Master Iron Chef UnWrapped Kitchen Throwdown

The following is an actual, honest-to-goodness assignment that I am going to give my students tomorrow. By doing this I believe I am incorporating 20th Century Learning benchmarks, facilitated by technological interface practices, in a cross-curricular, hands-on learning environment that reaches out to marginalized students to better help them achieve their full potential. Or it's just a cheap ploy to entertain myself while creating a fun lesson plan with marginal learning outcomes but maximal blog-post-ability. Ish.

The Great

Convenience Mix

VS.

Homemade

SMACKDOWN

(AKA: Mrs. Salemink is Cleaning Out the Cupboard)

Why?

1. Foods & Nutrition 2 is wrapping up a unit on convenience foods, and Baking is learning about... well, baking. Duh. Really? Do I need a reason? Have I ever had a good reason for any assignment? There was that one lesson about that one thing... but other than that one.... We've done similar things before, but never on this scale. This... will... be... EPIC.
2. Mrs. Salemink has had 4 hours of sleep from 6:30 a.m. Saturday to 7:32 p.m. (oops, 8:14 p.m.) Sunday, and is not expecting to get to bed until at least 10 p.m. And she is really, really old. She is not able to go without sleep for this long any more, people. Give her a break.

3. The vast majority of you are probably going to be tired and cranky in class on Monday as well. The rest of you get to reap the benefits of our poor sleep-management skills.
4. We are having yet another “not normal” week of class scheduling, and I'm running low on creativity. Hard to believe, but true.
5. Because I'm the teacher and I said so. What are they going to do? Fire me?

The Assignment:

1. EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU (yes, YOU! BY YOUR OWNSELF. Without a partner.) will go online and find a HOMEMADE, COMPLETELY FROM SCRATCH RECIPE for one of the following cake/brownie/quickbreads from the provided list. You WILL (BY YOUR OWNSELF. Without a partner.) email me a link to said HOMEMADE, COMPLETELY FROM SCRATCH RECIPE by the end of the class period. *See Random Rules and Frequently Asked Questions section below.

The Smackdown:

After democratically selecting (you will vote, I will over-rule) 2 box mixes and their homemade recipe counterpart:

1. Each class will be divided into 4 kitchen groups. Two groups will prepare the box mixes. Two groups will prepare the homemade.
2. If you can't come to an agreement on who's doing what, I will randomly select you. Or we may do this again and switch roles. Depends on how much you annoy me.

Random Rules:

1. Box mix selection (and thus homemade recipe as well) will be first come, first served. In other words Foods 2 gets a better deal. Life is not fair. Get over it.
2. YOU WILL, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU (yes, YOU! BY YOUR OWNSELF. Without a partner.) will go online and find a HOMEMADE, COMPLETELY FROM SCRATCH RECIPE BY THE END OF THE CLASS PERIOD. Or you will receive an “I.” Your grade point will crumble, you will never graduate high school, you will develop a severe case of acne, “bacne,” halitosis, pit-stank and athletes foot and you will wake up with the over-all funky body odor of the average, post-gym 7^th grader, for all of eternity. No amount of showers shall cleanse you. You shall become a pariah amongst your people. Look it up.
   You may also turn into a zombie. And not the fun kind. You will become the really icky, oozy kind that everyone can outrun. You will be locked in a cage where people will poke at you with sticks. They will make countless YouTube videos and SnapChat stories about you and you will never collect a cent of royalties or receive any “likes.”
   If you are lucky, you will spend the rest of your life living in a van, down by the river. By your self. Not even the other zombies – or stinky 7^th graders – will associate with you.
3. You will not whine.
4. YOU WILL DO ALL YOUR DISHES or you will receive an “I” and the consequences will be the same as #3 above.

Frequently Asked Questions:

1. Do we have to? Yes.
2. Why? Because I said so.
3. But, Mrs. Salaaaaameeeeeenk, I'm tired. So am I. And I'm older and crankier than you.
4. But... but... but... Nip it. Nip it! You can't see me, but I'm making the universal “nip it” sign with my hand as if I could grab your little pouty duck lips and hold them shut. With superglue. Or DuckTape. I'm not picky.
5. Quit rolling your eyes. That's not #TheBEARway.
6. How d... Because I'm psychic. Now get to work.

