Mrs. Nurse Harris

Let me just take a second to brag on my mom. If you know Mrs. Nurse Harris, you know that she has some very admirable qualities. She has excellent fingernails. She makes delicious Hamburger Helper. She is definitely more creative than she thinks she is. One time she planted flowers in a toilet we had removed from a bathroom remodel and called it her "pot plant."(It was completely embarrassing.)

But these things only scratch the surface of how great my mom is. I have never known someone more hardworking and passionate about their career than my mom. My mom started working for the Quitman School District in 2001. (Seriously??) And I've watched her improve at what she does every year. She's constantly growing and always working to make her district and Mississippi schools healthier. I'm not a nurse because I'm 400% sure that I couldn't handle it. But not only does Mrs. Nurse Harris handle it, she owns it. And I am pretty sure that there is not a child that has ever crossed her path that did not love and respect (and fear) her. Especially the students at her schools. She has made some pretty remarkable strides for Mississippi school nurses. And I'm happy to say that the National Board for Certification of School Nurses has chosen her as the Certified School Nurse of the Year! So, Donnis Harris, RN, BSN, NCSN, congratulations. I don't know a lot of other school nurses because you are the only one I ever had, but I am pretty sure they were spot on with this award.

Here are some pictures of her I stole from Facebook. Because I'm a creep like that.

 I did not steal this picture from Facebook. I took it myself. Because I couldn't think of a better way to say "WAY TO GO, MOM!" than making some cookies that she could never eat. So the cookies are you for, Nurse Harris. And if you want them you should come to Chicago before they get stale. Otherwise I'm going to eat them. So proud of you, Mom. I have no complaints (that I will write about on the internet.) I love you and I'm mostly glad that I'm so much like you. Enjoy the cookies. 

RJ

I spent the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college in San Pablo City, Philippines. A lot of you already know this, partly because I kept a Filipino flag plastered on my wall for several years after that, like I owed the country my allegiance. And partly because I didn’t talk about much else for a while. I was volunteering for a Christian organization called Open Door, which consisted of an orphanage, church, and school in one complex. It was the best summer of my life to date. (Unless you count the following summer I spent taking American Literature and working in the MC mailroom.) I’m absolutely positive that I learned more that summer than I taught, but, oh well. I learned that I can sleep on the floor for 8 weeks and not die. I learned that I cannot spend every day with the same people and not go a little crazy and that I was too immature to handle that communication properly. I learned that I can wear a t-shirt every day of my life and be happy as a lark. (But I think we all already knew that. Sorry Mom.) I learned that eating rice everyday doesn’t make you fat. Eating French fries every day makes you fat. (Sorry Mom.) I learned that I have a deep passion for pineapple. I learned that I like writing and journaling but that I really sound like an idiot when I go back and read it. Oh well. I learned that I can be far away from the familiar and be okay. I learned that despite my desperate desire to go and do and go again, I always miss home. But there’s one story that’s been running through my head lately that happened during the first few days I was at Open Door and I want to tell you about it. I’m not quit sure how it’s supposed to relate to my current life but, I feel like there’s a connection. And maybe writing it will help make sense. And maybe it will be eloquent. And maybe I will sound like an idiot. Oh well…Okay. So. There was a little boy living there named RJ. RJ has lots of brothers and sisters, but this story has just one focus. He was a bit of a fireball and a troublemaker. So right up my alley. He was fearless. And there’s a lot to be said for that. Because if my father had been killed and my mother was forced to put me in a home, I would be full of fear, not void of it. RJ was kind of one of my favorites. Not that I had favorites, because I don’t have favorites, but you know what I mean. We just kind of had a little connection. You could typically find us together if there was free time. He was either trying to climb on my head (because children have always associated me with jungle gyms) or throwing things at me. He often referred to me as “boyfriend”. I just always assumed he wasn’t aware of both of the masculine and feminine versions of that English word.  RJ was about 7 years old when I was there. So now when I think about how old the kids are and where they might be living I just cry a lot. But that’s not the point of this story. RJ’s English was pretty limited, naturally as young as he was, so most of our communication was pointing and pulling and charades. Alright, so the other girls and I had only been there a couple weeks, which means the children were definitely excited we were still there but didn’t completely trust us yet. One evening RJ and bunch of the other younger kids were outside like any normal night, playing basketball and what not. Well, for some reason (I might actually have a lot to do with the reason) they decided to start doing flips off of each other. You know how you hold hands and one person climbs up the legs of the stationary person and does a back flip? Well, if you are a child or have a child and have never done that, I suggest you do it. Just make sure the stationary person has enough strength to support the “flipper”. Otherwise you end up like RJ, face-planting on the concrete. And there was a substantial amount of blood coming from RJ’s forehead. I was not outside when this happened. I did not see it. And it as probably good I did not see it, because I think I would have thrown up. I do not have a weak stomach. I have always been able to handle more gruesome things. But I was affected when this kid got hurt. One of the girls came upstairs to tell me he had gotten hurt and that they needed someone to sit with him for a while to be sure he didn’t have a concussion. And was all like PICK ME! So I ran. Ran. Downstairs to find him and he was sitting on a bench looking pitiful. He had been all patched up by the time I learned of the incident, so I just sat down next to him. It was just the two of us. He was abnormally quiet and still. And I had this knot in my stomach and this lump in the throat that I thought would never go away. I just looked down at him and put my arm around him and he rested his tiny little head on my shoulder and we sat there for about an hour. Just sitting. He was hurt and I was hurting. And I just kept thinking about how this is how my mom must have felt that time I wrecked the Jeep and almost killed (slight exaggeration) John-Mark and myself so she threw up on the side of the road a few times when she saw the wreckage. And now I know what you’re thinking. I can hear you.

