I'm moving...

...to bethanymichelleandrews.wordpress.com

I will delete this blog within a couple weeks.

Faithful readers (i.e., Josh and Danielle, Anna, my mother, and my granma)....

please note the change in address :) 

Of Saturday classes, heroic teachers, and electrocutions.

If you have to spend most of your Saturday in class, cooped up in the small basement room of Union Avenue Baptist Church which houses the Memphis Teacher Residency World Headquarters, there is no better professor with whom to be cooped up than Dr. Patti Ray.

Dr. Patti Ray is an amazing woman. She's a petite, brunette powerhouse of energy. The woman gets things done. She's the Headmistress at a prestigious private girls' school here in Memphis. In addition to being Headmistress, she teaches a class of seniors at St. Mary's, is an adjunct professor at Union University (she teaches classes like ours on Thursdays and Saturdays while her husband stays home and watches football), and a devoted grandmother. Though she clearly gets things done, she has an unbelievably relaxed presence in the classroom.

She peppers her lectures with an assortment of fascinating personal stories. As she explains the concept of authentic assessment (assessing your students with real-world tasks that have an audience and a meaning), she talks about how her history class of 8th graders found out the location of an important local historical site by conducting their own investigation, presented it to the city council, petitioned to make their own sign for the site, and erected a sign honoring the historical site that is there to this day. Of course, as aspiring teachers, our jaws drop, we collectively ask if she's had a movie made about her (we're thinking something along the lines of Freedom Writers or the Ron Clark Story), and we stare at each other in amazement, wishing that we could be like Patricia Ray. Later, she tells us about the time a student pulled a gun on her. She's never been afraid of students, so she does not see any reason to be afraid of that one, though she admits the experience was a bit unnerving. She talks of the student who was overage for grade but needed a high school history class to graduate. She tutored him day after day, until he was finally caught up. Just before it was time to take the final, her student was arrested and put in jail for armed robbery. He had a record of felonies and was over 21, so there was no chance of him getting out. Patricia Ray marched into the prison with a copy of her history exam and sat in a private room to proctor the exam so her student could graduate from high school. And he did. Again, our jaws drop.

Aside from being an outstanding teacher, Dr. Ray is also a bit accident prone. Today she told us of how she smashed her hand in the garage door, yanked it out, and decided to go on to work. Thankfully, her son called her on the phone, found out what happened, and ordered her back home where he met her and promptly drove her to the emergency room. "I was in shock. I just couldn't feel it, you know, so I thought it was no big deal. Being the good mother that I am, of course I listened to my son. And he was right, you know."

We were laughing uncontrollably at her account of the incident and description of what her hand looked like afterwards: "I looked like Edward Scissorhands you know, with all of these fingers just smashed flat. And that is why I can't bend my fingers all the way down. Just this far."

The finger-smashing story was followed by a report of an electrocution at the age of 7. Little Patti was using a lamp when the bulb went out. She needed some light, so she thought she would change the bulb. She walked over to another lamp ("which had a philodendron growing in the base of it, I don't know why") and started to unscrew the bulb. Somehow in the process, her finger slipped into the socket where the bulb should be. "I was being electrocuted, that's what. My father threw a book at the lamp to break the connection, but by that time I couldn't feel my finger. I was screaming. My mother thought it was something else. Earlier I had been bending over a candle, so she thought my hair was on fire. But really I was being electrocuted. So they took me to the emergency room. Of course I was missing all the skin on my finger where it had just been burnt off, you know. So the Dr. thought that if he sewed my finger inside my stomach, the skin would regenerate itself. It was 1954 you know. They didn't understand much back in those days. So they just sewed my finger inside my stomach. Well not my stomach, but near my stomach. Just sewed it under the skin on my abdomen so I was stuck like this. For 2 months you know. That's a long time for a 7 year old to be in the hospital with her finger sewed into her stomach. But my priest would send little gifts, flowers, presents, cards, and books every day, and sign them "From your secret admirer. I was so excited about having a secret admirer. Of course at the end of 6 weeks they took my finger out of my stomach and of course the skin had not grown back so they had to do a skin graft. They didn't know much back then. Can you imagine. But that's when I started learning to use my right hand to write with. So of course that caused all kind of connections in the Corpus Callosum, you know."

