TEACHING SCENE TUESDAY--achin' for bacon

There is a student in my class who I love a lot. He is so weird and quirky and funny. He's the sweetest thing and makes me laugh on a daily basis. Recently, he quipped the following to me:

"Mrs. Ashmore, you know what we should do? At the end of the year, let's have a party with bacon ...because I like bacon. And cupcakes. Everyone likes cupcakes. Can we do that, Mrs. Ashmore?"

A few minutes later, I heard him exclaim to no one in particular, his head buried in his desk:

"That's where my mustache went!"

...And because I'm at a loss for a way to follow that, I'll just end now.

Until next time,

Mrs. Ashmore

MEMORY MONDAY--Fluffy

Fourteen years old. Gilbert Jr. High.
Mr. Granio's 8th grade earth science class.

"Grah-knee-O," he demonstrated the first day of class, pointing to his own knee at the appropriate syllable.

He was AWESOME. And totally weird. But that is probably what made him so cool in the first place. Let me share what I remember about Mr. Granio.

1.) He was great at multi-tasking. He could give lectures about tectonic plates while shooting at flies with rubber bands (the classroom door faced a horse field). I've never seen a happier man than the day he shot and killed one flying midair.

2.) When he thought something was funny, it wasn't a knee slapper...it was an ELBOW slapper. He'd laugh hysterically while slapping his elbow. Like I said. Weird.

3.) Mr. Granio reminded me a Fred Flinstone. Without the orange dress.

4.) One day, Mr. Granio excitedly told the class that his wife was having a baby girl. We got on the subject of names, and he got frustrated, as he described the difficulties of agreeing on a name. Apparently his wife just wouldn't cooperate. When we asked what he wanted to name her, he replied dramatically, with outstretched arms, his attentive students in suspense:

"...Beached...Whale..."

he said, staring theatrically at an unknown distant vision.

5.) We were never allowed to say we got a HAIR cut. He said this didn't make sense. Why would we go to a hair salon and pay to have ONE hair trimmed? No...we got a HAIRS cut.

6.) Mr. Granio had a pet rock. He named it Fluffy, kept it in a cage, and had students regularly change its food and water. He would even remove it from the cage, put it in a hamster ball, and let it get some "exercise." The strangest part was the fact that the ball would actually rove all through the room as if a real animal was running its little heart out.

7.) And he taught us a bunch of stuff about rocks...and space...and volcanoes. That was cool too.


It's amazing what an impact a teacher can have.

TEACHING SCENE TUESDAY--Romance

I overheard the following statements from a certain big-personality-endowed student of mine:

"Romance is disaster!" 
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"But apparently, you have to use it or you can't get married."




Oh, how I wish I had caught the entire conversation!

TEACHING SCENE TUESDAY--Roman Numerals

Third grade math.
I had just made a list of Roman numerals on the board.


"Those are the Super Bowl Numbers!" shouted one football-frenzied student from the back.

I concurred. But explained that is not where they came from nor is it all they are used for. I described the origin of Roman numerals and all the ways we use them today. Wrapping up my explanation, I thought I had been fairly clear, and was ready to move on.

That was, however, before a blonde gal from the front raised her hand to ask a very sincere question:

"So...do you mean like Ramen Noodles?"

Maybe we should start over...


 

SNAPSHOT SATURDAY--All you need is love

So, this picture is from an expedition we took a few weeks ago. We drove 2 hours to nowhere in particular, got out of the car, and took a walk with camera in hand. It was lovely. 

I wanted a picture with both of us, but there wasn't anyone on hand to help out. Instead, I took one of each us on this fence and used GIMP on my computer to combine the two pictures into one. Wa-lah! We're BOTH on the fence! 

It's was my first time attempting such a feat, and pretty pleased with myself...until I noticed a few important body parts that had completely disappeared in the process. Ha! Oh well. You wouldn't have noticed unless I told you, right? And who needs hands and feet as long as you get to be with the one you love?

MEMORY MONDAY--Wanna Kiss?

Eighteen years old. St. George, Utah. First date of my college career.

The guy was a preemie leaving on his mission in a couple weeks. Apparently, he was DESPERATE for a kiss before he left.

I spent the evening frantically dodging his attempts to put his arm around me, hold my hand, or...worse. It was a first date, I wasn't an experienced dater, and he was a bit too eager.

I thought the last straw was when he drove us up to the local make-out spot. I may have been new in town, but I knew exactly where we were. I sat scrunched up against my car door observing his awkward attempts at "moving closer" until I finally informed him it was time to take me home.

I had a headache, you see. That's believable, right?

