Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy...what do we call it...'10s?

So, New Year's Eve...another year has flown by...but that's the rhythm of life, and the way of the world, and I can take it in stride.  What I somehow didn't realize--until I heard a DJ mention it on the radio--was that the DECADE is over as well.  Jeez, so much for my calm, philosophical perspective on 2010! How could this happen?  (Although I guess the actual number: two-thousand...TEN should have been my first clue.)  It seems like only yesterday we were fretting about the impending Y2K disaster, right? Then, poof! The first decade of the millennium is just gone.

Scrambling to process this major oversight on my part, I immediately decided I should try to write something profound for my last blog entry of the year, words that capture the essence of the past twelve months with poignancy and humor...but as I sat down to my computer with fingers poised over the keyboard, my sons raced by, whooping and stripping off their clothes, shoving each other on the way to the shower (sorry for the visual!)...and my ever-so-brief hold on deep, meaningful thought was utterly lost.

However, that little display (so to speak) brings up one way my life is quite different now than it was ten years ago: as I welcomed the year 2000 (with hot tea, fuzzy pjs, and bed at 10 p.m.), I was pregnant with Derek. My last decade absolutely was defined by Motherhood, with all of its joys, tears, and craziness. And the other big change for me is also the childrens' fault--I mean a natural result of having children. When Derek was born, I was a full-time Speech-Language Pathologist (you know, the career I trained for, in 6 agonizing years of college and grad school; oh well, so much for that!).  I've since embarked on the dual career track of Stay-At-Home-Mom/Sign Language Interpreter.  I guess you could say I'm a very different person, personally and professionally, than I was ten years ago!

With sons that are 9-years old (greatly looking forward to reaching his own "decade-mark") and 6-years old, I cannot predict what the next ten years will bring.  I can state with confidence, however, that like any good roller-coaster, it will be a thrilling (maybe at times nauseating) ride. I wish you the same (without the queasiness, of course)!

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

If it's a vacation, shouldn't we at least be someplace warm?

Everyone beware, for we are about to enter the critical period of Winter Break.  Certain elements combine to make this a particularly volatile time:  It's several days past Christmas, and the kids have figured out all their new toys (and have been informed, to their EXTREME disappointment, that they will not be playing with the Wii for 8 hours a day)...they're already so finished with running around outside in the cold...within the four walls of the house, children and parents alike are grating on each others' nerves (or is that just me?)...the early novelty of not going to school has given way to the dreaded "I'm bored, what should I do?" (I have suggestions, but you won't like them. Clean something! Preferably outside!  And no, that does NOT mean hose your brother off in the driveway!)

This year, we are feeling it even more keenly than usual, since my kids had the 3 days of school leading up to vacation cancelled, due to a snowstorm (those who live someplace like Canada, or Minnesota, or anywhere that deals with winter weather better than Maryland, please feel free to go ahead and laugh at us).  That's right, they haven't been to school since December 18th.  Ugh, that sounds even worse now that I actually checked the calendar.  It's true, sometimes ignorance IS bliss (or at least...less irritation?  doesn't have the same ring, does it?)

Anyway, this morning they (okay, all of us) rolled out of bed at 8:30, ate a large breakfast (twice, actually; we are talking about Derek), played Super Mario for a while, did a little shopping and lunched at Costco, built a box-fort in the basement, watched some old college football game on ESPN Classic (that was them, not me)...in short, pursued a life of slow-paced leisure and fun.  The boys (and husband, too, for that matter) have quite a rude shock waiting for them on January 4th, when it's back to the cold, cruel Real World of work and school (that's just 5 days...five short, quick days...I can make it.)  Then I will receive my long-awaited, lavish reward for all the entertaining and refereeing and feeding (and any other "ings") I've been responsible for: 3 more weeks off, until my job starts back up on January 25th.  There will be peace and quiet...and the Wii all to myself!

Sunday, December 27, 2009

I've created...Wii-nies!

I should start this entry with a few disclaimers:
1. I'm a girl (I know, DUH, but it's relevant, you'll see);
2. I grew up with gadget-phobe parents who did not feel compelled to provide me and my siblings with the latest and greatest video game gear as it was introduced or upgraded;
3. we finally ended up with the (now charmingly-retro, but at the time, ever-so-cutting-edge) Atari system (can I get an "Amen" from other children of the '70s?)

That being said, my favorite game was Frogger.  I used to love, love, love jumping that spunky little amphibian across the highway, until the inevitable SPLAT of an 18-wheeler squished him into virtual roadkill.  However, unlike the current generation of plugged-in, techno-savvy kids, I was never in danger of developing Nintendo-thumb, or going cross-eyed from staring at a screen all day.  Which is one reason why, right up until 2 days ago, we were a PlayStation, Nintendo, and Xbox-free house.

A few years ago, as everyone (who doesn't live on a mountaintop or in a cave) knows, the Wii came along, and of course changed the Gaming World forever, blah, blah, blah.  However, there was NO WAY IN HECK I was ever getting up at pre-dawn-thirty and standing in line for hours to buy a video game system, no matter how cool it was.  So finally, the hype died down (took long enough!), and as a special bonus, the price came down a little, and it was time to take the plunge.  We bought it as the Family Christmas Gift this year, let the boys start playing with it on December 25th...and I haven't seen them since. Oh, I hear them, as they yell "way to go" after a Par hole in golf, or when they trash-talk their Avatar Opponent on the computer tennis court, or when they plead with their bowling ball to curve left and pick up the Spare.  They're even developing rivalries with some of the Wii-guys; they particularly want to beat "Matt", who keeps hitting home runs and making spectacular center field-catches against them.

And although I haven't even tried to play the game myself yet...I finally Get It.  Watching them gyrate around the Family Room, hooting and laughing, giving each other instructions and encouragement: Male Bonding in its simplest and best form.  For now, I'll observe the Testosterone Tournament from a safe distance...knowing that I'll have the Wii all to myself when they go back to school and work next week!  Watch out, Matt!

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

That's it, find me a den; I'm hibernating!

The Blizzard of 2009, which buried us in just-under-2-feet of snow, is officially in the (record) books.  Big Picture: that's more snow than we usually get in an entire winter (or two...or three)!  In fact, here in Maryland at this time of year, we're usually enjoying our extended Fall, doing our holiday shopping in 50-degree temperatures, still wearing Fall-ish jackets. But this season, bracing ourselves as we head out into near-freezing temps and bone-chilling breezes, we are huddled into down jackets (plus gloves, scarves, hats, and boots), gingerly tiptoeing our way among the frozen mounds of leftover snow. This is probably stating the way-obvious, but here goes anyway: I. DON'T. LIKE. IT.

So I was yawning and complaining my way through another frigid day today, when I suddenly realized something deeply insightful about myself.  Winter makes me cold and tired and grumpy (that's not it, here it comes...); while I admit I'm not always the most pleasant Human during the cold months, I'd make an awesome Bear!

Just think about it...
1. I could eat whatever I want in the Fall, for months on end, to bulk up!  No portion-control, no turning down the extra Christmas cookie, no "thanks, Mom, I couldn't have another helping, I'm watching my weight!"  Calorie-loading = survival? Bring it on!
2. The LONG SLEEP.  Curled up in a cave, warm and dry, with nothing to do but rest.  Aah.
3. Plus, it's quiet in there!  Even the cubs are conked out!  "No, honey, you can't have a snack, I warned you to eat more in October.  Go back to sleep, we'll talk about it in March."
4. Full-time fur coat.  Not to have to pile on layers of fleece, dig around for wool socks, drink warm tea until it's coming out my ears, wrap up in blankets anytime I'm sitting down...
5. And then I would emerge in the Spring, bask in the sunshine, let the warm breeze ruffle my fur, and go eat some berries. (Even better, after months of starvation, I'd be totally svelte and ready for swimsuit season!  Or so famished I could eat a hiker, but I deserve it after all the deprivation! I'll work it off later, chasing the cubs!)

Finally, for a Mama Bear, "grouchy" just comes with the territory.  It's a perfect gig for me.  So I'm going to go burrow into my bed and give it my best try.  If you don't hear from me by April, send berries (I'll take a smoothie...but no hiker!)

Friday, December 18, 2009

Snow Frenzy! (even before the first flake...)

The entire greater Baltimore/Washington region is in high gear, preparing for snow for this weekend.  Should be no big deal, it IS December, right?  BUT it's coming as somewhat of a shock for several reasons:  the last few winters have been pleasantly mild (if you're a cold-wuss, like me); and this area almost never experiences a significant snowfall this early in the season.  In fact, a friend posted on Facebook that according to one local weatherguy, it may be "our biggest December snowstorm since 1982."

When I read that, something rustled in the back of my memory, in the vicinity of where I file "High School Stuff".  Hmm, winter of 1982...10th grade...Biology class...DING DING DING, I found it! (I thought you'd be amused to witness the actual process that goes on in my head when I'm searching for a snippet from my past. It's a little surreal, but it works pretty well.)  Anyway, my Biology teacher, Mr. Hoffman, was a very smart man (as well as the original uber-nerd), whose hobby was: weather forecasting.  So one day we arrived at our classroom, flushed with cold and thrilled about examining cells under the microscope--I mean about the coming snowstorm.  Our bespectacled, fuzzy-haired teacher peered about vaguely, trying to get us to calm down, while we chattered about enormously important things such as: 1. when the snow would start 2. how much we would get and 3. how long we would be home from school while they plowed us out.