I don't like Saturday classes, but I like Dr. Ray. 

Grad School, Sickle Cell Anemia, and the Appropriate Use of Epi-Pens

My schedule is kind of crazy these days. My alarm goes off at 4:30 am. After some quiet time with God, 2 cups of strong coffee, and other important things like a shower and tooth-brushing, I leave for work at 6:30.  By 7 am, I've put my lunch in the faculty lounge refrigerator, and I am upstairs doing last-minute preparations for the day. At 7:30 sharp, the day begins with homeroom. I have 30 darling ninth graders. I love them. Truly. After homeroom come 3 classes of Spanish II, a planning period, lunch, Spanish 3, Spanish 4, and 2 more classes of Spanish II. The day ends at 2:15. Then I have faculty meetings, tutoring sessions, or planning meetings. By 4:00 pm, I'm home again to throw on some workout gear and head out for a run. Then comes lesson planning, paper grading, paper writing, or grad classes. We have grad classes all day Friday, all day Saturday, and many Tuesday and/or Thursday nights. Right now, our Thursday's are taken up with some class called....actually, I have no idea what it is called. I think it has something to do with filling in gaps in our teacher prep program. Or something. Anyway, it's a pretty hilarious class. The two professors are both incredibly kind but incredibly strong people, and sometimes they rub each other the wrong way. Tonight, they had a guest speaker come in to talk to us about the health concerns some of our students could have.

We were warned of the dire straits in which we may find ourselves if we happen to have a child with asthma in our classroom. Of course, as teachers, we should be incredibly conscious about providing appropriate interventions for our students with asthma. We should be careful to keep them away from plants and flowers (oh darn, I must remember to move Johnny away from the grove of poplars in the back left corner of my classroom...). We should also keep them away from pets (do goldfish cause asthmatic reactions? I don't think so, but I guess I will have to give away the class Doberman. All for the sake of Johnny's lungs.) Of course, as teachers, we should be aware that our perfumes and deodorant can really cause breathing problems for kids as well. (I don't sweat much, but after a day in school, I dare say a lack of deodorant would cause more breathing problems than wearing deodorant.) There are just so many things to be concerned about!

We were also advised to look out for Sickle Cell. Not Sickle Cell Anemia, just sickle cell. According to my African-American professor, this disorder USED to be more common in African-Americans, but thanks to "these young people" and their "merging" (OH the dreaded merging...), black AND whites can now have it. "They just don't do things the old way anymore." (No, we don't. And we young people are ok with that, even if it does mean more sickle cell to go around.)

Finally, we were given strict instructions to "Find out where that Epi-Pen is, and be ready to use it!" One resident asked if it was ok to administer the Epi-Pen through clothing. "Yes, but really, it's just better to get those clothes off. I was helping a man the other day and I had to deal with that. He was flying down the stairs and just fell out on the floor. He was trying to get to his Epi-Pen but he couldn't. I had to get it. And we were in public, but I was just trying to pull his clothes off. I was saving his life. He was wearing clean underwear. That was good. The moral of this story is to wear clean underwear. It's always best if they're wearing clean underwear. But yeah, you just wanna take those clothes off. And was sweating, and I was just trying to take his shirt off." What can I say? If you have allergies, wear clean underwear.

I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time. 

More funny things...

My roommate, Heidi, is in the MTR program with me. She's in the elementary cohort. She's perfect for elementary, and the elementary students are perfect for her. I love hearing her stories when she gets home from teaching 6 yr olds. They're just so different from my stories. At my school, the big news of the day is the fight that happened right before fifth period and the girl who's missing half her hair-do because half her weave is on the ground in the parking lot. In Heidi's school, the big news of the day is whose guppy died and had to be flushed into the great blue yonder. The stories she brings home are hilarious in their innocence and always make me smile.

Some of the recent issues :

"Miss MacDonald, my undershorts is stuck in my butt."
"What?"
"I SAID, my UNDERSHORTS is stuck in my posterius!"


