Beautiful Food

Isn't food just beautiful sometimes? My husband and I made these kabobs the other night. I couldn't get over how beautiful (and tasty) they were. My friend Nikki and I used to have to make what seemed like hundreds for our family campouts when we were in junior high and high school. Each of our families had six people in them, and most of them were boys. Our moms always overplanned and made us make all of the kabobs. I didn't enjoy it at the time, but now I'm thankful for my kabob skills. The best part of these were the onion chunks and roasted tomatoes. Yumm-o. Sometimes it's the simple things in life that make life oh-so wonderful.

My Journey as a Reader

As an English major, conservative Baptist, and avid blog reader, I've come across several individuals who skipped the typical adolescent literature phase and went right on to classic novels. Whenever I come across these individuals, I feel like I somehow am inferior because I didn't start reading classic novels on my own until my junior year of high school. Even then I was forcing myself to because I knew I needed to get caught up if I was to succeed as an English teacher. I had a friend in college who started reading Dickens when she was 7 and Shakespeare when she was 12. I didn't read Dickens until my senior year of high school and still haven't finished A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens is just so wordy!). I read my first Shakespeare play my freshman year of high school when we read Romeo and Juliet for class. I HATED Shakespeare until my junior year of college when I took a Shakespeare class and learned to appreciate his work. 

Instead of reading classics as a child, I was busy devouring Nancy Drew, Boxcar Children, American Girl, Goosebumps, and Babysitter's Club. (Although the last two were either read at school or stashed under my pillow so my mom wouldn't know. I later confessed.) When my mom deemed I was old enough, she let me read the Christian romance novels that she finished. I soon became obsessed with Christian romance novels and wouldn't read any books that didn't have romance in them. A friend of mine encouraged me to eventually stop reading Christian romance novels, and I've only read 1 or 2 since my sophomore year of college. In college, I started reading only classics to make up for lost time. This was fun for about two years when I tired of trying to interpret my recreational literature. Then I took a class called Adolescent Literature. This class reminded me that I could still enjoy middle school level books because many of them are so well-written. I always used the excuse that I was previewing them for my future students. One of my former students still recommends adolescent novels to me and brings me copies of books he enjoyed reading. Since getting married, I've tried reading contemporary adult fiction. Most of the books I've come across in this genre are absolute trash. I've taken many of these books back to the library without finishing them. I've also finished some of them and felt extremely guilty afterwards. Now I read a mixture of adolescent, classic, and modern fiction. I also try to balance my fiction reading with good Christian non-fiction.

I'm slowly starting to realize that I don't need to evaluate my worth against the aforementioned child prodigies. I enjoyed my childhood to the fullest. I read books that interested me. I learned to love reading by reading books geared for my age group. I still love to read and still take time to read classics. I think my approach to reading helps me inspire my 6th graders to love reading as well. I can recommend books for them at their interest level. I can share my unbridled passion for reading with them in a way that they can understand and appreciate.

So what will I encourage my own children to read someday? Whatever they want to read (as long as the book is appropriate). I will challenge them to try new genres and authors, but I'm not going to stand in the way of them finding their passion for reading. I'm thankful my parents let me choose my own books. I'll do the same for my own kids.

Nostalgia Before Nutrition

For some odd reason I've been nostalgic lately. It may have something to do with reading memoirs with one of my ESL students. I also end up telling lots of childhood stories to him because he's curious about our culture.

Anyways, I had a hankering for some boxed mac 'n cheese with cut up hotdogs in it. My husband and I both grew up with this "staple." It sure beats PB&J (which I despise).

Now I know there are all sorts of horrible things in boxed mac 'n cheese and hotdogs. But, I don't really care. The flavor is amazing. The saltiness of the hotdogs pairs perfectly with the mac 'n cheese. So, for  Sunday dinner today I made mac 'n cheese with hotdogs. I used my fine china because...well, I could. When you're an adult you can do eccentric things like that. It was a fantastic meal. We both loved it. I'll take nostalgia over nutrition any day.

Time Travel

Do you ever wish you could go back to a certain period of your life for just a little bit? I certainly do. I had a wonderful childhood. Yeah, my parents made mistakes. (Like forcing me to go to my neighbors' parties, or making me have thick, eyebrow-length bangs, or not forcing me to learn how to swim.) But they did some great things too.