When he caught the gist of our conversation, Mr. Hoffman interrupted us to weigh in on the predictions of the (paid) meteorologists, who believed we were getting about 3-5 inches of the fluffy white stuff.  "Oh no," he disagreed calmly, it's going to be more like 10-12." With the sarcasm and scorn unique to teenagers, we collectively rolled our eyes at him. What did he know?  He taught Biology, not Precipitation 101!

Of course, Mr. Hoffman was EXACTLY right.  I forget how many days we got to play in the snow before returning to school, but I somehow doubt that we apologized for doubting him, when we got back.  So, Mr. Hoffman, I offer a belated apology and respectful appreciation of your amateur weather skills.  Today the estimate is for us to get between 8 and 13 inches before the final flake falls.  I wish I could ask Mr. Hoffman what he thinks, before I brave the store for milk...and soup...and hot chocolate mix...

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Mommy Memory? Blame it on the kids!

Last week when I was lamenting all the trivial facts that I have been forgetting lately (I did take a moment to check, and I'm happy to report that I still know my own name, address, and phone number, whew!), it didn't even occur to me that I should blame the situation on the obvious culprit:  my 9-year old son.  And I'm not just talking about how mothers routinely have to multitask--a glamorous term for such mundane chores as supervising homework while cooking dinner while unloading and reloading backpacks and simultaneously...I forget what else...what was I doing again?  No, I mean that Derek has actually stolen my brain.  Now before you dismiss this as being a little too X-Files, consider the evidence:

I sometimes have difficulty recalling Derek's math teacher's name.
Derek can tell you, without taking a breath, the names of the last four Heisman Trophy winners, which university they attend, the number they wear on their jersey, and their position.  (He can also probably list their major, class attendance record, and GPA.  I'm only exaggerating on the last part, by the way.)

I couldn't tell you the Orioles starting outfielders names (maybe 2 out of 3)
Derek brings up games we saw at Camden Yards not only this year, but in years past.  He mentions the weather, where our seats were located, what he ate (and believe me, this fact alone would fill my memory banks), who the O's were playing, the starting pitcher (for both teams), the final score, who hit home runs, whether there was a "save" recorded, etc. (Note to Baltimoreans: if pressed, I'm sure he could tell you who won the Crab Shuffle on the Jumbotron...but I don't want to stress him out.)

I'm sure you can see the problem: the more he stores away in that scary little mind of his, the more vital bits of information slip away from me. (Of course it couldn't be disorganization, or scattered focus on my part; it's definitely Derek's fault.) But, to look on the bright side, I hear chocolate is good for various things these days, so maybe it applies to memory (did I actually read that, or make it up?  oh well, who cares!).  It's worth a try--I'll be in the kitchen, searching for the Ghiradelli squares...if I forget to come back, someone come find me, please!

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Next on ESPN Jr: Reporting on Roundball

Derek played in his very first Elementary League basketball game today.  Forty minutes of intense competition, of thrilling fast breaks, of graceful layups, of...oh, forget it.  The reality was more like:  a gymful of 4th and 5th graders, trying not to trip over each other or elbow someone else in the face.  During an early lull in the action, my mind started wandering, and I found myself pondering the name chosen for this Division:  Pee Wees.  WHY would they do that?  It makes the boys sound like Munchkins in hightops, rather than the raw-but-talented young athletes they are...I was just working up to an elaborate in-my-head-rant, but it was cut short by the referee's whistle...as he called a timeout for "untied shoes." There were no fewer than three of these during the game.  So okay, maybe they aren't quite so professional yet.

In a lucky coincidence, the opposing team included Derek's best friend from school.  As two similarly-shrimpy (I mean "smaller-sized but still quite tough") guys, they guarded each other all day. However, it turned out to be a sadly lopsided contest, with Derek's team running rampant over the court, racking up points seemingly at will.  It got so bad, we parents broke into a loud and heartfelt cheer when the OTHER team finally nailed their first basket.  However for us, as an introduction to organized hoops, I would have to call the game an unqualified success.  Derek did not get crunched by a larger kid (always a possibility at his size); he had several assists and steals, and scored his first point (yes, just one:  a free throw after he got fouled...by his best friend!); and his team won (37-4, but who remembers these things?  Oops, I guess I do!)  Pass the Gatorade, but don't call him Pee Wee!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Um...wait a minute, I'll get it (maybe)!

The thought that's uppermost in (what's left of) my mind lately:  is it possible to reach a point in your life when you've learned so many things, memorized so much information, seen and heard and read such an enormous amount of "stuff"...that your brain can fill up?  In other words, any new fact that needs a "filing space" in my head seems to kick out something else that I once knew, leaving me standing there, staring into space, waving my hands around (as if that helps me think better), going, "I KNOW this, it's right there, starts with a "c"...oh, nevermind, I'll just Google it!

The first time this happened, I was trying to tell a group of co-workers about a yummy Asian restaurant my family loves.  I can see its location in Columbia.  I can give detailed instructions on how to get there.  I. Can. Not. Say. The. Name.  (And we're all Sign Language Interpreters, so there was a LOT of hand-waving.  Didn't help at all.)  The second time, I was trying to think of the former lead singer of INXS (yes, the one who committed suicide. Don't ask me why I wanted to know, because I can't Google that.) I even got so far as to remember what his first name started with.  Then I stalled.  (My husband was apparently unmoved by my torment: "Well, he has been dead for 10 years," he said skeptically, as if this should explain and excuse my forgetfulness. Totally not the point!  I used to know it.  Now I don't.  Jeesh, he just does not seem concerned enough about my declining mental acuity...although I can still use the word "acuity" correctly, so that's something.  Where was I?)  Oh, yeah: finally, I was describing to a friend what my husband does at work, including the job titles of some of the interesting specialists he collaborates with.  For some reason, I could not come up with the word "pharmako-kineticist".  I mean, can you imagine?  How embarrassing is THAT?  (Okay, maybe I can be forgiven for the last one.  But it irritated me anyway!)

My point is (to the best of my recollection): I'm too young for what they call "Senior Moments". So if anyone has a method for "cleaning house", in which I can clear out some useless fluff from up there (the Penn State quarterback's name,  the formula for cotangent, the number of wins Cy Young racked up in his lifetime--these are just a FEW of the random bits of data I don't need...or can Google) to make room for what's really necessary, I would appreciate it.  But please, don't tell me, be sure you write it down!

Thursday, December 3, 2009

A Week of "P" Plagues...

I don't mean to imply that we were visited by catastrophes on a Biblical-scale this week, but here's the recap:

First came the pestilence, in the form of little micelets that invaded our downstairs storage room. We've had them before, and there are "bait stations" already in place for when they decide to stop by (because really, nothing says "welcome" quite like a tasty blue chunk of poison.  Have some, I insist!)  For a while, after we had new foam insulation installed last winter (covering their convenient entry-hole), they seemed defeated, and stayed out.  But one cold night this past week, their frostbitten little mouse-butts must have been motivated enough to figure out how to gnaw through (leaving a telltale pile of insulation fluff, and other evidence, if you catch my drift.  Ick.)  I immediately scheduled a number of "interviews" with Pest Service Guys, to set a new plan in action.

The weird thing is, the mice sneak into that one room through the garage, and never go anywhere else in the house.  I asked Pest Service Guy #3 why that was, and he looked at me with a confused expression, like he was trying to figure out how to answer me without being rude.  Finally he said apologetically, "Well, it IS kind of loud in here."  I stared back at him blankly for a few seconds before I noticed:  the elephants--I mean my sons--were upstairs in Derek's room, playing tackle-something, laughing hysterically (audible through the closed door), and shaking the house every few seconds when they crashed to the floor.  To my Mom-hearing, this didn't even register until he mentioned it. Then, to add the exclamation point, the cat (useless-lump-of-fur--I mean fearsome predator) strolled by.  Apparently 1)noise, and 2)the threat of being hunted (however remote--but they don't have to know that) have effectively discouraged our unwanted guests from prowling the house at will.

Next we were visited by pinkeye.  Riley went off to school looking perfectly normal, and I got a call at lunchtime demanding that I pick him up immediately.  I'll spare you the unpleasant details, but suffice it to say he looked...bad. This was the first time one of the kids had caught this particular ailment (I think he was strangely proud of that; "I beat Derek, I got pinkeye first!"  Boys are so oddly competitive...).  He was decidedly less pleased when we held him down and squirted the antibiotic eyedrops in, but he did enjoy the enforced day-off-of-school while the medicine took effect.  Hmm, maybe I should put him on Mouse Patrol while he's home!

That's it so far (I know it's only Thursday, but I'm keeping fingers and toes crossed that we're done with the excitement, for this week anyway.)  If we have any more "P" surprises, I hope it's something like "a shower of Pop-Tarts" or "a flood of pansies".  Those, I'm ready for!

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Hooping it Up

The Fall sports season is over, and so we bid a fond farewell to baseball and soccer (just in time, since lately we've been losing daylight and gaining nippy breezes:  NOT pleasing to outdoor spectators!).  We had a nice lull of two weeks or so in which to regroup...but now it's time to jump into basketball.