During a lesson about the weather, Ms. MacDonald spent some time explaining fog. She said it was a cloud that comes down to earth, it looks like smoke, it's because the air has moisture in it, fog makes it hard to see, etc etc. After giving an earnest and energetic explanation, she got some feedback from the students. Some raised their hands and eagerly explained that they had seen fog before. One little boy waved his hand wildly. "Miss MacDonald, I saw a frog by MY house, it was just hoppin along, and then got run over by a car and I saw it's guts!" Frog and fog DO sound a lot alike...

The Things Kids Say

Kids say funny things. I don't think they always mean them to be funny, but very frequently, they are funny.

The other day, one of my students whispered loudly to my mentor teacher, "Is Miz Andrews wearin' STOCKIN'S?? Cuz ain't no way her legs is that silky natrally." 1) WHY are you looking at my legs? 2) WHY do you think my mentor has any knowledge of my undergarments? 3) If indeed you are going to ask a question about my undergarments, why would you not ask me, the wearer of said garments, that question? 4) In WHAT world is it ever considered appropriate to ask your teacher about her undergarments?? Strange.

Fast forward two weeks, and I am wearing the same green dress with the same "stockings" (hose. the appropriate clothing article to wear with that dress.). ANOTHER student pulls me aside to ask me if I am wearing stockings. ??? I mention it to my mentor, and she tells me no one in the south wears stockings (hose). They went out of fashion years ago, apparently.....

From one of my high school boys: "Miz Andrews, you married?" No. And if that's a proposal, the answer is also no.

And no, I don't have any children. And yes, I flat-ironed my hair. And no, I did not change my hair color, it's the same color it was yesterday. And thank you for complimenting my hair, now please turn your attention back to Ms. P, who is giving my hair the death stare for distracting you from the lesson. And yes, that's my real hair. Any further questions about my appearance, my medical records, my clothing, my marital status, my living arrangements, and my shoe size may be directed to me after school hours...

Thoughts on Teaching

Though I plan meticulously and teach brilliantly yet have not love, I am nothing.

Though my procedures and routines are thorough and consistent, if I have not love, I am accomplishing nothing of lasting value.

Though every child passes TCAP and Gateway and obtains scholarships to college, if I have not loved them, it has been in vain.

Excellence in education is important, but temporal.  It will pass away.

Love, on the other hand, hopes all things, believes all things, endures all things. Love never fails

And that's why we do what we do. 

Las Chicas Moradas (or what I did last Friday night)

Last Friday was the final day of our first two graduate classes. In four weeks, we completed 6 credit hours, 3 each in Cultural Foundations and Classroom Leadership. Those four weeks were filled with new ideas, thought provoking papers, fun classes, boring classes, tedious work, great examples of how to teach, a few examples of how not to teach, a lot of laughter, and a lot of fun. We learned much, but we are glad to have finished our first two classes. To celebrate, Justin, Austin, Mollie, and Amanda  decided to throw a party:

They called it "Colors of Excellence Dance Party." Colors of Excellence is a variation of an acronym, COE, which stands for "Class of Excellence" (that is the 2012 Resident Class nickname) We've come up with all sorts of fun variations of COE: Friday at noon we were "Cows of Excellence." We've also been "Children of Eve," "Caretakers of Earth," and "Consumers of Eggs..." Anyway, friday night, we were Colors of Excellence.

Many, many Colors of Excellence...

Heidi and I, being such incredibly clever young ladies, decided to go to the dance party as Las Chicas Moradas, a little Peruvian play on words. Chicha Morada is a rather disgusting Peruvian beverage of which neither Heidi nor myself are particularly fond, though we both agree that it can be tolerated when served quite cold. It is made by boiling purple corn, then adding sugar, cinnamon, apple juice, pineapple juice, and sometimes lime juice to purple broth.  See the picture below:

Heidi and I were both dressing in head-to-toe purple for the COE party, and decided to go as Las Chicas Moradas (roughly translated: the purple ladies), a phrase which would be recognized as a fun little pun by anyone who knows what Chicha Morada is. Of course, it loses much of its humor when I have to go to great lengths to explain it to you all...but it was fun in our minds!

We never managed to get a picture of  Las Chicas Moradas together, but here are a few gems from the evening:

Not sure that I have an explanation for this...

 Kelly, Angela, and Heidi getting their groove on...

