His likeness (2 Cor. 4), and that He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ (Philippians 1).  

Small Discoveries

In a summer awash with some rather big stuff, there have been some less-than-life-size thoughts that have made their way into my awareness. Some important, some not. For instance, I have discovered that...

...warm Gatorade is super comforting.

...ground-up pizza tastes unbelievably good after eating broth and jello. (Hooray for a mother who doesn't think in terms of limits.)

...I like goat cheese. (Thanks, Amy!)

...I still do not like tofu. (Also thanks to Amy.)

...I actually don't like blue cheese. I thought I did. Disappointed by that realization.

...I have become a big fan of chicken nuggets. (Thanks to Dave O.)

...moped accidents can bring about remarkable changes in one's life.

...adjusting to said changes is quite the learning experience. I hope it will make me more sensitive to others facing similar learning curves in the future.

...I have a lot of protective people in my life. Getting into a moped accident on a date will totally bring those people out of the woodwork.

...insignificant changes to my environment, like turning the lights down or turning my back to the light, can make my headaches go away.

...I know about those insignificant changes because of the really tuned-in people God has brought into my life in the past few weeks. (Really grateful for the TBI Clinic at HCMC!)

...the people in my life (my family, friends, co-workers, school families, and others, too!) are far more amazing than I even thought they were. (If I were to name them all here, this blog post would never end...)

...being a part of the Body of Christ is an incredible privilege. 

...God never fails to surprise me. Or to come through.

...sometimes, less is more, like keeping a blog post short enough that it can be finished before a headache surfaces. :) The end!

Grow, Plants!

Being away from my garden for the past week (due to my accident), I'm thinking about it. Thankful that my roommate has taken on the job of keeping it alive while I'm away. But still wondering what its future will be...

I spent the better part of a late May evening out on my deck, ordering my little garden just so. First had to spread the whole thing with trash bags and cardboard so as to avoid raining dirt on our downstairs neighbor. Tiff, of course, when she re-potted all her stuff three days later, was smart and took her mess around to our front yard. My common sense, however, floundered and didn't make an appearance until later. Oh, well. This is how I roll.

Nearly two months later,my basil, cilantro, kale, and parsley are going crazy; the peppermint, spearmint, rosemary, and chives are catching up. Geraniums, Gebera daisies, petunias, phlox, and two very perky dahlias, nearly all gifts from students at the end of the year, are blooming happily. My thriving jalapeno plant is a constant enigma to me, since I don't like peppers. Every time I water it, I wonder, "Why did I buy this?!" But I'm happy it's growing nonetheless.

Part of me loves growing things. Each day requires just a little of me; a full watering can, a few blooms deadheaded, a mint leaf ripped and chewed just to assure the garden that it's doing its job. 

But part of me is wary of this garden thing, too, for the same reason. I know myself too well. I know my track record with things that require small investments over long periods of time. You see, I'd like to be able to complete it on the first interaction with it, to guarantee its success while I still have sufficient time and interest for it. 

Beginning the garden was delightful. Keeping it alive for this long: an accomplishment, to be sure. But unless I actually harvest and use these herbs, my efforts feel a little wasted. I hesitated at the beginning of this process for that very reason. My schedule and lack of time spent cooking the past month has validated some of those worries. 

So much of life is like this, though. Rarely is anything meaningful begun and wrapped up in one day. Relationships are built upon thousands of small investments. Books are written a few hundred words at a time. Painful experiences are healed through consistent, loving responses in the opposite direction. Slowly, always. Slow isn't bad. It's just how growth happens.

I'm seeing this as I recover from my accident, too. Each day, I have to rest in the understanding that while big recovery is not visible on a daily basis, what happens in all the tiny daily pieces matters. All I have is to be faithful with the small part that is in my hand on that day. I can't make myself heal, but I can drink another can of Ensure or take another nap when I'm supposed to...

I'm relieved to know that I'm not depending upon myself for growth. I'm depending upon the One who is faithful to begin the good work He's started. 

I do have a perfect model to look at when it comes to patience. I'm amazed that God is willing to participate in bringing growth and healing in us when it's such a messy, slow, discouraging process! When He opens our eyes to see and value the gospel, He doesn't automatically change everything within us. He allows His Spirit and Word to work slowly, from the inside out, and He doesn't give up on us along the way. 

"Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God is works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure." Philippians 2:12-13

No Reading, Still Learning -- Just Different Stuff Than Planned

This will be brief. I'm not supposed to allow my brain too much time like this, but it simply drives me crazy not to write at all!

It was supposed to be the sixth week of reading. Never made it to posting week five (it's slipped on the priority list), and week six has involved no reading whatsoever. That's because I had an exciting incident which involved flying over the handlebars of a moped on Wednesday evening and landing on my face in the middle of Lake Street, which precipitated 48 hours at HCMC on the neuro-trauma unit, and then forced rest at my parents' since. 

Wednesday night, just after ER but after they cleaned me up.

I have a lot to learn about resting over the next month. First lesson: I do not do this well. Working on it.

Thursday. Yuck.

I AM trying to sleep more than usual these days. My little brother just walked into the living room and asked, "Megan, what time do you go down for your nap?" We both cracked up.

Saturday. Improving!

Gratefulness, which guards me in so many ways, is something I want to cultivate during this season. So I'll share my list today. I'm thankful...

...that we were wearing helmets on Wednesday night. Multiple doctors have told me that my helmet probably saved my life. 

...for nearby, competent, caring medical personnel. I was in good hands.

...for loving, encouraging words from every corner of my life (representing loving, encouraging people everywhere I go -- how did I end up being connected to so many amazing people like that?! You know who you are -- thanks!).

...for parents who are well in the habit of going above and beyond the call of duty. (I've been woken up at 6 AM every morning by my dad, who gets me my pain med and then prays for me before he goes to work. And the list of things my mom has done for me --grinding up food since I can't chew, constantly refilling my drinks, not even blinking when I threw up in her car, patiently helping me remember things like the order of the alphabet, listening to me tell the same story multiple times-- would be a massive blog post all by itself. And that's without any of the effusive commentary I'd want to include!)

...for Scripture which has come back to my mind even when I haven't been able to read it, and for all of the people who have sent me Scripture. (I've been particularly grateful for the many verses which have come from Li, Tiff, & Dave. Thanks, guys, for sharing your meals with me!) I laid awake early Thursday morning, highly frustrated by the fact I was immobilized, they wouldn't remove my catheter, and the doctors wouldn't come back for at least an hour. Peace came as I mentally rehearsed James 3, which wasn't even connected to the situation, but just truth. And truth is life.

...for an adorable nephew who keeps coming across the living room while I type and pulling my laptop screen down to share a flirty smile with me. He's not bothered by all of my wounds. :)

Today. Looking better! Wish the inside felt as good as the outside, but moving in the right direction...

OK, so I lied about this being short. But it felt so good to write. Might be a while before my next one, especially if the guardians of my recovery find out about this...

Summer Reading, Week Four

My reading list was much shorter this past week, so you get an image for every one!

Picture Books

*Splash! by Ann Jonas. If you have kids who are learning to count, I highly recommend this book. Animals sliding, falling, and splashing in and out of the pond make the count different on every page.












That Rabbit Belongs to Emily Brown by Cressida Crowell. I brought this book along while nannying this week, and we read it several times amidst much laughter.

Intermediate Literature

**One-Handed Catch by Mary Jane Auch. Great story. Set just after WWII, it's the story of Norman, a sixth-grader who loses his hand in an accident. I particularly enjoyed the tone and voice of this book. A bit smart-alecky, but not too much.

***Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool. This is one of my three favorites so far! Best Newbery winner I've read this summer. Vanderpool weaves two story lines together in a way that made me feel like I was a part of the community she wrote about. Reminded me of Holes -- perhaps as good, even. (Coming from me, that's high praise!)






Teen / Young Adult Literature

**The Latehomecomer by Kao Kalia Yang, who lives in Minnesota! Excellent memoir of life as a refugee, first in Thailand and then here in Minnesota. I learned much about the Hmong people from this book.








Page count this week: 1,144. Eight fewer books than last week, but 120 pages more. They were some big books...