Derek is playing organized ball for the first time, in a 4th/5th grade league. This week's practice was held at a local middle school, and when I walked in with Derek to meet his team, I thought I had tripped right back into the 1980s.  (Historical note: that's when I was a Statistician for the boys basketball program at my high school.  Very important and prestigious position.  Okay, not really.  It mostly involved watching the game and making tally marks on a sheet of paper for assists, shots, fouls, etc. But we got to spend lots of quality time...with sweaty, smelly boys...oh, nevermind.)  Everything seemed exactly as I remembered it: the fluorescent lights (do they have to be that dim in gymnasiums? what's that about?); the clocks behind metal cages (not even set to the right time, so what's the point?); the wooden bleachers (although I'm sure they're some kind of neo-plastic-substance nowadays--I'll have to check when they're pulled out for a game); the vaguely sneakerish-smell (hopefully that's the ONLY odor on the air as the season progresses); the slightly spongy floor (for cushioning my skinny guy when some huge 5th grader plows him over).  It seemed so familiar that I found myself looking around for the concession stand, where I used to buy my Twizzlers and M&Ms for dinner on game nights (in my obviously pre-nutrition-conscious days. I probably washed it down with Diet Coke as well.)

Eventually I snapped out of my nostalgic reverie and actually paid attention to my son, who was busily running drills and scrimmaging with his teammates.  He was dripping wet and tamale-red and appeared to be having a fantastic time. Maybe in a few weeks when he has his first game, I'll fill out a Stats Chart for him...while eating my M&Ms.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Whatever happened to Monkey in the Middle? (a nice, wholesome game!)

Remember that classic game we used to play as pre-teens, the one where the purpose was to either coax outrageous confessions from your friends, or else cause them extreme mortification?  You know, good old "Truth or Dare"!  (although in my experience, this was usually played at middle-school slumber parties, so unless you were once an adolescent girl, you may very well NOT recall this rare treat.)

Well, my children were introduced to it yesterday (at Thanksgiving dinner, no less) by their cousins. It started with Haley (my niece, age 7) explaining the rules to her brother Zach (age 5), Derek and Riley. Zach then had the first turn, and he promptly asked Derek, with a wicked grin, "Do you have a girrrrl-friend?" To the other players' great disappointment, he answered, "No" in an offhand way, thereby neatly sidestepping the opportunity to be mercilessly teased by his family.  When it was time for a Dare, Derek picked his brother to kick a foam ball across the room (this actually did require some courage, since my mother, AKA "Grammy" was nearby and would not approve.)  You could just tell things were about to escalate when the next Dare involved the words "tackle" and "Uncle Royce".

But we didn't actually have to call a halt to the silliness until one of the parents overheard "Okay, I dare you to pick your nose, and wipe it on your shirt!"  Whoa, game over!  I think my brother's exact words to Haley (the Dare-ee) were, "Young lady, I dare you to go wash your hands right now!"  Hopefully by the next time we get together no one will have picked up "Spin the Bottle" from the street-wise elementary school crowd....

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Watch out, they're using their Powers for evil...

Most of the time, I admire and enjoy my sons' creative and artistic endeavors. I read their short stories with relish, no matter how silly or outrageous the topics (football-playing aliens, anyone?).  I listen to their songs, even if they are ear-splitting and nonsensical (their current influences include AC/DC and Michael Jackson, so you can just imagine...)

But sometimes, they take things a bit too far, as in their latest "project".  They proudly announced to me that they were designing a make-believe video game called: Twisted Tushie...2!  I was already SO pleased, but I had to ask, "Why '2'?  What happened to the first one?"  Without even a millisecond pause, Riley blithely answered, "Oh, that one's off the market."  Of course it is.  Silly me. Derek jumped in and very earnestly explained that "it's rated 10-and-up, because of (and I am NOT making this up) comic mischief and some mild inappropriate language."  Really?  We don't even own any video games for you to know this!!  It seems someone has been paying a wee bit too much attention to those pesky commercials again.

And, for the icing on the cake, if you will, they even wrote a theme song.  They haven't yet managed to play it all the way through for me to record (each rehearsal tends to be cut short by thrown drumsticks or a musical tantrum.  Tempermental artists!)  But here are the lyrics, for your amusement (I guess in the interest of delicate readers, I should give the Warning Label statement: contains Mildly Offensive Humor and Bathroom References.)

Twisted Tushie 2
My mom said "I will give gas",
but my dad said "I will pass."
It's Twisted Tushie 2,
and fun for me and you.
And the butts and farts times 2,
It's Twisted Tushie 2,
made for me and you!

(don't say I didn't warn you...)
My only hope is that someday they'll make a million with one of their crazy inspirations...and support their father and me in our Golden Years (those are the ones where we no longer have to hear songs about butts...)

Friday, November 20, 2009

Anyone have a virtual-Advil (for my techno-migraine?)

Until two weeks ago, I lived in a happy, safe little Computer Cocoon. My home PC chugged along, playing music, downloading digital pictures, cruising the Internet, getting my email, organizing my financial data, etc., all with minimal fuss. And I, a comfortable Technology User, felt fairly savvy about computers. Then...we were hit with the debilitating Virus That Ate Windows (announced, of course, by the dreaded Blue Screen of Death.) In a panic, I called my New Best Friend and Computer Whiz, (that's very wordy, so let's just call him:  Tom) who leaped to the rescue, vanquishing the nasty invader and restoring our data. I did have to re-download or re-install some applications, but since the alternative was "chuck the stupid machine out the window and buy a new one", it seemed a small price to pay (even AFTER Tom's fee). All was well in the Home Office.

This honeymoon lasted about a week.  Then came the catastrophic Windows Explosion. Oh, Tom?  This time he just took the thing back to his house, worked his magic on it, and called me when it was ready.  The diagnosis?  Windows had "corrupted" due to a bad "driver"...whatever the heck that means.  MUCH more important was what went unsaid, but I implied from his explanation: "YOU DIDN'T BREAK IT." So, again with the stinking re-downloading and re-installing of the same things I did last week.  Grrr.

But there may be a Silver Lining to this experience. I had to figure out how to locate executable files, re-initialize programs, re-sync some data, create desktop shortcuts...by the time I was finished (admittedly, HOURS later) I felt somewhat less like a raving idiot, and a bit more like a Tech Goddess.  Then Tom checked in to see how I was faring (see why he's my new best friend?  a computer genius with social skills!) I asked a few follow-up questions about minor glitches I had encountered when attempting to locate and transfer some data from Old-Bad-Windows to New-Well-Behaved-Windows. I was feeling quite intelligent and pleased with myself...that is, until he launched into an earnest, detailed recommendation that I "set up an Internal Backup Drive and configure it to make an exact copy of your C: drive (and some other inexplicable phrases in Advanced Computer-Speak)" .  Oh, Tom, just when I thought we understood each other...I'm retreating to my Computer Comfort Zone...you can find me on Facebook.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A Crash Course in Biology 101

Any parenting book or child development article (which we all read diligently, right? in our spare time?) will tell you that as kids grow, they start to look to their peers for approval and acceptance. Mommy and Daddy, formerly at the top of the pedestal and the sole providers of information and moral guidance, slip down a few notches (in my house, this means we end up somewhere below upstanding-religious-family-man Jeremy Guthrie, but above post-steroid-confession Alex Rodriguez).  In real life, this translates to a very real anxiety on my part:  that my son will start hearing stuff on the playground. And knowing his 4th-grade-boy crowd as I do, I can assure you that "stuff" will probably be: a) inappropriate and b) incorrect.

So, in the back of my mind, a little voice has been nagging me for a while that it's time to present The Talk (okay, I was planning on starting small:  maybe The Intro).  But on Saturday night, during a pleasant dinner with some friends, Royce mentioned that Derek had asked him "how a sperm and an egg make a baby." (Note for future:  DO NOT casually throw this into conversation when I am sipping my drink.)  After I finished gasping and sputtering, I asked what his response had been. "Oh, I told him he'd hear about that in 5th grade Health Class."  Then, after I was done calling my husband a big fat CHICKEN for ducking out of this, I mentally moved our Discussion to the top of the to-do list.

The next day at--you guessed it--the good old breakfast table, Derek suddenly asked "Is it true that if you don't want to have a baby, you just don't?  And then when you do want to, you can have 2 kids, or 3 kids, or whatever?"  I kept my cool (thank goodness I'd already had some coffee) and told him I'd definitely answer his question, when we had a chance to talk "privately." (I delivered this with a wink that only he saw, and he nodded sagely, having totally understood my clever signal.)  On the other hand..Riley, who was sitting beside him, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Is it because Daddy hasn't gone to work yet?" (again, not a good time to be drinking...) Yeah, buddy, Daddy can't handle these delicate topics just yet...

When Derek and I did have some "alone time" later that day, I explained sex (VERY briefly) and becoming pregnant (in COMPLETELY clinical terms).  "Oh," he mused, "I thought the man peed out the sperm, the doctor got an egg from the woman, mixed it up in a blender, and she drank it."  Oh. Good. Grief.  Well, I'm sure glad we cleared that up!  Anything else? (I asked with only a small wince, thinking "please let that be all for now.")  He replied, "Yeah, can I have my dessert now?"  Whew! You betcha! Saved by the cookies!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Aging...gracefully?