Even the Montagues made an appearance, with David (our MTR Director) dressed in a crayon costume. Here are his lovely wife and daughters, also in color costume. Still not sure what I'm doing here...

The food was color-themed (Heidi and I brought M&M's! Yum. ), the decor consisted of construction paper taped to walls, bright streamers, balloons, and large crayons scattered around. Besides fun music and strobe lights, the evening's entertainment included jumbo sized coloring books and crayons and Jim and Matt rapping the Instructional Maturities (part of our assessment rubric here at MTR). A weird but oh-so-excellent party, COE style. It's what we do.

I dressed up like a cow today and got free food.

WHAT?!?!?! Yes. I still can't believe I did that....but I did. I dressed up like a cow today and got free food. WHAT?!?!?! To further add to the absurdity, costumes were awarded food in varying degrees...if your costume was half-hearted, you earned an entree. I, however, was considered "head-to-toe cow," and I received my choice of combo meal! Any one I wanted.

Before today, all of the statements below were true:
1) Never have I dressed up to receive free food
2) Never have I dressed up like a cow.
3) Never have I eaten at a restaurant with a group of people who "mooed" at everyone who walked through the door.
4) Never have I had my picture taken with a restaurant mascot.
5) Never have I led a group cheer in a restaurant (GOOD JOB CHIK-FIL-A! THANK YOU!)

I can now say that all of the above are true.

Ice Cream: the good, the bad, the ugly

I like ice cream, but I'm not one of those people who buys nor eats it regularly. When I do eat it, I scoop a reasonable amount into a mug and enjoy it that way. I'm not one of those people who can eat unlimited amounts of ice cream. My sister Meredith is one of those people. So is my hermanita, Rachel. They will eat   2/3 of a carton of ice cream in one sitting, just scooping out spoon after spoon. They come by it honestly. My mother has probably been known to eat an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting, and Rachel's parents used to go on dates and buy a 1/2 gallon of ice cream and eat the whole darn thing. So it's natural that they can eat so much ice cream. I just am not one of those ice cream people. Or I wasn't. Until I met my roommate, Heidi, who believes that ice cream is it's own food group. It is a staple in her freezer. Ice cream is to Heidi what coffee is to me. But thanks to my ice-cream-loving roommate, ice cream is a staple in our freezer and I eat it more than I normally would or should. There is this DELIGHTFUL brand of ice cream here in Memphis called Blue Bell. It still comes in a 1/2 gallon carton, instead of 1.75 qts. And the Cookies 'N Cream flavor is quite possibly the best store bought ice cream I've ever eaten. Heidi and I have consumed an entire gallon of this deliciousness (ok, we also fed it to company on two different occasions - we didn't eat it all by ourselves).  Here is a picture of the wonderful stuff:

When I went to Schnucks (the name of a tragic little grocery store here in Memphis) store the other day, I decided that we should branch out and try something a little different. So I bought Schnucks brand Moose Tracks ice cream. WORST decision EVER. Schnucks makes the WORST Moose Tracks ice cream in the WORLD. I should have stuck with Blue Bell. The moral of this story? DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT buy Schnucks brand ice cream, EVER. And if you can find Blue Bell ice cream, go buy some right now. It will change your life in an incredibly positive way. Thanks for listening to this ice cream rant.

Tell Me Something Good...

Every Tuesday and Thursday, I have Dr. Robin Scott's class, "Classroom Leadership." She models for us what good classroom leadership looks like...and that includes "Good Things." She turns on Chaka Khan and we all sing "Tell me something good...tell me that you love me..." and then we take turns announcing "Good Things." So in the spirit of Chaka Khan, here are 8 good things about Memphis.

1. Memphis is a little like Cairo...it was designed by James Winchester who was enamored of Ancient Egyptian Memphis and wanted to re-create a little Egypt in the mid-south. Both cities have a pyramid (!), both are located on the eastern side of a pretty major river, and both have toasty temperatures in the summertime. Native Memphians would say that, like Cairo, Memphis has crazy traffic. If you've actually lived in Cairo, you will understand why I think Memphis has no traffic at all.