How I have never been named Teacher of the Year is completely beyond me.

I'll be Home (Ec) for Christmas

Google “Home Ec -- I mean Family Consumer Science -- Christmas Lesson Plans” and what do you get?

Christmas Cookie Lab. Christmas Cookie Bake Sale. Christmas Cookie Sampler. Christmas Cookie Comparison. Christmas Cookie Swap. Healthy Christmas Treats (there's one in every crowd).

Ask the students, right after they fill out the Spooky Halloween Treat Lab evaluation, what do they want to do next?

“Make Christmas cookies.”

So when the principal asked me “Would your classes like to make cookies to serve during semester tests?” I said yes. (Actually, I gave him the “are you kidding?” look.) Then I asked my students.

Do you want to bake Christmas cookies? “Yes!”

For the other students? “Ummm....”

You can have some, too. YES!

I was feeling pretty confident in their abilities. After all, they made snacks for a conference-wide, school administrators' meeting last month. AND had recipe requests. All semester these kids have done incredible work in the kitchens. Sure we hit a rough spot with the “healthier options” recipes, but I think whole wheat Snickerdoodles are an acquired taste.

Some students have… contributed more than others. Some have... put forth more effort than others. But each of these students has made me incredibly proud at least once this semester.

All that ended with The Great Christmas Cookie Catastrophe.

I'm not blaming the kids. I should have known better than to use untested recipes (stupid Google search). I should have watched the oven timer more closely (and made sure they used it).

I should not have tried to buy Billy Joel concert tickets on-line as soon as they went on sale while trying to supervise the creation of a batch of festive, fudge-brownie cookies.

I felt like Goldilocks. One batch of cookies was over-cooked. One batch was under-cooked. One batch was... why did I approve an anise-flavored cookie anyway? And there is not enough time in a 45-minute class period for the students to do all the baking and cleaning.

To top it all off: I didn't get a ticket for the Billy Joel concert in Minneapolis.

Ouch. Way to kick a girl when she's down, Target Center ticket program. (It's not sold out yet, but I haven't liked the “best available” tickets they've “suggested” for me. I'm gambling here. Really, you think there's not gonna be one single, odd seat left on the floor? )

Final. Straw.

Camel's back? Broken.

So I stood, forlorn, in the kitchens as the students filed in for homeroom. I was stressed, surrounded by piles of inedible cookies, mountains of dirty dishes and flour-covered counters. And I was ticket-less.

There were tears.

Yeah. No. Really.

I cried.

Over cookies.

It was a brief, silent, ragged breathing, just a couple of tears overflowing type of cry. Not my proudest moment.

Wound. Too. Tight.

But one sweet boy talked me down. “Are you ok, Mrs. Salemink?”

He helped clean up the mess – a mess he didn't make! – and helped me sort out and salvage more cookies than I thought possible.

Santa's weepy elf might have to fill in a little around the edges (I'm just not sure high schoolers are ready for anise-flavored cookies. I'm not sure any one is, no matter what the Albuquerque Convention and Visitors Bureau says.) But it looks like the Home Ec – I mean Family Consumer Science – classes will help make semester tests (and Christmas – I mean winter – break) just a little brighter at West Branch High School.

Now if the Target Center would just cut to the chase and pony up a front row, center stage ticket we could put this whole ugly scene behind us.

And have a Merry Christmas. Cookie.

Get Your Freak-Out On (In Five Steps)

Tomorrow is the first day of the new school year.

It is past 10 p.m. on the eve of the first day of the new school year, and I can finally say that without feeling like I'm going to throw up.

Believe me, it was touch and go there this afternoon. I wasn't sure if I wanted to burst into tears, throw up, or slink out of the high school and run away to New York City where I would beat the odds and become a best selling novelist with a house in the Hamptons and eventually meet, charm, and marry Billy Joel... or become a bag lady and live out the rest of my days in obscurity and filth with only my 50 cats to keep me company.