My Uplifting Moment of the Day came to me courtesy of a lovely co-worker (you know who you are) who paid me an unexpected compliment (aren't they just the best kind?).  Somehow--through a convoluted and confusing maze of conversation that I can't even recall right now--we were discussing the various ages of the assembled Lunching Ladies. Suddenly someone fired the Dreaded Question my way and, since we were being truthful (darn it) I was forced to own up to all of my 42 years.  My new favorite co-worker turned to me, eyebrows arched quizzically, and said (wait for it...this is my favorite part...) "But I thought you were about 31!"  Well, then YES, yes I am.  That's what I meant!

Now, I'm certain about two things: 1)she knows this could not possibly be true, and 2) she was deliberately underestimating, because she's a kind, thoughtful person and wanted to spare my feelings.  But you know what? I don't care one bit! Because for the rest of the day I felt...refreshingly younger. So very shallow and vain, but there it is. Of course I know rationally that "age is just a number" and blah, blah, blah (how often did I preach that to myself when I hit 40?) but just for today, hearing a smaller number lifted my spirits. Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to actually be 31 again, if it would mean giving up my life and all the experiences of the past 11 years...but it was a welcome relief to be reminded that other people (unlike me) may not be focused on the gray hairs and the wrinkles (each and every one of which I attribute to my children, by the way.  Nothing I did, no sirree!)  And really, laughing with girlfriends results in a MUCH better facelift that Oil of Olay any day!

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Lunch Lines (or Lines about Lunch)

Some mothers fondly reminisce about when their children were babies. Their eyes become misty as they recall the tiny, helpless bundles, who needed to be cared for every minute of every day.  And me? Not in this group.  Diapers?  Don't miss 'em. Navigating mashed carrots past wildly waving baby arms?  Glad that's over with. Sponging mudpie-remains out of hair (and every crevice of body)? Well, that still has to be done, but at least the boys are old enough to shower themselves these days.

Recently we turned another corner in our house: my 9-1/2 year old has been letting us know he wants more responsibility.  His latest request was, "Mom (not Mommy, mind you, so I instantly knew he was quite serious), I want to pack my own lunch for school."  Have I whined in this space about how much I HATE that task? I know it takes all of three minutes, tops, but I just can't stand the daily grind of throwing lunches together.  So inside my head, Ecstatic Mommy was yippeeing and boogieing with joy. Outwardly, Rational Mommy pretended for a few long moments to weigh this idea, giving it the careful consideration it deserved.  After an appropriate pause, I grinned and blurted, "You betcha!  Have at it!"

As he gathered his materials, Derek chatted about what his classmate (and best friend) Billy puts in his lunch every day.  Juice pouches, Goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, cookies (nothing wacky like a sandwich)...I was already starting to regret my hasty decision to allow this crazy freedom...especially since it came out that Billy was Derek's inspiration for wanting to pack his own lunch. I was just beginning the self-recrimination ("What were you thinking?  He's only 9 years old!  Bad Mommy!) when Derek stopped rooting in the refrigerator for a second, looked up at me wide-eyed and indignant, and said,"Mommy, he doesn't even pack fruit!  Or carrots!  And (he paused for dramatic effect) his drink is NOT made with 100% juice!" 

As I breathed a sigh of relief, he proceeded to quickly and efficiently gather: applesauce (no high fructose corn syrup), oatmeal chocolate chip cookies (no partially hydrogenated oil), a Capri Sun (yes, 100% juice), a cheese stick (reduced fat), and multigrain crackers (high fiber), and spinach leaves (just...green).  My responsible, health-conscious little man.  Now THAT will bring a tear to my eye!

Friday, November 6, 2009

Think before you leap! (off the stairs!)

As the mother of two rambunctious boys (is there really any other kind?), I consider myself extremely lucky that we have not yet had a reason to visit the Emergency Room (everyone please pause and knock wood with me. okay, continue).  In fact, the way my children throw their bodies around and pound on each other, I try to remember to stop every few days or so to silently offer my own Mom's Prayer: "thank you for another day with no broken wrists, sprained ankles, or cracked skulls".

Luckily I was in the same room with them a few mornings ago, when I happened to catch Riley asking Derek, "do you think I can leap down all the stairs?"  I didn't wait for the answer (which I knew would probably be "sure, go ahead!") but instead glared up from the bottom of the staircase and started in on "let's think about what could happen in this situation".  I proceeded to explicitly described the various traumas that might ensue from this stunt (all scenarios of course ended up in the aforementioned ER). 

Then I made my fatal Mom Mistake:  I suggested that if they MUST jump off of something, they try the two steps leading down from the foyer to the family room.  Adrenaline Junkie--I mean Riley-- immediately did so, then declared in a tortured voice, "this is sooo bo--ring!"  Derek chimed in, "yeah, that's the worst thing about adults, they have no idea what kids like!"  (Are parents allowed to roll their eyes at their children? Oops, too late.)  And did they thank me for all of the Parental Wisdom and Protection?  Ha!  Instead, after Mean Mommy squashed all their fun, they amused themselves by dramatizing the horrible injuries I had saved them from...such as using their hands to drag themselves around on the floor, moaning "Oh, I must have broken my leg, take me to the hospital!"  But my absolute favorite was when Riley staggered into the kitchen clutching his forehead and muttering "I hit my head!  I can't think!  I'm losing my mind!"

Yeah, I know EXACTLY how you feel...Drama 101 class is dismissed...you both get A's.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

My Halloweenies...

By now everyone has survived, and recovered from, Halloween, or as I like to call it:  Sugar Overload Day.  Whose brilliant idea was it to have kids dress up and beg for candy anyway?  I imagine someone sitting around their house, bored and hungry..."hey, Myrtle, there's nothing in the pantry...let's throw on some old clothes so the neighbors won't recognize us, and go ask for some Hershey bars!"

In my house, we had Costume Angst this year. Actually, Derek was completely easy. He knew he wanted to be a Ninja, so we went to the Ginormous Party Superstore (or something like that) and wandered back past the spooky talking skulls and creepy glowing spiders to the costume aisle, where there were approximately a million pictures to choose from.  In less than a minute, I spotted a Red Ninja, asked the ever-so-helpful teenager to get Derek's size from the stockroom, and he was done.

Then, there was Riley.  He couldn't decide, despite many suggestions and all of the photos, what he wanted to be.  We shuffled up and down the rows, pointing out options (Look, a police officer!  You'd make a cute Jedi Knight!  Wouldn't you love to be a Ninja like Derek?) and becoming increasingly frustrated.  Riley's head hung lower and lower, and his lip pouted out further and further as this tedious process wore on.  We even went to another store across the parking lot for inspiration...and it must have worked, since he FINALLY decided that dressing up as a vampire would be acceptable.  I pointed out that we have a black cape at home from several years ago, when Derek was a King.  Riley already owns black pants and a dark shirt.  So we had to go back to the Party Emporium for: one pair of vampire teeth (99 cents...finishing Halloween shopping after an hour and a half:  priceless). 

After that traumatic experience, I had to hit the "secret stash" of mini Heath bars that I'd been saving for trick-or-treaters.  Now that's what Halloween is all about!

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Victoria's not-so-secret anymore...

The other day at breakfast (why is it always at breakfast that these conversations spring up in my house?) I was flipping through my Health magazine, carefully scanning for risque material (you know that's a euphemism for articles about s-e-x, right?) and quickly turning past them.  I had paused on a fitness page to check out the exercises (deciding if mortal girls could do them, or only Weightlifting Queens), when Derek glanced up from his Cheerios to ask, "Why is that woman only wearing a sports bra? Shouldn't she have a shirt?" I thought it was a fair point, but I explained that probably the magazine's Workout Experts wanted to show you the proper arm and shoulder positions for performing the exercises properly.

This satisfied him...for approximately 3 seconds, at which point he casually inquired, "What are sports bras for, anyway?" Oh dear. How to be delicate. "Well, honey, they kind of press down on a woman's chest, to keep it from jiggling when she runs or jumps." I was just thinking, "yay, me!" and mentally patting myself on the back for that appropriately vague, yet descriptive and accurate response...when he suddenly leaped off his stool, spun away from me, waggled his tushie vigorously in my direction and shouted, "oh, yeah, well my BUTT jiggles; what am I gonna do about that?"

Clearly, Derek knows his audience, as he caused Riley to snarf his chocolate milk. And all I could think was: aargh, AGAIN with the butts! And I need WAAAAY more coffee if this is what passes for our Family Breakfast Discussion!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Stroll with me down Ele-memory Lane

Remember the carefree, innocent elementary school years from around, say, 2nd to 4th grade?  Or as I like to call them:  the "Eww, Boys are Icky" years?  At my school, we girls used to have elaborate schemes to avoid catching "cooties". If a boy got too close in the midst of a spirited recess-time Chase, we would announce that our Invisible Shields were up, rendering us impervious to his germs. (Somehow the boys bought this every time, invariably veering off in pursuit of a different girl who was unlucky enough to have forgotten her Shield that day.)  If we were tagged, we would shape a spray nozzle with our fingers and aim it at each other, to disinfect ourselves. (You knew you were saved when you heard the comforting hissing-aerosol noise the Sprayer made, to boost the effectiveness of her "treatment".)