2. Memphis is SO GREEN! I loved Cairo, but I missed the greenness of North Carolina. My apartment complex has a delightful lawn right out in front of my flat. 5 out of 7 afternoons of the week I can be found studying underneath "my" tree on that lovely lawn. Greenness is so good for the soul.

3. I'm not a big Elvis fan, but Memphis has some pretty amazing musical history and culture. I've toured the Stax museum, visited the craziness that is Graceland (!), and enjoyed an evening on Beale St...the musical heritage is rich.

4. Memphians LOVE Memphis. I love the commitment that people have to living out the gospel in this city.

5. The racial tensions in the city run high. Segregation, structural poverty, hatred, and division run deep. But where there are deep wounds, grace runs deeper and the beauty of love and forgiveness can be lived out in profound ways. What a privilege to see how God is mobilizing his church in Memphis to be ambassadors of reconciliation. It's incredible to be a part of this.

6. Bar-b-que. I hail from North Carolina, but I am NOT a fan of Carolina BBQ. Memphis BBQ, however, is an entirely different story. They do this crazy thing called BBQ Nachos, which involves BBQ, nacho cheese, jalapenos, and BBQ sauce over tortilla chips. It's a health tragedy, and should probably not be enjoyed at a rate of more than once a year if one hopes to live past the age of 70, but it is SO GOOD.

7. Tea...I am NOT a fan of southern sweet tea. It is not of God. Memphis is definitely southern, but every time I've been served tea here, it has been unsweetened. YES!

8. WATER! I love that the river is so close. Water is so good for the soul. 

Montagues

If you read Josh and Danielle's blog (and I'm sure you do - nobody that isn't related to us both reads this blog anyway...), you'll recognize these lovely people. David and Kelli Montague and crew - Mae, Annie, Ruthie, and Mary Van. I heard of these people well before I met them. Josh spoke so highly of these guys that I was excited to meet them at their home in East Asia in 2007. While it was delightful to meet them, I didn't expect our paths to cross ever again. But David is the director of MTR, so here they are and here I am, and it looks like we'll be in the same city for at least four years. Which is exciting. These guys have been SO welcoming, as evidence by this picture, which was taken immediately upon my introduction to Kelli, who gave me a huge hug, declared to the puzzled bystander that I was pretty much family, and insisted that we take a picture to send to Josh and Danielle. I LOVED meeting these guys, and was made to feel so very welcome. Can't wait to get to know them a bit better. 

Memphis.

I live in Memphis now. I'm not quite sure that I've wrapped my mind around that. But here I am, sitting at a fun coffee shop called Republic, using their wi-fi because I won't have internet in my new apartment until next Tuesday. So I guess this is real...I'm really living in Tennessee.

Monday I packed my car and headed west. I made the 11 hour trip with only one stop. I've decided I like long trips on I-40 much better than long trips on I-85. It's not a bad drive, really.

Tuesday, my new flatmate, Heidi McDonald, a super cool girl who just moved from PERU(!!), and I drove around Memphis trying to furnish our little home. We scored a free sofa, a $75 dining set, a $13 end table, a huge storage basket, a free microwave, and a free bed. Then we went to Target and bought out the store - cooking supplies, cleaning products, lamps and storage units, and a very important French Press, with which I make my delicious coffee. Heidi doesn't drink coffee. I'm not sure I understand this. But she doesn't. Maybe I'll make a believer out of her yet.... Anyway, by Tuesday night, our home was furnished with all of the essentials and is well on it's way to being a cozy place to live. I'd post pictures but I don't have a camera. It's in Cairo. Maybe some day it will be with me again. Until then, just use your imagination.

Wednesday, we went grocery shopping. I came home and made our first real meal in our little kitchen: Asian Chicken, mashed sweet potatoes, and spring greens with creamy balsamic vinaigrette. And I made a healthy version of Apple Crisp. Which is still sitting uncooked in the refrigerator, because apparently, our stove will not turn on. I'm planning to get that fixed soon. Like, today. Because a stove is an important part of my life.

Tonight is the first official event of the MTR program this year. We have a welcome dinner at MTR World Headquarters. Tomorrow orientation begins. I'm starting to get excited about this. Still heartbroken over not being in Cairo, but getting more and more excited. I'm looking forward to being a part of what God is doing in Memphis, and seeing what He does in my life this upcoming year. 

