Today, as we tend to do in elementary schools around the country, we celebrated Thanksgiving by making butter as a class, each student taking turns shaking heavy whipping cream very, very hard until it turned from a liquid into a solid. And, just like every year after I told the class to pretend they were pilgrim children whose pilgrim mother needed them to make butter for the first Thanksgiving, the children pondered if butter comes from bees, if it comes from a plant, or if it comes from the refrigerator. Throughout this discussion (before I let them in on the whole cow-secret) Pixie sighed loudly. Finally she raised her hand.
Not waiting to be called on she signed again, "Come on guys! Let's not be pilgrim children, go to the store, get the butter, and then be pilgrim children again."
With one hand she brushed her long bangs out of her face as she shrugged with her other hand, as though this was the most obvious solution ever.
It serves me right. 8 years of telling children to pretend to get inside a time machine to go back in time to when the pilgrims lived and she's the first kid who ever suggested going back to the future to solve the butter crisis.
Luckily the large picture of the cute cow on the smartboard distracted her from her time-traveling adventures and we were able to get on with the butter churning adventure.