And to prove that some things never change...the other day Derek was complaining about Music class, where the teacher had forced them to....DANCE...with the GIRLS. (Yeah, I remember that, too. It was awful.  And to add insult to injury, for us it was square dancing.  Really, they should just call it what it is: "torturing the children"! But I digress...)  So apparently Derek survived this traumatic experience, but he reported that after being dismissed, all the boys rushed back to their homeroom and stampeded to the Hand Sanitizer bottle...in order to wash off the cooties.  Doesn't it just bring a nostalgic tear to your eye?  Maybe I need to teach him about the Invisible Shield...

Thursday, October 22, 2009

(Damsel-in Distress voiceover) Oh, what a big...vocabulary you have!

When I was studying to become a speech-language pathologist, I learned a big, intellectual word (well, LOTS of them, but this one actually stuck with me): Metalinguistics.  It's a musical-sounding, fancy way to say "analyzing the components of language" (which is all very fascinating until you have to start transcribing language samples using the phonetic alphabet, and counting each use of articles/nouns/ing-verbs, etc. After that, not so much.)  Now, I freely admit to being a lifelong, certified, card-carrying Word Nerd who reads voraciously and does crossword puzzles for fun and relaxation...but occasionally I wonder how I sound to other people.

When I hear my children talk, I sometimes get small clues that they're taking after their mother already...like when 6-year old Riley told me that the reason he scraped his hand was that he and our neighbor (who outweighs him by 70 pounds. I'm not kidding) had collided.  Not "bumped into each other", mind you.  Later he was griping about Derek, "He shouldn't antagonize me!"

Meanwhile Derek was telling me a story about how he and Riley and my husband had taken a short walk and unwittingly found the house of a baseball teammate of Derek's.  "He lives so close that we wouldn't even have to drive to get there...unless we were feeling exceptionally lazy that day!" (I actually started to inform him that 9-year olds just do not speak that way...but I managed to hold my tongue.)

So what can we infer from these examples?
1. It's never too early to join the Junior Word Nerds (although maybe for the younger set we need a cooler name:  Word Warriors? Vocabulary Villains? Dictionary Dudes?) and
2. (borrowing from a good friend of mine) "they should put down the book, and go watch some Spongebob or something!"

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Masterpiece Theatre, it is NOT

I have these visions--fantasies, if you will--of genteel family breakfasts, complete with stimulating and intelligent conversation, shared between me and my sophisticated, well-mannered children. (And since this is my daydream, a delicious and healthy meal is being prepared by our briskly-efficient-and-pleasant Household Chef.) 

Reality, sadly, includes NONE of these elements.  Instead I am treated to the following scenario: this morning, at the uncivilized hour of "much-too-early-for-such-nonsense", Derek glanced at his brother's retreating back and declared, "Riley, your left butt cheek is bigger than your right!" Riley naturally broke into uncontrollable giggles at this revelation, seemingly unconcerned with his, um, Gluteal Imbalance. Derek then continued, as though we were all equally fascinated by his scientific observation, "I guess that's why, when you fart, it comes more out of one side than the other!"  Wait a second, how do you know--NEVERMIND, let's just not go there...at the very least until after coffee...

I'm certain that somewhere, my Role Model Family sits down to their eggs and oatmeal and discusses World Events or School News or even Sports Headlines. Hey, here's an idea: maybe when I hire that chef, the agency will just throw in some Perfect Children so I can have my delightfully orchestrated morning meal.  On second thought, who am I trying to kid; at least I can say it's never dull! (Pass the coffee!)

Thursday, October 15, 2009

What day is it, and where am I going?

If you're a parent, you hear a lot about how today's kids are overscheduled and stressed, because they have too many activities and too much structured time. There's sports practices and games, clubs, music lessons,  tutoring, foreign language instruction...and I'm sure the little geniuses who participate in all these extracurriculars are going to beat out my kids when applying to Harvard. But I swore I would never be "That Mother", the one who gets caught up in the Kiddie Rat Race and ends up with exhausted, cranky children.

So, we put a "one sport per season" rule into effect when Derek was old enough to first express an interest in joining a team. He began happily playing soccer, alternating with baseball, year-in-year-out.  During those happy bygone days when he was the only sport-guy in the family, life seemed smooth and easy to organize.  But we had to go and encourage Riley to try out karate, so he would have something fun to do too.  Even then, the weekly agenda remained fairly manageable--one practice and one game for Derek, one karate class for Riley. 

Suddenly, several seemingly minor events occurred simultaneously, sending our carefully crafted plan into a tailspin: Riley turned 6, moving up a level in karate and adding one mandatory class per week; he also jumped wholeheartedly on the soccer bandwagon. (So much for our "one sport" rule.  Oh well.)  For those keeping track (wait, that would be...me!) the current schedule goes something like this:  Monday karate class, Tuesday soccer practice, Wednesday karate class, Thursday baseball practice, (Friday nothing--whoo hoo!) Saturday soccer and baseball games.  (Sometimes I can't believe I only have 2 kids!)

Even though they love, love, love their chosen sports, by the end of every week the boys are dragging.  Fortunately for them, tomorrow happens to be a Teacher Workday, so they don't have school.  When I asked them what they want to do on their "vacation day", Riley turned to me with a hopeful look and suggested that we "be shiftless layabouts!" (I can thank their father for teaching them that useful phrase.  Where HE got it is a mystery.)  So there you go--my overworked children need some R&R... I predict Disney videos, hot chocolate, and a very competitive yet non-taxing game of Harry Potter Clue in our immediate future.  Happy Friday, indeed!

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Cross your "T"s and Dot your "I"s (or else!)

Humor me for a moment as I steel myself to reveal something very personal...here goes...I am a total Grammar Geek.  (Did I forget to say it was a "Deep Dark Confession That Will Shock Absolutely No One"?) I have always been fascinated by words, and how to spell them, and how to string them together. For example, does anyone remember learning to diagram sentences: subject, verb object, prepositional phrase, etc?  I LOVED that.  If there is a misspelled word in a newspaper, or a misused homophone* in a book, or a misplaced modifier** in a magazine, my eyes gravitate to it immediately.  I also feel the unrelenting desire to point it out to whoever's in range,which I'm told can be annoying. Isn't everyone else outraged by grievous language errors, just like me?

Well, you'll all be pleased to hear that I have taken on a (volunteer) position that will allow me to exercise my English skills to the fullest:  Coordinator for the student newspaper at my sons' school. It's quite prestigious: my first official task was to choose a 4th-grade Editor, by soliciting applications, reviewing the submissions, and meeting with the Principal and Reading Specialist to decide on the best candidate. Very exciting stuff.  Now that "my staff" (2 students and myself) is in place, we can get down to the nitty-gritty task of producing a quality piece of journalism--written by 5-to-11 year olds.  But nevermind the tender age of our scribes--in correcting their work, we will wield an unforgiving red pencil!  (Oh wait, I'm sure everything will come in via e-mail.  Scratch the red pencil.)  Still, I look forward to training them...to show no mercy to run-on paragraphs! To sneer at comma splices! To scorn sentence fragments! (like that one, but since I'm the adult, it's just "my creative style".  So there.) 

Aren't all of you glad I now have an approved outlet for my mania?  I can pick on--I mean impart valuable wisdom to--elementary-schoolers and stop harassing my friends and family!  (Okay, at least about this one subject!)

*The pitcher and catcher practiced there signs before the game.
**The ball hit the boy that came through the window.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Give the Kid (and me) Some Chunky Monkey!



My older son and my husband are built from the same mold--tall and wiry.  When people see them together, they nod knowingly and comment about how alike they are.  Then...there's Riley. When he came out of me--and I am not making this up--the nurses weighed him TWICE to make sure they'd read the number correctly.  They looked from him, to me, and back again, probably wondering whether I'd been dallying with the (stocky) mailman while my husband was at work.  (He wasn't that large, but let's just say he didn't exactly match me...or my husband...or his skinny brother.)

As you can see above, he continued to develop...into Sumo Baby.  He was always near the top of the height and weight charts, as he eventually toddled around on those tree-trunk legs, leading with the formidable belly.  There was never any concern (except when he learned to sit on his brother to get his way), since his growth remained steady . When he passed preschool age with the little rounded belly still in evidence, I thought that might just be Riley's natural body shape forever.

But suddenly, he stretched. Sometime over this past summer, he sprouted just a little taller, his face thinned out, and his little-boy belly...disappeared. The last tiny shreds of his babyhood had melted away before my eyes. And that was bittersweet...but fortunately there was a last laugh:  We went for his 6-year checkup with the pediatrician who has treated him since he was born.  After reviewing his chart she informed me, with the air of one imparting serious medical advice: "since his weight has dropped off a little this year, Riley should have an extra snack every day." There was a long pause as I sat there with my mouth open, before I was able to sputter intelligently, "REALLY?"  So now I have one underweight son who eats tons, but you can still count his ribs (we believe the food may be dropping out of a hole in his foot), and one above-average-sized son who gets additional food on doctor's orders.

Forget 401Ks, forget College Fund, I'm going to need a special account just for trips to Giant!
Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Silliness of Acro-nomical Proportions

Remember when, to make contact with a fellow human being, you placed a phone call?  You turned the dial (for some of us, whose parents scorned new technology--like TOUCH TONE--as unnecessary, even though my father was:  a technician for AT&T!)  Where was I?  Oh yes, nowadays we all use our thumbs to send messages, and to save ourselves undue strain, we've learned the modern, abbreviated language of texting. 

