Why Do I Live Here?

 My daughter, Josephine, just turned 3 years old at the beginning of March. That was a very happy time. The weather was warm and the days were getting longer. We had beaten winter. Heat Miser had won (I've never seen the movie that Heat Miser is in, nor do I know the plot. I'm assuming he probably preferred summer to winter? I don't know but I'm sticking with it). In fact, we actually had a pool party for Josie's birthday. An indoor pool party, of course, but a pool party nonetheless. 

This piece isn't actually going to have anything to do with the party, but the fact that Josie turned 3 is relevant. Cut to yesterday: we just got 6ish inches (I'm horrible at estimating) of snow. And not just any snow, but the really heavy kind that someone with an electric snow blower hates because an electric snow blower can't blow that snow very effectively. I, unfortunately, have an electric snow blower. So out I went with my shovel, just to get the end of the driveway where the snow plows create a snow wall. Have you ever seen Game of Thrones? That's the kind of wall I'm talking about, and it's at the end of my driveway. When I've got that cleared, my back is starting to ache a bit, but I noticed both neighbors had cleared the sidewalk in front of their houses, which means I have to clear the sidewalk in front of my house. And if I'm going to clear the sidewalk, I'm going to clear the walkway up to my house. And if I clear the walkway up to my house, I'm going to shovel a path through my yard for the mailperson to walk through. It's a real "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" situation but with far less cookies and probably a lot less joy, too.

That, also, was mostly background information. Cut to this morning: I open my garage door and notice that all my hard work had been outdone by mother nature (and probably Snow Miser, too, now that I think about it). No worries - this is pretty light snow. The kind of snow that makes someone with an electric snow blower feel smug because an electric snow blower can blow that snow with the best of the gas snow blowers. So I'm feeling pretty smug on my drive to work, but also a little terrified because the roads are terrible. My bosses are actually surprised I showed up and send me home early. I finish up a few things for work and decide it's time to go move some snow around, which won't be an issue because it's light. I start at the end of the driveway with a shovel again because that snow wall is back. It's very heavy and my back has not recovered from yesterday, so I'm struggling after a very short time. Once completed, I put the shovel away, grab the snow blower, and plug it in. I start it up, take a step out of the garage, and the snow blower turns off. That doesn't bode well for me. We've hardly moved any snow. Maybe the outlet is bad, so I switch outlets. No dice. It is then that I notice the cord is frayed and just barely holding together. "Do I have electrical tape?" I ask myself. "Certainly not...but maybe?" So I go and look. Again, no dice. And no electrical tape, either. But I do have painters tape! And what is snow blowing if not painting the yard with snow? I tape up the cord, nice and tight, plug the snow blower back in and...nothing. I've lost. I stare out at my snow covered driveway and say aloud, "I hate it here." After a good stretch of the back, I trudge out with my shovel and ask myself, "Why do I live here?"

"Oh, yeah, because I have two kids and a legally binding agreement splitting custody of them, and moving far away would make my time with them decrease dramatically, and I don't want that." Circling back to Josie turning 3: "In 15 years, I'm outta here." I think, as I slowly push snow from one side of my driveway to the other. Now, you may be thinking, "But Joe, wouldn't that be hard for your kids if you moved from the only town they've known as home as soon as the youngest graduated high school?" Listen here: my parents did the exact. Same. Thing. And I turned out okay! Well, "okay" might be a stretch, but it's not because my parents moved. You may also be thinking, "This seems like something you do when you retire...why don't you just wait until then?" That's a great point! The only problem is that I probably will never be able to retire so, you know, I can't wait until then.

This is actually very exciting for me because A. I've never had a long term plan before. Like, the farthest ahead I've planned was, "If I eat now, I won't be hungry for dinner. Maybe just a snack then?" and B. I'm not a very good planner. That probably explains part A quite a bit, actually. Now, do I know where I'm going to move? Certainly not. It's pretty tricky because I'd be moving to escape the snow, but I also don't like hot. I also love snow at Christmas. It's a lot to think about, and pretty daunting. Especially when I consider how much I hate moving.

Maybe I should just get a new snow blower.

 

Freelance Educating

Hello! Long time, no you-read-what-I-write! That's my bad. I haven't written anything in quite some time. I'm not sure why.

Anyway, I recently became a substitute teacher. In fact, I've been a substitute teacher for about a month and a half now, which means I am an expert freelance educator and can pass on my wisdom. I've taught every level from preschool to fourth grade, which, admittedly, are not exactly opposite ends of the possible teaching spectrum. This is a brief breakdown of what teaching at each grade level is like, based on my in-class experience.

Preschool:
Okay, I've only technically subbed as an assistant teacher in preschool, so I may not be an expert here. Subbing as an assistant preschool teacher basically means you're going to clean the tables and do the art project. I'm not sure if you know this about me, but art is not a strength of mine. If there was some contest between teachers for best art project, and there were two captains that got to pick teams, I would be picked last. I'm not afraid to play the gender stereotype card and say that might be because odds are that I would be the only guy teacher and, stereotypically, guys are worse at art than girls. You know, unless you count, like, Michelangelo, Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet, and many other very famous, successful, male painters/sculptors as "art-doers." My own mother did not display my art from school, and I don't blame her because it was awful. I guess you could say I'm not even an expert at being an assistant preschool teacher, but I fit in the chair and am a great supervisor, so I get a pass.

Kindergarten:
No experience; please give me a job.

1st Grade:
I think I've only had half a day as a 1st grade sub, but that was more than enough of a sample size for me. I'm not sure if you're aware, but 1st graders are only one year removed from kindergarten, which is only one year passed preschool. These are some young folks. Tattling is very much a big part of first graders' lives as well as a lack of knowledge of how to get someone to stop something. Here's an example based on a true story:
1st grader: Mr....
Me: Russell.
1G: Mr. Russell!
Me: *Stares at 1st grader*
1G: *Stares back*
Me: ....Yes?
1G: Um, [other 1st grade student] keeps putting [his/her] hand on my desk!
Me: Did you ask [other 1st grade student] to stop doing that, or say that you didn't like it?
1G: No...
Me: Let's go do that together...
*Problem is solved*
I had to ask the, "Did you ask [other 1st grade student] to stop?" question many times in just half a day. One nice thing about 1st graders, though, is that recess is the ultimate bargaining chip. For example, the class was quite disruptive (I was later informed by the classroom teacher that's just the way the class is). I told them, as they were all lined up and dressed for recess, that I needed a minute of absolute silence with no talking, laughing, stomping, clapping, and no touching, and that I would start the minute of silence over if it was disruptive. It took one minute and I was pleased. And they were, too, because they actually got to go to recess a couple minutes early - I had budgeted for two start overs.

