Buckle up, amigos, it's that time again...we're putting 2010 in our rearview mirrors and preparing to zoom off into a brand new year. And you know what that means: more parties and food! Wait, that wasn't it...oh, yeah: Resolutions! (I should have mentioned this right from the get-go, but here's the disclaimer for this post: I am pretty hopped up on Cherry Vanilla Coke Zero right now, so this may be a little loopy...er than normal).
Now, I've always thought that January was a terrible time to "resolve" to do anything--except maybe "to buy more cute fleecy tops", or "to drink more hot chocolate". It's dark, it's freezing, and I don't know about you guys, but my Willpower is about as strong as an uncharged battery right now. Sure, I know what I ought to pledge...to eat fewer sweets (but the promise of chocolate is pretty much what gets me out of bed in the Winter months); to drink less soda (but my energy has to come from somewhere, until I can get back outside in the Spring and draw on the healing warmth of the sun--refer to the aforementioned caffeine rant for proof), to save more money (but adorable fuzzy sweaters aren't cheap!).
Furthermore, I can't try to master a new skill right now, because my brain feels cold, slow, and sluggish. It's impossible to fight any diet or exercise battles, since I'm stuck inside listening to the Siren Call of the Cookies. There's no way I could work on cultivating a calmer, more patient demeanor...as my sons are also trapped inside with me, tearing around the house, shrieking like Banshees, pummeling each other, WRECKING my meditation-- or whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing @#$% serenely. Therefore, I've reached the incontrovertible conclusion that the act of making New Year's Resolutions is: A) a waste of time and effort; B) a one-way ticket to Guiltsville, by way of Failuretown; and C) yet another reason to be grumpy in January. And who needs that kind of negativity and pressure, when you can grab another cookie, dip it into your mug of cocoa, and snuggle up in a wooly blanket until...April or so? Now to find some trashy TV, and settle in for the long haul. Happy New Year, everyone!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Dangers of Recycling!
As a parent, especially as a mother of rough-and-tumble, full-contact-sport boys, my natural state of being is one of disaster-preparedness and constant low-level alert, due to the potential for any normal, everyday event to abruptly transform into a Hazardous Situation, fraught with all kinds of peril. You want to climb over the neighbor's 6-foot wooden fence to retrieve your ball? You could fall and break something! You could get a splinter! You could...rip your pants! Just about every possible game they devise--whether it involves a ball, pretend-swords, or some form of wheeled vehicle--involves the risk of danger and personal injury. I call it "a mother's nightmare waiting to happen"; they just call it...EXTREME FUN. So my personal Mom's Motto has long been: "any day without a trip to the Emergency Room is a good day".
And I may deeply regret jinxing myself this way, but we have gone 10 3/4 years without either one of my sons requiring that dreaded trip to the ER (yes, I'm knocking on wood as I type this). With all of their leaping off of things, and barreling over things, and flinging themselves at things, somehow they've managed to remain intact (so far). Their father, however...ended up at the hospital today after suffering a grievous Shopping Injury! Let me explain...we set off on a family Errand Trip with a few tasks to accomplish. First on our list: Best Buy, which takes back and recycles old TVs and DVD players, of which we had one of each to dispose of, in a hopefully responsible and ecological manner. I had attempted to take care of this particular job alone, but found myself utterly unable to get my arms around the 27-inch, 60-pound CRT TV to lift it into my car. Long-armed Husband to the rescue. He wrestled it up the stairs, into the back of my Subaru, out of the car at Best Buy, into the store, and onto the counter. So far, so good. Meanwhile, I drove off to find a parking spot, then joined all of the boys inside.
Assuming that Husband was working on the TV transaction, Derek and I then applied ourselves to finding a cord for his electronic drum set. As we tagged along behind a helpful saleswoman toward the back of the store, I noticed that we seemed to be following a trail of blood drops on the floor. Hmmm, curious...
After procuring the appropriate power cord, Derek and I reunited with Royce and Riley at the front door...where Royce appeared to be clutching a tissue to his finger...and bleeding. (Aha! mystery solved!) It seems that when the clerk had pulled the TV toward himself to remove it from the counter, Royce's finger was still underneath, and had been sliced open. And here, my friends, is where being a Veteran Parent serves you well--I examined the wound critically, and determined with my best (non-medical-professional) judgment that it was "about 50/50" he'd need stitches. We proceeded to treat the injury with supplies at hand (antiseptic ointment, gauze, bandage, and tape from my car's First Aid kit). When we had stabilized the injury (have I logged too many hours of Grey's Anatomy in my life, I ask you?), it was time to address the other pressing issue: should we complete our errands, or go straight to the next step (you know, obtaining ACTUAL medical assistance)?
Holding his hand up above heart level to minimize further bleeding, Royce gamely suggested we finish up. Since the finger clearly wasn't broken, the bandage seemed to be holding, and the bleeding was contained, I agreed. (It never even occurred to me at the time, but I'm sure the Best Buy employees were soooo happy to see us leave their store. Customers oozing blood have got to be bad for business!)
We calmly bought Derek snow boots, we efficiently made a Costco run, and then we matter-of-factly headed home so Royce could pick up his wallet and drive himself to the ER. I figured he'd be a while, since he didn't have a gushing cut, or a protruding bone, or an obvious head injury...but he strolled back in after a fairly short time, having received 5 stitches, a physician-applied dressing, and a tetanus shot ("just in case"--maybe it was...rusty plastic). All-in-all, quite a bit more dramatic than the usual routine Family Mall Outing...and to think, the entire experience happened because we wanted to do our bit for the environment! Well, I think Mother Nature owes us a major apology! (I'll take sunshine and 70 degrees for a few weeks in the middle of winter; that should about do it...)
And I may deeply regret jinxing myself this way, but we have gone 10 3/4 years without either one of my sons requiring that dreaded trip to the ER (yes, I'm knocking on wood as I type this). With all of their leaping off of things, and barreling over things, and flinging themselves at things, somehow they've managed to remain intact (so far). Their father, however...ended up at the hospital today after suffering a grievous Shopping Injury! Let me explain...we set off on a family Errand Trip with a few tasks to accomplish. First on our list: Best Buy, which takes back and recycles old TVs and DVD players, of which we had one of each to dispose of, in a hopefully responsible and ecological manner. I had attempted to take care of this particular job alone, but found myself utterly unable to get my arms around the 27-inch, 60-pound CRT TV to lift it into my car. Long-armed Husband to the rescue. He wrestled it up the stairs, into the back of my Subaru, out of the car at Best Buy, into the store, and onto the counter. So far, so good. Meanwhile, I drove off to find a parking spot, then joined all of the boys inside.
Assuming that Husband was working on the TV transaction, Derek and I then applied ourselves to finding a cord for his electronic drum set. As we tagged along behind a helpful saleswoman toward the back of the store, I noticed that we seemed to be following a trail of blood drops on the floor. Hmmm, curious...
After procuring the appropriate power cord, Derek and I reunited with Royce and Riley at the front door...where Royce appeared to be clutching a tissue to his finger...and bleeding. (Aha! mystery solved!) It seems that when the clerk had pulled the TV toward himself to remove it from the counter, Royce's finger was still underneath, and had been sliced open. And here, my friends, is where being a Veteran Parent serves you well--I examined the wound critically, and determined with my best (non-medical-professional) judgment that it was "about 50/50" he'd need stitches. We proceeded to treat the injury with supplies at hand (antiseptic ointment, gauze, bandage, and tape from my car's First Aid kit). When we had stabilized the injury (have I logged too many hours of Grey's Anatomy in my life, I ask you?), it was time to address the other pressing issue: should we complete our errands, or go straight to the next step (you know, obtaining ACTUAL medical assistance)?
Holding his hand up above heart level to minimize further bleeding, Royce gamely suggested we finish up. Since the finger clearly wasn't broken, the bandage seemed to be holding, and the bleeding was contained, I agreed. (It never even occurred to me at the time, but I'm sure the Best Buy employees were soooo happy to see us leave their store. Customers oozing blood have got to be bad for business!)
We calmly bought Derek snow boots, we efficiently made a Costco run, and then we matter-of-factly headed home so Royce could pick up his wallet and drive himself to the ER. I figured he'd be a while, since he didn't have a gushing cut, or a protruding bone, or an obvious head injury...but he strolled back in after a fairly short time, having received 5 stitches, a physician-applied dressing, and a tetanus shot ("just in case"--maybe it was...rusty plastic). All-in-all, quite a bit more dramatic than the usual routine Family Mall Outing...and to think, the entire experience happened because we wanted to do our bit for the environment! Well, I think Mother Nature owes us a major apology! (I'll take sunshine and 70 degrees for a few weeks in the middle of winter; that should about do it...)
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Santa Baby (here's what *I* wish for...)
Every year my mother STILL asks me what I want for Christmas. It's very sweet--she likes to have colorfully-wrapped presents under the tree at her house for everyone, including all of the adults and grandkids alike. As a grownup, though, it can be difficult for me to think of what to write down on my Wish List. Sizing schemes for women's clothes are so bizarre these days that things tend not to fit me unless I try them on first...and I'm totally picky about what I like and don't like to wear, so I buy all of my own apparel. If something breaks or wears out in the house and we really need it, I replace it. If there's anything I want during the year, I go ahead and buy it. So basically there's nothing I want or need come holiday time. However, there are some fanciful dream-gifts that I would LOVE to receive, if Santa could find it in his heart--and sleigh--to bring them.
--a House Elf: our own little Dobby would cheerfully perform all the onerous household tasks I loathe, such as cooking, cleaning, laundering, etc. (oh wait, I guess that's ALL of them...)
--a Star Trek-type Transporter thingie: sometimes, I enjoy driving--over winding roads, through the countryside, watching the peaceful scenery flow by. Other times, like during daily errand-running, not so much: honking horns, traffic lights, bumper-to-bumper cars, stop-and-go mayhem. At these times, I'd prefer to just be "zapped" to my destination and home again, with no muss, no fuss. (and I'd LOVE to say "Beam me up, Scotty!" Don't say it, I already know: Nerd.)