But then, on the front steps, after my quick, obligatory hug and a lunge to open the door, he asked:
"Do you wanna kiss?"
I stopped and stared at him in shock for half a second before responding with thinly veiled annoyance, "No."

What happened next will forever blow my mind. It was so sad. So pathetic. Piteous, even.


He reached into his pocket and pulled out a zip-lock baggy. Holding it up for me to see, I caught sight of foil wrapped Hershey's kisses in the yellow glow of the porch light.


I wish I could have seen my expression at that moment. It must have been something between a frozen forced smile and pure disgust. "He...he...he...that was...clever," I faltered as I accepted his offering of a chocolate kiss.


But after such a desperate display, I didn't feel bad for not inviting him in, as his hopeful face peered in at my roommate sitting on the couch. I didn't care as I said goodnight, closing the door an inch from his nose. And I didn't even feel bad as my shocked roommate mildly censured me for my rudeness.


It wasn't until after I got over my nausea that I was able to recognize the bright side to the situation: It makes for a funny memory, right?

AWKWARD.

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/
Highly recommend. Will brighten any gloomy day. Enjoy just a taste:




Next time, let's give him a Father's Day Present that won't give him such a big head.



He said, “Wanna go to prom? She said, “I guess.”

One more reason to never fear the dentist.

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The Squatters.

In their face.

Authentic all the way down to the rock holding the door shut.

Sexy.

Creepy.

The Offering.

Let's face it. There's nothing more awkward than an exorcism.

The Klingers

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BOYS AND GIRLS

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It was recess time for the preschool class I taught during the summer. As usual, the kids exploded through the door to the playground with unrestrained joy.
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But soon, things calmed down. The boys clamored on to a miniature plastic jungle gym, lost in their world of mechanical, pyrotechnic sound effects. The girls, crawled under the slide whispering their secrets in privacy. Minutes later, however, the girls are bored and crawled out to look around. After a moment, one of them turned to the other and said:

Pretend that we are princesses and that we are best friends, okay?

The other agreed before declaring that they must now find themselves a prince.

Both of their eyes fell on the boys across the yard, who meanwhile, had become engrossed in an epic battle with an unseen enemy (sound effects included). The girls grasped hands, smoothed their hair, and walked together across the play yard. Looking up at their four-year-old classmate, one asked:

Prince? Which one of us do you want to marry?






The boys continued their mission without so much as a glance at the hopeful faces below.

Un-phased, the little girl with the golden curls, asked again:


Prince? Which on of us do you want to marry?


As if suddenly aware of the females, the little prince pondered them for an instant before pulling out his imaginary machine gun and showering them with bullets. The two-year-old boy, upon noticing their new enemies, joined his brother comrade in shouting:


BANG! BANG! BANG!


The girls faces fell.


I guess the prince doesn't want to marry either of us, one said.


Hmmph. Come on...let's go! stormed the other.

The girls stomped back to their play castle, and climbed to the top of the tallest tower. And then, as the boys celebrated their victory, the girls entertained themselves instead, by ad-libbing a ten-minute-long pop song that went something like:

"We didn't want that prince, anyy-waaay!"




Just another summer day with the toddler class. Entertaining as always.

ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROOSTER

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Andrew and I traveled down to small-town Utah to visit Erin (Andrew's sis), meet her fiance, and photograph them some engagement pictures.
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Our first morning there, I woke at dawn to the sounds of cows and roosters, and went outside to explore.

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The rising sun made for beautiful lighting to take pictures.

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And it was a perfect, peaceful morning.
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As I was concentrating on taking this rustic shot...

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...I spotted a rooster, casually pecking the ground nearby.

Oh, what a cute, little rooster! I crooned.

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How embarrassingly naive, I was.

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The next time I took my eye from the view finder, the rooster was puttering around right at my feet.

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Hi, wittle guy! I cried.

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It was at about this time, however, before I had any time to defend myself, that the rooster unexpectedly--and unjustifiably--attacked me. He ran at full speed ahead, wings outstretched, and with fire in his eyes.

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I am ashamed to say that I, Rachel Ashmore, ran for my life...from a rooster. I mean, what if he had...pecked me? It wasn't until I had clambered into the bed of a truck for safety, that he crowed in triumph and wandered away. And I'm even more ashamed to say that this series of events happened a second time when I thought he had gone.

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Back in the house, after the humiliating story was shared, I was informed in all seriousness by 10-year-old Whitney:

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"The rooster's name is Buddy"

*long dramatic pause*

"...but he's no buddy."

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Next time I come to visit, I'm wearing my heavy stomping boots.

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Anyway, rooster hatred aside, awesome engagement pictures coming soon! Plus...wait til you see the cute kids attached to this marriage deal. (I'm going to be an auntie again!)