Not that I gave it much thought.

In between reaching for the tissues and the Tums and wondering how I would feed all those cats, I kept chipping away at the mountain of work I faced trying to figure out what in the heck I was going to do to keep my students occupied for one day – let alone an entire semester– and how I was ever going to make plans to cover all the topics included in the course descriptions for the classes I will be teaching – starting tomorrow.

And make plans to take courses myself to obtain my teaching certification in Family and Consumer Science.

Because as it turns out? English and Communications are not that much like Family and Consumer Science.

Did Not see that coming.

After sitting in the small, windowless teachers' lounge (which is actually quite nice as far as teachers' lounges go, and cozy) for an hour and printing off enough internet-shared lesson plans to deforest a small equatorial country, a strange sense of calm started to settle in. At last I was able to return to my cavernous classroom (actually quite nice as far as FCS rooms go, but wide open and arctic-cold) to finish up my plans for tomorrow (the first day of the new school year) with a hint of how I could touch on the topics included in the course descriptions for the classes I will be teaching this semester.

It was at this point that I realized I had reached the Fifth Stage of Freaking Out: Acceptance.

With all due respect to Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, grief is not the only emotion which drags you through five stages. Here, then, are the Five Stages of Freaking Out, according to the Sandwich Mom (and Teacher):

Stage One: Awareness. It began with the realization that I had roughly a month's worth of work to do, and only a day's worth of time to do it in. You may be tempted to ask yourself what I have been doing all summer. Please don't. I have no idea where the time went. There may have been space aliens and probing involved.

This stage is characterized by low-level feelings of impending doom, dread, foreboding, and a general “funk.” Personally, I wanted nothing more than to listen to Billy Joel's “A Minor Variation” on endless repeat (“Some days I have to give right in to the blues/Despite how I try to keep fightin'/ It's a sure shot I'm going to lose”). And to eat. Anything. That didn't move. Fast. After I covered it in chocolate. And salt. And dipped it in cheese.

Stage Two: Pinging. Some people wrongly categorize Pinging as a full Freak Out. It is not. It is pre-freak out. The reputable on-line source “Urban Dictionary” defines pinging as “a state of increased anxious activity, typically induced by an amphetamine.” But a Freak Out-Ping totally trumps an amphetamine-ping. Any day.

This stage is characterized by rapid, shallow breathing, dilated pupils, increased heart rate, pit sweat, and clammy hands. Unfortunately the Freak Out-Ping lacks the feelings of euphoria and well-being that may be associated with an amphetamine ping. At this point Billy Joel's “Pressure” was pounding in my head, over and over. And not in a good way.

Stage Three: Hyperventilation. Imagine the “pings” coming so close together they flat line – at the top of the chart instead of at the bottom.

This stage is characterized by feelings of... hyperventilation. Duh. Also a desire to throw up, burst into tears, or run away. I felt like I was listening to “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel, and dancing. Poorly. Which is unusual for me. I usually think I am a great dancer. Go figure.

The good news is that if you make a graphic representation of Freaking Out, Hyperventilation is at the apex of the Freak Out. It's all down hill from here.

Stage Four: Air Head. It may be all down hill from Hyperventilation, but that doesn't mean it's smooth sailing. At this point you recognize your inability to avoid impending doom. This is tantamount to the first step in a 12 step program: to solve a problem you have to admit that there is a problem.

Unfortunately, Stage Four is characterized by a total lack of focus. You recognize the problem, admit the problem, even start making plans to make plans to solve the problem, yet you lack the ability to focus on making the planned plans.

Personally, I had figured out the general scope for my classes and I was ready to start looking for lesson plans that fit that scope, but first I had the overwhelming need to make a pretty chart! I was going to look for a Billy Joel song to illustrate this stage, but I was too busy finding clip art for my chart. (Honestly. I could post the pdf.)

Stage Five: Acceptance. Like the final step in Kubler-Ross' model, the final step in a Total Freak Out is Acceptance. You come to terms with the inevitable future and decide to let the chips fall where they may.