--a Tropical Island Retreat: you see, I could just pop over in my handy-dandy Transporter whenever I'd had it up to my earwarmers with the Winter cold (that would be fairly often...okay, DAILY). I could take in some ocean breezes, soak up some toasty sunshine, then zip back for dinnertime with the Fam (or not...maybe just a few more minutes...check back tomorrow...)
--an Internal Heater: for times when I have to be at home in the frosty Mid-Atlantic (I realize that doesn't sound too tough, but trust me, it's COLD here!). This device would regulate my core temperature, radiating warmth all the way out to my fingers and toes whenever they seemed the least bit chilly. Maybe I could splurge for the Deluxe version that would also alert you to other potential System Concerns..."your blood sugar is falling--have a snack before you yell at someone!" or "your energy and fluid levels are low--coffee is needed, ASAP!" (As a matter of fact, this one I really do need, badly...maybe I can find myself an inventor!)
Hey, Kris Kringle and his merry elves are supposed to be magical, right? These could happen! Ooh, I really hope I'm on the "Nice" list...maybe it's not too late to earn some last-minute some brownie points....um, I'm going to go spread some Holiday Cheer! May you get everything you hope for this season! Ho, ho, ho!
--a House Elf: our own little Dobby would cheerfully perform all the onerous household tasks I loathe, such as cooking, cleaning, laundering, etc. (oh wait, I guess that's ALL of them...)
--a Star Trek-type Transporter thingie: sometimes, I enjoy driving--over winding roads, through the countryside, watching the peaceful scenery flow by. Other times, like during daily errand-running, not so much: honking horns, traffic lights, bumper-to-bumper cars, stop-and-go mayhem. At these times, I'd prefer to just be "zapped" to my destination and home again, with no muss, no fuss. (and I'd LOVE to say "Beam me up, Scotty!" Don't say it, I already know: Nerd.)
--a Tropical Island Retreat: you see, I could just pop over in my handy-dandy Transporter whenever I'd had it up to my earwarmers with the Winter cold (that would be fairly often...okay, DAILY). I could take in some ocean breezes, soak up some toasty sunshine, then zip back for dinnertime with the Fam (or not...maybe just a few more minutes...check back tomorrow...)
--an Internal Heater: for times when I have to be at home in the frosty Mid-Atlantic (I realize that doesn't sound too tough, but trust me, it's COLD here!). This device would regulate my core temperature, radiating warmth all the way out to my fingers and toes whenever they seemed the least bit chilly. Maybe I could splurge for the Deluxe version that would also alert you to other potential System Concerns..."your blood sugar is falling--have a snack before you yell at someone!" or "your energy and fluid levels are low--coffee is needed, ASAP!" (As a matter of fact, this one I really do need, badly...maybe I can find myself an inventor!)
Hey, Kris Kringle and his merry elves are supposed to be magical, right? These could happen! Ooh, I really hope I'm on the "Nice" list...maybe it's not too late to earn some last-minute some brownie points....um, I'm going to go spread some Holiday Cheer! May you get everything you hope for this season! Ho, ho, ho!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Countdown to Christmas...
When you were a kid, did you become a little bundle of twitchy anticipation and impatience in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas? If you were like me--boosted by adrenaline and candy canes and hot cocoa--you alternated between manic fits of breathless excitement, and quiet periods of exhausted sugar-crashes. And then the Toy Catalogs arrived, acting like a brightly-colored Yule Log that sprinkled fuel onto my already-blazing holiday fire. My siblings and I thumbed through the shiny pages so often, they became tattered and smudged. We circled and bookmarked the gifts we wanted to put on our Wish Lists, and wrote out neat, careful copies for my parents and Santa. (Mine probably had footnoted page numbers, attached pictures with descriptive captions, and a bibliography to clearly inform the Elves about where they could locate my Most Wanted Items. Yes, I was a mini-nerd even then...)
And of course my kids now do the same thing with the modern-day, slickly-produced, ginormo Toys 'R Us and Target magazines that plunk down on our driveway with the Sunday paper, before the Thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin pie have even been fully-digested. This year, clutching my coffee on that chilly November morning, I watched them both as they huddled together over the catalog, and listened to them exclaim over all of the cool new video games. As it happens more and more often these days, I got a sudden jolt just then of: "my little boys are...not so little anymore". For the first time that I can remember, they skipped right over the Superhero Action Figures and the Matchbox Cars and the Construction Sets and made a beeline directly to the Electronics section. After thoroughly perusing, rating, and selecting Wii games and DS games, they took a side trip to the Music pages and the Sporting Goods. Then, they were done.
So it seems to me that my 10 and 7-year old sons have ridiculously sophisticated taste for their tender ages, but I'm sure "Santa" will be able to figure it out. (Of course, I annotate their lists for the grandparents with exact item numbers, photographs, and additional product information as necessary...hey, sometimes being a nerd is very helpful!) I do feel sort of nostalgic for those bygone days when they used to sit around on the floor in their pjs on Christmas morning, setting up the Fisher Price Farm or building towers of blocks. This year it'll be louder (when Derek opens his electronic drum pad) and more rambunctious (when they practice shooting goals into their new soccer net--but at least that's outside!) On the upside, I won't be tripping over Little People or zigzagging around wooden houses erected all over the Living Room...and when they calm down long enough to plop on the couch and test out their new games, I will be able to sip my coffee with Christmas peace and joy (I hope)!
And of course my kids now do the same thing with the modern-day, slickly-produced, ginormo Toys 'R Us and Target magazines that plunk down on our driveway with the Sunday paper, before the Thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin pie have even been fully-digested. This year, clutching my coffee on that chilly November morning, I watched them both as they huddled together over the catalog, and listened to them exclaim over all of the cool new video games. As it happens more and more often these days, I got a sudden jolt just then of: "my little boys are...not so little anymore". For the first time that I can remember, they skipped right over the Superhero Action Figures and the Matchbox Cars and the Construction Sets and made a beeline directly to the Electronics section. After thoroughly perusing, rating, and selecting Wii games and DS games, they took a side trip to the Music pages and the Sporting Goods. Then, they were done.
So it seems to me that my 10 and 7-year old sons have ridiculously sophisticated taste for their tender ages, but I'm sure "Santa" will be able to figure it out. (Of course, I annotate their lists for the grandparents with exact item numbers, photographs, and additional product information as necessary...hey, sometimes being a nerd is very helpful!) I do feel sort of nostalgic for those bygone days when they used to sit around on the floor in their pjs on Christmas morning, setting up the Fisher Price Farm or building towers of blocks. This year it'll be louder (when Derek opens his electronic drum pad) and more rambunctious (when they practice shooting goals into their new soccer net--but at least that's outside!) On the upside, I won't be tripping over Little People or zigzagging around wooden houses erected all over the Living Room...and when they calm down long enough to plop on the couch and test out their new games, I will be able to sip my coffee with Christmas peace and joy (I hope)!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Mother of the Band...
Our household, always musically-inclined to begin with, is positively rocking these days. Derek--who's wanted to be a drummer probably since the day he picked up his toddler spoon and banged it on the table--has finally hooked up with some classmates to form a 5th-grade band. Between them, they have multiple electric guitars and amps, a drumset, and a microphone (But no Roadies to haul their stuff--oh that's right: they just call them "Dad"! And the Tour Bus that gets them to each other's houses? Mom's sensible Subaru!). The boys schedule rehearsals and get together in one of the boy's basements to "jam". On the business end, they're collaborating on a band name and logo at the moment. They're writing songs and working on playing cover tunes together. Yeah, he's definitely living the dream! (All he needs is some groupies....wait, what am I saying? Then we'd have to hire Security to keep the squealing 10-year old girls away!)
Riley, not to be outdone, (and wanting to be exactly like his older brother, of course) has been diligently toiling away at his desk in his room, composing his own songs. He went to school and recruited three of his 2nd-grade friends to join his group (they might not have ANY idea what he's talking about, but they gamely agreed to sign on!). And what could a 7-year old possibly find to sing about? Well, you heard (okay, SAW) it here first, a sample from Riley's future Debut Album: "I'm too awesome, you're just a possum. You are not a punk, sitting in your bunk. Too awesome, get a grip, conquer your fears, or I'll give you tears!" (I'll bet Jon Bon Jovi started out in elementary school writing tunes similar to this one!) Whereas Derek prefers to be a non-vocal band member, Riley seems to have a classic Lead Singer personality. Last night, as a matter of fact, I heard him humming a recognizable tune ("Break Your Heart", by Taio Cruz, if you're interested) WHILE brushing his teeth (a rare and special talent? useful for fitting in a few minutes of practice before bed, anyway!).
At dinner a few nights ago, Derek started imagining out loud about "someday when I make it big and play in huge arenas for thousands of screaming fans". Yes, sweetie, that would be an exciting and fulfilling life...now eat your broccoli, finish your Spelling homework, and get your pjs on! (I'm sure AC/DC had to be in bed at 8:45 once upon a time too...)
Riley, not to be outdone, (and wanting to be exactly like his older brother, of course) has been diligently toiling away at his desk in his room, composing his own songs. He went to school and recruited three of his 2nd-grade friends to join his group (they might not have ANY idea what he's talking about, but they gamely agreed to sign on!). And what could a 7-year old possibly find to sing about? Well, you heard (okay, SAW) it here first, a sample from Riley's future Debut Album: "I'm too awesome, you're just a possum. You are not a punk, sitting in your bunk. Too awesome, get a grip, conquer your fears, or I'll give you tears!" (I'll bet Jon Bon Jovi started out in elementary school writing tunes similar to this one!) Whereas Derek prefers to be a non-vocal band member, Riley seems to have a classic Lead Singer personality. Last night, as a matter of fact, I heard him humming a recognizable tune ("Break Your Heart", by Taio Cruz, if you're interested) WHILE brushing his teeth (a rare and special talent? useful for fitting in a few minutes of practice before bed, anyway!).
At dinner a few nights ago, Derek started imagining out loud about "someday when I make it big and play in huge arenas for thousands of screaming fans". Yes, sweetie, that would be an exciting and fulfilling life...now eat your broccoli, finish your Spelling homework, and get your pjs on! (I'm sure AC/DC had to be in bed at 8:45 once upon a time too...)