2nd Grade:
There, surprisingly, is not much to report about 2nd grade. Off the top of my head, I have somewhere between one and two days of 2nd grade experience. Reading quietly to oneself is not an area in which 2nd graders excel, I do know that. Even if you were to take out either "quietly" or "to oneself," it'd still be a little questionable.

3rd Grade:
This is where the kiddos start to get a little sly. Perhaps you remember the old, "This sub has no idea about anything; I'm going to keep asking to go to the bathroom because s/he'll keep saying yes"? Well, this is now obsolete. The new, "I have to go to the bathroom," is "I need to go to the nurse." Apparently, these schools are giving acting classes, too, because almost all of these requests have come with tears. I let one kid go, skeptically, and peeked into the hall to see her dancing and singing down to the office. I've had to bring so many ice packs down to the office at the end of the day from "headaches."

Also, let me just tell you about my first day subbing, which was in third grade:
I had recently sent in my application to be a substitute teacher in the local school district and had not heard back. I had the day off from work, so I was lounging around my apartment in my robe, sipping coffee, when my phone rang. "Ah! The district office saying I've been approved to sub!" I thought. Nope. It was a local elementary school.
"We need an all-day 3rd grade sub today."
"...Uh, okay..."
"Have you not been told you've been approved to sub yet?"
"Um, no."
"Oh! Well, you're approved! Can you come in today?"
"Uh, sure! Yeah, I can do that!"
So that was exciting. I got in about 10 minutes before the kids did and was shown around the school by a neighboring teacher. The day was going well and I made it to the point in the day where the kids went to specials. The paraprofessional that was in the room came up to me and mentioned that one kid has anger issues. "Oh, okay," I said, kind of brushing it off.
"No, I mean like, we've had to evacuate the room for the rest of the kids' safety, he's hit a teacher a few times..."
"Oh!"
She then went on to tell me that he'll probably have a tough time with a transition occurring later in the day and, when that happens, to lock the door and open the closet door so that the window is covered, and don't let anyone leave. Well, sure enough, the transition came and little buddy was not pleased. They got him out of the room without much problem, though, so I just passed out the Scholastic Kids magazine and jumped in. A few minutes in, I hear the door shut, and I see the little guy in the window and he is not happy. Another kid jumps up and opens the closet door. This, apparently, is a much more common thing than I thought. The kids, though, kept getting up to see if he was still at the door. He was. Every time. This made Scholastic Kids time go longer than it was supposed to go. At the end of the Scholastic Kids time was a scheduled bathroom break, but since we were not allowed out of the room, the bathroom break was put on hold. I was trying to draw out the Scholastic Kids because I didn't want to interrupt the next thing with a bathroom break. Kids would come up to me as I was reading asking to go to the bathroom. "No, we can't go because [kid] is in the hallway." This was not the desired answer, but my logic was sound. However, kids kept coming up and asking. About half the class had asked to go to the bathroom, when one kid all of a sudden realizes someone is missing, and not the angry fella.
"Wait! Where's [kid]?!"
"Hmmm...that's a good question. Anyone know?"
"You said he could go to the bathroom before we started the Scholastic News!"
Uh oh. There's a kid out there in an apparent war zone and he has no idea what's going on. I'm uncomfortable and nervous, just like the kids with full bladders, but for a different reason. Thankfully, the lost kid made it back, which prompted everyone swarming him asking if he was okay and where the angry child is. Despite how much time we spent on the Scholastic Kids, we did not cover much. Since the hallway was apparently safe, though, we had our bathroom break. I had never seen a stampede of kids with that much excitement that was not for recess or the end of school. Poor kids.
At the end of the day, the neighboring teacher came over and said she was impressed because this was easily the toughest 3rd grade class in the school, which made me feel better about my subbing skills.

4th Grade
I have a day and a half of 4th grade experience and they were my favorite so far. I got to do actual writing stuff with discussion, which was awesome, and the kids learned a bunch. However, I also had to do division. I'm good at division, but only at one way. This was the intro to division, so I had to teach three methods. It did not go well. I apologized many times and asked, "Does that make any sense?" a lot. I blame the teacher's manual. On the half day, I didn't have to teach anything. It was pretty great. We had indoor recess, though, which was not great. I was supposed to have the room where kids did missed assignments while a neighboring teacher took the kids outside. Well, with inside recess, you don't go outside. I didn't know what to do in that scenario, because 1.75 classes seemed like a lot of kids to leave in one room. I was going to ask the other teacher what to do, because she'd probably know, but she had a sub, too. We ended up doing the 1.75 classes in the other classroom, and I got the quiet, .25 classes doing homework. I was okay with this compromise.

And there you have a brief synopsis of my subbing career, because I know you were very interested.

You're welcome.

What's OTP?

I just got home from my fourth summer at camp (I'M CRAZY) and, while I realize that campers tend to ask a million and one questions, my cabin that I had this past week was ridiculous. Since they asked so many questions, I feel inspired to make a list of questions that are most commonly asked at Shores of St. Andrew - or at least, questions that I tend to hear often.

- What's OTP?
- What's after this?
- Then what?
- When's Free Time?
- When do we get to go swimming?
- What's OTP?
- How old are you?
- What game are we going to play?
- Did we eat lunch yet?
- Will we get to play gaga ball?
- Will we get to play carpet ball?
- What's OTP?
- What's cabin time?
- What do we do during quiet time?
- Can we play carpet ball for quiet time?
- What are we having for dinner?
- Why don't you know what we're having for dinner?
- Where are you from?
- Are you in college?
- What's OTP?
- Were you here last year?
- Are we gonna raid the kitchen?
- What's campfire prep?
- Do we have to take showers every night?
- Do we have to take showers ever?
- What time do we have to wake up?
- Why do we have to wake up so early?
- What happens if I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night?
- What happens if I wake up before everyone else?
- Are we gonna play Bonkers?
- What's that game called where we find the tiles and all the counselors tag us and yell, 'Whoop whoop!'?
- What time is it?
- What's OTP?
- What are we doing tomorrow?
- Is tomorrow the last day?
- What's the Christ Hike?
- What's Hymn Sing?
- Is the canteen gonna be open?
- What's Campers' Choice?
- Can we play gaga ball during Campers' Choice?
- What do we do during Bible Study?
- Do we need our bibles for Bible Study?
- What's Morning Worship?
- What's OTP?
- Did they call seconds yet?
- Are they gonna call seconds?
- Can I get seconds?
- Do you get paid here?
- How much?
- Can I go to the bathroom?
- Can I get a drink?
- Can you help me roll up my sleeping bag?
- Why do we have to brush our teeth every night?
- Why do we have to brush our teeth at night AND in the morning?
- What do we do during Cabin Cleanup?
- What's OTP?
- What time do we leave?
- What day is it?
- Can I do a flip off the water trampoline?
- Can we go on the...(Counselor fills in blank of 'water trike') yeah! Can we go on that?
- Can I get a second dessert?
- Can we have a splash party?
- Do we get to have s'mores at campfire?
- Do we get to have s'mores at all?
- Are you gonna be back next year?
- Wait, what was OTP again?