Summer Reading, Week Three

I'm rather behind in posting these, so no pictures. (I'm trying to keep my library fines under control this summer.) For some of the books, I'm not providing much of an explanation, either. You'll just have to check them out for yourself.


Picture Books
*Uncle Jed's Barbershop by Margaret Mitchell. Story of sacrifice and perseverance.

***What Do You Do With a Tail Like This? by Steve Jenkins and Robin Page. I drool over Steve Jenkins' paper-collage illustrations. They are unbelievable. There's a lot of interesting information packed into this book, too.


*Stellaluna  by Janell Cannon. Cute tale of a bat who is raised by birds.


Swamp Angel by Anne Isaacs. An original tall tale.


 **Diary of a Fly by Doreen Cronin. Utterly delightful. Quite comical. And even educational. Three words I never thought I would use to describe a book about a fly.


***Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type by Doreen Cronin. I read this book to a college rhetoric and research class when I was a TA. They loved it as much as small children do. Perfect illustration of the adage, "Never underestimate the power of the written word."


*Dandelions by Eve Bunting. Poignant story about a pioneer family going west.


Things That are Most in the World by Judi Barrett. The best book in the world to use for teaching superlatives. Also good if you just need a book to make your first graders laugh.

*A Drop of Water by Walter Wick (who is the photographer from the I SPY books). Beautiful non-fiction picture book using up-close photographs to teach about the properties of water.

Intermediate Literature

Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer Connelly. Sweet, happy, beautiful -- but not sappy. A book that I will be recommending to every elementary-age girl I know. (Not as much as The Penderwicks, but along those lines.)

The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook by David Borgenicht and Joshua Piven. The authors did all kinds of research for this fascinating book. I now want to buy it for myself, just in case I ever need to escape from quicksand, jump from a building into a Dumpster, or tell if a package is actually a mail bomb. It's also very quotable.

Teen/Young Adult Literature
**First Part Last by Angela Johnson. An urban teenage boy deals with becoming a father.

***Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson. One of the best books of the summer so far. Powerful, and incredibly well-written.

Page count this week: 1,024

Summer Reading, Week Two

"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend.
 Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." - Groucho Marx

This past two weeks, I haven't traveled anywhere without a book in my bag, just in case I get stranded with a few spare minutes. Waiting rooms are my new favorite places. And my workout routine has become even more boring than it was (did not know this was possible), as I now head for the stationary bike the second I walk through the door of the gym and read the entire time I'm there.

This binge (sanctioned, but a binge, nonetheless) has been bringing back memories of my childhood, when I spent most of my free time with my nose in a book. When I got in trouble, the consequence -almost always- was being grounded from reading. No books, no newspaper, no mail, no cereal box at the breakfast table, even. Since I was usually disciplined for reading instead of washing dishes or doing my homework, I guess the punishment fit the crime.

Not grounded yet (I'm trying to keep up with other aspects of life in a fairly adult fashion), but I'm looking over my shoulder, still. Didn't make it through quite as many this week, though my page count is similar to last weeks. Oh, and click here for a refresher on my starring rationale.

Picture books:

**The Ugly Vegetables by Grace Lin. Grace Lin is one of my new favorite children's authors. My class loved all her stuff this year. I think The Ugly Vegetables is one of her first books.

*Betsy Who Cried Wolf by Gail Carson Levine. This will be a fun read-aloud. Twist on the original fable, of course.

Intermediate books:

**Gooney Bird Greene by Lois Lowry. Very cute. Set entirely in a second-grade classroom, and not too far off from reality. I've had students who could probably give Gooney Bird a run for her money. Would connect well to a unit on story writing.

Mercy Watson, Princess in Disguise by Kate DiCamillo. Beginner-level "chapter" book with lots of pictures. A five-year-old I know loves all the Mercy Watson books. Compared to anything else by DiCamillo, it's disappointing...but it was cute, I guess.

Teen/Young Adult Books:

** The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. My favorite read so far. I was mesmerized by the story.

** Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. Not at all as fluffy as it sounds, though it still would be categorized as a girl read. A great girl read.