Camp Martha, Final Installment (in which Camp Martha visits Mountain Top)

Now that Jenna is gone, those wonderful days that were Camp Martha seem to be such a blur. But here are a few last pictures.

On Wednesday afternoon, we hiked to the rappelling cliffs at beloved Mountain Top and enjoyed the view. 

After our hike, we braved the new low element and completed "The Gauntlet."

Tonya and I helped each other keep our balance as we crossed the cables

 I leaped like Tarzan to complete part 2

Balancing with the rope...delicate business.

This is Jenna's "I see Jesus" look...

Some fancy footwork was required to cross the tires in part 4

After helping supervise a mega relay, we headed for home, tired after our big day. Thursday we just sat around the house, drank coffee on the porch, and enjoyed our last day together. And we may or may not have videotaped ourselves singing "Friends" by Michael W. Smith. And I won't tell you whether or not we videotaped ourselves dancing to Chris Brown's "Forever." We certainly wouldn't normally engage in such lunacy. But since our friend, GJ Tesar, the youth director at Maadi Community Church, needed these videos for a youth program, we just might have done such things. Good times, good memories. Thanks for visiting Camp Marth, Jenna-Benna!

Camp Martha, Day 3

Wednesday was by far the longest day at Camp Martha. It began with a bit of breakfast and a 6 mile run.

 This is us before the Run. Fresh and ready to go. 

 This is us 6 miles later. Not so fresh but happy to finish.

After our morning exercise, we headed to Mountain Top Youth Camp and surprised Jedidiah with cupcakes for his 7th birthday. 

Isn't he sweet? I love him. 

Little boys + cupcakes = fun

There was more to our afternoon...much much more. But you'll have to wait for it. 

Camp Martha, Day 2

Tuesday brought another (longer) run, during which Jenna fell and skinned her knee for the first time since she was five. She declares that I kept running vigorously, totally calloused to her roadside plight; I, however, simply didn't hear her - I was after all enjoying the inspiring lyrics of Casting Crowns. She also twisted her ankle - it was a rough fall. She didn't let it stop her though. She ran the last two miles with holey pants and a bleeding knee. She's a champ. After the rigors of the road, we embarked upon our gourmet-cupcake-making marathon. 8 hours, two meals, one really stupid movie (Prada to Nada, I do NOT recommend it...), and a lot of powdered sugar later, this is what we had invented: 

Strawberry and Pina Colada cupcakes

Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting and Chocolate Drizzle

Peanut Butter Fudge and Double Fudge Mint Cupcakes

It was a successful day at Camp Martha. 

Camp Martha

Guess who came to visit me this week?!?!? SHE did. 

Juliet. The one on the left. Also known as Jenna Brooke Kuntzman, my very dear friend from Cairo. She is the one who described me as "Martha Stewart with a flare of spaz-spunk," effectively christening me Martha in our circle of friends. We were in the same life group. And on the same youth staff. And frequently made dinner plans together. Together, we survived a middle-eastern revolution while eating chocolate chips, drinking Diet Coke, watching the news, and rolling our eyes as GJ forced us to watch Dumb and Dumber, some dumb movie that boys like. She shares my January birthday, and threw me a surprise party this year. We stayed up til 4:30 am on Christmas morning talking, and though we've only been friends for about 8 months, we think we should have been friends forever. This week, she left the small town of Detroit, and came to visit me in the thriving metropolis that I call one of my homes.

After picking Jenna up at RDU, we enjoyed a yummy lunch at Qdoba, then sat in our front porch rockers and drank delicious toasted coconut coffee. As we set out for a short, 2 mile run before dinner, Jenna remarked that this vacation was kind of like bootcamp, and thus our week was affectionately named Camp Martha, a combination of bootcamp and baking. Fun times.

Little Boys

For the past few months, since the sudden and violent disruption of life as I knew it, I've been in NC, recovering from the loss of my life and homeschooling the Langston boys, whom I love dearly. I've come to a conclusion. I love little boys. Period. They're great. I might love little boys better than little girls. Though if I were homeschooling little girls, I might have a different opinion. Anyway, I love them. Here's why.