This is a standard breakfast at camp - minus a few questions that obviously are not applicable to breakfast (like the 'splash party' question, for example). I've become very adept at answering rapid fire questions over the years.

Re: South Dakotans Can't Drive

I just want to say that if you're reading this, you're South Dakotan, and you actually can drive, mad props, bro. You're one of the few. Keep on doin' you.

I've written a post about South Dakotans and their inability to function appropriately behind the wheel of a vehicle before. I didn't, however, offer ways for South Dakotans to better themselves as drivers. It's understandable, then, that they still can't drive. I'm going to try to remedy that.

First, though, I have a question. I don't really understand the process that people go through in South Dakota to get their license. Is there actually a process? Does the State Government just send everyone their driver's license regardless of qualifications? Like, "Oh, it's your 12th birthday today*? Here's your driver's license! Good luck out there!" I honestly think that's how it works here. That's now how it should work. I feel like before someone tries to do something that could potentially lead to the death of his/herself and other people, that person should probably learn how to do said thing. There are very basic things that less than 5% of the state's population is capable of doing in a vehicle. I'll give you guys the rundown.

1. Turning, Part 1: Lanes, Part 1
When you turn, there's usually something called a "turning lane." The lane, itself, does not turn. Rather, you are to navigate yourself and your vehicle into this lane to get out of the way of people who are not turning. If you don't move into the turning lane, you're kind of just being a jerk because you're blocking people from going straight by coming to a complete stop to wait for oncoming traffic, and then turning.

2. Turning, Part 1: Lanes, Part 2
When turning onto a street that has multiple lanes in one direction, always turn into the lane closest to you. For example, if you're turning right onto a 4-lane street (two going in each direction), turn into the lane that is most on the right, or "closest to the curb," if you don't know directions. If you're not from South Dakota and you think about it, it makes sense. If you are from South Dakota, I'll explain. If you turn right and turn into the correct lane, a person who is turning onto the same road from the opposite direction can turn into his or her lane at the same time, and nobody will die. If you turn into the wrong lane, you will probably hit the other person turning and everyone involved will die.

3. Turning, Part 2: Blinkers
Literally every single vehicle that can be legally driven in towns (towns are where people live) has a blinker. A blinker, also known as a "turn signal," signals to other drivers that you are going to turn. Wait, what?! Crazy, right? You can actually tell other people that you're going to turn without actually telling them. This way, people (me) won't get mad when they're waiting for you to drive past so they can turn onto a street, only to realize that you're actually turning and not stopping them from turning at all or when you slow down for seemingly no reason and then turn. You see, it seems like there's no reason to your slowing down because you aren't signaling that you're going to turn.

4. Street Signs
These fun things are actually helpful. The point of their existence is to help you as a driver. For example, the sign that says no left turns isn't just saying that to inconvenience you. It's telling you not to make a left turn because you're going to wait there forever, because traffic is ridiculous all the time. However, when you, South Dakotan, inevitably disregard that helpful tip, you keep everyone else from properly making a right turn. And we (I) hate you for it.

5. Speed Limits
Okay, I acknowledge this one isn't just for South Dakotans, but they still need help here. Acceptable speed is +/- 5 mph of the speed limit. That's just kind of a general rule. However, a lot of times people do not adhere to his rule. One time I was literally passed in town because I was going 30 mph in a 25 mph zone, which is a HUGE no-no. Guys, passing in town (remember, towns are where the people live) is a horrible idea BECAUSE TOWNS ARE WHERE THE PEOPLE LIVE. Do you understand this? Your odds of killing someone are way higher in a town because, you know, people live there. Conversely, if you're driving 15 mph in a 35 mph zone (WHICH HAS HAPPENED AN INFURIATING AMOUNT OF TIMES) does not make you any friends. You actually lose friends when you do this, because everyone hates when you do this.

*Today I swear I saw a 12-year-old child driving a truck, which is horrifying on so many levels. Sadly, I wasn't even surprised because, I mean, South Dakota.

What I Learned in Preschool

Today was the last day of preschool and I am in a glass case of emotion right now. Okay, I'm not, but I will cry myself to sleep tonight. Okay, I won't, but I'm just really sad about it. Granted, I am completely neglecting the memories of stressful nights completing children's portfolios, 12 hour days in the preschool, and all of the times we had a behavior issue in the classroom...

I started out this semester of preschool with much trepidation, frustration, and doubt; I didn't want to be a preschool teacher, so what's the point of me student teaching preschool? I had just done my practicum in a second grade classroom and I loved it; I wanted to be a second grade teacher. I didn't know how to handle 4-5 year olds.

I am ending this semester, however, with fond memories and a full heart. Here are 15 things that I learned from a semester of teaching preschool:

1. "Getting sprayed" in Chicago is different than "getting sprayed" in South Dakota.
Our mentor teacher lived in Chicago before living in South Dakota. One day she told a story of a time when a kid rode up to the school her husband worked at, pulled out a gun, and "started spraying." One of the student teachers didn't know what this meant, and assumed that it meant the kid pulled out a water gun and was spraying everyone with water.

2. If I ever have a daughter, she will be the most spoiled child in the world.
There were some adorable kids in my preschool class. Most of them were girls, and most of them would melt my heart on the daily. They wouldn't even do excessively adorable things. It'd be something like saying hi to me and I'd just melt. Now imagine what will happen if I ever have a daughter...

3. Daily reflections should be done daily, not weekly.
We had daily reflections that were due at the end of each week. Consequently, I would wait until the end of the week to do all of the reflections. Sometimes (most times), I would forget what happened on Monday (and Tuesday (and Wednesday)), and it was a struggle.

4. Snack is the most important meal of the day.
When you have to be at preschool by noon and don't wake up until 10, you don't really have time for breakfast and lunch. Consequently, I would eat at around 10:30 or 11:00 each day. By the time 2:15 rolled around (which is snack time) I would be starving. Unfortunately, on many days, I didn't get to finish my snack (sometimes I didn't get any snack (like one day when we had english muffin pizzas and I had to take a kid out into the hallway because of a behavior issue. English muffin pizzas are a top-three preschool snack, behind only sweet potato fries and fruit pizza. I was upset)). This made for a very hungry and very sad Teacher Joe.