* Deadline by Chris Crutcher. Eighteen year old boy (who's 5'3", 123#)  finds out he has a terminal illness and decides to live his senior year to the fullest, going out for football, dating a girl who's eight inches taller than him, etc. There's a decided political undertone which I didn't love (didn't love the language, either), but the idea is interesting, and Crutcher makes it work.

Page count this week: 1,162 (not counting the picture books)

Thinking Out Loud

One thing I learned from tonight's class (which focused on motivating students to read) is that students get much more out of their reading if they talk and/or write about it. Both is better. Makes sense to me.

Since my go-to talk-it-out person is several states and a time zone away tonight and it's too late to call anyone else, I'm going to share my learning with you, dear blog audience. Questions from several of you have probed my thinking (thank you for asking!); here are three of the major thoughts now rising to the surface. I hope you're getting some learning out of your summer, too, wherever you are. 

Connection: Class to Teaching

Being a student is giving me empathy for my own students. It's not easy!

This grad class is by far the most challenging classroom situation I've encountered in at least eight years, and I don't quite have my land legs yet! My professor is sharp. Wonderful, fun, but really with it. She's pushing me, and it's good. She's human, though. Tonight, she misunderstood a question I asked and then told me I was wrong; I was surprised by the level of emotion that surged up within me. I know I've done that to students of mine (sometimes the level of adrenaline that I've got running during my middle school class makes slowing down and actually listening really hard), but I hadn't realized the depth of frustration it caused. "Did I answer your question?" is an important one to ask. (Good news: I calmed down and thought about it more like an adult once I made that connection.)

Connection: Reading to Life

Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games was my favorite read this week. Since I'm sick of writing annotations, no review from me, other than to say it drew me in to the story in a big way AND gave me tons to think about. Though not the central theme, one tension in the book (futuristic sci-fi) is between the capital city, in which the people live glamorous, push-button lives centered around appearance, comfort, and entertainment, and the twelve surrounding districts, which are ruthlessly kept in poverty and forced to produce commodities for the capital city. Those who live in the city are blind to the cost of their lifestyle. 

At first, I was annoyed by the city characters; then, shamed as I saw myself in them. I live a comfortable life, often with no thought to what goes on below the poverty line to make me able to live as I please. I don't consider my own connection to the tearjerker stories I hear from around the world or across the street. To recognize the cost with integrity would mean to be willing to bear more of it on my own shoulders. Awareness should bring change.

In my Bible studying recently, I've been constantly tripping over verses about the church being the body of Christ. If one part suffers, the whole part suffers. In this book, it was so clear that the "health" of the capital city is an illusion. It is bought at a horrific price, one which costs everyone at the soul level. 

Literature is influential! I know these things already; I've had multiple conversations with friends about these topics just in the past few months. But seeing it played out in a story (powerful things, stories), caring about a character fighting against a terrible disadvantage, well, somehow that poked it furthest into my heart. 

Connection: Research Reading to Teaching (and a pat on the back to myself)

There are a lot of small things I can do to motivate my students to read. And I actually did a few of them this year!

1. Give them choices. (Wildly successful with my middle schoolers - not directly related to reading, but just engaging with the class.)

2. Relate with them. Know them. Make personal connections. (I've been hearing this message everywhere!) One part of this is to recognize, respect, and make room for their preferences.

3. Make sure they get to write and talk about what they're reading.

4. Only reward reading with rewards that are connected to reading itself. Like earning a new book for having read so many pages. Lots of research tells us that disconnected rewards (say, a toy or treat) decrease motivation.

Going Green in the Dark

It was the sound of panic on the other side of the bathroom door. "Aaahhh! Aaahhh! It's dark in here! I can't see ANYTHING!" Mr. Four-year-old's voice was thick with self-inflicted drama. "I can't see what I'm doing! Aaahhh!"

"So turn the light on, silly!" I yelled back.

"I can't!" Moments later, the door opened, and with an expressive sigh, he explained, "I was saving electricity. See, when you have the lights on, it wastes power."

There's nothing like making your morning more exciting AND saving electricity at the same time.