Monday, December 13, 2010
Decembrrrrrrr!
For the second year in a row (and YES, I am counting!) the Mid-Atlantic region is experiencing extra-cold weather, extra-early. It's freezy, it's breezy, it's snow-showery...I'd embellish some more, but I can't feel my fingers too well right now. This leads me to my topic for the day: in an effort to continue the grateful and joyful spirit of the Holiday Season--even while shivering--I'm going to focus on a few things I really do love about this dark, frigid month...
--A nice big mug of hot tea: (which is why I am now typing with ease--you didn't even notice me going to the microwave to zap some herbal-lemon-ginger green tea, did you?) Steam wafts up my nose, clearing my sinuses temporarily. Heat radiates to my numb digits, wrapped completely around the ceramic cup. I can track the warmth as it spreads down my throat, to my stomach, and eventually all the way to my toes. Aaahhh.
--Related topic: hot chocolate: (made with real milk, not water). Smothered in mini-marshmallows (the soft kind, NOT the crunchy little balls of petrified sugar that come in the hot chocolate mix). Who says this stuff is just for kids? Mmmm...
--Festive music on the radio: Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas, Bruce Springsteen rocking Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Josh Groban caroling O Holy Night, Johnny Mathis warbling Winter Wonderland. Old favorites, new classics--they set the proper celebratory mood for the holiday season. (I do draw the line, however, at I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, and other such atrocities--I have my standards!)
--Lights, lights, lights! Whether driving around after dark (easy to do, in this minimal-daylight month), or venturing out for a walk before dinner (more like "a waddle" after layering on all the necessary wind-and-chill-blocking items one needs to enjoy the Great Outdoors these days), I revel in the sparkly, twinkly displays all around me. Wreaths, inflatable snowglobes, colored lights hanging from the roof, candles in the windows, I love them all. Even the houses that are SO bright they blind you--like a camera flash--or the Nativity sets with personal touches...like penguins or polar bears peacefully planted alongside the Magi, greeting the baby Jesus! Whether I ooh and aah, stop and stare, or just giggle, they all make me happy.
--Treats: explanation needed? Cookies, candy canes, red-and-green-wrapped chocolates (they do taste better when dressed up that way, am I right?)...and the implicit permission to eat them all, in keeping with the true meaning of...oh, nevermind, it's just a fun indulgence!
--Christmas shows: although my kids are at that awkward stage, where they're "too old" for the animated shows, and too young to get all nostalgic about it. That's okay, I'll watch them myself! Who can resist "in Whoville they say, that the Grinch's small heart grew 3 sizes that day"? Or the campy fun of the Miser Brothers ("I'm Mr. White Christmas; I'm Mr. Snow")? Or the heartwarming cuddliness of A Muppet Christmas ("Oh, Ker-my?) Or Charlie Brown's scraggly pine tree, that blossomed when fed with hope and love? A warm blanket, a soft couch, and a collection of classic DVDs makes for a very merry December night!
--Secrets: of the very best kind! Picking out gifts, snatching the boxes when they show up on the porch (and while we're at it: thank GOODNESS for Amazon! I just can't imagine what I'd do without everyone's favorite Internet Elves!), stashing bags in closets and under beds, wrapping in the dark of night. All for the huge reward of seeing eyes light up and mouths drop open when they unveil their surprises on Christmas morning.
So, my friends, to quote yet another classic, "These are a few of my favorite things" (go ahead, sing along, you know you want to : ) I hope this wintry time of year is chock-full of smiles and joy for you, too!
--A nice big mug of hot tea: (which is why I am now typing with ease--you didn't even notice me going to the microwave to zap some herbal-lemon-ginger green tea, did you?) Steam wafts up my nose, clearing my sinuses temporarily. Heat radiates to my numb digits, wrapped completely around the ceramic cup. I can track the warmth as it spreads down my throat, to my stomach, and eventually all the way to my toes. Aaahhh.
--Related topic: hot chocolate: (made with real milk, not water). Smothered in mini-marshmallows (the soft kind, NOT the crunchy little balls of petrified sugar that come in the hot chocolate mix). Who says this stuff is just for kids? Mmmm...
--Festive music on the radio: Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas, Bruce Springsteen rocking Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Josh Groban caroling O Holy Night, Johnny Mathis warbling Winter Wonderland. Old favorites, new classics--they set the proper celebratory mood for the holiday season. (I do draw the line, however, at I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas, and other such atrocities--I have my standards!)
--Lights, lights, lights! Whether driving around after dark (easy to do, in this minimal-daylight month), or venturing out for a walk before dinner (more like "a waddle" after layering on all the necessary wind-and-chill-blocking items one needs to enjoy the Great Outdoors these days), I revel in the sparkly, twinkly displays all around me. Wreaths, inflatable snowglobes, colored lights hanging from the roof, candles in the windows, I love them all. Even the houses that are SO bright they blind you--like a camera flash--or the Nativity sets with personal touches...like penguins or polar bears peacefully planted alongside the Magi, greeting the baby Jesus! Whether I ooh and aah, stop and stare, or just giggle, they all make me happy.
--Treats: explanation needed? Cookies, candy canes, red-and-green-wrapped chocolates (they do taste better when dressed up that way, am I right?)...and the implicit permission to eat them all, in keeping with the true meaning of...oh, nevermind, it's just a fun indulgence!
--Christmas shows: although my kids are at that awkward stage, where they're "too old" for the animated shows, and too young to get all nostalgic about it. That's okay, I'll watch them myself! Who can resist "in Whoville they say, that the Grinch's small heart grew 3 sizes that day"? Or the campy fun of the Miser Brothers ("I'm Mr. White Christmas; I'm Mr. Snow")? Or the heartwarming cuddliness of A Muppet Christmas ("Oh, Ker-my?) Or Charlie Brown's scraggly pine tree, that blossomed when fed with hope and love? A warm blanket, a soft couch, and a collection of classic DVDs makes for a very merry December night!
--Secrets: of the very best kind! Picking out gifts, snatching the boxes when they show up on the porch (and while we're at it: thank GOODNESS for Amazon! I just can't imagine what I'd do without everyone's favorite Internet Elves!), stashing bags in closets and under beds, wrapping in the dark of night. All for the huge reward of seeing eyes light up and mouths drop open when they unveil their surprises on Christmas morning.
So, my friends, to quote yet another classic, "These are a few of my favorite things" (go ahead, sing along, you know you want to : ) I hope this wintry time of year is chock-full of smiles and joy for you, too!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Classic Rock for the Next Generation
My kids are still young enough that they tolerate their parents, listen to stories about "when we were young" without grimacing, and even (for the moment, at least) accept our behavior with a minimum of eye-rolling or morbid embarrassment. So, for example, when an old Bon Jovi song comes on the radio, and Mom turns it up to wail along ("whoa-oh, livin' on a prayer!"), they might be a tad surprised for a moment, but they take it in stride. In fact, after his initial confusion, Derek nonchalantly stated, "Sure, I know that song from playing Lego Rock Band on the Wii." Thank goodness for technology...so yet another generation can fully appreciate the power and awesomeness of a classic hair band.
Then there's Riley, who yesterday was on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, humming a snatch of song to himself ("na, na, na na na, nananananananana na na na"--it doesn't really translate to the page, you'll have to trust me here.) It was a very clear, strong beat, and I was only half paying attention when suddenly in my head--as though it was Riley Radio--I heard the actual singer start the lyrics...and it was Ozzy Osbourne. My 7-year old was just doing a little Black Sabbath tune before school. When I told Derek about it a few minutes later, he added, "Last time Riley was playing air hockey in the basement, he was singing that song, you know, it goes 'all of my love, all of my love'..." Um, Led Zeppelin? Good. Grief. I have a budding classic-rock-heavy-metalhead on my hands. (But let's just be clear: there will be no piercings, tattoos, or leather apparel until you're at least 18!)
Finally, Derek has been loving his drum lessons so far. This week his teacher brought his own guitar for the first time, so they could "jam" together, and Derek was on Cloud 9. Afterwards, he requested that I add the AC/DC songs back onto his iPod so he could study the drum patterns. Ah, my young musical dudes and their heavy metal education...I suspect we're in for a loud, wild ride as they pursue their rock-and-roll dreams! (Do you think it's too late to impress upon them how very cool Mozart can be?)
Then there's Riley, who yesterday was on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, humming a snatch of song to himself ("na, na, na na na, nananananananana na na na"--it doesn't really translate to the page, you'll have to trust me here.) It was a very clear, strong beat, and I was only half paying attention when suddenly in my head--as though it was Riley Radio--I heard the actual singer start the lyrics...and it was Ozzy Osbourne. My 7-year old was just doing a little Black Sabbath tune before school. When I told Derek about it a few minutes later, he added, "Last time Riley was playing air hockey in the basement, he was singing that song, you know, it goes 'all of my love, all of my love'..." Um, Led Zeppelin? Good. Grief. I have a budding classic-rock-heavy-metalhead on my hands. (But let's just be clear: there will be no piercings, tattoos, or leather apparel until you're at least 18!)
Finally, Derek has been loving his drum lessons so far. This week his teacher brought his own guitar for the first time, so they could "jam" together, and Derek was on Cloud 9. Afterwards, he requested that I add the AC/DC songs back onto his iPod so he could study the drum patterns. Ah, my young musical dudes and their heavy metal education...I suspect we're in for a loud, wild ride as they pursue their rock-and-roll dreams! (Do you think it's too late to impress upon them how very cool Mozart can be?)
Monday, December 6, 2010
Party On, Dudes!
We held our annual Holiday Open House this past weekend, which as usual was a fete chock full of good cheer, great friends, yummy food, and widespread merriment. As I was preparing for the party, it occurred to me that I have been throwing this bash since before Husband and I even began dating. It has been relocated through 3 cities, 2 apartments and our current house. When it started, in 1991, I was a young, single professional woman living on her own in a fairly-cruddy-but-affordable apartment. My pals and I all had jobs, but no one was married yet, or (heaven forbid) had children. Get-togethers were likely to involve free-flowing libations, loud music, and late hours. [The most notorious collective-memory of these early years was captured in photographic evidence from 1995. The pictures implicate a large number of my closest friends in what would come to be known as the scandalous "Cookie-Decorating Incident." (Let me just sum it up thusly:
tubs of frosting + food coloring + sugar cookies + BEER = T-r-o-u-b-l-e.)