My sons are too young yet to have their own phones (although the 9-year old asks on a regular basis when he can have one, just to see if I come down from "high school"), but occasionally we make up our own acronyms when the need arises.  The first one happened one morning at about 8:52, when--as usual--we needed to get out the door 2 MINUTES AGO to avoid missing the bus.  While frantically (but thoroughly) brushing my teeth, I attempted to convey this critical information using what I thought was a clever combination of mime, and some gurgling.  Somehow, despite my expressive arm-waving and eloquent toothpaste-talk, the boys couldn't seem to get the gist.  Thus our first shorthand was born: SBT means "it's shoes and backpack time".  And I can say it through a mouthful of Aquafresh.

So in the spirit of this efficient new way of communicating, I think I need some other quick catchphrases to replace things I hear myself say over and over again.  These are very commonly heard in my house, with their useful substitutions:
OYBN:  Off Your Brother, NOW!  (Oh, the time and energy that would save me!)
HTY:  Hands To Yourself!  (often paired with the first one)
WIO: Work It Out (implied: Or Mommy Will Separate You--but that's just too long)
DYH:     Do Your Homework (nightly, around 7 p.m.)
EYVOND:  Eat Your Vegetables Or No Dessert (mostly to Riley, at dinnertime)
TFP: Time for Practice (karate, soccer, baseball--we could use this one almost every night)
HAK: Hugs and Kisses (I might get away with this one in public, as long as we were the only ones who knew what it meant!)

I'd better quit before I get too carried away, or I'll need a cheat sheet for my own Family Language. So, that's all, TTFN!

Friday, October 2, 2009

I REALLY should have seen this coming!

Prologue: Up until, oh, about Wednesday, I lived in a G-rated house, with two sons who had thus far never once asked any parentally embarrassing questions like "where do babies come from" or even "why are boys and girls different." Derek is 9, so I knew in the back of my mind we were approaching the magic age for The Talk (or at least The Very-Bare-Minimum-Bullet-Point Version), but I was blissfully postponing it for as long as possible--at which time I would foist the job off onto their father anyway.

So, Derek, Riley and I were outside throwing a football around and Derek casually stated, "I'm going to go on YouTube on Friday" (apparently because a neighbor kid had recommended some funny stuff for him to look up). "Um, not without supervision, you're not," I replied in my sternest Mom Voice.  A picture of innocence, he asked why he wasn't allowed; I succinctly explained that there is "inappropriate stuff out there" and left it at that. I thought that was the end of it, until a few seconds later when Derek started giggling and volunteered, "One time Adam (another neighbor kid) went on Butts.com by accident!" (Riley was already doubled over, snickering by this point.)  Derek continued, "And there was sex-u-lar activity!" (Riley then began dancing around and hooting, "You said sex, you said sex!")

Oh. Dear. Trying to recover quickly, I shot back, "You don't even know what that means!" (I know, VERY mature and well-thought-out response. I was rattled, I admit it.)  Of course Derek then had to proclaim: "Yes I do...it's kissing with no clothes on!"  Oh-kay, maybe you do...sort of...close enough for 4th grade! 

Epilogue: Fortunately (I think) the conversation did in fact stop there.  There were no follow-up inquiries, no fishing for more information, no other startling revelations about what my kid is hearing...and by the way, what the HECK are they talking about at recess these days?  What happened to the good old days (you know, last week or so) when for all I knew, they were happily discussing batting averages and Nintendo scores?  Chapter One of The Birds and the Bees may have to be presented shortly...I'd better go warn my Husband!

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Granola (no that's not a metaphor--just a tasty snack)


Okay, for those of you who asked, here's the recipe...in the interest of full disclosure, blah, blah, blah: I got the original recipe online, then tweaked it in my own "test kitchen" (in a RARE Rachael-Ray-type-moment for me), and the results using this plan below were yummy. Now go forth and be...crunchy!



Granola

Ingredients:
2 ½ cups old fashioned oats (not quick cooking)
¾ cup wheat germ
2-3 tablespoons brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
½-1 cup crushed nuts or seeds of choice
¾ cup honey
9 tablespoons orange juice
3 tablespoons light cooking oil
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla or almond extract
1 teaspoon cinnamon or nutmeg
1-2 cups dried fruit of choice





Directions:
1. In a large lidded bowl, combine oats, wheat germ, brown sugar, salt, and nuts.
2. In a small saucepan, combine orange juice, honey, and oil, and bring to a boil. Add spice and extract, reduce heat and simmer about 3 minutes.
3. Pour liquid over oat mixture and stir to coat.
4. Cover tightly and allow to sit overnight.
5. The next day, make “clumps” from the mixture with your hands and drop them onto a nonstick cookie sheet.
6. Bake at 250 degrees for 30-45 minutes, until granola is golden brown and mostly dry to the touch.
7. Remove from oven and mix in the dried fruit.


Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Ring! It's the Monkeys on the Bananaphone!

When my boys--all 3 of them--went away last weekend, I had the house all to myself for several days. It's possible that in the week leading up to their departure, I might have been seen dancing around jubilantly, doing a little cheer (A-L...O-N-E, that's the way I'm going to be.....yay, me! something like that). I think my friends and family would call me a sociable person in general...but I have a pretty wide "loner streak" tucked deep down inside, that I just don't get to indulge very much. I get totally recharged by not having to make conversation, or entertain anyone, or answer questions for a while.

My oldest son seems to be similar to me--he enjoys interacting with people, but can also hide out in his room and read for long periods of time, content to be by himself. My younger son is...a nonstop chattering whirlwind of words. If he's not narrating what he's doing at the moment, he's asking for your input on something, or talking through an issue out loud, or blurting out whatever's on his mind (hmmm...he gets that from Husband!)

So when the phone rang while Husband and Sons were in SC, I should have known who it would be. "Hi, Mommy, it's Riley. I called to tell you we're going to stay up late watching the Penn State game on TV. Are we allowed to do that?" (um, you're on Daddy's watch, ask him!) After he provided a nice little recap of his day for me, we said goodnight and hung up. Not 15 minutes later, the phone rang again. "I forgot to tell you what we had for dinner. We had shrimp. I ate a lot, but not as much as Derek. And we had cookies-and-cream ice cream." Without boring you with any further details, suffice it to say there were TWO more phone calls before he was captured and cut off from the phone lines (apparently we're on Speed Dial, and some foolish person--grandmother--told him that little secret).

Don't get me wrong, it was nice to hear the details of his busy and exciting vacation. (I especially enjoyed it when he felt the need to share how much he weighed on their bathroom scale, after his enormous dinner and dessert.) I actually hope that this openness and honesty is a lasting part of Riley's personality, so that one day, when he's more into cars and girls and hanging out with his friends than chatting with his mom, he still tells me what's going on! But if he called one more time during my "peace and quiet time", I was handing the receiver to the cat!

Friday, September 25, 2009

"In My Mind I'm Goin' to Carolina"

No, no, no, that's not it: it's my family that's disappearing to (South) Carolina this weekend. As much as I cherish my boys, I absolutely pine for their annual "visit the grandparents" getaway. A friend asked me what my Big Plans were, how I was going to amuse myself while they were gone. I automatically opened my mouth to start telling her...and realized I had neglected to make any!

But after some serious reflection, I am certain of what I will NOT be doing: (pause for happy dance...okay, continue)
*scraping sparkly blue bubblegum flavored toothpaste out of my sons' sink (every goshdarn morning...and evening...grr);
*stain-treating and washing muddy soccer shinguards and baseball pants;
*tripping over and picking up (over...and over...and over...you get the picture) Matchbox cars and action figures and Tech Deck skateboards, ETC.;
*popping out to the grocery store for "just a few things we're out of" and coming back an hour later having spent $90...then trying to dream up and prepare an appetizing, wholesome meal that pleases 2 carnivores, a carbivore, and a vegetarian.

So then, what pleasures does that leave for my weekend of freedom and indulgence?
*to start with, 72+ hours alone in the house, enveloped in sweet silence (except me thinking out loud to myself...and the cat meowing for attention...okay, it's mostly quiet);
*7 hours of television premieres on the DVR, awaiting my perusal;
*lots of takeout food, whatever kind I want, whenever I want. And no sharing!
*brownie mix--that's right, straight from the bowl. Maybe the brownies will eventually make it into the oven, or maybe they won't. No one's here to stop me!

I know, I know, it sound like just too much fun and excitement for one girl to take. It'll be tough, but I'm going to give it my best effort...here goes: Ready, Set, RELAX (so far so good...)

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Just Be-Tween You and Me

I used to scoff at the term "tween" (which didn't even exist in my youth, yet my peers and I still managed to mature into normal, well-adjusted adults, right?). It seemed crystal clear to me that there were distinct phases in the process of growing up: childhood, punctuated by the onset of puberty, gradually sliding into adolescence. Then I had children. And suddenly, 9-year old Derek is a poster child for tween-ness (tweenhood? tweenescence? tweenies? oh, nevermind.)

Sometimes he clings--unconsciously, I think--to the safety and comfort of childhood, like when he asks to be tucked into bed every night. He likes me to keep him company when he does his homework. He freely hugs me, and allows me to hug him, EVEN at the bus stop (for now). He mostly still calls me Mommy (because he doesn't realize he's doing it yet--so shhh!)