Summer Reading: Books I Hope to Finish

I'm plowing through my literature assignments, but I have other books I'm crawling my way through, hoping to give them decent attention throughout the summer. Heart-related books, the kind you have to chew (no snarfing allowed). A feast, just in these three:

Give Them Grace by Elyse Fitzpatrick and Jessica Thompson. Need to give this one its own blog post soon. It is transforming the way I see the gospel, which is transforming the way I see lots of other things. You want to read this.

How People Grow by Henry Cloud and John Townsend. I've been working on this one for a couple of years. Bottom line: how all growth is spiritual growth. Good stuff. 

Crazy Love by Francis Chan. I never quite feel ready to engage with this book at the level I think it deserves, so I'll read a few pages and put it down. It's a dangerous message, and I don't dare zip through it without letting the Holy Spirit talk to me about it. 

Summer Reading, Part One: Best Homework I've Ever Had

This summer, I'm taking a grad class on K-12 literature requiring me to read well over 50 books. I'm in bookworm heaven, mostly. The gritty part of writing bibliography entries and pulling out themes, well, that still feels like work. But mowing through the pile of books on the coffee table (currently, there are 41)? This is homework?! 

For all you fellow bibliophiles, here's what I read the past week. Stars (*) denote my personal level of recommendation. One: worth your time. Two: excellent and moving. Three: stunning (or I somehow just read it on a really good day).

How week one stacked up...

Picture Books
**The yellow star: the legend of King Christian X of Denmark by Carmen Agra Deedy. Story isn't exactly true, but inspiring nonetheless. And beautiful. Would be great to include in teaching about WWII at any age level.   
 
*The lion and the mouse by Jerry Pinkney. One of the most gorgeous, engaging wordless picture books I've seen.


Zarafa: the giraffe who walked to the king by Judith St. George. True story; the title says it all. Lovely illustrations.


The windigo’s return: a north woods story by Douglas Wood. Native American legend; Minnesotans could appreciate it on a few levels...


Snoring Beauty by Bruce Hale. Humorous, irreverent retelling of Sleeping Beauty. 

***The cats in Krasinski Square by Karen Hesse. Another powerful picture book relating to WWII. Would be excellent for older kids.


**Boxes for Katje by Candace Fleming. Yet another view on WWII and its aftermath. Based on a true story.


Why kings and queens don't wear crowns by Princess Martha Louise. Cute...


**Flotsam by David Wiesner. Wiesner is one of my favorite illustrators. This smirky, off-beat wordless book is a reason why. I can look at these pictures for hours.


Children's Literature
**Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis. Well-written story about a settlement in Canada of escaped or freed slaves. I really liked the interaction between the narrator, an eleven-year-old boy, with the adults of his community. Touches on difficult themes relating to slavery and freedom, but overall, hopeful and full of life.





Nory Ryan’s song by Patricia Reilly Giff. Intermediate-level book about the Potato Famine in Ireland. Sweet characters, sober plot, lots of historical connections to pull in.

*The lightning thief by Rick Riordian. Engaging story. Interesting twist related to Greek mythology. Lots of good action and characters I cared about. And though I predicted some of it (a knowledge of mythology "sets up" some of the scenes, making it more interesting), I didn't see it all. Will probably read the rest of the series...

**When you reach me by Rebecca Stead. Apparently, lots of people hate this book. I was not one of them. Was fascinated from the beginning.



Young Adult Literature
**I am the messenger by Markus Zusak. There's plenty of colorful language throughout the book that I could do without, but the story drew me in right away. Loved the plot and the characters.


**Out of the dust by Karen Hesse. Novel set in Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl, narrated in poetry. The sparse, rich text mirrors the setting and struggle of the characters. Quick read, but certainly worthwhile.


Page count this week: 1280, not counting the picture books or the 500 page Zusak book (since I read it a month ago).

Seat Belts and Marshmallows: Intergalactic Travel With a Four Year Old

Four-year-old boys are the best. I got to hang out with one of my favorite ones all day today, since he finished school a week earlier than brother and sister...summertime bliss.

We read books, ate snacks (both of us eating the peanut butter chips out of our snack mix first), and did a lot of chasing each other in magic spaceships we'd made. Once we were tired of running (and constantly repairing our ships), we upgraded to a couch-sized spaceship of his creation, complete with seat belts. (Seat belts are always his first priority when inventing any vehicle; you can see why I love traveling with him.)