Joyce Marie. Get your life together. It was a bump on his head. It’s not like he lost an arm.

Yes. I agree. And had he lost an arm I’m sure we would have been in a real pickle. Because I kept thinking the same thing.

Joyce Marie. Get your life together. This is not even your kid. You did not birth him. He is clearly not dying. His head is still attached. Why are you so nauseous?

Well. I learned something else that day in the San Pablo City. I learned that I didn’t need to know you my whole life to love you. And I don’t mean love the way I love my sparkly Vans. I mean be affected when something happens to you, good or bad. And you’re probably thinking  how I’m going to connect this to my current Chicago/pastry/cake life. Because I’m thinking that too. But this is what I think my mind is trying to get through my fingertips. When I came back from Seoul and started school I knew it was going to be hard. Living with no furniture and 40 dollars for groceries hard. A lot of 16-hour days hard. Giving up my nose ring and covering up my tattoos hard. (Sorry Mom.) Having no friends and no church hard. But I didn’t think it would be people stealing my stuff hard. Which I know compared to a lot of things sounds trivial, and it is. But it’s started to make me angry. I’m angry that keep feeling like a “victim”. I’m angry that I keep having to spend money I don’t have to replace things. I’m angry that I’m angry. I’m angry that over the past 6 years I’ve become so selfish and so self absorbed that I’ve forgotten about all the RJ’s of the world. I’m angry that I keep getting knots in my stomach over people taking my tools and my phone instead of knots in my stomach over people. I mean, do I really need to chop things?? Who needs to call me??? Exactly. I want to be worried about the mom and little boy that live on the second floor of my building. Or the older lady who has trouble carrying her case of natty light up to the third floor. I started pastry school because I want to do pastry. I want to make cakes. Not because I don’t know what I want and I’m just trying things out. I want my own cake shop. I want my own business. I’ve always had this dream of a place that supports and is supported by its community. A business that cares about the families around it. That’s why I want it. Not because I think it’s gonna make me rich. People are probably just gonna steal from me. But because I want to put myself in a position where I can give money to the Special Olympics if I want to. Or hire women who are victims of domestic violence and teach them a trade. Or teach a cake class to kids at a local orphanage once a month. Or bake birthday cakes for homeless shelters, because homeless people have birthdays too. These are the things I want. And I haven’t thought about these things in a long time because I keep thinking about poor pitiful Joyce and how she has to keep eating ramen. I feel like every time I take a step forward I take two steps back. And maybe that means I need to make more forward steps or change my direction. I’m not sure. And I’m not sure that I won’t get angry again tomorrow. And I’m not sure that someone won’t take something else that doesn’t belong to them. But I am sure that there are new mercies every morning. And I am going to cling to that.

Fo my family. Fo my friends.

Lately I've been finding myself a little ( a lot ) tired and stressed. 33 days to graduation! Ahhhh!!!