5. Literally anything is capable of being made into a mess.
I feel like this one is pretty self-explanatory...

6. If you sing songs from the movie Frozen, kids will love you.
One day, we played the Frozen soundtrack during centers time. The kids skipped my favorite song, which is "Reindeer(s) are Better Than People." I did not stand for this, and decided to just sing it if they weren't going to play it. I was interrupted by my favorite kid leaping into my arms to hug me.

7. Teachers have favorites.
Well, I have favorites. I felt bad about it, but then I realized that I was never told, in any of my classes, that teachers are not allowed to have favorites. It might be because it's common sense, but then again it might not be. I'm pretty sure there isn't any legislation stating teachers can't have favorites. And it's not like I treated them differently. I just liked them more. ...I'm a horrible teacher.

8. Kids are smart.
I realize that it's concerning that I just learned that kids are smart, but it's true. I mean, like, they're really really smart. Some of the things my preschoolers said were very insightful, and I couldn't have been more proud.

9. If you have crayons and paper, you're gonna have a good time.
Honestly, for most of my small groups, I just gave my kids crayons and paper and let them draw. They loved it. And I could pull out helpful information from them, too, such as what they wanted to learn, what their interests were, and what a monster needs to scare the freaks out of somebody.

10. Kids say the darndest things.
In conjunction with the insightful things that children said would be some pretty bizarre and/or hilarious things. For example, one time a kid told me that he thought I was turning into a monkey because I'm so hairy.

11. Small chairs are inconvenient for me.
All of the chairs in the classroom are itty-bitty. During snack time, it was a struggle to sit. Consequently, snack time was really the only time I'd sit in a chair, except for teacher meetings at the end of the day because I could lean back in them.

12. If I get a job as a preschool teacher, it won't be so bad.
My outlook on teaching preschool has drastically changed over this semester. I am so incredibly grateful for the opportunity to have worked with these children and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

13. Teaching is a lot easier when there are 5 other teachers.
To my co-teaching ladies, thank you and stay awesome. I would have lost what little sanity I have long ago if it weren't for you guys. This goes to all the teachers, not just the teachers in my class (but to them, especially).

14. I make a difference.
This semester made me realize just how much of a difference I can make in the life of a child. One child in particular comes to mind for me. This child has made tremendous strides in development and absolutely adored me. Even kids that I didn't interact with as much as I did with others would surprise me on a daily basis in various ways. I'm not sure how, but I am confident that I have impacted every child in that classroom in some way.

15. Kids make a difference.
Whether it be by a smile, a "hello," a hug, or just something I overheard them say, these kids could instantly make my day better. I don't know how successful I'll be as a teacher, but I know I'll get some enjoyment out of every single day.

Not Just Ordinary-Special: Thoughts of a Liam

Oh, Lordy. Little kids are my favorite people. About ten minutes ago, Liam, my seven year old brother, was talking to me. We were having a little conversation about football, which mostly consisted of him asking questions and me answering them in very simplified ways. When he ran out of football questions, he paused. Then said, quite randomly, "I wonder why He gave me a gap."

"Who gave you what gap?" I was confused. I mean, we were just talking about football, so I was thinking maybe a gap in zone coverage, or a gap as in a hole for the running back. But Liam didn't have either of those things.

"God, and the gap in my teeth."

"Oh, well, prob-"

"Oh I think I know why! He wanted to make me special. Well, super-special. Not just ordinary-special, like everyone else."

"That's right! He made you super-special instead of regular special by giving you a gap in your teeth."

"Wow. He wanted to give someone a gap in their teeth, and He chose ME...that's COOL!"

"Yeah, that is pretty cool."

"Yeah. And He gave Sam a peeing problem*, so he's special, too."

I was literally crying. I was trying my hardest to not laugh. I was half successful, so I had a huge smile on my face and was exerting a great amount of effort in my chortles and titters. Conversations with Liam are some of my favorite conversations. They are always both hilarious and adorable. Well, not always. Sometimes he taunts me, but I take care of that.

*Sam wets the bed. But he's only nine. That's hardly a peeing problem. For two reasons: 1. That's normal. Well, I'm no expert on children's bladder evacuation habits, but I'd assume it's not really a "problem." And 2. When I think of a "peeing problem," which is almost never (I'm not some sort of weirdo), I think of having a problem peeing. Which makes me mildly uncomfortable for some reason. Now seems like a good time to stop writing.

Belated Posts #3: The Final Cabin, Part 3 - My Least Favorite, Favorite

So, the last week of camp I had really dumb kids and a sick kid. Now I'm going to tell about the most dramatic change in favoritism I've ever experienced.

The youngest and smallest kid in my cabin started out as my favorite kid in my cabin. He was so sweet and cute, I couldn't help but make him my favorite. He'd give me hugs for no reason, hold my hand whenever we walked anywhere, and he even had a cute little voice. But then things went south real fast, and it all started when I decided to bring my cabin on a pontoon ride.

It was a windy day and, consequently, there were some waves. Once in a while, some globules of water would splatter on us in the pontoon. When the first one hit my lil' favie, he dropped the f-bomb, as in, "What the (f-bomb)?" Kris, the waterfront director, called him out on it.

"Did you just drop the f-bomb?"

"...No."

"I'm pretty sure I heard you drop the f-bomb."

"No, I said, "What the...frick."

"No, I heard the f-bomb."

"I said-"

"You know what - I don't care. Just don't say any more things that start with "What the," okay?"

"But I didn't-"

"I don't care! Just don't do it!"

After that, he quickly descended my rankings of favorite camper. By the end of the week, the only time he would talk to me was when he was tattling on someone, and he talked to me a lot. He'd tattle on anyone for anything. One night for devotions, Drew and I integrated our cabins and did bro-tips. Being very bro-ish in nature, both of us had a good amount of combined bro-knowledge. I feel like we passed on a lot of useful tips such as, but not limited to, always lift the seat when you pee, respect the ladies, call girls 'pretty.' 'beautiful,' or 'cute' instead of 'hot,' be nice to your friends' parents, etc. After we ran out of tips, Drew took his kids back to their cabin. As they were leaving, I gave them all high-fives. Once the last of Drew's kids were in their cabin, my lil' no-longer-favie came up to me.

"Um, Joe?"

"Yes?"

"Um, you know that kid you just high-fived?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, the one with the red hair?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"Um, well, he steals things from other kids."

"(To myself, in my head) 'Ohhhh my goodness. No he doesn't. You need to stop tattling.' Sigh...Okay. Thanks for telling me that. Now go to bed."

And yes, he did start every sentence with "Um."