1) We've been studying botany, in great detail, over the past few months. Jedidiah, the 6 yr old, is a studious, contemplative fellow, and he loves botany. It was with great pleasure that he showed me his botany journal - page after page of leaves of all kinds, pasted in the notebook and covered with contact paper. "This fern loots (looks) lite (like) a bird's weend (wing). And LOOT (look)! This one still has the sperm on it!" SPORES, Jed. Spores.

2) Jedidiah, like his brothers before him, speaks with a very slight speech impediment which in time, he will outgrow, like his brothers before him. However, his quaint speech patterns coupled with vocabulary a bit too sophisticated for most six year olds makes for some hilarious moments. We went on a nature walk, and Jed was thrilled to find ferns in the dry creek bed.

"Loot! This fiddewlhead is unfurlind its fwonds!" He then launches into, what was in his mind, a very tragic story.
 "Mrs. Tonya, she sawed a fern. She, she sawed a fiddewlhead. But her dawd ate it. (Shaking head forlornly) Poor widdle fiddewlhead."

"What? Why in the world did Sally eat the fiddlehead, Jedidiah?"

"Well, she lites stits (likes sticks), and she tought it was a stit. (Nodding head understandingly) She's a yun dawd."

That poor yun dawd just didn't know any better than to eat fiddleheads, thinking it was a stit...

3)  Jeremiah loves me. I mean, REALLY loves me. He called me his girlfriend today. And then proposed marriage. When I answered maybe, he tried to kiss me. However, I am not the only object of his affection. If he could, he'd marry myself AND my sister. He loves her too. But that's called polygamy, and generally frowned upon in our society. So he contents himself with looking nice for her. He was getting a hair cut when he leaned over and very seriously stated to his mother that Meredith liked his hair long, so please don't cut it too much. He's a ladies' man....

4) Josiah is a Drama King, a brilliant writer, and has a delightfully dry wit, to boot. When he's not feeling intensely all facets of each moment of each day, he comes out with some pretty funny statements. The other day, he was in the midst of some one-track mind drama, and was loudly arguing that my plan was not a good one. One might think the security of the country depended upon the outcome of said plan if one's only indicator was Josiah's passionate exclamations to the contrary. Finally, exasperated, I rolled my eyes and threatened to put fish hooks through his toenails, hang him upside down from the rafters, and beat him with a baseball bat like a pinata if he didn't quit talking back. "Josiah, please be quiet before you provoke me to violence!" I sighed. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I think we're already there Ms Bethany...." Maybe the bit about the baseball bat was a little much....

A Long Absence, a Revolution, and a Life-changing Evacuation

Wow. The picture of the day attempt went oh-so-well, no? I may have been absent from my blog for the past few months, but not absent from life. The months of November-February were crammed full of, well, life. They were certainly not without their trials, but they were so full of special moments.

I went here:

With these people

That beautiful resort was actually just a pit stop - we were actually going here:

the Great Sand Sea in the Sahara Desert

After Thanksgiving, Christmas preparations were in full swing. Even sunny Egypt gets into the Christmas spirit:

I sang in the choir at my church's Christmas Pageant with Jenna and Maia

Sasha, a former student of mine, came to visit the week before Christmas.

We did lots of sightseeing!

I was home for Christmas - sort of. I showed up via Skype :)

Christmas Day was actually spent with my Cairo family in Egypt.

Fun times and special memories.

There were lots of special moments with these kids:

And then, we had a revolution that looked sort of like this:

And that has been my past few months. After a few days of gunshots, tanks, limited communication with the outside world, early curfews (think 3 pm!) and non-stop news, I received the news that I was being evacuated as a humanitarian worker along with BP's employees. So Tuesday, February 1, I left the "safe house" where friends and I had been camped out and walked to the evacuation checkpoint just after the curfew was lifted in the morning. A long day at the airport, a short flight to London Gatwick, a short night at a friend's home in Horsham, a train ride back to Gatwick, a 9 hour flight to Charlotte, NC and I was back home. Except not. Because home was the friends, family, and life that I had just left so abruptly. Now, two weeks later, I am in Reidsville, watching the news, talking to friends in Egypt, homeschooling the Langston boys, and waiting. Waiting to see what's next in life....