Busted! (What Else is New?)

Funny how I wrote this post so long ago.
About an actual love letter I received.
And funny how I read it now, and it convicts me.
Because God gave us his written word so we could understand him.
All we have to do is read it.
Read, and read, and read.

http://pancakesandtea.blogspot.com/2007/05/love-letters.html

Saving Our Environment--One Cookie at at Time

Now, I'm not one to get political (at least not typically in blog-form). . .but there is something that has been on my mind.  My dad and I were opening up a delicious box of Kashi cookies, and were both dumbfounded at the ridiculous amount of packaging for a less-than-desirable 8 cookies.  

Seriously. . .a two-ditch tray holding a total of only 8 cookies?  First of all--name one person who can make 8 delicious cookies last long enough to justify throwing away a box, plastic tray, and a foil wrapper?  [Well, to be fair in Michigan, we get to recycle those things, so Michiganders insert "recycling" in the place of "throwing away"]  Secondly, do they think the effort required will make one want to savor the cookies?  Or maybe not eat them as often?  Because let me tell you--all that work to get to them makes you want to take more than one so you don't have to go through it all over again.

But I digress--this article isn't about obesity.

It's about lame amounts of packaging.

Aren't we supposed to be saving our earth or something?  

You know, every little bit helps?

We stop driving trucks.

We spend thousands of extra dollars on products made from things that actually use more natural resources than they save.  

And even more on cars that do the same thing.

We reduce.

Reuse.

Recycle.

We plant trees.

But how do we package cookies?  Like they're going to taste less delicious if they're bent or broken.

Let's take--for example--my very favorite Girl Scout Cookie: The Samoa.  Delicious chunks of coconut, caramel, and cookie all dipped in chocolate.  Placed delicately in 3 rows of five in a plastic tray, sealed in plastic, and then put in a box.

Here's my proposal.  My contribution to saving the earth.  One delicious bite at a time.

Keep the box (I mean, that's a trademark), but lose the tray.  Fill that clear plastic bag with just delicious and savory Samoas, seal it, and sell it.  I promise you, not one person will complain about there being more than 15 in that bag.  "But they'll stick together!" the scoffers cry.  Again, I can assure you, the world will be a happier place when those hands reach into that bag and pull out not one, but TWO (or if you're lucky: three!) crunchy confections of chocolately caramel coconut.  

Think about it, Girl Scouts of America.

Help make the world a better place.

Father's Day (and Belated Mother's Day)

I think this is going to be more of a Parent's Day post--because I didn't make a Mother's Day one.

So here it is: an ode to my parents!

I pretty much had the greatest childhood ever. As long as I can remember back, days would start with Niki and I waking up and going to the brown couch in the living room to see what mom had laid out for us to wear. Niki would usually get there first, and trade our outfits. I never noticed, or minded. Then, we'd get in the car and dad would take us to Ms. Gladys' (the babysitter's) house. We'd always stop by The Looney Baker and drive through the drive-thru. If Sue was working, my dad would just have to say "It's Jeff and the girls" and Sue would be ready with my dad's medium coffee--little cream and 2 sugars; my glazed doughnut, and niki's apple doughnut.

My mom doesn't like this story, but it's one of my favorite memories. I think it shows how my parents really encouraged us to be independent, and most importantly: not complain!

My very first day of kindergarten, my mom packed my lunch in my red Duck Tales lunch box and when it was time to eat it I bit into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was a little over-jellied. That afternoon when I came home from school, I told my mom that she put too much jelly on my sandwich. I don't remember much of the dialogue that followed (I mean, sheesh! I was only 5!) but I do remember that from the 2nd day of kindergarten until I graduated high school, I (along with all my siblings) made my own lunch.

I will say, I'm super-glad that I wasn't one of those middle schoolers whose mom packed her lunch every day.

My dad really likes airplanes, I guess. I only recently pieced this together when he made a comment one time about how planes are so heavy and made of metal, but they still can fly so high. When we were little, my dad used to pile us kids in the van and we'd drive down to the airport. He'd park outside the fence, and the planes would take off and land right over our heads. It was always so cool, because they were so loud and so big!

My mom is the master of french braids. And when I say master, I mean MASTER! With three very fine-haired little girls, you have to be a master! My mom would braid our hair in anywhere from 8 to 10 french braids at night time, and we'd sleep on the braids so when we woke up in the morning, our hair would be all crimpy. [Note: in hindsight, this probably wasn't the best decision we could have ever made in our lives. . .but at the time it was AWESOME!]

