adding ginger to your sass

GingerSass - adding ginger to your sass

I don’t do afternoon coffee…

Since I’ve graduated from grad school in 2013, a big part of my early twenties has changed:

I don’t do afternoon coffee. Or, rather, I don’t do afternoon lattes, which are my drink of choice these days.

There’s no need to be caffeinated after the workday winds down, and, with some of my medical issues and old lady tendencies, it just doesn’t work to my advantage to have coffee after 1pm. Occasionally, I splurge and have a cup of coffee, but usually “regular coffee” leaves me feeling sleepy and lethargic.

Today was one of those days at work where I just couldn’t function. I had half a latte this morning before leaving for work, and my stomach was bothering me so I had tea once I got to work. When I finally reached my prep at the second to last block, I just knew that I wouldn’t be able to tolerate my particularly boisterous last-block class without a pick me up.

So, I zipped over to a local Starbucks to save my sanity.

My name isn’t particularly common. I used to spell out my name for the baristas every time I would make a Starbucks run, but that got annoying after awhile. Now, I just say my name and stare at them, trying to challenge them to spell my name correctly– K-a-i-l-y-n-n— or just give up altogether. Usually, they add an e, or a c, or sometimes even a t.

Today, however, was a new one. I had a particularly bubbly barista, and when he said, “Now, what is your name, Ma’am?” I knew I didn’t want to be nice. Plus, I was on a time constraint. I responded, “Kailynn. Whatever. Spell it however you want.”

He looked a little taken aback, and then a creepy smile came across his face– similar to the one I give students when I’m being snarky with them. “Whatever I want?” “Sure,” I rolled my eyes.

A few minutes later…

“ONE GRANDE PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE FOR… WHATEVER,” the other barista bellowed.

Yes, this happened.

Yes, this happened.

Well played, sir. Well played. You win at this round, Starbucks.

Full circle

My kids (students for you noobs) are starting a slam poetry team at school, and it’s blowing my mind how amazing they are. Heck, it’s blowing my mind how amazing my second year of teaching in general has been so far. My kids are freaking brilliant, and eager to showcase the stories that they have to tell. We’re even going on a trip to the Dodge Poetry Festival next week!

I swear, this teaching thing is coming full circle.

It has its ups and its downs, but, in the end, there’s not a doubt in my mind that this is what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Were you good?”

Today I stayed after school to see some of my students play in their soccer and field hockey games. It’s always fun to see students in their element, and sometimes I even get to see a side of them I didn’t even know existed!

After the field hockey games ended, I was walking towards my car and talking to some of my field hockey players when one of the girls remarked that she was cold. “We have to wear these skirts with our uniforms,” she explained. (Oh lawdy don’t get me started.) I jokingly said that they should all wear neon tights under their uniforms, that a lot of volleyball players wore neon socks when I played in high school.
Holy crap did that stop them in their tracks.

“Were you good?”

I did the teachery thing and said that I was okay, and that typically people don’t accurately answer if they are “good” at something, at least not in our society.

For the record, I was alright.

As I told my students, I was as clumsy on the volleyball court as I am in real life.

All night I’ve been thinking about this, and I realized something kind of weird:

I miss being athletic.

Now, I was never a major athlete in high school. I only played volleyball. I even declared to my entire gym class on the last day of my senior year that I would never again do another push up. (It’s been over 6 years and I’m still keeping that promise!) However, sports were a part of my life since I was a kid. I danced from age 3-15. I played rec soccer from elementary school through eighth grade. I played rec basketball from 5th grade until I was a teen. I lived for cold winter days where we’d be running outside in gym class. I was a beast at archery.

me in my glory days, Junior year of high school (7 years ago!)

me in my glory days, getting ready to serve during a game my Junior year of high school (7 years ago!)

When it came to volleyball, my big feet and gawky stance didn’t get in the way. They empowered me to jump above the net and block a hit. Sometimes I could even slam the ball to the corner of the court! Even though my legs would tangle themselves up, I’d still dive to the ground and OH MY GOD FLOORBURN. I was at my peak Junior year when I got to pay my heart out on JV instead of being benched on Varsity.

So, I was good on some days, and not-so-good on others. (’tis the life of a klutz!)

Regardless of my skills, or lack thereof, I sometimes find myself missing volleyball. I can smell the burn of 6 pairs of sneakers on the waxed gymnasium floor. I remember losing 20 pounds every volleyball season just by sweating in the sauna of a small gym. I remember the struggle of searching for underwear that wouldn’t create pantylines with my spanx without being a thong. I can feel the sweat rashes forming on my knees from kneepads as I type this post.

Maybe I should break out the ol’ Wilson one day and bump, set, and spike the afternoon away…