Gazing around at our living room on Saturday, I thought, "Oh, how times have changed!" First of all, it was afternoon. No longer do we party into the wee hours...and there will be no Last Call....unless it's a warning that someone is about to abscond with the one remaining pumpkin muffin. I try playing festive music, but end up turning it off when I can't hear the tunes over the mayhem. And speaking of chaos, we seem to have acquired an awful lot of extra people over the last decade or so--namely husbands and children. This is probably an illusion, but it almost seems like the offspring outnumber us these days...or maybe that's just due to the amount of manic energy and earsplitting noise they put out. However, I must report that the Next Generation experienced their own little Icing Incident this year...it involved some storebought cookies, whose sugary coating stained one's teeth a vivid, ogre-ish green. The youngsters delighted in consuming as many as they could, then grossing out whatever adult happened to be nearby. Ah, good times.
Some things of course remain the same--people still congregate in the kitchen for conversation and edibles. The drinks still flow...although these days it's bound to consist of equal amounts of Sam Adams, Pepsi, and juice boxes. There are still wild moments, as when I went to the basement to retrieve a beverage and inadvertently entered the Lethal Nerf Combat Zone ("Duck and cover, Mom!" is not something I'm quite used to hearing at a party...and by the way, whose brilliant idea was it to ARM the children in the first place?) There was the requisite Party Injury--not attributable to over-consumption--as my sister unfortunately stubbed her toe...running away from the hyped-up children chasing her. And finally, there was just a modicum of inappropriate behavior, as Riley (yes, MY son, naturally) got out his brand-new Merriam-Webster Children's Dictionary (aww, look at my little nerdling, showing his friends how to look up words!) and then giggled hysterically as he confessed through his toothless grin, "We found the A-word!" (Hey, why don't you look up "grounded until you're 30!" You might have more use for that one...)
The day after the fiesta, I was feeling the effects of too much sugar and caffeine, but I'll gladly take those consequences over Mornings After in the old days. So all-in-all, I'd have to say that another December has been kicked off in fine fashion. Let this be the beginning of a treat-eating, friend-visiting, partygoing month...just as soon as I have my coffee, that is!
tubs of frosting + food coloring + sugar cookies + BEER = T-r-o-u-b-l-e.)
Gazing around at our living room on Saturday, I thought, "Oh, how times have changed!" First of all, it was afternoon. No longer do we party into the wee hours...and there will be no Last Call....unless it's a warning that someone is about to abscond with the one remaining pumpkin muffin. I try playing festive music, but end up turning it off when I can't hear the tunes over the mayhem. And speaking of chaos, we seem to have acquired an awful lot of extra people over the last decade or so--namely husbands and children. This is probably an illusion, but it almost seems like the offspring outnumber us these days...or maybe that's just due to the amount of manic energy and earsplitting noise they put out. However, I must report that the Next Generation experienced their own little Icing Incident this year...it involved some storebought cookies, whose sugary coating stained one's teeth a vivid, ogre-ish green. The youngsters delighted in consuming as many as they could, then grossing out whatever adult happened to be nearby. Ah, good times.
Some things of course remain the same--people still congregate in the kitchen for conversation and edibles. The drinks still flow...although these days it's bound to consist of equal amounts of Sam Adams, Pepsi, and juice boxes. There are still wild moments, as when I went to the basement to retrieve a beverage and inadvertently entered the Lethal Nerf Combat Zone ("Duck and cover, Mom!" is not something I'm quite used to hearing at a party...and by the way, whose brilliant idea was it to ARM the children in the first place?) There was the requisite Party Injury--not attributable to over-consumption--as my sister unfortunately stubbed her toe...running away from the hyped-up children chasing her. And finally, there was just a modicum of inappropriate behavior, as Riley (yes, MY son, naturally) got out his brand-new Merriam-Webster Children's Dictionary (aww, look at my little nerdling, showing his friends how to look up words!) and then giggled hysterically as he confessed through his toothless grin, "We found the A-word!" (Hey, why don't you look up "grounded until you're 30!" You might have more use for that one...)
The day after the fiesta, I was feeling the effects of too much sugar and caffeine, but I'll gladly take those consequences over Mornings After in the old days. So all-in-all, I'd have to say that another December has been kicked off in fine fashion. Let this be the beginning of a treat-eating, friend-visiting, partygoing month...just as soon as I have my coffee, that is!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
'Tis the Season
Aahh: (or aarrgh! depending on your perspective) December has sledded into town, twinkling with colored lights, riding on the aroma of sugar cookies, teasing us with the hint of snowy days in our near future. 'Tis the season for festivity and mania--as we rush about, cooking, cleaning, shopping, wrapping, visiting, decorating, eating, gifting. And I get caught up and swept along in the holiday tide too...to the point of feeling like I'm spinning around in circles, too crazed to pause, take a deep breath and actually enjoy the hoopla. So this year I made myself a solemn vow: to slow down, relax, and simplify.
I began implementing my Master Plan (sounds so official, right? or vaguely diabolical...you be the judge...) when sorting through the Christmas decorations last weekend. "We're turning over a new (holly) leaf," I firmly decided, "less cutesy, more classy." Out with the caroling stuffed-animals and the wax candles we never light (I don't know why I decided that open flames were a good idea in a house where children are ALWAYS running around...and the smoke itself is an allergy nightmare); IN with flameless LED candles and shiny beaded garland strings. Out with the plastic Little People and Veggie Tales nativity sets. Side note: I almost got into B-I-G trouble here, though. When the "Jesus toys" (as Derek has been calling them since he was 3) failed to make an appearance, I had a Christmas Crisis on my hands. Why, you ask? Because for the past several years, Derek has been setting up Little People vs.Veggie Tales as opposing football teams, to play the Bethlehem Bowl (sponsored by Holiday Inn--"It's better than sleeping in a stable"! Yeah, I just made that last part up...) I managed to placate him by purchasing a wooden nativity set that he could use for his gridiron games. Since there's now only one Team Jesus, they ended up in a hotly contested battle against...the Superhero action figures. One day I walked through just as Derek--color commentating his own sporting events, as usual--gravely announced, "Oh, Wolverine took Mary down at the 10 yard line, that was quite a hit!" ...um, that's totally classy, right?
With the delicate issue of "decking the halls" all squared away, I next turned my attention to our annual holiday party. In keeping with my new motto, I decided to have an Open House this year. Simple finger food! Casual afternoon timing! Less fuss, more fun! (ooh, that should be my motto!) In years past, I've driven myself absolutely NUTS with stress and worry in the week leading up to the party, as I flit about in a frenzy of planning and preparing. So this year, to put my mantra into practice: I've written a list of which stores I must go to, and what needs to be bought at each one. I've also determined when each menu item needs to be assembled. I've set aside time to shop and bake. And now I'm twiddling my thumbs, wondering why I have free time! Have I forgotten anything? What should I be doing? Ironically, I'm so calm, it's starting to freak me out!
Well, there's only one thing for it...I'll just make myself a cup of tea, put my feet up, and cheer on Team Jesus. (It should be a good one--I hear this week they're playing the Star Wars Squad...and you know Darth Maul cheats!) On second thought, maybe I'd better go with an Irish coffee instead...
I began implementing my Master Plan (sounds so official, right? or vaguely diabolical...you be the judge...) when sorting through the Christmas decorations last weekend. "We're turning over a new (holly) leaf," I firmly decided, "less cutesy, more classy." Out with the caroling stuffed-animals and the wax candles we never light (I don't know why I decided that open flames were a good idea in a house where children are ALWAYS running around...and the smoke itself is an allergy nightmare); IN with flameless LED candles and shiny beaded garland strings. Out with the plastic Little People and Veggie Tales nativity sets. Side note: I almost got into B-I-G trouble here, though. When the "Jesus toys" (as Derek has been calling them since he was 3) failed to make an appearance, I had a Christmas Crisis on my hands. Why, you ask? Because for the past several years, Derek has been setting up Little People vs.Veggie Tales as opposing football teams, to play the Bethlehem Bowl (sponsored by Holiday Inn--"It's better than sleeping in a stable"! Yeah, I just made that last part up...) I managed to placate him by purchasing a wooden nativity set that he could use for his gridiron games. Since there's now only one Team Jesus, they ended up in a hotly contested battle against...the Superhero action figures. One day I walked through just as Derek--color commentating his own sporting events, as usual--gravely announced, "Oh, Wolverine took Mary down at the 10 yard line, that was quite a hit!" ...um, that's totally classy, right?
With the delicate issue of "decking the halls" all squared away, I next turned my attention to our annual holiday party. In keeping with my new motto, I decided to have an Open House this year. Simple finger food! Casual afternoon timing! Less fuss, more fun! (ooh, that should be my motto!) In years past, I've driven myself absolutely NUTS with stress and worry in the week leading up to the party, as I flit about in a frenzy of planning and preparing. So this year, to put my mantra into practice: I've written a list of which stores I must go to, and what needs to be bought at each one. I've also determined when each menu item needs to be assembled. I've set aside time to shop and bake. And now I'm twiddling my thumbs, wondering why I have free time! Have I forgotten anything? What should I be doing? Ironically, I'm so calm, it's starting to freak me out!
Well, there's only one thing for it...I'll just make myself a cup of tea, put my feet up, and cheer on Team Jesus. (It should be a good one--I hear this week they're playing the Star Wars Squad...and you know Darth Maul cheats!) On second thought, maybe I'd better go with an Irish coffee instead...
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sarcasm as a way of life...