While lounging in our respective spaceship corners, cozied up with our blankets, he informed me that our spaceship (authentic pronunciation: "faceship") had a refrigerator (for which the authentic pronunciation is too difficult to spell -- today was a refresher course in his dialect). "Does our spaceship have coffee?" I asked. "You know how much I love coffee."

"It has EVERYTHING to drink," he replied. "Here's your coffee. I put marshmallows in it for you." Never tried that before, but I have to say, it was delicious.

"What are you drinking?" I asked.

"Lemonade -- with marshmallows in it." We downed our marshmallowy drinks, and then he realized that we were out of marshmallows. We quickly flew to the food planet, parked the spaceship, unbuckled, and bought more (turns out invisible money is the perfect currency for invisible purchases). 

He zipped back downstairs to the spaceship while I checked a voicemail. A minute later, he was back upstairs. "I'm just buying some more marshmallows," he informed me. "I didn't get enough the first time." Gotta love that kid.

I think it's safe to say we were the only Minnesotans doing marshmallow runs in a spaceship today. Makes me feel pretty special...

At Least the Teacher Can Do It

It was a lively morning in the classroom, preparing to leave for a field trip to a park. Jeffrey's grandma, who works nearby, stopped by in the midst of the chaos. "Have a good day, everyone," she called from the doorway. After a pause in which she surveyed the excitement, she added, "And, um, help Ms. Djerf have a good day, too!"

"She will!" Jeffrey cheerfully replied.  "She always does!"

Grandma tried another tactic, every bit as subtle as the first. "You know what I mean," she chided, "like, behave nicely and pay attention."

"Oh, she ALWAYS pays attention!" Jeffrey reassured her. "I mean, she's not a kid. She's a grown up! It's EASY for her to pay attention!"

Cupcakes and Osama

I didn't have a lot to say this morning. But I had cupcakes. And I'm pretty sure the cupcakes were what mattered most.

Allow me to back up to last night, as I whined to my roommate, "Tiff, did I actually like teaching middle school this year?" She assured me that yes, Megan, you loved it and talked about them all of the time. (It is SO helpful to live with a good listener.)

I was relieved by her answer, but it was an honest question. The rocky last several weeks with those seventh and eighth graders have erased my positive memories and developed feelings of intense frustration. We've all been inching toward the exit sign, keeping a wary eye on one another.

I prefer to end the school year with a sense of closure and a way of affirming the students individually, but since my dominant thought over the past month has been "Goodbye and good riddance," I decided not to overreach this year. No big mushy-gushy class meetings attempted. No individual gifts made or notes written. Still, in frustration with my own feelings, I've been asking God to somehow wrap up the chaos in a good way.

The answer was simple: cupcakes.

So, last night, even as I struggled to remember any positive memories from the year, I devoted myself to yellow cupcakes with chocolate frosting -- and the Holy Spirit met me at the table. As I took my sweet time arranging candy on the frosting just right (each cupcake unique from the others), I felt the irritation ebbing and instead, love rising. 

For me, putzing in this way was a choice to love them and place value on them instead of remembering their flaws. As I worked, I began to remember fun and meaningful moments from the year, and once again, I could pray for their good instead of dwell on my angst.

Those thoughts and prayers translated into me standing before the class this morning, thanking them for a great year and, before distributing my yummy cupcakes, challenging them from Psalm 34:8 "Taste and see the the LORD is good; happy is the man who takes refuge in him." 

What does all of this have to do with Osama? Well, it just made me think about the ways I like to show love, I guess.

I putzed in a similar way earlier this week, pouring my creative self into a birthday card for my brother Peter, with whom I share a long history of Osama Bin Laden jokes. The resulting masterpiece ("23 Places Osama Is No Longer Hiding") was my artsy-fartsy way of saying, "You're valuable to me. Our shared history matters."

I realized halfway through the project that Peter might not think it was funny, and I worried that the underlying message might not be transmitted. But I was stuck with the idea, so I gave it all I had and prayed that my heart would come across in the silly efforts of my strange imagination. I think it did; he seemed as delighted to receive it as I was to make it. That's what I was hoping for.