So I haven't wanted to blog and just go on and on about how hard life is. Because when I take a few steps out of my funk and look at the things that matter, I see that it is not so bad after all. It may not be that easy, but I surely know things could be so much worse. So I wanted to write today, mostly so you know I'm still alive and well, but also because I have so much to be thankful for- so many people to be thankful for. And what better way to thank them than a nice impersonal blog post for all the world to read? My thoughts exactly. 

I know a lot of people think they have the best family. But they really don't. Because I do. I'm so thankful for a mom and sister-in-law who don't tolerate any of my whining and crap, and tend to be more proactive about my life than I am. Thank you. I'm so thankful for a poppa who has the most perfect timing and encouragement. I've never known a man who knows how to love the people of this world the way he does, and I've never once doubted his love for me. Thank you. I'm so thankful for my  brother James, who encourages me to follow my passion and take risks. Because that's what he does. And he wholly leans on The Father and reminds me that receiving a little help a long the way doesn't make you less capable. Thank you. And my brother Joshua, who never hesitates to help me, never hesitates to help anyone, and never wants anything in return. He make look really scary, and I'm sure he could really hurt you if he needed to, but I've never known a more gentle soul. Thank you. And my little brother John-Mark, who much like his father, finds it so easy to love this world. And even though he tried to kill me several times when we were children, he's become one of the main encouragers in my life, and a good friend. Thank you. 

See. Told you. Best family award. 

My friends are better than yours too. 

You see, there's Cheryl, who put up with a lot during our 9 months together in Seoul. A lot of "OH MY GOSH I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE! SHOULD I MOVE TO CHICAGO? SHOULD I GO TO PASTRY SCHOOL? IT'S ALL SO SCARY!" And she's a constant encouragement, reminding me that my feet hurt for a reason, and when all I can see are my flaws, she reminds me that I'm being stupid. Thank you.

And then there's Allyn. And boy have we been through it. And praise the Lamb we're still together. Because Allyn is in grad school and she reminds me that life could be so much harder. jk. But really... She also reminds me that two years ago I didn't even think I would be this far along in pastry and I am completely irrational for being in freak out mode because clearly God has got this. Thank you. 

And Katie. Even though I just met Katie when school started we've become quite close. And I like that. She's rational and hardworking and we all know I could use a little more logic in my life. She also gives me a reason to leave my apartment on the weekend so I don't go crazy. So glad we're doing this crazy life together. Thank you. 

And to all of you at home, thanks for thinking what I do is always so great, even if it isn't.  Every time I talk to my mom she has a story to tell me about how someone has asked about me. It's a great feeling to be from a place so loving and so supportive of a little girls crazy decisions. Miss you all everyday! 

And if my grandmother and my mawmaw were here, I'd thank them for the time we spent in the kitchen, and I'd ask for more.

If my granddaddy was here, I thank him for reminding me what real work ethic is when I feel like it's time to go home. 

And if Zac was here, well if Zac was here, I'd probably just have to listen to him go on about how he could bake a better cake, but we'd all know the truth. But I'd sure be thankful. 

33 days to graduation. 34 days til I'm gonna need a job. Trying to work hard and be thankful. And if you were lucky enough to receive our Christmas letter, "keep praying it works out." 

Until next time! 

XOXO

Pastry school and chili dogs.

I am the definition of hypocrite. Webster should put my picture beside the word in the dictionary. I spend my mornings with some of the greatest chefs and most of my afternoons I’m reading books or articles or recipes by famous chefs like David Lebovitz and James Peterson. And I just had this job interview (for front of the house, don’t get too excited) at this super cool, home-style, Euro-Asian restaurant. I spend all day learning about flavor profiling and then I come home and all I want is a chili dog. Whatever. I ate my chili dog. And it was good. 

I feel like it's been forever since I've blogged about anything, and probably because it's been very close to forever. I come home after school and my goal is usually not to take a nap and most days I don't even conquer that. But I'm trying to sit down and get some thoughts down. And mostly my thoughts right now are that I've been in pastry school long enough to know I don't know anything. I usually just spend my morning trying not to mess up so noticeably that my chef comes over to my table and looks at me like I’m an idiot and asks me what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m stupid. Just help my poor ignorant soul. But for real. I remember thinking I didn't know anything when I used I make the desserts for Julep. (Did. Not. Know. Anything.) And now I fully comprehend just how much I didn’t know. I feel like my chefs have forgotten more about pastry than I'll ever know. Not that my chefs have forgotten anything because that wouldn’t happen. You know what I mean.