But impending doom--I mean adolescence--sneaks up at times, making brief but startling appearances. Like when he announced, in response to my query about what he wanted to be for Halloween this year, that he "didn't really want to do that anymore." Excuse me, WHAT? He went on to explain that he just doesn't want to dress up, and doesn't really care about the candy he can't eat anyway (because of his braces). I swear he sounded about 15. (In contrast, 6-year old Riley piped up with "maybe I won't dress up either, but I'll walk around and trick-or-treat!" To which Derek laughingly replied "that's not really Halloween, that's just begging for candy!")

Then there's the Major Deodorant Controversy, for which I will state right now: I blame their father. You see, Derek has, in just the last few months, begun exuding a certain odor after being outside and running around for hours. Not BO, per se, since he doesn't actually smell like sweat. To my nose, it's more like a wet-dog kind of smell. And it's not overwhelming, probably not even noticeable to outsiders or to Derek himself...that is until Husband started making a HUGE deal out of it every night. Waving his hand in front of his face, wrinkling his nose, declaring how much Derek's "pits reek" (and he still has the nerve to call ME dramatic?). I swear he gave the poor boy a complex.

So Derek began bugging me for deodorant. Uh-uh. No way am I buying my 9-year old Right Guard. I offered him talcum powder, but he looked horrified at the idea of smelling like a baby's bottom. (I can't imagine why; I TOLD him everyone digs the fresh baby smell. Somehow this did not have the desired effect...) So off to Roots Market I went, in search of something acceptably organic to sprinkle on my 4th grader. And would you believe they sell a product, specifically for the male underarm area, called Pit Stop? ("the sweat without the stink" I did not make that up.) It's a baking-soda-based powder in a manly-colored cylinder, with a (presumably fresh-scented) mountain-biking guy on the front. This was acceptable to Derek.

This could have been the happy conclusion to the saga, with everyone involved feeling pleased and satisfied...however, I happened to let slip that while reading the labels at the store, I noticed the difference between the mens' and ladies' versions was the particular fragrance used: for women, gardenia; for men, patchouli. So now my husband makes a point of mentioning how Derek "smells like a patchouli" whenever he enters a room (and no, NO ONE knows what that means). Sigh. I'm already outnumbered so what's one more adolescent boy in the house?

Friday, September 18, 2009

More Random Ramblings...

You know how Computer Professionals advise you to schedule certain maintenance tasks on your machine in order to "optimize performance"? (and we all do this faithfully, right? of course! immediately after it crashes!) Anyway, this week my brain definitely feels clogged and sluggish, so to avoid my own personal Blue Screen of Death, consider this my routine "disk cleanup and defrag":

*let's start with a little rant: at the community college where I work, I am frequently astounded by what some girls try to pass off as "being dressed". I realize it's not high school, and you're not going to get sent home by the principal, but honestly, a long hooded sweatshirt that completely covers your tiny little shorts just makes you look...like you forgot your pants. Is that really what you want to say to the world? I enjoy being half-naked in public?

*I have to admit, though, that I got a private snicker out of one girl's t-shirt that said "You can't be ugly AND stupid. You have to pick one." Appropriate? Eh. Funny? Yep.

*Husband was reading an alphabet story to Riley and one page says: "They viewed V, veiled in velvet." Husband said, "that's fun to say!" Riley seriously replied, "Yes, Daddy, it's alliteration." Because you NEED to know that in first grade, apparently.

*After his Little League pitching debut last weekend, Derek was totally pumped about having struck out 2 batters. Still adrenalized in the car on the way home, he switched to ESPN mode and analyzed his performance: "I saw that kid bat last Fall, and I remembered that he swung at high pitches, so I decided to try to throw him some." (at this point I couldn't respond, since my mouth was hanging open, but he didn't notice.) He continued, "I'm not like C.C. Sabathia on the mound, just throwing whatever; I'm like Greg Maddux, I think when I pitch!" (I apologize to non-baseball people, to whom this means nothing at all...the rest of you who get it, can I get an AMEN for the Baseball Gods!)

*And finally, a household revelation. I'm allergic to dust; ironically, it seems harmless enough when it's just lying on the furniture, but when I try to actually REMOVE it, I sneeze and tear up and get stuffy. Instead, this week's Toxic Cleaning Task was to attack my shower with bleach in an attempt to eradicate...some icky stuff on the walls. During the scrubbing, I could feel my throat and lungs burning; afterwards, I couldn't breathe for the rest of the night. Conclusion: it is inadvisable for me to perform household chores (or I guess I could wear a mask. or make natural cleaners instead. nope, we'll stick with the first option!)

Whew, I feel much better after that Brain Dump. Maybe with all the space that's now available in there I can think of what to make for dinner. What's that? It's Friday? Okay, pizza it is! See, the old noodle must be working better already!

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

My, how they've grown!


The top row is Derek at age 1, age 2, and age 9. The bottom row is Riley at age 1, age 3, and age 6.
You can click on the center of the collage to enlarge it if you want to see the differences!
Posted by Picasa

Monday, September 14, 2009

Life is a Highway...

Every morning, after I've downed my heavily-sugared, nonfat-creamered, enormous mug of coffee, I strap on my seatbelt and pull out onto what I like to call the Mommy Turnpike. As the family's "driver", I try to obey the speed limit (unless we're late for soccer practice), and pay all the tolls (field trip money, anyone?), but sometimes, out of the blue, there's something in the road that I just didn't notice until I run over it (don't worry, it's still a metaphor!)

For instance, my children suddenly decided this week to show me that they're not little boys anymore. It started with Derek, who at age 9 apparently just realized he's supposed to be asserting his independence. "Mom, I want to ride my bike to the playground with my friends," he informed me in a calm and reasonable voice. My autopilot mom-response was a resounding NO WAY, but as I opened my mouth to respond, I really couldn't think of a good excuse for the veto. He knows how to look for cars; he's cautious and responsible; the park in question is literally right around the corner...so in the end I said yes, then stood forlornly watching him get smaller as he rode down to the end of the street and disappeared (and I hovered nervously near the window until I saw him pedaling safely back).

Then there was Riley, my "baby" (who by the way objects when I call him that anymore. I can't get away with anything these days!)...just yesterday, I swear, he was a chubby, round-cheeked toddler stretched out on the floor surrounded by his Thomas the Tank Engine trains, making up endless stories as he drove them around for hours. Somehow I thought he would stay this way forever, since he wasn't obsessed with sports like his older brother. But then in June he announced that he wanted to play soccer this fall. "Sure," I thought, "we'll see if he remembers that for a week, much less three months." In fact, he did not change his mind, as I half-expected, and he played his first game last weekend. Wearing his cleats, shinguards, and team shirt, he looked unexpectedly...tall...and thin (with a fierce game face--who knew?)

So I can't imagine how I missed all of this occurring right under my nose. Surely there ought to be informative billboards in life, just like on the side of the road, warning us when such changes are coming! Well, I've learned my lesson; from now on, I'm going to stop changing the radio stations, put away the cellphone, and keep both eyes on the Parenting Highway!

Friday, September 11, 2009

(It is SO NOT) elementary, my dears!

The past two days have been just one big school flashback for me. It started last night with Back to School night, where I got to sit in (hard!) tiny little chairs and learn about what my boys will study this year.

In 1st grade, Riley will: identify and describe attributes of 2D and 3D figures; use the writing process (prewriting, first draft, revising, editing, publishing); investigate the effects of forces, motion, and equilibrium; understand the role of human, capital, and natural resources in the production of goods and services...and these were just my favorites, among the lengthy list of mind-boggling topics. I only hope his teacher has time to instruct the 6 year-olds in what I recall as "the basics" of classroom behavior: no poking fellow students with pencils, or eating the crayons, or throwing gluesticks.

Then it was on to 4th grade. The teacher showed us the terrariums that our kids have already constructed in order to study ecosystems. (Soon they will add grasshoppers, snails, and pillbugs!) We heard about Literature Circles, which operate as a kind of "book club", complete with critical discussion led by the students themselves. In addition, 9-year old Derek will be expected to: select and independently read at least 25 grade-level appropriate books; develop a research question based on a selected topic and use two or more resources to locate information; identify transformations in tessellations (wait, what? did they make that up? seriously, what does that even mean?); understand social, economic, and political characteristics of Western Europe and West Africa in the 15th century...among many, many other shockingly sophisticated subjects.

I have a feeling we are ALL going to get a lot smarter this year (or die trying)! But for now, may I be excused, my brain is tired!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

(cue swelling music) See youuuu in Septembrrrr!

What's that you say? It's already September? Are you sure? And can someone puh-leaze tell me just how the heck that happened?

I suppose I knew something was up when I had to wear long pants the other day...and socks....and closed shoes (I didn't want to, but it was either that, or shiver through my work day). Oh yeah, work should have been my first clue: the college semester started, and the kids' school year as well. But I still don't understand where August went. One minute we were wiping our brows, drinking lemonade and begging for a breeze, then the next thing you know the leaves were starting to drift off the tree outside Derek's window at a positively alarming rate (stupid overachieving cherry tree can't wait to get naked every year.)