Both of my parents raised us with a healthy appreciation (well. . .at least exposure) of working hard. We'd be out in the yard every fall, raking tarpload after tarpload of leaves out to the road. We always had to help dad stain whatever project he was building (decks, swingset, shed, etc.). My mom made sure that each weekend each of us kids had a main room, bathroom, and our own bedroom to clean, dust, and vacuum. We learned to appreciate how nice a clean house was, and that sometimes things that suck (like cleaning) are necessary.

My mom's family would have a campout every year. From early age, I loved being outside and covered in bug spray and sunblock, swimming in dirty lake water, eating campfire food and washing the dishes in fire-heated water.

I'm glad my parents made us ride the bus--even though the bus stop was 1/4 mile away. I'm glad they let us play with our neighbors outside, going on walks, riding our bikes all over town, hiking through the woods, and other things that some parents cringe away from fearing their children will get hurt or stolen. I know my parents never wanted us to get stolen or anything, but they still gave us that autonomy.

We got into trouble, and had curfews, and had phone and internet time limits. We had bedtimes, weren't allowed to watch rated R movies, couldn't take 2 snacks in our lunches, got in trouble for not minding, and all those things that parents get lots of greif for.

I love that by first grade I knew how to look things up in the encyclopedia. And by 2nd grade I did my own hair every day. And by 3rd grade, I could use the stove, oven, and my mom would let us bake cookies or pancakes or mac and cheese if we wanted to. I love that my dad would let me wear his t-shirts and tube socks to bed. And that he taught me how to play hard and smart at sports. And I love that my mom was able to crank out 3 dresses in one night for us girls to wear for any given holiday. And she always seemed to make even the ugliest fabric look awesome in dress form. I can't explain it.

I pretty much had the most perfect childhood ever. Because I had the best parents.

Happy Father's day, dad!

And Happy Belated Mother's day, mom!

You're the BEST!

Here Comes the Bride!

As a girl, I--like most girls--am planning my future wedding.

I mean, that's how it works, really. The girl plans out all of the details, and the future groom (whoever he may be) is just the final piece of the puzzle.

I just wanted to share my ideas with my few close friends and blog-readers.

Here's the plan: Christmas Wedding!

I'm really excited about it, because winter is my favorite season in the whole year. However, Christmas is not my favorite holiday.

To anyone else, this would create a dilema, but to me, it won't. My wedding will incorporate both winter, AND my favorite holiday.

Here are the bridesmaids' dresses:

And the Groom's Men, appropriately will wear: Those hats are super dumb, though. And VERY. . .over the top. So the boys (groom included) will wear these:

Speaking of the boys, here is my handsome groom's tuxedo!

And finally, the part you've all been eagerly waiting for: MY DRESS!!!!!

Every Rose Has its Thorn

There is a saying that goes something like, "well if that isn't a thorn in my side. . ."
And from the context in which it (and similar phrases) are used, you can tell it's talking about something that probably sucks. You know, because thorns hurt. And if one is in your side, that would probably hurt really badly.

I guess what I was thinking about earlier this weekend was why a random thorn would be in someone's side. Wouldn't it be more powerful or descriptive to talk about like, say, a shovel in one's side? Or a knife? Pitchfork? Or are we assuming that the thorn is people-sized?

The obvious question: what comes to mind when you hear this phrase?
I don't know about you, but I immediately think of a rose.

Sooooooo

Think about roses, then. They've got thorns. All over them. Lots of people cut the thorns off. It's like the thorn is the enemy. Thorns hurt. We don't want one in our side. They're sharp, pointy--almost considered the downside of a bouquet of roses.

But why?

The rose doesn't feel the thorn.
In fact, the thorn protects the rose. It doesn't hurt it--not in the least. Without the thorn, maybe roses would all be eaten or something.

Why do we so often think of the thorn the antagonist and the rose the protagonist, rather than seeing them as a team?
Without the thorn, the rose would be weak.
And without the rose, a thorn is just a bother.

Alright now, here it comes:

Think about the thorns in your side.
The things that annoy you,
the people who drive you NUTS.

If they're not part of your team,
you're probably not the rose.

Math in the "Real World"

Here's some math for you:

Bruno is trying to put tile on his floor. He has a $250 budget, and his room is 10x12 feet. At the store, there are tiles that are 8x8 inches and the tiles are $0.75 each. How many tiles will he need? Does he have enough money to tile his floor?

This is a very typical math problem that nearly any 7th grader will be able to work out. I should know, I teach them day after day the process by which to calculate it.