Often in the daily frenzy of Family Life, I am absolutely absorbed with such mundane tasks as: determinedly fighting to keep ahead of my To-Do List, madly shuttling people to where they need to be at any given time, competently ensuring that everyone has whatever food/ supplies/ moral support they require, etc. Time whizzes merrily along (yes, of course I'm shocked and appalled that it's December already...aren't you?) and yet, for long periods, I might not notice the subtle changes creeping in around me. Then out of the blue I'll get whacked with a sign I can't ignore--like Derek shooting up another inch, and getting even closer to my height. Or Riley losing 4 baby teeth in a single month, putting an end to his baby grin forever.
Other rites of passage are more understated. Derek has been teetering a fine line between "clinging" and "asserting independence" for a while now. He still likes to hang out with his family, but he'll spend time alone in his room too. He generally wants to know where I'm going and when I'll be back whenever I leave the house...but this past weekend we had the following exchange:
Me: "I'm planning to go shopping at 10."
D: "Okay" (eyes lighting up with recognized opportunity)--"can we play Wii then?"
[Time passes, I haven't made it out at my scheduled departure time (yeah, like THAT ever happens), and Derek comes looking for me]
D: "Why aren't you gone?"
Me: "I got busy doing other stuff...wait, do you want me to go away?"
D. "Yeah!"
Me: "That is sooo not the right answer!"
D: "Well, what is?"
Me: (hand over heart, slight catch in voice) "Don't leave, Mommy, stay with us forever!"
D: (head cocked, seeming to seriously consider this for a moment) "Are you sure you want to stay here with us gooberheads?"
Oh...you make an excellent point. (Exit Mom, Stage Right)
And now even Riley has jumped on the Melodrama Express (although frankly, he's such a frequent passenger, he should have a Lifetime Ticket). Just a little while ago, he meandered in from playing outside, and asked me if he should take a shower before putting on some warm pjs. His exact words actually were: "Smell me, do I need a shower?" (Gosh, honey, what a fabulous offer! Memo to me: remind him never to say that to a girl again--even if it is Mom!) I initially told him he was fine, but upon spying the ground-in dirt on his elbows, I reversed my decision and scooted him off to clean up. His face turned stormy, his voice quavered, and he demanded to know "then why did you tell me I didn't need to shower?" "I changed my mind," I blithely answered. He began to stomp out of the room, but almost immediately turned and retorted, with a sneer worthy of Elvis, in a voice positively dripping with sarcasm, and USING AIR QUOTES, "That's right, I changed my mind!" I couldn't help it; I exploded with laughter. My 7-year old son just air-quoted me for the first time. I'm so proud.
And may I just say, I have no idea where they get their sarcasm...or dramatic tendencies.
Other rites of passage are more understated. Derek has been teetering a fine line between "clinging" and "asserting independence" for a while now. He still likes to hang out with his family, but he'll spend time alone in his room too. He generally wants to know where I'm going and when I'll be back whenever I leave the house...but this past weekend we had the following exchange:
Me: "I'm planning to go shopping at 10."
D: "Okay" (eyes lighting up with recognized opportunity)--"can we play Wii then?"
[Time passes, I haven't made it out at my scheduled departure time (yeah, like THAT ever happens), and Derek comes looking for me]
D: "Why aren't you gone?"
Me: "I got busy doing other stuff...wait, do you want me to go away?"
D. "Yeah!"
Me: "That is sooo not the right answer!"
D: "Well, what is?"
Me: (hand over heart, slight catch in voice) "Don't leave, Mommy, stay with us forever!"
D: (head cocked, seeming to seriously consider this for a moment) "Are you sure you want to stay here with us gooberheads?"
Oh...you make an excellent point. (Exit Mom, Stage Right)
And now even Riley has jumped on the Melodrama Express (although frankly, he's such a frequent passenger, he should have a Lifetime Ticket). Just a little while ago, he meandered in from playing outside, and asked me if he should take a shower before putting on some warm pjs. His exact words actually were: "Smell me, do I need a shower?" (Gosh, honey, what a fabulous offer! Memo to me: remind him never to say that to a girl again--even if it is Mom!) I initially told him he was fine, but upon spying the ground-in dirt on his elbows, I reversed my decision and scooted him off to clean up. His face turned stormy, his voice quavered, and he demanded to know "then why did you tell me I didn't need to shower?" "I changed my mind," I blithely answered. He began to stomp out of the room, but almost immediately turned and retorted, with a sneer worthy of Elvis, in a voice positively dripping with sarcasm, and USING AIR QUOTES, "That's right, I changed my mind!" I couldn't help it; I exploded with laughter. My 7-year old son just air-quoted me for the first time. I'm so proud.
And may I just say, I have no idea where they get their sarcasm...or dramatic tendencies.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Talking Turkey...and stuff
Today, in honor of Thanksgiving, I will be serving up a mildly-seasoned rant, with just a dollop of old-fashioned snark, accompanied by a heaping side of nostalgia.
Let me begin by affirming how much I adore Thanksgiving. It has always represented many special things to me: delicious food (and so much of it!), family togetherness (and...sooo much of it...), and the sentimental start to the entire Holiday Season Extravaganza. When I was growing up, my family always anticipated Thanksgiving as a worthy event in-and-of itself, not just something to get through, in order to reach Christmas faster (although I must admit that my siblings and I did not deny ourselves the Santa-stic ritual of "Perusing the Toy Catalogs" when they plopped into the mailbox right after Halloween). So, we'd feast and frolic, and then, after Thanksgiving Day had been given its full measure of attention and appreciation, my mom would suddenly morph into a whirlwind Christmas Elf. I remember vividly: each November she'd always deck the halls--in full twinkly, glittery, piney grandeur--the weekend immediately following Thanksgiving. And we were allowed to turn on Christmas music for the first time when the decorations came out as well--not one minute before!
Not surprisingly, I adopted my mother's holiday practices without even thinking about it. My sons know that tomorrow or Saturday, the enormous Rubbermaid boxes will be hauled up from the storage room, the Yule Bling will get unpacked, and their Mom will start belting out the Johnny Mathis Christmas Album (yeah, an oldie-but-goodie also inherited from the 'Rents) while transforming the house into Noel Central. We'll watch The Grinch (classic--I know each and every word, don't test me!) and The Year Without a Santa Claus (new classic--how could you not love Heat Miser and Snow Miser?), and hang our treasured ornaments on the (allergy-friendly artificial) tree, and plan what yummy snacks to concoct for our upcoming Holiday Open House.
And (here comes the "rant" I promised...or threatened...whatever) what will we NOT be doing? Shopping...on Thanksgiving...when the stores are now starting their "Black Friday Sales". (Really? What mega-genius came up with that idea..."hmm, let me cram in the last bite of pumpkin pie, leap up from the dinner table and go...buy stuff"?) A few years ago, I took it as a definite Sign of the Apocalypse that one local radio station, which used to start playing Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving--just exactly when we were ready for it--started the 24/7 Holiday Songs the week before Turkey Day. This year, they've moved it back another week. Is it just me, or is the message: "skip the gratitude, get right to the consumerism"? (Not to mention, there is an absolute limit to how many times one can hear "Feliz Navidad" in a month, without wanting to toss your sugar cookies, am I right?) Christmas lights and stockings and wrapping paper now appear on shelves as Halloween costumes are being cleared away (I blame Bad Elves!) Shopping Centers these days put up their lights and banners in early November; frankly, to me it feels like they're trying to force the Holiday Spirit (get in a celebratory mood RIGHT NOW, darn it...or else!)
But in this house, we are busy making cheesy potatoes to take to dinner at Mom's. While lounging in our pajamas, we might watch a Thanksgiving Parade. The boys certainly will find a football game on TV that requires their undivided concentration. Later, there will be lots of munching and cousin-wrestling and conversation and laughter. (Yes, a toy catalog might get passed around.) And then, over the river and through the woods on the way home from Grammy's (my Mom's) house, we just may put in a Christmas CD, and chat about the decorating and party-planning that awaits us...tomorrow (after we sleep off the Food Coma)! So here's wishing everyone a warm and wonderful Thanksgiving Day; may you enjoy it to the fullest, and chillax to the max! (For tomorrow...we break out the tinsel!)
Let me begin by affirming how much I adore Thanksgiving. It has always represented many special things to me: delicious food (and so much of it!), family togetherness (and...sooo much of it...), and the sentimental start to the entire Holiday Season Extravaganza. When I was growing up, my family always anticipated Thanksgiving as a worthy event in-and-of itself, not just something to get through, in order to reach Christmas faster (although I must admit that my siblings and I did not deny ourselves the Santa-stic ritual of "Perusing the Toy Catalogs" when they plopped into the mailbox right after Halloween). So, we'd feast and frolic, and then, after Thanksgiving Day had been given its full measure of attention and appreciation, my mom would suddenly morph into a whirlwind Christmas Elf. I remember vividly: each November she'd always deck the halls--in full twinkly, glittery, piney grandeur--the weekend immediately following Thanksgiving. And we were allowed to turn on Christmas music for the first time when the decorations came out as well--not one minute before!
Not surprisingly, I adopted my mother's holiday practices without even thinking about it. My sons know that tomorrow or Saturday, the enormous Rubbermaid boxes will be hauled up from the storage room, the Yule Bling will get unpacked, and their Mom will start belting out the Johnny Mathis Christmas Album (yeah, an oldie-but-goodie also inherited from the 'Rents) while transforming the house into Noel Central. We'll watch The Grinch (classic--I know each and every word, don't test me!) and The Year Without a Santa Claus (new classic--how could you not love Heat Miser and Snow Miser?), and hang our treasured ornaments on the (allergy-friendly artificial) tree, and plan what yummy snacks to concoct for our upcoming Holiday Open House.
And (here comes the "rant" I promised...or threatened...whatever) what will we NOT be doing? Shopping...on Thanksgiving...when the stores are now starting their "Black Friday Sales". (Really? What mega-genius came up with that idea..."hmm, let me cram in the last bite of pumpkin pie, leap up from the dinner table and go...buy stuff"?) A few years ago, I took it as a definite Sign of the Apocalypse that one local radio station, which used to start playing Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving--just exactly when we were ready for it--started the 24/7 Holiday Songs the week before Turkey Day. This year, they've moved it back another week. Is it just me, or is the message: "skip the gratitude, get right to the consumerism"? (Not to mention, there is an absolute limit to how many times one can hear "Feliz Navidad" in a month, without wanting to toss your sugar cookies, am I right?) Christmas lights and stockings and wrapping paper now appear on shelves as Halloween costumes are being cleared away (I blame Bad Elves!) Shopping Centers these days put up their lights and banners in early November; frankly, to me it feels like they're trying to force the Holiday Spirit (get in a celebratory mood RIGHT NOW, darn it...or else!)