Belated Posts #3: The Final Cabin, Part 2 - Smells Like Teen Spirit. No Wait, That's Vomit

This post could very well be #3 in the short "Worst Night of Camp" series, but it's already part of another series. Posts can only be a part of one series. That's common knowledge. Therefore, it is not part of the "Worst Night of Camp" series. Just know that it could've been, though.

This particular night did not necessarily start out nice. It started out pretty bad. It escalated to something much worse, however. Let's start at where I want the beginning to be. I had just finished the nightly devotional, which was probably "highs and lows," where each camper shares what their favorite and least favorite part of the day was. That's a go-to devo for me, because it takes no planning, and planning is an area in which I do not excel. We finished earlier than I had anticipated, so I did the one thing I swore I would never do: I gave the kids flashlight time. I feel as though I am the strictest counselor when it comes to flashlight privileges in that my kids don't have any. I always explain to them that there is no need for a flashlight at camp and, really, there isn't. There are lights on the outside of cabins if they have to go to the bathroom at night, and that's the only scenario in which they would be outside when it's dark. However, flashlights are on the list of things to bring to camp that is sent to the parents, so every kid brings one. For flashlight time, I turned off the lights in the cabin and they all shined their lights spastically on the walls and ceiling. For some reason, that's fun. Then I thought of something else we could do, so I abruptly ended flashlight time and explained the new thing. Unfortunately, I can't remember what the new thing was, but I do remember that they were not participating. Consequently, I ended the new thing abruptly, too, and declared a premature lights out. The kids were surprisingly quiet for the first five minutes or so, but then a couple of flashlights were turned on. I confiscated them. Quiet for a few more minutes, then whispers. Whispers gave way to laughter and soft talking, which birthed normal talking. I told them to be quiet a number of times. Each time, the level of anger in my voice was more notable than the previous time. I was on the verge of using my angry-dad voice (which is quite terrifying) when the talking was reduced to only a few whispers. I drifted in and out of sleep for about an hour before finally activating full-sleep mode. That's when the trouble started.

I was awoken by the sound of someone pouring water out of a bottle onto the floor. "Why? Just...why?" I thought. "Eh, it's only water; I'll worry about it in the morning." Three seconds later, the worst smell ever to enter my nasal cavity entered my nasal cavity. "Oh. Oh no. That's not water." And it wasn't water. It was vomit. The kid was on the top bunk, just leaning his head over the side and letting it rip. I turned on one of the flashlights I confiscated earlier and caught the eyes of the kid. I simply pointed at him and did the finger motion for "come here."

"Can't I just get a drink of water or something?"

"Nope, we're going to see the health aid."

"Why can't I just get a drink of water?"

"Because you just threw up! Let's go!" For a second, I thought about just going next door and waking up Drew since, like I said in the first installment of "The Final Cabin," Drew was the health aid for the whole summer. I decided against it, though, since he had his own cabin to worry about, firstly, and secondly, we'd still have to go to the health aid office. I walked with the kid to the health aid office, making a short pit stop at the dining hall so he could rinse his mouth out. I explained to Haley, the interim health aid, what had happened and she took over from there. At this time, I realized that I still had eight kids in a hot room with the stinkiest puke puddled on the floor. I decided I should relocate my kids and then clean the puke. Luckily (and I do mean luckily), I ran into Katie, AKA Katie Dubs, AKA K-Dub Money, a service staff and tie-dye extraordinaire, on my way back to the cabin.

"Joe? What are you doing out?"

"Oh, one of my kids threw up and I had to bring him to Haley. And now I have to move my kids and clean the puke."

"Do you want me to clean the puke?"

"...Yes? If you could, that would be awesome."

"Okay! I'll clean the puke!"

I got back to the cabin and woke up all my kids and told them we were moving to a different cabin, because this cabin stinks. This took about twenty minutes because when I woke up one kid and went to the next, the first kid would fall back asleep. Paul, a counselor who was working Family Camp (which means he was not responsible for any kids), came to lead the kids to our new cabin, since he was staying in the other side of it. As I was grabbing my stuff, Katie Dubs came in with puke cleaner and went to work.

Then everybody slept and we all lived happily ever after. The end.

Belated Posts #3: The Final Cabin, Part 1 - Power Hour

During the last week of camp, I was lucky enough to be counseling. It's always a blessing to be on site during the last week because, well, it's the last week and it'd be nice to actually be there for it. I was also lucky enough to have Drew Boraas as my co-counselor for the week. Drew was the health aid for the summer so, obviously, this was his first week counseling. You may be thinking, "Why was it lucky you had a first time counselor as your co-counselor?" Valid question, and the answer is simply that Drew is a pretty cool guy; it has nothing to do with his counseling experience.

Anyway, none of that is relevant, really. For the last week of camp, I had third graders in my cabin, which is pretty ideal, considering I'm going to have a career working with second graders. However, these third graders didn't have very good memory. I don't know if there was like, a virus in the cabin that spread from kid to kid to cause a coding/storage/recall deficiency or something, but they just could not remember anything. For instance, every day we have something called "Power Hour," which is when the counselors get an hour without kids. During that hour, the kids go play games with the Assistant Program Directors. I never know what games they're playing because it doesn't concern me. However, my kids always thought I knew.

Monday:

"Joe, what are we doing for Power Hour?"

"Playing a game with Stever and Annie."

"What game?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"I don't participate in the game, so I don't ask what it is. I'm not even there for it, so I don't know."

Tuesday:

"Joe, what are we doing for Power Hour?"

"Remember what you did yesterday for Power Hour?"

"...Carpet ball?"

"Nope. You guys played a game with Stever and Annie, right?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"You're doing that again."

"What game?"

"I don't know."

"Is it 'Everybody's It Tag'?"

"Did you play that yesterday?"

"Yes!"

"Then no."

Wednesday:

"Joe, what are we doing for Power Hour?"

"I'm gonna go way out on a limb here and guess that you're going to play a game, and that it'll probably be with Stever and Annie."

"What game?"

"When was the last time I answered that question for you?"

"Umm...I don't know."

"I don't know what game you're playing."

Thursday:

"Joe, what are we doing for Power Hour?"

"I'm curious - what do you think you're doing for Power Hour today?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what did you do yesterday?"

"Play games with Stever and Annie?"

"Right! And what did you do the day before that?"

"Play games with Stever and Annie...?"

"Right again! And do you remember what you did the day before that?"

"Play games with Stever and Annie..."

"Exactly! So, if you were to just venture a guess as to what you are doing for Power Hour today, what would you guess?"

"...What game are we playing?"

"Sigh...Have I ever known what game you're playing for Power Hour?"

"No..."

"Right. And today is no different. I do not know what game you are playing."