So here's one way to do it:

First of all, we're dealing with square feet and square inches. We've got to either turn everything into square inches, or square feet.
For the sake of simplicity, I choose inches. Therefore, I have a room that is 120x144 inches (or 17,280 square inches. I've got to figure out how many times an 8x8 tile will fit into that space. That's easy--we divide 17,280 square inches by 64 square inches (the size of the tile) to find out how many tiles it will take to fill the room. A little division problem will tell you that you need 270 tiles. (You can check this by multiplying 270 tiles by 8x8 and coming up with your original room area).
So the answer to the first part of the question is that it will take 270 tiles to cover the floor.
But, the tiles are $0.75 each. Is $250 enough money? Let's multiply .75 by 270 (dollars by number of tiles) to get our total price.
And the grand total?
$202.50
Do you have enough money? Yes!

Okay, so these types of problems are VERY typical in a math class. I'm sure you've all done them. These are the problems we throw into homework assignments and tests and tell students, "This is where you'll see math in every day life!" And we draw pictures, do examples, use unit tiles and desktops to help kids understand how real-world the concept of area is.
I have no arguments against this. It all seems very logical, and simple. It reinforces multiplication concepts, problem solving, and most importantly: working with decimals.

Well. . .today I went to a tile store.

I went to a tile store because I want to tile my room. And I went into a tile store knowing about how much money I wanted to spend, and had a rough idea of how big my room was. I found a tile I liked, it was 20x20 inches and I wanted to know how much it would cost me to buy a tile. This way I, much like Bruno, could calculate how many tiles could fit into my room and if I would have enough money to get the job done.
Seems logical, right?

Wrong.

So, when I get there and ask how much a tile was, I was met with a baffled expression and a price per square foot. That wasn't what I asked! I wanted to know the price of the tile (which clearly was not 144 square inches). That's the only way I can solve this problem! There was nothing in my math probem that told me to convert to square feet and then calculate the price!
I was assured that my way was not the logical way to approach the problem--nor was it how tile is sold in the real world.
WHAT!? They don't sell tile by the TILE!?

So here's what's on my mind.

Why do we tell kids that they will use these things in real life without actually checking how real life uses math? Are my future math students going to one day walk into a tile shop and feel like fools?
This is the same conundrum that I ran into while I was in college. I was so tired of being taught how to teach. . .I just wanted to go out and teach. Because I am pretty sure that college couldn't teach me how to be a teacher.

So, teaching kids all these "real world" ways to use math. . .are we actually preparing them for using math in the real world?

Parents of the Year

As I venture down this new path in my life: adulthood, I find I am daily pondering things that would have never previously crossed my mind.
Things like. . .
"What should I make for dinner? . . .Can't be anything that requires measuring, a mixer, baking, a sharp knife, or peeling. At least not for another couple paychecks. . ."
or
"I sure hope this toilet doesn't clog. . .I don't really want to go buy a plunger right now."
and the occasional
"I made these front door keys, darn it! I'm going to use them, even if I like parking in the garage."

But lately, the dream in my little grown-up head is to become a member of the club. The most exclusive club out there. . .the club that requires a small fee for you to enter the clubhouse and revel in the glory that is Sam. Yes, that's right. I'm talking about Sam's Club.
As I think of all of the glorious and unnecessary frozen pizza treats, containers of pretzels and animal crackers that would satisfy Paul Bunyan, and of course the CARTONS of gum I get more and more excited for the time (around July) when I will actually start making more than I am spending (ie. braces are paid for!) so I, too, can join the club!

I have wonderful memories of shopping at Sam's Club with my parents.
And this brings me to my story:

As long as I can remember, my dad's work has hosted a golf outing every year. At this outing, his work provides goodie bags with tees, hats, towels, balls, and best of all: goodie bags of CANDY!
Well, it was always my dad's job to assemble the goodie bags--which thinking back on it now I am pretty sure that was because he had 4 sets of little hands working diligently to bag all of the candy (knowing very well that leftovers were the paycheck).
In order to get these bags ready to be assembled, the Herron family would pile into the van and drive to Sam's club and pick out no less than ten different types of candy to fill the baggies. And I'm talking enough for anywhere from 70 to 150 baggies.

So picture this:
You're standing in the check-out line at Sams, and a family of 6 (a mom, dad, and 3 little porkers, and then skinny Niki) pulls into line with a shopping cart filled with nothing but candy. Hundreds and hundreds of pieces of candy. All shapes, all flavors, and the smiling faces of 4 kids.

That, my friends, is the picture of the Parents of the Year.
:)