But in this house, we are busy making cheesy potatoes to take to dinner at Mom's. While lounging in our pajamas, we might watch a Thanksgiving Parade. The boys certainly will find a football game on TV that requires their undivided concentration. Later, there will be lots of munching and cousin-wrestling and conversation and laughter. (Yes, a toy catalog might get passed around.) And then, over the river and through the woods on the way home from Grammy's (my Mom's) house, we just may put in a Christmas CD, and chat about the decorating and party-planning that awaits us...tomorrow (after we sleep off the Food Coma)! So here's wishing everyone a warm and wonderful Thanksgiving Day; may you enjoy it to the fullest, and chillax to the max! (For tomorrow...we break out the tinsel!)
Monday, November 22, 2010
Gratitude, with a little attitude
Well, here we are facing down Thanksgiving once more, that cherished day of family get-togethers, gratefulness and gluttony. (Not to sound like a broken record, but where the HECK did November go already? Wasn't it just Halloween, like yesterday? I swear I'm in my own little time warp, where I inexplicably misplace weeks out of my life, then wake up one day wondering what happened. Without looking at a calendar, I could not tell you whether it was the 1st, the 15th or the--gulp--22nd? What the...see what I mean?)
Anyway, it's time to reflect on all the blessings in our lives, and remember the many reasons we have to be thankful. Without further ado, my own personal Top 10 List (Official Disclaimer: this is not meant to be comprehensive; it is limited NOT because these are the only things I could think of, but to keep me from rambling on and on...as I have been known to do...)
1. Family--the parents who raised me, the sister who knows me better than anyone else on the planet (and yet still likes me somehow : ), the brother I used to torment and tease--oh wait, I still do that. Quite simply, they helped make me the person I am today, so blame them...I mean "thanks, beloved family!"
2. "My boys"--an easygoing, good-natured husband who puts up with me (even though I'm positive that I'm frequently difficult to get along with!) and two sons who are growing into unique, interesting, often hilarious little men. All the testosterone around here can be overwhelming at times, but as long as I get to be the Queen, it works for me!
3. Particularly this year, with the economic hard times and natural disasters that the world has endured, I am especially grateful to have food, shelter, and clothing.
4. Bonus: both Husband and I have jobs...EXTRA Bonus: we actually enjoy our work. It is a privilege to get paid to do something you love, and sometimes I have to remind myself not to take that for granted.
5. Friends--some who've known me for decades, some I've met through kids' school or activities, or my job. All of them provide me with laughter, support, advice, and their own special way of looking at things. They open my eyes, broaden my horizons, and make life a heck of a lot more fun!
6. Okay, that's enough of the "serious stuff", right? Now on to some of the things that add sugar and spice to life...such as chocolate. Hot chocolate, Dove chocolates, chocolate chip cookies, Ghirardelli brownies, Hershey's Special Dark bars...give me some chocolate every day, and I'm a happy girl!
7. Music--ask my children how much I enjoy belting out a tune at the top of my lungs (just don't ask them how much they wish I'd stop, though!) And while we're at it: thank goodness for Glee!
8. Naps...an hour under a blanket in a quiet house, with my lavender-scented eye-thingy blocking out all the light, and I feel like a brand new person (one who's not cranky and growly and unpleasant to be around).
9. Books--reading has always been my Great Escape. Some of my earliest memories include times when, implored by my desperate mother to "go outside and get some fresh air", I would take a book with me and sit on the lawn in the sunshine, lost in another time and place. Getting completely immersed in a story is still one of my most treasured pastimes.
10. Computers! As I sit typing on my laptop, taking breaks to check email or update my Facebook status ("still cranking out my blog...experiencing writer's block...back soon!"), I marvel at the way technology has shaped our lives. Derek asks me a question I'm not sure how to answer; we Google it (and cross-check our sources, of course...ha!). We missed the O's game last night--ESPN.com tells us instantly how it turned out (although this is probably a case of "ignorance is bliss"). A friend wants to show her kids an old photo of us from college--I scan and email it to her (well, depending on exactly how embarrassing/unflattering it is). Endless access to information, endless opportunities to stay in touch with loved ones.
And on that note, time to get myself some chocolate milk, turn on some music, and curl up with a good book! Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Anyway, it's time to reflect on all the blessings in our lives, and remember the many reasons we have to be thankful. Without further ado, my own personal Top 10 List (Official Disclaimer: this is not meant to be comprehensive; it is limited NOT because these are the only things I could think of, but to keep me from rambling on and on...as I have been known to do...)
1. Family--the parents who raised me, the sister who knows me better than anyone else on the planet (and yet still likes me somehow : ), the brother I used to torment and tease--oh wait, I still do that. Quite simply, they helped make me the person I am today, so blame them...I mean "thanks, beloved family!"
2. "My boys"--an easygoing, good-natured husband who puts up with me (even though I'm positive that I'm frequently difficult to get along with!) and two sons who are growing into unique, interesting, often hilarious little men. All the testosterone around here can be overwhelming at times, but as long as I get to be the Queen, it works for me!
3. Particularly this year, with the economic hard times and natural disasters that the world has endured, I am especially grateful to have food, shelter, and clothing.
4. Bonus: both Husband and I have jobs...EXTRA Bonus: we actually enjoy our work. It is a privilege to get paid to do something you love, and sometimes I have to remind myself not to take that for granted.
5. Friends--some who've known me for decades, some I've met through kids' school or activities, or my job. All of them provide me with laughter, support, advice, and their own special way of looking at things. They open my eyes, broaden my horizons, and make life a heck of a lot more fun!
6. Okay, that's enough of the "serious stuff", right? Now on to some of the things that add sugar and spice to life...such as chocolate. Hot chocolate, Dove chocolates, chocolate chip cookies, Ghirardelli brownies, Hershey's Special Dark bars...give me some chocolate every day, and I'm a happy girl!
7. Music--ask my children how much I enjoy belting out a tune at the top of my lungs (just don't ask them how much they wish I'd stop, though!) And while we're at it: thank goodness for Glee!
8. Naps...an hour under a blanket in a quiet house, with my lavender-scented eye-thingy blocking out all the light, and I feel like a brand new person (one who's not cranky and growly and unpleasant to be around).
9. Books--reading has always been my Great Escape. Some of my earliest memories include times when, implored by my desperate mother to "go outside and get some fresh air", I would take a book with me and sit on the lawn in the sunshine, lost in another time and place. Getting completely immersed in a story is still one of my most treasured pastimes.
10. Computers! As I sit typing on my laptop, taking breaks to check email or update my Facebook status ("still cranking out my blog...experiencing writer's block...back soon!"), I marvel at the way technology has shaped our lives. Derek asks me a question I'm not sure how to answer; we Google it (and cross-check our sources, of course...ha!). We missed the O's game last night--ESPN.com tells us instantly how it turned out (although this is probably a case of "ignorance is bliss"). A friend wants to show her kids an old photo of us from college--I scan and email it to her (well, depending on exactly how embarrassing/unflattering it is). Endless access to information, endless opportunities to stay in touch with loved ones.
And on that note, time to get myself some chocolate milk, turn on some music, and curl up with a good book! Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I hope you studied!
November has snuck in once again, dark and cool, stealthy and quiet. However, she did manage to set off several alarm bells around here, most notably the end of one quarter of school (and after completing conferences with the boys' teachers, I'm pleased to report that no one has been thrown out of 2nd or 5th grades yet); the true arrival of Fall (in the form of shorter days, crisp temps, and tumbling leaves); and finally, the imminent approach of Thanksgiving (or, as we like to call it, the Food-and-Family-Togetherness Holiday). With these things in mind, I've prepared a special Pop Quiz for my beloved family and friends, to help speed along these last few Pre-Turkey days...
Question 1: Math
If the Pilgrims were traveling in 2010, would they be better off flying to the New World--or would the Mayflower still be more efficient than: driving to the airport the day before Thanksgiving, searching for a parking spot, standing in the Security Line, removing their 17th-century footwear, scanning their steamer trunks, queuing up for airplane snacks, and then waiting around for their flight to be called? Calculate the time difference between the two methods of travel and write a recommendation for maximizing Potential Feast Time. Extra-credit: adjust for 21st century customs such as Football Viewing and Multiple-Relative-Visitation.
Question 2: Health and Nutrition
Which item would most offend and/or horrify the Pilgrims at a modern-day Thanksgiving celebration:
A. cranberry sauce that remains in the shape of the can in which it was packaged
B. sweet potatoes smothered in marshmallows (a substance NOT found in nature)
C. pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream sprayed from a can
Question 3: Philosophy
Part 1: If leaves fall in the backyard and no one hears them land...do I still have to rake?
Part 2: When finished raking for the day, does taunting Nature--"I dare you to drop more leaves, go ahead, you punk tree, make my day"!--cause her to send rain and wind and cover your yard knee-deep in fresh leaves within 24-hours? (Purely hypothetical, of course, but the correct answer, from recent personal experience, is indisputably: Y-E-S!)
Question 4: Math again
Formulate and solve the equation for the following: A woman of weight X who typically eats Y number of calories per day will need to rake and haul how many more goshdarn piles of leaves before she can justify another helping of...everything?
Question 5: Health and Nutrition again
As a vegetarian who does not partake of the Thanksgiving fowl, I should ensure a well-rounded meal by substituting which of the following:
A. extra mashed potatoes (potatoes are a vegetable...even when enhanced by milk and butter)
B. extra stuffing (it's bread--couldn't that be a "whole grain"?)
C. extra broccoli casserole (not only a vegetable, but a green one! or does the pound of Velveeta melted over it cancel out all of the vitamins?)