We moved a few times when I was a child. One of my favorite homes was a big Victorian home built in 1905. It was pretty junky when we first moved in, but my dad spent thousands of hours remodeling it. Since I was the only girl, I never had to share a room. My bedroom was the very first room to be remodeled. (It pays to be a daddy's girl.) All of my toys were in that room. I could spend hour upon hour in that room playing with Barbies or Polly Pockets (the choking hazard kind) or reading Nancy Drew mysteries. It was right next to my parents' room, so I could make easy pilgrimages to their room after watching a movie that was a little too scary. My brothers always begged to play with me in my room. It drove me crazy. I was always content to play alone. I could be more imaginative that way.

We also had an expansive backyard at that house. My brothers and I decided we would dig an underground church one summer. We dug quite a large hole but couldn't really figure out how we were going to get the dirt back on top of us once we dug it deep enough. Needless to say we never finished it because we had to move the next summer. We also spent hours upon hours with our neighbor playing a game we called "Wonder Woman and Cat Woman." I was Wonder Woman, she was Cat Woman, my brother Kent was Batman, and my other brothers were Ninja Turtles. We would run around the yard essentially solving the same crime over and over again with a few variations here and there. We were so imaginative. I spent most of the time imagining the outfits I was wearing or imagining the boyfriend that I had. Kent would imagine himself ripping the "bad guy" from limb to limb in his typical war-hungry fashion. Our neighbor girl would always be running back home to get some toy. She would say, "Back in a flash!" and return 30 minutes to an hour later. We would sit on the front step patiently waiting the entire time. 

My brother Kent and me

Those were probably the best years of my childhood. I often conjure up images of that house when I'm reading a book about an old house and need a point of reference. I often find myself craving for the simplicity of life back then. Summers spent playing in the backyard all day long. Winters spent watching my dad carve snow sculptures in our front lawn. Afternoons spent pounding out my piano lessons desperate to get back outside. Evenings spent stomping up the stairs to scare away the "bad guys" after reading another Nancy Drew novel. Sometimes I just wish I could rewind my life and spend a few days as a little girl in that big old house. Sometimes I just wish I could recapture the feeling of no pressure, no responsibility. I hope one day my children can have a childhood like mine. Maybe I can live vicariously through them.

Last one on the Bandwagon

I'm always the last one to jump on the bandwagon. I think it stems from my childhood. My parents had this phobia of fads. When I say "parents" I mean my dad. My mom just followed his lead like a good wife should. : )

For example, we were never allowed to own Beanie Babies until they were no longer cool. My dad could not fathom why anyone would even think of spending money on a piece of cloth filled with beans. So, while all the other kids were anxiously waiting in line outside of flowershops, my brothers and I were stuck playing with boring toys like Barbies and G.I. Joes.

Because my father is the third greatest man to walk the face of the earth (Jesus and my husband, Ben, take 1st and 2nd place respectively), I tend to follow his avoidance of fads. I usually buy clothes that stay somewhat in style for a few years. I did not choose blue and brown for my wedding colors. I did not major in international business or marketing. I still haven't seen The Notebook. I haven't joined Twitter. I didn't start seriously blogging until, well, now.

I tried blogging once or twice, but it just never worked for me. I always obsessed over my grammar and syntax because I majored in English. After reading blogs for the past year, I've decided that I can't keep my thoughts to myself any longer. The Facebook status bar only allows 420 characters. I have so much more to say than that.

Thus, One Bright Day in the Middle of the Night was born.

Where did I get this title you ask? Well, one of the reasons I've avoided blogging is the title part intimidated me. Every other blog I've read has these mega-creative titles. I'm not mega-creative. I'm great at copying others. I decided a title composed of nonsense words would best fit my blog. So, I did what any good teacher would do. I googled "nonsense words." This, of course, led me to my secret favorite website, Wikipedia. What? But you're a teacher. Teachers tell their students that Wikipedia is full of lies. We just say that because our teachers told us the same thing. We use it secretly.

Anyways, this lovely poem popped up in my search:

One bright day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight.

Back-to-back they faced one another,

Drew their swords and shot each other.

One was blind and the other couldn't see,

So they chose a dummy for a referee.

A blind man went to see fair play,

A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

And came and shot the two dead boys.

A paralyzed donkey walking by,

Kicked the copper in the eye,

Sent him through a nine inch wall,

Into a dry ditch and drowned them all.

(If you don't believe this lie is true,

Ask the blind man -- he saw it too!)

--Anonymous

My dad used to recite this all the time, so I figured it would be a fitting title. So, there you have it folks. My new blog. I hope it works this time.