There are a few more scenarios that are similar to this one, but I used up a ton of space with dialogue and I think it would be cruel to continue. Just believe me when I tell you that this cabin tested my patience more than any other cabin I have had. It was fun, though.

Belated Posts #2: Camp Poops

As I said in my previous post, camp is now over. However, I have some untold stories I'd like to tell regarding camp. This one is about Camp Poops. Okay, it's actually called Camp Hoops, but say that kind of fast. It sounds like Camp Poops, doesn't it? Yes. Yes it does. This year, camp decided to have a bunch of specialty camps. For instance, there was Horse Camp, Music and Drama Camp, some other camps that I can't remember, and Camp Poops. I'm not entirely sure why, out of all of the camps, Camp Poops was the one where Camp was the first word, but whatever. Since my domination at the game of lightning is pretty much legendary, I was asked if I could counsel at Camp Poops. Of course I said yes.

If you've been to either Shores or Green Lake, you probably noticed that our basketball facilities are lacking. Camp Poops was held at Green Lake since it was for kids who are actually old enough to do basketball things. Green Lake has five(?) hoops, but none of them are very nice, and the court is also pretty meh. However, for Camp Poops, the court was repaved and some new hoops were put up. Also, a parking lot was transformed into a a court with four hoops. It was actually really nice. I was impressed. When I saw the parking lot court, I got really excited. I mean, I was going to get to play basketball. It's not like I'm good at basketball or anything, I just really like to play. I guess I'm okay at basketball, just not compared to most people who have actually played basketball.

It turned out, though, that the other two counselors and I didn't even get to play basketball. We didn't even really get to counsel. All we did was make sure the kids got to where they were supposed to be, which usually meant the basketball court. It was frustrating for us, though, because Camp Poops wasn't very coordinated. It took until Wednesday for there to be a set schedule. It didn't help that it rained a few times, so we had to get all of the kids to a gym. Also, for some reason, Camp Poops kids had to stay in different cabins from the rest of the campers. At Green Lake, all of the campers stay in a lodge with different rooms. Camp Poopers (those who were part of Camp Poops) had to stay in actual cabins, which I was totally fine with, except we only had one shower. One shower for nine sweaty kids is not ideal. Somehow, all of us, including me, managed to shower in one hour. I was so proud. Another bad thing about being secluded from the rest of camp was that our banquet for the end of the week was lame. Usually everyone dresses up, but since it was just a bunch of guys, we had no one to dress up for. Also, our cabins were not air conditioned, and we needed air conditioning more than everyone. Granted, the rooms in the lodge aren't air conditioned, either, but the dining hall in the lodge is. Whatever. Camp Poops was still fun. I got to hang out with the Green Lake staff, which I normally don't get to do, and I got a sweet shirt. I'd say that's pretty worth it.

Oh, I almost forgot. It was decided that I'm a little baby and need to have a friend from Shores come with me to work at Green Lake. Mic-Mac was chosen. I feel like that was a great choice, but it was kinda dumb because I was secluded from actual camp things most of the time. Oh well. We played a few games of LOL/WOW/MOM, and it was awesome.

Joyce From Morris - The Story of a Creepy Old Lady

I'm on a day camp in Morris right now. First of all, let me just tell you that despite the fact that Morris is a pretty small town, this day camp is awesome. Probably because the kids we're working with are fantastic, our host family is nice, and they have a really nice house with nice things.

Today, for one of our scheduled game times, the other counselors and I decided to take the kids outside to play a game (ships and sailors, if you were wondering. I'm sure you don't know what that even means unless you work or have worked at camp, though). During the third round of the game, I realized that there was an elderly lady holding a newspaper and a glass of beverage (I'm not entirely sure what the beverage was), standing on the sidewalk watching us. "Well, okay," I thought, because old people love kids - it didn't seem too weird to me. She cheered for the winners of that round and said, "You're all winners to me!" I still wasn't too weirded out at this point. Then she came over to me. I was holding my guitar for some reason - probably because I'm weird (there were exactly zero reasons for me to have my guitar) - and the lady asked if I could play in A minor. I can't, because I don't know what that even means. "Um, I can play an A minor! Lolz," I replied.

"Can you finish it?" I have no idea what that means. To be honest, I'm not sure she knows what that means.

"Uhh...wha-? Probably not...?"

"Can you follow me?"

"Umm, no."

"Do you know how to play 'This Land Is Your Land?'"

"Nope."

"Is it okay if I sing it with the kids? I'll do it a capella."

"Um, yeah! Wait, ...yeah? Sure. I think."

"Okay!" She then walked up to the kids, who were assembled in three lines because they were waiting to start another round of ships and sailors. "Hello, children! My name is Joyce, and I want to see if you can put your hands together." The kids all clapped once. "That's right! Put your hands together for our country!" Then she started singing 'This Land Is Your Land' and all of us counselors and all of the children were equally confused and weirded out. Once she finished the song, I started the next round of ships and sailors. One kid didn't want to play, though. He was probably traumatized from that crazy lady. She hadn't left, though, and offered her help. "Hey, kiddo, come on over here," she said. He did, but only because she was standing in the designated area for kids who had gotten out. "Let me tell you what I like about you, kiddo," she said, bending over so she could look him right in the eyes. Like anything with a brain would do, the poor lil' fella backed way up. "Come back over here. I'm not gonna bite ya. I'm not even gonna touch ya. You're a redhead, and us redheads gotta stick together." She then extended her arm and held out her hand. "Can I have a high five?" and the kid backed away even more. Then Joyce just left, and we hurried all the kids back into the church, away from the crazy ladies that apparently just roam the streets of Morris, searching for children to creep on.

Paz Y Esperanza, Parte Dos: El Primer Dia - ¡Aye, No!

I've already gone into detail about my concerns heading into the Paz Y Esperanza day camp, yeah? Well, this post is going to be about the first day.

On Sunday, Jenna, Katelyn (the two other counselors on my day camp team), and I had met a few of the kids we'd be working with. On Monday, predictably, there were a lot more kids. There were even a few kids who never attended the church there, even. That's totally fine. That's actually great - maybe they'll learn something. There were two, though, that were not doing any learning. I honestly have no idea why they even showed up. All they did was cause problems. They wouldn't participate in any activity we did. Instead, they'd either go off by themselves and dink around or stay in the group and be disruptive. The helpers on the day camp were really surprised after the group those two kids were in finished their Bible study with me.

"Wow, they were so quiet! What did you do to them?" The weird thing is, they weren't quiet at all. I was horrified to think that maybe they weren't even trying to be disruptive and maybe later they would be trying.