D. all of the above (I think the answer is clear...this one is a "gimme"!)
Question 6: English
Write a detailed essay addressing the following topics:
List and describe at least 3 health benefits of raking. You may include the following: cardiovascular, strength training, Vitamin D absorption, fresh air, and mood enhancement. Give specific examples to support your choices.
"After having thoroughly cleared the yard of leaves 3 or 4 times, at which point the novelty of raking has completely worn off for this year, the proper course of action is to give up, let the leaves take over, and retreat inside for hot chocolate". Support or refute.
Well, get to work! I'll be over here in the corner, with my feet up, sipping some hot chocolate...with mounds of spray whipped cream!
Question 1: Math
If the Pilgrims were traveling in 2010, would they be better off flying to the New World--or would the Mayflower still be more efficient than: driving to the airport the day before Thanksgiving, searching for a parking spot, standing in the Security Line, removing their 17th-century footwear, scanning their steamer trunks, queuing up for airplane snacks, and then waiting around for their flight to be called? Calculate the time difference between the two methods of travel and write a recommendation for maximizing Potential Feast Time. Extra-credit: adjust for 21st century customs such as Football Viewing and Multiple-Relative-Visitation.
Question 2: Health and Nutrition
Which item would most offend and/or horrify the Pilgrims at a modern-day Thanksgiving celebration:
A. cranberry sauce that remains in the shape of the can in which it was packaged
B. sweet potatoes smothered in marshmallows (a substance NOT found in nature)
C. pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream sprayed from a can
Question 3: Philosophy
Part 1: If leaves fall in the backyard and no one hears them land...do I still have to rake?
Part 2: When finished raking for the day, does taunting Nature--"I dare you to drop more leaves, go ahead, you punk tree, make my day"!--cause her to send rain and wind and cover your yard knee-deep in fresh leaves within 24-hours? (Purely hypothetical, of course, but the correct answer, from recent personal experience, is indisputably: Y-E-S!)
Question 4: Math again
Formulate and solve the equation for the following: A woman of weight X who typically eats Y number of calories per day will need to rake and haul how many more goshdarn piles of leaves before she can justify another helping of...everything?
Question 5: Health and Nutrition again
As a vegetarian who does not partake of the Thanksgiving fowl, I should ensure a well-rounded meal by substituting which of the following:
A. extra mashed potatoes (potatoes are a vegetable...even when enhanced by milk and butter)
B. extra stuffing (it's bread--couldn't that be a "whole grain"?)
C. extra broccoli casserole (not only a vegetable, but a green one! or does the pound of Velveeta melted over it cancel out all of the vitamins?)
D. all of the above (I think the answer is clear...this one is a "gimme"!)
Question 6: English
Write a detailed essay addressing the following topics:
List and describe at least 3 health benefits of raking. You may include the following: cardiovascular, strength training, Vitamin D absorption, fresh air, and mood enhancement. Give specific examples to support your choices.
"After having thoroughly cleared the yard of leaves 3 or 4 times, at which point the novelty of raking has completely worn off for this year, the proper course of action is to give up, let the leaves take over, and retreat inside for hot chocolate". Support or refute.
Well, get to work! I'll be over here in the corner, with my feet up, sipping some hot chocolate...with mounds of spray whipped cream!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Today's Headlines...(family style)
Today's agenda: clear the sticky notes off my writing table and my laptop lid, which means: a compilation of Recent Random Kid Comments (And on a tangentially-related topic: what in the world did people do before post-its? Scribble on their walls? Jot down notes on little bits of paper and place them under whatever was handy, praying they didn't blow away? Who could've guessed that simple, clingy notepaper would revolutionize our lives...)
Anyway, I'll start with Riley. He came home one day after school and approached me very seriously with his "I have something to discuss" face. He led with, "Mom, do you think this was a good choice," at which point my Maternal Alarm went into overdrive, leaping from one nightmare scenario to the next: "No! I don't care if your friends said it would taste good, don't try it! Even if everyone else was jumping off, don't you do it! It doesn't matter if they promised you wouldn't get caught, walk away!" Fortunately, that was all inside my head, as he calmly continued, "I was invited by my student teacher to do fractions at lunchtime." I think I started breathing again at this point, as I assured him that yes, indeed, Lunchtime Fractions sounds like an awesome, really cool thing to do. Of course, part of me has to wonder, does Fractions Club give you 2nd grade street cred, or are they the unfortunate kids who get their heads stuffed into toilets after recess? Hopefully my little Math Nerd will have a positive experience with his other Common Denominators (hahahaha--a math joke! I crack myself up...)
Of course, there is a follow-up to this story, also known as the "Math Can Come Back to Bite You in the Butt" Corollary...the other night I had made a potato-and-green-bean dish for dinner, from which Riley proceeded to pick out an eat each and every one of the beans, leaving a pile of potatoes (blatant Starch Discrimination, I tell you). When asked why he had done this, he responded that he absolutely could NOT eat the potatoes...since they were not congruent...or symmetrical. Oh. Good. Grief. (I was unable to argue with this, as he was 100% correct, both in the evaluation of the spuds, and in the application of the math terminology. Also, I believe he achieved his ultimate objective: making his brother snarf his drink while nearly falling off his chair with hysterical laughter. Yes, this is what constitutes a successful Family Dinner at our house.)
And speaking of Derek, he's walking that fine line between Childhood and Growing Up, as usual. He recently unveiled his newest Life Plan, which involves: continuing to play soccer, making his High School team, getting an Athletic Scholarship to a competitive Division I College or University, being selected for Team USA and participating in the Olympics, then ultimately playing professionally for a European Squad. Oh, and he's going to be in a popular, successful band also. You know, in his free time. I would like to assume that one of his unstated--but critically important--goals would be to take care of his Mom and Dad so that they could retire early and live a Life of Leisure and Recreation (following him around Europe to catch his soccer matches and concerts). However, we may have to work on that, since the last time the subject came up during a Family Discussion, he said he'd like to go to New Mexico State University. Why? "Because it sounds cool, and it's far away from you people!" Now, he DID deliver this line with a huge grin and a voice full of laughter; considering that we have a few more years of brainwashing ahead of us, I think we'll be able to insinuate ourselves into the Master Plan without too much trouble!
Anyway, I'll start with Riley. He came home one day after school and approached me very seriously with his "I have something to discuss" face. He led with, "Mom, do you think this was a good choice," at which point my Maternal Alarm went into overdrive, leaping from one nightmare scenario to the next: "No! I don't care if your friends said it would taste good, don't try it! Even if everyone else was jumping off, don't you do it! It doesn't matter if they promised you wouldn't get caught, walk away!" Fortunately, that was all inside my head, as he calmly continued, "I was invited by my student teacher to do fractions at lunchtime." I think I started breathing again at this point, as I assured him that yes, indeed, Lunchtime Fractions sounds like an awesome, really cool thing to do. Of course, part of me has to wonder, does Fractions Club give you 2nd grade street cred, or are they the unfortunate kids who get their heads stuffed into toilets after recess? Hopefully my little Math Nerd will have a positive experience with his other Common Denominators (hahahaha--a math joke! I crack myself up...)
Of course, there is a follow-up to this story, also known as the "Math Can Come Back to Bite You in the Butt" Corollary...the other night I had made a potato-and-green-bean dish for dinner, from which Riley proceeded to pick out an eat each and every one of the beans, leaving a pile of potatoes (blatant Starch Discrimination, I tell you). When asked why he had done this, he responded that he absolutely could NOT eat the potatoes...since they were not congruent...or symmetrical. Oh. Good. Grief. (I was unable to argue with this, as he was 100% correct, both in the evaluation of the spuds, and in the application of the math terminology. Also, I believe he achieved his ultimate objective: making his brother snarf his drink while nearly falling off his chair with hysterical laughter. Yes, this is what constitutes a successful Family Dinner at our house.)
And speaking of Derek, he's walking that fine line between Childhood and Growing Up, as usual. He recently unveiled his newest Life Plan, which involves: continuing to play soccer, making his High School team, getting an Athletic Scholarship to a competitive Division I College or University, being selected for Team USA and participating in the Olympics, then ultimately playing professionally for a European Squad. Oh, and he's going to be in a popular, successful band also. You know, in his free time. I would like to assume that one of his unstated--but critically important--goals would be to take care of his Mom and Dad so that they could retire early and live a Life of Leisure and Recreation (following him around Europe to catch his soccer matches and concerts). However, we may have to work on that, since the last time the subject came up during a Family Discussion, he said he'd like to go to New Mexico State University. Why? "Because it sounds cool, and it's far away from you people!" Now, he DID deliver this line with a huge grin and a voice full of laughter; considering that we have a few more years of brainwashing ahead of us, I think we'll be able to insinuate ourselves into the Master Plan without too much trouble!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Romeo and Juliet...with a rabbit
My Casanova 5th-grade son brought home a note from a girl today--a neatly-written, politely-worded message that he had apparently tucked carelessly into his backpack for me to find, along with his Homework Folder and Patrol Belt. Now, at this point in his life, Derek would not likely notice a member of the opposite sex unless she: A) kicked a soccer ball at him or B) tried to steal his lunch. Thus the communique was actually addressed to Mom and Dad (smart young lady, go right for the Parentals). In it, Wendy* (names have been altered to protect the pre-pubescent) states her name and address (very practical), and describes her relationship with Derek (according to her, they "sit together at lunch" and "talk to each other often"--so far, so good, it sounds extremely...Elementary School). She goes on to invite him over to her house...to meet her family and her pet bunny. How. Freakin'. Cute. Is. That? (Maybe it's some kind of Tween Test--if the bunny decides it doesn't like him, it's a Dealbreaker for the friendship?)
I must confess, as I stood in the kitchen, clutching the paper in one hand, the other hand clapped over my mouth, I felt torn between horror (my baby is WAAAY too young for this!) and admiration for this little girl. I mean, what a brave 10-year old, to not only tackle (figuratively only, I pray) a clueless boy and try to get his attention, but also to lay it out there for his mother and father? Wow. And maybe she does know Derek pretty well, because her postscript offered...hot chocolate. If she'd just mentioned mini-marshmallows, she would have had him absolutely wrapped up. Perhaps he can negotiate that detail with her, since she ended with: her email address. Like I said, Derek could not possibly be less aware of--or interested in--girls right now. And it's a good thing, because the second he starts appreciating them...I'm locking him in his room and grounding him indefinitely. Yeah, that should work, right?
