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!
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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.