There's no big conclusion for these thoughts, just more thoughts and questions. Do I leave enough margin in my life for this creative love to have an outlet? Creativity takes time. And sometimes I'm most creative when I'm working on something for someone else. Interesting. 

How do I keep something that is a gift from God, a way in which I reflect His image, from being about me? How do I keep it in His hands, seeking always to point it back to Him?

And how am I doing at expressing love in other ways, when putzing for hours is perhaps not the best method? Am I more committed to loving well, or to expressing myself well? 

Thank You, Father, for all of the creative ways You show Your love to me. Let me be quick and free to reflect it to others!

Extemporaneous Information: Animal Reports, Part II

We finished our animal reports weeks ago, but I just finally re-found my scribbled page of notes. While the students presented, I was sitting in the back of the classroom, frantically recording on two different sheets. The top sheet was always the evaluation; the bottom, the things too funny or interesting to risk forgetting. Ended up with a full page in the second category.

One more quotable from the panda girl:
"Pandas have 84-240 germs when they are born." Germs, grams. How different could they be?

We have great community in our class, even if we're misinformed:
"Penguins mate for life..." Blair stopped in the middle of reading her display board.  She looked up at the class and calmly asserted, "but that's not true."

"How do you know?" I responded.

"We looked it up."

My skepticism must have showed on my face, because Jeffery rushed to her defense. "It's true, Ms. Djerf! I saw it in a commercial!"

A few beavers have it figured out:
Taylor told us all about beavers. The class -highly sensitive to anything remotely inappropriate- was particularly excited about question time during his presentation because they could say the word "dam" over and over again. What I liked the best, however, was the part on their habitat. It read "Some beavers live in the frozen north. Others live in northern Florida."

"Stump the Presenter" is a game we play without even trying:
"How many eggs do lions have in one year?" Poor Emma. She'd learned a lot about lions, but she was a little thrown off by this question, and it took her a minute to respond that lions don't lay eggs. "I know, but how many?" the questioner replied. (We're not the world's greatest listeners.)

If you're threatened by someone else's superlative, simply respond with unrelated but competitive information:
Martha told us that cheetahs are the fastest land animal.

Jeffrey's immediate response: "Yeah, but they can't swim."

And yes, Ms. D. was paying attention while laughing. She even learned three new facts. And she's pretty sure they're legit:
A group of cheetahs is called a coalition. (Bet you didn't know that.)

A tiger's eyesight is six times better than a human's.

A lion's roar can be heard from five miles away. (How do they figure things like that out, anyhow?)

Hmm. I wonder how far away you can hear a class of first and second graders?

If You Let Your Roommate Use Your Waffle Maker

Alternate titles for this post:

What Elementary School Teachers Do With Their Free Time

or

Proof That Tiffany Is an Amazingly Good Sport

or

How I Talk Myself -and My Roommate- Out of Pretty Much Everything

And now, without further ado, I present "If You Let Your Roommate Use Your Waffle Maker: An Open Letter to Tiff"

Dear Tiffany,

If Megan has a breakfast party, and then she leaves your waffle maker out

for a rather long time,

then she will, of course, have to make more waffles.

But look on the bright side: if she makes more waffles, then you'll have leftovers! (You are clearly psyched about this.)

But if you have leftovers, she'll need to stick them in the freezer. This could be a problem...

...because, before she can put them in the freezer, you'll have to clean it out.

And if you clean out the freezer, then she'll have to take the trash out.

If she takes the trash out, you might as well round up the recycling, too. It's only a small mountain this time.

But once the recycling's gone and the pantry is remotely accessible again, Megan will want to rearrange the pantry shelves.

Until she looks at the pantry and is entirely demoralized. At which point the entire project will be shelved (ha!) and you'll both need at least two episodes of Psych, half a pan of brownies, and a bag of microwave popcorn to recover.
Consider yourself warned.

With love,
your very poky roomie
who did finally put away the waffle maker away 83 days after that delightful breakfast party

Turns out my indecision has influence my reputation; I've become known as a waffler!
(Inspiring artwork courtesy of Dave Omdal)