"Well, if they didn't pay attention to me when I was reading, I'd start the whole reading over again, or if they couldn't tell me what I had just read, I'd make them read it to me." That actually worked kind of. I feel like they at least received the information, anyway. It didn't work to keep them quiet.

The two troublemakers also realized that Jenna, Katelyn, and I all struggle with Spanish, so they would speak Spanish to each other and then laugh and look around to see if they were going to get in trouble, which led me to believe that they were saying inappropriate things. I don't know why, but I'm bothered when people do things that warrant punishment but don't get punished. I tell myself it's because I'm really into justice, but I feel like I may have some sort of disorder. One time those two kids were off with a couple other kids while the rest were playing a game. I went over to stand by them to keep them in line (I'm really into justice, remember).

"Oh, Joe, what are you doing here?"

"I'm just over here so I can keep an eye on you guys."

"Which one?"

"You. And you, and you, and you, and-"

"Y tu, y tu, y tu..."

"Exactly."

"Wait, how do you know what that means?"

"I took Spanish in college," (just for two semesters, but I mean, come on. "Y tu, y tu, y tu?" I understand that).

"So you know what we've been saying?"

"Yeah, and you're lucky I'm letting it slide."

"Nah-uh. What am I saying now? 'Junior, vamonos.'"

"Junior, let's go."

"......"

Really? He's gonna test my Spanish comprehension with "vamonos"? I knew what that meant just from watching Dora the Explorer. It got them to stop speaking Spanish, though.

Near the end of the day, we had a song fest because the kids need to know the songs for the parents program at the end of the week. When we told the kids this, the two turds said they weren't going to come back. That was the happiest I was during the whole first day. I feel like this post is not doing an adequate job of explaining just how turdish these two kids were, so don't judge me.

Also, they didn't come back, and that was awesome.

Worst* Night of Camp 2: Electric Boogaloo

*This was the worst night for campers. If you've read my post, "Worst Night of Camp," that night was much worse than this night for me. Even if you haven't read that post, that night was still worse for me. I actually enjoyed the night about which I am going to write.

'Twas the first night of camp for the summer. I had just completed the Bible study for the evening and was about to bring my cabin to beach orientation when Kris, the water front director, informed me that the aqua challenge (where it is determined if kids are deep or shallow water swimmers) will not be held after beach orientation due to the impending rain. My kids and I went back to our cabin so they could change out of their swimming attire, and very shortly after I was informed that we would be heading to the party room. The party room is our storm shelter. We call it the party room because that sounds a lot more fun than storm shelter and the goal here is to not have the kids freak out.

Within the first two minutes of being in the party room, one of the campers (not mine, thank God) threw up. It was gross, as throw up usually is. Surprisingly, we somehow avoided the inevitable chain reaction of throw up that usually happens with children (and me). We still had to sit with the smell for about ten minutes, though.

In the party room, we usually sing the camp songs of the week until the storm passes and it's safe for us to go back to our cabins. This time, however, we ran out of camp songs, as the storm lasted for three hours. We then started to sing camp songs that weren't from that week. Mark and I were leading my all-time favorite camp song, Psalm 150, when the power went out. We flawlessly executed a distraction by singing louder, and since Psalm 150 is a call and response style of song, the kids sang louder, too, not even noticing that the power went out. Eventually, though, even after about 15 verses of "Peace," we were out of viable camp song options. Mark, Kris, and I then sang Adam Sandler's "Lunch Lady Land," and I feel like that went over pretty well. Mark and I then did an impression of Hootie and the Blowfish which, predictably, did not go over well because the kids have no idea who that is. As a last-ditch attempt to keep order in the party room, Mark and I performed a stirring rendition of the Flintstones theme song. I don't think the kids knew who the Flintstones were, either, so that didn't go as well as I had hoped, but it was a ton of fun for me.

Three hours after we arrived at the party room, the storm subsided and we were allowed to return to our cabins. It was still raining pretty hard, though. Once my kids and I got back to our cabin, I asked if any of them had to go to the bathroom. Of course, they all had to, so we all grabbed our flashlights (the power was still out) and began to leave. Just before I went out the door, I remembered I had a rain jacket. "Oh! I can wear my rain jacket, because I have one. Ha, ha, ha." After I had said this, about five of my seven campers remembered that their mothers made them bring a rain jacket, too. We all went down and went to the bathroom. When we got back, one of my campers took off his jacket with a huge smile on his face. "I'm so glad my mom makes me do stuff now!"

The power didn't come back on until about 10:45. All of my campers were still awake and they were very excited about the power returning. Since I had already yelled at them to be quiet about six times, though, they only uttered whispers of jubilation.

And we all slept happily ever after. The end.

Elementary Retreat At GLBC

This last weekend, I helped out with an elementary retreat at Green Lake Bible Camp. I was really excited, because I've been yearning for camp since September. However, I had no idea what the retreat actually was. Early last week, Danielle, one of my friends who is on the summer staff for camp, told me I should help out, because they needed help and I'd be good at it. I agreed. Throughout the week, I found out a little bit more about the retreat, such as when I have to be there, that they needed a guitar player and more people to help, and that's actually all I found out. It dawned on me that I might have to be the guitar player. That was a little unnerving because my confidence level regarding my guitar proficiency is at or near zero. To ensure that I could not be the guitar player, I "forgot" to bring my guitar. However, when we were going over the schedule and creating the song list for the weekend, Linnae, the program director, asked who could play guitar. "You can, can't you?" I asked her. She said she could fake it. I'm not entirely sure what that means in regards to playing guitar. Anyway, she agreed to be the guitar player, I guess, but when she looked at the chords for one of the songs, she became flustered. "An E-slide? What's that?"

"E-slide? That's easy. You just play an E higher up on the neck," I answered. As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately regretted it. Everyone turned their heads towards me, and I realized that I had just been named the guitar player. Since I didn't bring mine, we had to find a guitar. We found one (it was pretty nice, actually - nicer than mine, anyway) but we couldn't find a pick or a capo. A couple of the songs that we chose needed a capo, and didn't sound very good without one, so we sang those a cappella. It turns out that those songs sound horrible a cappella - lesson learned. Since we couldn't find a pick, I had to strum with my fingers. I'm horrible at strumming with my fingers. After the last song session, my fingers were bleeding.

As the kids were showing up, we would take them outside so they could play. They had some kickballs to play with, which is really all you need to entertain young children. "The only rule is that you do not kick or throw the balls towards the lake," I announced. Two minutes later, I was up to my thighs in lake water, retrieving a rogue ball. I wouldn't have had much of a problem with this, except that I could only roll my pants up to my knees.