Well, that's just too darn bad! I'm not at all ready for raking! And you can also forget other onerous Autumn Tasks like: filling out school forms, and checking homework calendars, and attending Back to School night, and packing lunches...oh, crud...those things are in my Mom Job Description, aren't they? Oh, alright then! But what's in it for me, if I agree to move past Fall Denial and accept the season of morning chills, falling leaves, and early sunsets? Hmmm, Pumpkin Muffin, you say? With cream cheese icing? Ahhh, those are magic words. Throw in a pumpkin-spice latte on a frosty September morning, and I'm sold!

Friday, September 4, 2009

Stream of Consciousness (bring your own paddle)!

Somehow I wasn't paying attention, but I published my 100th post on August 25th. When television shows reach that milestone, they have big parties, or hour-long episodes with special guest stars...I had my laptop, and some iced tea, and maybe there was a cookie thrown in there. Oh well, I'll do a big dramatic shebang for my 200th!

And then there's an Anniversary: September 5th marks exactly one year since I started this Blog. I wanted to write something insightful and intelligent to commemorate the occasion...but my mind is a blank. Excellent time for writer's block!

So, in the time-honored tradition of cheaters everywhere, instead of researching something meaningful or delving deep into my thoughts for material, I'm going to do a cheesy compilation of random things that occurred this week:

*Derek started 4th grade, Riley started 1st grade, and for the first time, I had to request goodbye hugs on the first day. I was denied by the 9-year old, but the 6-year old allowed me a brief one-armed squeeze. On Friday, the fifth day of the school year, I got my first call from the Health Room Technician to report that Derek had collided with another boy at recess, sustaining a cut lip. This is a new Family Record for earliest playground injury.

*I began my semester as a Sign Language Interpreter at the local community college. This Fall, I get to translate Ceramics, Reading, and Psychology. This week I had the distinct pleasure of explaining Freud to a Deaf student, using American Sign Language. Id, Ego, Superego--the man's still a fruit loop in any language.

*I'm off on Fridays this semester, so I ventured out shopping. First stop: Sephora. Now, I don't consider myself an old fogey just yet, but let me tell you how LOUDDDD the music was in that store. The clerks might have been welcoming me; I saw their mouths moving, but couldn't hear a word. Or they could have been telling me off, for all I know. While I was there, I managed to purchase what I came for: Green Rootine dry shampoo. Because nothing demonstrates your love for yourself and your fellow human beings quite like a product that lets you NOT take a shower for another day.

*Then it was on to Costco, where by a delicate combination of luck and planning, I arrived at prime free sample time. Cheese + chips and salsa + juice = lunch! (Note: this still does NOT make me an old fogey! I just like to eat...early...and cheaply....uh-oh...)

And now, it's Happy Hour. Cheers, and enjoy the long weekend with lots of fun, and little labor!

Monday, August 31, 2009

Oh, good heavens!

As a kid, I attended Sunday School for several years (at least through communion-age, since I remember earnestly practicing the Lord's Prayer...and making the bread!). I'd have to check with my own mother on this, but I believe I probably started giving her a hard time (even though I'm sure in all other ways I was a charming, LOVELY pre-adolescent girl), until she just gave up on dragging me to church. In a roundabout fashion, I eventually found my way back: I had started my religious life as a Lutheran, but ended up choosing a Jesuit college (and whatever your feelings about Catholicism, they offer a mass approximately every 10 minutes, so it's completely easy and accessible!) Even more recently, I landed at the local Methodist congregation, when I enrolled Derek in their preschool. Pastor, Reverend, Father, mass, service...I'm not as concerned with denomination or vocabulary as I am with my boys having some solid faith-based instruction.

And while all that sounds very sober and serious, Derek and Riley seem to have more fun on Sunday mornings than I ever did! Snacks (cross-shaped cookies!), crafts (color a picture of Jesus healing the sick!), Veggie Tales videos...the Class Leaders cleverly weave lessons into "play time" and everyone enjoys themselves while absorbing the Bible.

You know there has to be a punchline, right? Here it comes: the other morning at breakfast, Riley was talking about his own upcoming birthday and the presents he wanted. I don't even know how he made this leap in his head, but suddenly he paused with a thoughtful look and said, "If it was God's birthday, I'd get him a cell phone." Oh--kay, I'll bite: why? He seemed surprised that I couldn't figure it out myself as he answered, "So he could send text messages to Jesus!"

So let us end by giving thanks for technology...and goofball children!

Friday, August 28, 2009

Chew on This...

In the bygone baby days, it took me an hour of careful packing and planning to get out of the house with the kids. Diapers, wipes, teething rings, toys, blankies, extra clothes, bibs...and snacks. How I do NOT miss that routine. We've been able to do away with most of the stuff, but my growing boys still require sustenance every few hours to keep them motoring happily along. So nowadays I grab our refillable water bottles and some cereal bars as we head out the door on our adventures.

My record on remembering the edibles has been pretty spotless, but it was bound to happen sometime...we were just finishing up our exploration of the Port Discovery Children's Museum in Baltimore...approximately an hour away from our pantry at home...at 4:00 (PRIME stomach-rumbling time), and I was caught empty-handed. This is like a McDonald's commercial waiting to happen, right? Not for this mom! I had already spotted vending machines in the lobby, one of which was even labeled "Healthy Snacks", almost as though they expect nutrition-obsessed mothers to frequent this type of educational museum (hey, wait a minute...)

Before the little monsters could even build up a good head of steam to start clamoring for food, I quickly interjected the snack machine tidbit. Derek's mouth dropped open in mock astonishment. With a grin that split his entire face, he said, "REALLY? Are you sure? I mean, this isn't like you at all!" I hadn't even begun to formulate my retort when he continued, "Are you even our mother?" And for his grand finale, he raised his voice slightly, turned around in circles, and called, "Help, I think we're being kidnapped; she's letting us have junk food!" (Riley, meanwhile, was staring in wonder at the contraption, trying to figure out how to get food from it. I guess we missed this lesson somewhere along the way...)

So, I learned two things from this experience. One: Derek has made tremendous strides in employing sarcasm for humorous effect. Two: all of the lecturing--I mean instruction, of course--about eating properly, etc. etc. has at least made SOME impact. Oh, and also: don't forget to bring the Fiber One bars!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Action on--and off--the Field!

When you imagine the traditional Rites of Passage, you might think of learning to ride a bike, or starting grade school, or getting your first job. In our family, "attending your 1st Orioles game" also counts as an important milestone on the road to growing up. Derek, being the first child, was toted along in a Baby Bjorn when he was about 3 months old. And he has since sat through countless innings with rapt attention, tearing his eyes away from the action only to ask for more food. With the second child, however, our attendance dwindled, due to cost, and logistics, and Riley's lack of interest in holding down a stadium seat for a 3-hour sporting event.

Finally this year he began asking when he would be allowed to go to a game. (you know, it's all about what my brother gets to do, and why I can't do it also!) With only slight foreboding, we agreed. We even picked a giveaway day, so at least the boys would be handed something to play with on the way in (nobody cares what's happening down on the field, as long as they have their free WebKinz). And what do you know, Riley--if not watched the game--at least sat in his seat and behaved like an actual fan for 8 innings! (This is even more impressive when you consider that it was approximately 900 degrees that day...and humid!)

It was a very important game, too. Not because of the Orioles, 23 games below .500 in dead-last place, but because in about the 5th inning Riley turned to me and said, "Mommy, I lost my tooth in my cup of ice!" Sure enough, that very first little baby tooth, loose for at least a month, was looking up at us from among the free ice chips they give away on hot summer days at Camden Yards. What can I say, I'm a mom, so I of course clapped and squealed with delight, as if he'd done something much more remarkable than biting into an ice cube. Maybe I made more noise than I thought, or maybe the game was just that dull, but everyone in our section turned to see, and spontaneously gave a congratulatory cheer.

So, my "baby" turns 6 tomorrow, minus one tooth, but with a cool memory to show for it (not to mention his stuffed Oriole-bird toy)! It will be just fine with me, though, if the other 19 teeth are not quite as dramatic!

Friday, August 21, 2009

Even WORSE than beer ads (if you can believe it!)

This morning, after the coffee kicked in, I was ready to tackle my list of phone calls for the day (best to do this early, since it's the chore I despise most. As the day wears on, my motivation wanes and it gets put off for another day...or another...you get the picture!)

Anyway, I had a few quick questions for the pediatrician, so I checked that one off first. Afterwards, just making conversation (or thinking out loud; I do that A LOT), I informed the boys that we could get their flu vaccinations at the end of September this year. "Can we get the spray," Derek asked with trepidation in his voice, "or do we have to have a shot?" I swiftly assured him that he could have FluMist again...but the exchange was interrupted by my 6-year old's sudden bark of laughter. Derek and I turned our puzzled faces to him and he explained himself: "So we won't get sick, and we can go to the bathroom all we want?" You see, FLOMAX is prescribed to men with prostate problems, to--um, how to put this delicately-- alleviate urinary difficulties. (And no, my son, that's definitely NOT the one you'll be getting.)

At least I don't have to guess where his train of thought came from this time: the commercial for that drug shows up with great frequency during...Orioles games. (Along with the ones for ED medications. What does that say about men who watch baseball?) This is depressing; not only does my team stink, but my children are picking up inappropriate medical information while watching. Give me those good old toy and candy ads any day!