But, at the end of day I still love this. And I still want so much more and I still don't completely hate the world when my alarm goes off at 4:30. I have been known to snooze until 5:00, which leads to skipping breakfast and/or a shower, but life happens and you just move on.  

Also, just so you folks at home know what's going on with my life. Here's a little photo catch up. It's very interesting. 

Basically my life can divided up into three sections. 

1. Public transportation and snow. They go together. Because they go together. I don't get one without the other.

2. The pastry section. Clearly. 

 This cake was dedicated to "My Juan and Only". 

3. And then there's Katie and Coco. Coco is Katie's dog. and we're all friends. Katie is very good at scrabble. I don't like to play scrabble with her. She likes to play scrabble with me, for obvious reasons. 

And that's the end of this really strange post :)

xoxo 

14 weeks to go

Well, as of today I have officially been living in Chicago for two weeks and I’ve been attending The French Pastry School’s L’Art du Gâtaeu program for a week now. I have completed my sanitation course  (and hopefully passed the test because if I didn’t I’m going to feel like the dumbest person on the planet) with probably the greatest 72-year-old man ever. For those of you who went to Mississippi College and had the pleasure of taking a Cliff Fortenberry class, you understand how funny his jokes are. This gem of man was right up to those standards. 

            What kind of animal is on an official document?

            A seal!

I mean, that’s a quality joke. I used to laugh so hard in Uncle Cliff’s class and he always used to say “Working for that A?” Well, I didn’t get an A. Should have laughed more. But that’s neither here nor there. My sanitation instructor last week, he was a funny one too. I sat on the very back row of like 60 plus people and I was just cackling the whole time. And you guys know how loud and obnoxious and distinctive my laugh is. But I couldn't help it. I don’t remember much about sanitation (jk chefs, I remember everything) but I remember how much of good time we had. At one point he came back to me during a break and asked me not to laugh so hard because it encouraged him and we couldn’t cover the material if he kept telling jokes. I was like, well don’t be so funny and I won’t laugh, ya know. I mean, if you can have a good time in a sanitation class, that’s saying something. That’s saying a lot.

I’m loving school. It’s the only thing I’m doing, so good thing I like it. On the weekend I usually just alternate between sitting or laying on the floor in my apartment. But I'm not bored with that yet. I won’t lie, I was little intimated and overwhelmed the first few days of classes. It’s just so much crammed into 16 weeks. And my feet hurt by 10 o’clock and two months ago I was still asleep at 10 o’clock. But I wake up at 4:30 every morning and I’m not mad. You would think that waking up at 4:30 (the first one, not the second one) would make someone angry, but I’m relatively excited about my day. 

And I will tell you, even if I end up being the worst cake decorator in the history of the world (I really need that not to happen considering the financial burden this is) I won't regret the decision of coming to The French Pastry School. I miss Korea a lot and my students more. Maybe more than I've ever missed any place I've ever left. (Except for my home, Pop. I always miss home <3 ) But as far as schools go, FPS may be the greatest place. (and no one is paying me to say this) I just know that a lot of people at home don't know anything about this school and sometimes I know you people think I'm crazy because I just find things on the internet and I'm like oh I'll go there! and granted, I am kind of like that. But let me validate my decisions for you. First of all, my chef instructors are more than qualified, but what has impressed me the most is how they treat each of the students. Now of course I'm expected to be respectful and do what I'm told but I don't feel like they look at me like I'm a cockroach. And my realm of culinary professionals is not vast, it's actually quite small, but I've been looked at like I'm a cockroach by some chefs before. But not here. Now who I really want to brag on are the admissions and financial aid and marketing staff. Not only were they phenomenal enough to work with me while I was in Korea and skype me because I couldn't call or come visit, but I've been there for a week and I can walk into the office and they know my name. They knew my name in less than a week. You know how schools always say, you're not just a number to us, you're a real person blah blah blah...well they said it too. And then yesterday when I went into the office because I had a problem with my transit card they didn't ask me my name. Because they knew it.  Oh, so when you say we're not a just a number we're a real person you meant that we're a real person. Cool. And then today I had to go for this little meeting to sign some papers and stuff and they talked to me about being on the phone with my mom and were like we love southern moms. And I'm just like, you know who my mom is. I may be a terrible cake decorated when this is all over, but these people are nice, and intentional, and fantastic at their job. So there's that. 

It's still cold in Chicago. I'm not sure why harsh winter follows me. But come visit anyway. 

xoxo