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DR. COUCH'S LAUGHING GAS

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I've had the same nightmare for about three nights now. It is really, really awful! I wake up in a panic, my heart racing, my hands clutching at the pillow...I don't even think I can talk about it.
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Okay fine. You've convinced me.
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It always opens, as I come upon a magnificent view. Like a sunset or summery landscape. It's the most picturesque scene my eyes have ever beheld, and I stop, catch my breath, and exclaim to those around me to come and see. Nothing has or ever will compare to it's beauty.
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Then, I excitedly reach for my camera, aim, compose, and shoot...except...something is terribly wrong! My camera isn't working!! I frantically mess with buttons and dials between desperate glaces at the quickly fading scene before me. And then...it is too late. It is gone. And I've missed my chance forever, to capture what could have been a life-changing photograph.
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I told you it was awful.
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On the bright side, I treated myself to new shoes yesterday.

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I know I just got rid of half my shoes, but in order to justify buying these, I had to get rid of yet another pair from my closet. And I've been pining after red flats for a LONG time.

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This morning, as I was getting dressed for church, the red shoes were the first things I put on. As in, I had to remove my pajama pants from over them...which wasn't easy. And I've been home from church for 5 hours now, and...oh look...these babies are still on my feet.

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I love them.

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So, I'm guessing that summer in Rexburg is in full swing...judging from the line at the local SnoShack the other day.

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I'm thinkin' that my red flats and I should take a walk for a snow cone sometime. Andrew can come too if he wants.

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Our Friday night dates tend to be a source of contention. We usually don't have something specific planned, and neither of us want to be the one to come up with the night's activity.
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But this time, I manned up (yeah that's right), and did the planning. We had a comedy night.

• Madlibs
• Laffy Taffys
• A comedy off of Netflix (Planet 51)

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The whole evening cost us two bucks, and it was actually really, really fun.
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But I am not, I repeat, NOT planning next week's date (Andrew, are you reading this?). It's HIS turn. (I love you, babe!)
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My dentist's name is Dr. Couch. I imagined getting my teeth worked on while laying nestled in a soft, fluffy, microfiber couch. The experience was not as pleasant, as I had envisioned. Maybe I should sue for false advertising.

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After the all-day appointment, my jaw was so stiff and sore...I couldn't fit a spoon of Frosted Mini Wheats into my mouth for a week. I was sedated and on laughing gas, so I really don't remember much of the horrible ordeal. But I do remember two things:

1.) I woke up once to the the dentist's assistance wiping tears from both of my cheeks. Apparently, I had been crying. Slightly embarrassing.

2.) I woke up soon after we had begun, giggling like a goon (laughing gas, remember). I needed to tell the the dentist something, but the thought of saying it out loud sounded so silly to my brain, that it took a few moments of delirious chortling before I could even get it out.

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"Ummm...Dr.? I...have...to...PEEEEEE!!!"

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I was a little out of it, but I'm pretty sure this was followed by another fit of hysterics.

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I'm also pretty sure that Dr. Couch sighed heavily before un-clipping my dental bib. And that the assistants had to practically carry me to the bathroom where I very indignantly chastised them for thinking I needed any help whatsoever in the stall.

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After I got home, and the medicines began to wear off, and I started to review in my mind the day's events...my cruel memory began to piece together that my oh-so-hilarious peeing episode may not, in actuality, have been an amusing dream. My reserved, appropriate self, would never announce such a personal need to perfect strangers. Right??

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At this point, I'm maintaining that it was another nightmare.

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But it wouldn't hurt to avoid Dr. Couch's office for a little while either. Just in case.

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TIME OUT

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Today, I put an inanimate object in the time-out chair. The object was being disruptive, causing contention, and I had had enough. .
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I was attempting to get breakfast served to five squirmy toddlers, while my two-year-old's bowl was repeatedly traveling from his head, to his brother's head, zooming through the air, and clattering to the floor. "Keep your bowl on the table, Cole," I tried. He glanced at me off-handedly without the slightest change in behavior.
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I was losing my patience. The struggle it took to get everyone sitting at the table with their hand's washed in the first place, was enough to make me balk at the idea of removing him for a time-out. Plus, we were on a tight schedule. Mostly out of desperation, I took the bowl and said with sympathy:
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"Oh man! It looks like your bowl needs to practice holding still at the table! He (the bowl) is not being very nice, so I am going to put him right here in time-out for one minute."
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The other children giggled at the sight of the bowl on the chair in the corner, but Cole sure didn't. After his initial shock, he folded his chubby arms and glared at me--his pouty lip on at full force.
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But I was able to use that minute to get everyone else's bowls filled and ready to eat. And when I returned and filled Cole's own naughty bowl, it remained flat on the table...just like a good little bowl should.
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I felt slightly foolish. But the lesson was taught, I didn't cause tears or tantrums, and nobody got smacked around...phew!
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Now it's got me thinking...what other inanimate objects can I put in the time-out chair? Bills? Laundry? My new house plant that has slowly started to wither despite my tender care?