Stage Five is characterized by the feeling that what happens is going to happen, and nothing you can do (no amount of planning that you haven't done) can totally prepare you for every eventuality. My profound realization every time I reach this stage is that I am heading to hell in a handbasket, and the best I can do is relax, enjoy the ride and brace myself for impact.

Unfortunately the five stages of Freak Out are not a one-way street. At any moment you may -- and I do -- revert back to Pinging and Hyperventilation, even after I thought I had Accepted my fate.

In other words there is a good chance that I won't get any sleep again tonight.

So buckle up those seat belts. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

The Good, The Bad, The New and The Coffee

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong and did go wrong this morning as I started my first day as a new teacher at West Branch High School.

“But wait a minute,” you say. “Weren't you a new teacher at WBHS last year?”

Technically, no.

Last year I was a long-term substitute teacher for Family Consumer Science classes at WBHS. This year I am an official, lanyard-wearing, photo-id bearing, contract-toting, part-time Family Consumer Science teacher at WBHS. And as such, I attended New Teacher Orientation today.

That means last night I went through the usual pre-first-day jitters routine: I planned my outfit, charged my computer, found a semi-blank notebook, and tossed and turned instead of sleeping. But I still woke up bright and early, with plenty of time to spare before my exciting, (semi-) new adventure started at 8 a.m.

Except that a quick review of the schedule showed the continental breakfast didn't start until 8:30 a.m. Woo Hoo! An extra 30 minutes to prepare. (Note to WBCSD administrators: The only time I'm early for an event is when Billy Joel is involved. See July 19 blog post.)

While I could have used an extra 30 minutes of sleep (doubling the night's total), I chose to see this miscalculation as a positive thing – I'm sure to be on time! Oh, silly, optimistic me. That was just the tip of the craptastic iceberg of miscues that started my day.

Presented here in time-lapse write-ography are the highlights of my morning:

1. The coffee maker wasn't sure it wanted to work. A few cuss words, some persuasive taps and I had my coffee and was back on schedule.

2. The hair dryer unplugged itself. When I set the dryer on the floor to pick up the clunky, surge-protector plug I knocked the curling iron off the dresser. Picking up the curling iron unplugged the dryer... you get the picture. More swearing.

3. Clothing crisis. The outfit I had picked out just didn't seem right. I decided to switch to my new skirt. But I couldn't find it! Anywhere! My new dress was out of the question because it's sleeveless and the red, white and blue State of Iowa temporary tattoo I got (on my bicep, naturally) at the Iowa State Fair isn't as temporary as I thought. I was really wishing I could just wear the t-shirt and shorts I had on until I realized the t-shirt said “We bust ours to kick yours.” Probably not a good first impression. Back to outfit number one. But the pants didn't fit! Until I took the shorts off.

4. On to makeup. Nearly ran out of concealer trying to cover the bags under my eyes, and coverup trying to hide the blemishes brought on by nerves. Behind schedule and in a panic, I applied eye liner somewhere in the vicinity of my eyes. I decided not to risk putting on mascara.

5. My selected outfit featured a scarf... which I don't know how to tie.

6. I'm wearing a white t-shirt, orange silk scarf and khaki pants, drinking coffee and walking. What could possibly go wrong? Surprisingly, nothing!

7. One last glance at the clock on my way to the garage. It's 8:30 a.m. I'm supposed to be at the school at 8:30 a.m.! Where did my extra 30 minutes go?

8. The garage door. Will. Not. Open.

9. Hysterical swearing works wonders on electronics. Again. Garage door opens.

10. Parking lot construction means I have to hoof it from the softball field. Could this extra 200 yards be blamed for my tardiness?

11. Stopped in my room to drop off water and purse. Custodian Extraordinaire and general Amazing Problem Solver Jean was finishing up trim painting. My room is bright and shiny and doesn't smell like Junior High students!

12. There's coffee at the meeting. The Superintendent and I seem to be the only ones drinking it. I drink lots of it. Coffee is good.

New is good.

Life is good.

Did I mention the coffee?

Murphy's Law may play havoc with my schedule again tomorrow morning, but today is good.

Today, I Carpe Coffee.