That night, I couldn't sleep. My kids could sleep. That's actually why I couldn't sleep. One of my kids was snoring extremely loudly. That kept me up. Like any teenager, I started to text people, telling them I couldn't slip. Then I remembered I'm not actually a teenager, but I was too tired to feel shame. Eventually, the kid stopped snoring, and I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. That is, until about half an hour later, when I woke to the sound of a crying child. I went over to where it was coming from and found one of my kids on the floor. "What happened?" I asked.

"I fell out of my bed," he sniffled. This boy had been on the top bunk.

"What?! Are you okay?!" He didn't answer - he just cried. "Can you come out to the hallway with me?" I asked.

He tried to stand up, but couldn't. "No," he replied. Oh. He can't get up. That's not good at all. At this point I was thinking that he broke something. It was 1:00 in the morning, so the nurse wasn't there. I was on the verge of panicking. Then I thought he'd have been crying louder had he actually broken something. Remembering that one has to risk it to get the biscuit, I said, "I need you to come out into the hallway with me. I'll carry you if you can't walk." He stood right up and followed me into the hallway. "How long were you laying there?" I asked.

"A long time." Well, that wasn't true, because I had only fallen asleep a half hour ago.

"Okay, you're holding your side - does anywhere else hurt?"

"No, just my side."

"Alright, do you want a drink of water?" I led him over to the water fountain and he took a drink. "Do you want to sit for a little bit, until you feel better?" I asked.

"Yeah." Not even a minute later, he stopped crying and said he felt better. I asked if he was sure and he said he was. I led him back to our room and moved his stuff to a bottom bunk. He got into bed, and I got back into mine, and he started to cry again. I waited about five minutes before I went over to his bed. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, well, alright then. Goodnight." He kept crying for fifteen more minutes, and then fell asleep. So, at about 1:30, I finally fell asleep for the night. By 6:45, all of my kids were awake and talking to each other. Then, Isaac's cabin (Isaac was another counselor) burst into my room wielding pillows. It was a sneak attack, and my cabin had no chance. After they left, I gathered my kids and devised a counterattack. We stormed into Isaac's room, but they weren't there. "Okay, guys, hide. We'll wait for them to come back, and then ambush them!" A few minutes later, Isaac came back, but not his cabin. He told us that their room was too hot, and they moved into a different room. I was disappointed, because I was pretty proud of my ambush-counterattack strategy, but we stormed into the other room to satisfy my kids' longing for revenge. Isaac's cabin was quick to react, though, fending off our forces. I called for a retreat, and we fled back to our room, waking up the other cabin on our floor. I've decided that military strategist is not a career I should pursue.

Also, there were a few fantastic quotes by kids from the weekend. These two are the best. The first is taken way out of context, so don't judge me or my fellow counselors.

"Somebody please kill me!"

"Nobody step on my sweatshirt! My glasses are in there and they are doing some funky things."

Comin' In Hot

I've heard that when someone has nothing about which to talk they often talk about the weather. Guess what, you guys - this post is about weather. I'm actually a little ashamed that I'm writing a post about weather considering how agitated I become when I see a simple Facebook status about the weather. I have legitimate concerns about the potential weather this summer, though, and I feel like I just need to vent.

As most of you who live in the Midwest have noticed, the weather this winter was very unusual. I'm pretty sure there were exactly zero -20° days. Honestly, I'm not sure if it ever went below zero. What? Crazy, right? Well, brace yourselves, it gets crazier. In March, we reached 80° a couple of times. 80 degrees. That's borderline hot. That got me thinking - if it was this warm in March, how hot is it going to be in July, when I'm at camp with no air conditioning and fans that are defunct at best? With children that will complain about the heat almost as much as I will?Okay, not even almost as much as I will, but they'll complain in high pitched voices because they're little kids, and that's just annoying. Sure, camp is located on the shores of a lake, but you can't sleep in a lake, can't hold Bible study in a lake (I'm not sure about that, actually. I think I'll have to ask about that), can't eat meals in a lake, can't play whoop-whoop in a lake (whoop-whoop is a camp game. The best game. Don't tell me bonkers is better, camp folk, we all know whoop-whoop is where it's at), and you can't beat all the campers at lightening (the basketball game) in a lake.

Seriously, though. Usually, it's like 10° in March. I'm no mathematician, but I'm pretty sure 80° is eight times as hot. So, if it's usually 100° in July, that means it'll probably be 800°. 800 degrees! We'll all die!

Knowing full well that I will die this summer, I can still say, with confidence, that I have never been more excited for a summer in my life.

That can be taken cynically (I'm excited to die) or hopeful (it'll be worth dying over, given how fantastic this summer will be). I'll give you a hint as to which one it is - it's the second one.

Sugar Cereal

I love sugar cereal. Some of my favorite foods are sugar cereals. Think about that for a second. Off the top of my head, I can think of three sugar cereals that are among my favorite foods. Three of my favorite foods are from the same category, and that category's target demographic is young children. You know how some adults don't eat sugar cereal? I'm not going to be one of those adults. I don't know what the threshold is for when one starts to eat healthy cereal, but I'm never going to cross it. One of the reasons why I want to have kids is so I have an excuse to buy sugar cereals. I know that there's not a rule where an adult needs children in order to buy sugar cereal, but it just looks a lot less suspicious if I have kids with me when I buy it. Until I have kids, I think I'm just going to pay kids to accompany me to the store. No one else will know the level of creepiness that entails because they'll have no idea I paid them to go to the store with me. So, when everyone looks at me in disgust, I'll just say, "Oh, it's for my kids," and everything will be fine. Also, when I actually have kids, I don't think I'll allow them to eat sugar cereal for two reasons: 1. Less sugar for them, and 2. More sugar cereal for me. My kids will be like, "Daddy, can we have some Reese's Puffs?" and I'll say, "No. You can have some when you're older." Then they'll ask, "Why do we have five boxes if we can't eat any?" and I'll say, "For motivation to live into your twenties. This is why you shouldn't drive 70 mph*," and they'll say, "We can't even drive, Daddy!" and I'll say, "Valid point," and then pour myself a heaping bowl of Reese's Puffs.

As good as the cereal is, the milk left in the bowl is easily the best part about sugar cereal. Like I said, I love sugar cereal, but I am at my happiest after I finish a bowl of cereal and get to drink the leftover milk. My friend and roommate, Ryan Ackman, came up with the greatest idea I've ever heard if you don't count like five other ideas. He conjured up the concept of bottling and selling the leftover milk from a bowl of cereal. I would totally buy that. And drink it.

*My sister, Claire, actually said the bit about not driving 70 mph, and only that part. I came up with literally everything else outside of "this is why you shouldn't drive 70 mph." I know it's not exactly an integral part to the post, but it's there, and I have to give credit where credit is due. So, look at that, Claire! You're pretty much famous, now!