If only...

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MOVIE QUOTE

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Hooray for Breanna!! She won the contest!

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Not that she really won anything though. The ungrateful little stinker doesn't even want my prize! Who wouldn't want to buy our car? $5,000 is just chump change, right?

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Okay, I'm being unfair. I couldn't spare $5,000. Heck, I couldn't even spare $5. That's probably why I'm a cheap contest prize giver away-er. Breanna, how would you feel about one hundred points? Or a stick of gum? I think we could swing that at least. (just joshin' ya) =)

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Anyway, I LOVE this line in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Tula is only trying to convince her dad to let her take a community college class, but he is slightly resistant to the idea. His hilarious reaction makes me laugh heartily every time. I hope you enjoy this little clip.

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SHMORES

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Andrew and I were frantically trying to get out of the house on time for our Tuesday night meetings, when I walked in on him making himself some dinner.
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Marshmallow...on a fork...over the stove...ha! =)
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And I just love that look he's giving me: "Don't you dare judge me."
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HAPPINESS AND LIME GREEN CUPS

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Having siblings move to Rexburg has been lots of fun...but it has come with its trials. The most trying has been the dirty dishes. More specifically...the cups.
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It is really quite miraculous the transformation our kitchen sink underwent after two more joined our ranks. Rebecca doesn't live with us technically, but sometimes she might as well.
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For example, in one evening of being all together, our kitchen sink will hold approximately two hundred fifty dirty cups. I didn't even know we owned that many cups! When it was just the two of us, Andrew and I could share a single cup for an entire day. With everyone, we never knew who just used what cup, so we would just get out another one...and another...and another. This sudden onslaught of cups had the potential to drive me insane.
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One day, when I came upon a four pack of cups for a buck at the grocery store, I knew it was fate. I bought them, brought them home, and presented to everyone at Family Home Evening my very own plan of happiness: personalize your cup with permanent marker, use only that cup, wash that cup, and don't dare even touch another dern cup from the cabinet. Brilliant, I tell you.
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Here's what each person ended up with:
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Andrew. Builder by trade. Lover of boats, camouflage, and barbecues. A staunch left-side-of-the-bed sleeper.
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Andrew's cup. Just in case you weren't sure.
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Rachel. Author of this blog. Hater of dirty cups, men opening the fridge for no reason a thousand times a day, and crows. Taker of showers that always last as long as the hot water does.
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Ta-dah.
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Rebecca. Writer, reader, and random singer of Disney songs. Strange mix of peace and insanity.
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.This is hers. Feeling the need to point out the "Princess Awesome" lining the bottom.

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Lane. Lover of Japan, Netflix, and potato soup. Sleep talker extraordinaire...

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...And apparently very cool.
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Anywho. It's been gloriously successful thus far. Goodbye, dishwasher loads entirely made up of cups. I won't miss you a bit.
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DERNIT ALL...

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.... Our friends keep moving. First all my old roommates, then the Johnsons, then the Blevins, then the Hayashis, and now the Grimmers. They were some of our bestest buds ever.
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First, they decided to move out of our ward. This did not make us happy, but we could handle it, because it was only on the other side of town. And they were buying a house which was good news: the Grimmers would be sticking around for a LONG time. Or so we thought. Then, the little stinkers up and decide to move again to Washington of all places...way too far for a a Friday night movie date. This is unacceptable.
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So what if you're going to be close to family? So what if Jared got this amazing teaching job that includes the head boys basketball coaching position at his old high school? So what if this is the opportunity of a lifetime? What about US?
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Okay, fine. I'll stop throwing my tantrum now. We really are happy for those guys. Really.
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I think.
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We'll just miss seeing them any 'ol time we want to: exercising, taking the dogs out, playing tennis, watching The Superbowl, cooking tin foil dinners...

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playing board games, watching movies, decorating gingerbread houses, babysitting their little ones...

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It's all very sad. Here we are saying goodbye to Marley and Ashlyn. We wanted to keep the kids...but Jared and Amanda said no.

It's not like they couldn't come visit them once in awhile.

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Good luck you meanie head stinkin' Grimmers you! We love ya, anyway.

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Love,

your abandoned pals

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