I must confess, as I stood in the kitchen, clutching the paper in one hand, the other hand clapped over my mouth, I felt torn between horror (my baby is WAAAY too young for this!) and admiration for this little girl. I mean, what a brave 10-year old, to not only tackle (figuratively only, I pray) a clueless boy and try to get his attention, but also to lay it out there for his mother and father? Wow. And maybe she does know Derek pretty well, because her postscript offered...hot chocolate. If she'd just mentioned mini-marshmallows, she would have had him absolutely wrapped up. Perhaps he can negotiate that detail with her, since she ended with: her email address. Like I said, Derek could not possibly be less aware of--or interested in--girls right now. And it's a good thing, because the second he starts appreciating them...I'm locking him in his room and grounding him indefinitely. Yeah, that should work, right?
Monday, November 8, 2010
Wardrobe Malfunction
As the mother of two boys, I am mercifully spared from having to deal with anything involving "Fashion". Neither one of them is picky (yet) about what their clothes look like, or what logos they have; and when it comes time to get dressed in the morning, they just snatch something from the drawer (or the clean laundry pile) and throw it on. They don't accessorize; heck, they don't even MATCH most of the time. My Mom Filter has learned to tune out the nausea-inducing color combinations they choose (it's a defense mechanism, honed over years of Evolution, I'm sure. Cave Moms probably got tired of yelling, "for the love of Pteradactyl, how many times do I have to tell you, saber-toothed tiger print clashes with mastodon?!" But I digress...). My eyes do a quick head-to-toe scan, and as long as I register that the outfit-of-the-day includes both shirt and pants, I'm satisfied.
Here comes the big BUT. Both Derek and Riley seem to be especially warm-blooded creatures, with enviable Internal Heaters that keep them toasty despite such pesky nuisances as freezing temperatures, wind chill, etc. Thus, they prefer to wear as little clothing as Mom will allow them to get away with on a regular basis. In the Spring and Summer this is easy--as soon as I give the Official Parental Okay, it's shorts and t-shirts from April to October. And our weather generally cooperates, remaining on the warmish side until Halloween. However, shortly after that, we suddenly get overnight temperatures in the 30s, and morning frost. When that happens, I feel I must insist on...long pants when they leave the house (horrified gasp! Awful Mommy!) Derek, although he misses his shorts, and reminisces fondly about the warm days when he could let his knees hang out in the breeze, accepts this Seasonal Fashion Declaration with good grace. Then, there's Riley...who had a COLOSSAL meltdown (pun intended), punctuated by sobbing; stomping feet; exaggerated sighing; loud ranting about how hot he's going to be in his classroom; and finally, pulling up of the pant-legs to demonstrate how much more comfortable he would be in shorts...
At long last, he announced dramatically that he was going to bed--and by the way, there would be no need to tuck him in, thank you very much. And with a huffy Good Night, he swept from the room. Whew! Give the kid a Junior Oscar for that heartfelt performance! Now here's where "thank goodness for boys" comes into play. The next morning when he got up and emerged from his bedroom--without the storm clouds--he earnestly announced that he had come up with a solution to his problem. "Since I have to be warm at recess or they won't let me play outside, I'll wear long pants to school. Then when I get home, can I change into shorts to run around our own yard?" Oh sure, why not, honey? The risk of frostbitten shins seems such a small price to pay, to avoid an encore showing of the Terrible Trousers Tantrum!
Here comes the big BUT. Both Derek and Riley seem to be especially warm-blooded creatures, with enviable Internal Heaters that keep them toasty despite such pesky nuisances as freezing temperatures, wind chill, etc. Thus, they prefer to wear as little clothing as Mom will allow them to get away with on a regular basis. In the Spring and Summer this is easy--as soon as I give the Official Parental Okay, it's shorts and t-shirts from April to October. And our weather generally cooperates, remaining on the warmish side until Halloween. However, shortly after that, we suddenly get overnight temperatures in the 30s, and morning frost. When that happens, I feel I must insist on...long pants when they leave the house (horrified gasp! Awful Mommy!) Derek, although he misses his shorts, and reminisces fondly about the warm days when he could let his knees hang out in the breeze, accepts this Seasonal Fashion Declaration with good grace. Then, there's Riley...who had a COLOSSAL meltdown (pun intended), punctuated by sobbing; stomping feet; exaggerated sighing; loud ranting about how hot he's going to be in his classroom; and finally, pulling up of the pant-legs to demonstrate how much more comfortable he would be in shorts...
At long last, he announced dramatically that he was going to bed--and by the way, there would be no need to tuck him in, thank you very much. And with a huffy Good Night, he swept from the room. Whew! Give the kid a Junior Oscar for that heartfelt performance! Now here's where "thank goodness for boys" comes into play. The next morning when he got up and emerged from his bedroom--without the storm clouds--he earnestly announced that he had come up with a solution to his problem. "Since I have to be warm at recess or they won't let me play outside, I'll wear long pants to school. Then when I get home, can I change into shorts to run around our own yard?" Oh sure, why not, honey? The risk of frostbitten shins seems such a small price to pay, to avoid an encore showing of the Terrible Trousers Tantrum!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Daily Grind...
Some women seem to glide through their busy lives--juggling kids' activities, work commitments, and personal pursuits--displaying both infallible organization and unflappable calm, all while managing to appear attractively coiffed and fashionably accessorized. Although I envy them greatly, I am NOT one of these women. On a normal weekday, I'm lucky to tear out of the house with my hair brushed, wearing two matching socks (Bonus Points for remembering earrings, but only partial credit for skipping breakfast...again. Hey, coffee counts, right?). And why does this happen, you may wonder? Let's break down a typical morning at Casa WestEnders...
It begins at 7:45, the very latest Derek and Riley can be allowed to lounge in their beds and still have time to prepare for their school day. Husband does the first round, cheerfully calling "wakey, wakey!" as he opens the curtains to let in morning sunlight (which has absolutely no effect when the boys' heads are completely buried beneath their covers.) A few minutes later, I assume my first role of the day, Drill Sergeant, and threaten the kids with their worst nightmare (no time for breakfast--gasp!) if they don't get up right now. I then quickly switch to Short Order Cook/Waitress as the ravenous beasts demand their several-course morning repast. From there, I briefly play Meteorologist, reporting on the relevant weather news of the day: what the temperature is at the moment, what the "daily high" will be later, and whether any precipitation is expected. I also double as a Stylist during this segment, as the boys require advice as to appropriate clothing choices ("I don't care if you're not cold, it's November, put on some long pants" is a current recurring theme.)
At some point, I squeeze in a few moments as a Barista, making myself a crucial espresso (or two) and chugging it amidst the chaos. Then I hastily select and toss on an outfit from my own closet, apply enough makeup to look Reasonably Awake and Alert, brush my teeth, and rally the troops for the Big Exit. Of course, there's no time in the split-second itinerary to walk to the bus stop (it takes 3.5 minutes, and we haven't done it in the 6 years Derek has been in school so far), so we grab lunches, backpacks, jackets, etc. and pile into the car. Depending on how late we are, I may resemble the very craziest New York City Taxicab Driver--barreling down the street, scaring pedestrians onto the sidewalk, honking my horn--so desperate am I not to miss the bus. (Okay, before you call the police on me, this is a total exaggeration. Really, I'm only cursing like a taxicab driver...in my head, anyway...) Then, with Derek and Riley safely on their way to school, I can relax and become Professional Working Mom for a few hours.
Fast forward to when we all get home, and a new set of jobs awaits. First, there's Educational Support Staff: supervising homework, checking answers, signing papers, corralling assignments. Of course, the caged animals must be allowed to run free for a while after being stuck in a classroom all day, so they will require a Playground Monitor to mediate the inevitable backyard disagreements. All too soon, we must switch to Soccer Mode, in which they need a Trainer to help them gear up for practice--tying cleats, tightening shinguards, filling water bottles, finding balls. While they're gone, I go into Nutritionist Mode, using the time to throw dinner together and to plan what to serve for the rest of the week's hectic evening meals (hmm, will anyone notice if we eat pizza two nights this week?)
Finally, after all the hullabaloo winds down, the magical hour of the night arrives ("Almost-Made-It-To-Bedtime") when we all bring a book and climb into the King-sized bed in Mom and Dad's room, for Snuggle and Reading Time. Rest up, weary people, for tomorrow, the carousel starts spinning again at 7:45 sharp! (Tomorrow I will attempt: to eat breakfast; to leave the house calmly and make it to the bus stop with time to spare; and to actually grab the right shoes on my way out the door, so I don't spend the rest of the day worrying about how they clash with my pants. Lofty goals, I realize...Wish me luck!)
It begins at 7:45, the very latest Derek and Riley can be allowed to lounge in their beds and still have time to prepare for their school day. Husband does the first round, cheerfully calling "wakey, wakey!" as he opens the curtains to let in morning sunlight (which has absolutely no effect when the boys' heads are completely buried beneath their covers.) A few minutes later, I assume my first role of the day, Drill Sergeant, and threaten the kids with their worst nightmare (no time for breakfast--gasp!) if they don't get up right now. I then quickly switch to Short Order Cook/Waitress as the ravenous beasts demand their several-course morning repast. From there, I briefly play Meteorologist, reporting on the relevant weather news of the day: what the temperature is at the moment, what the "daily high" will be later, and whether any precipitation is expected. I also double as a Stylist during this segment, as the boys require advice as to appropriate clothing choices ("I don't care if you're not cold, it's November, put on some long pants" is a current recurring theme.)
At some point, I squeeze in a few moments as a Barista, making myself a crucial espresso (or two) and chugging it amidst the chaos. Then I hastily select and toss on an outfit from my own closet, apply enough makeup to look Reasonably Awake and Alert, brush my teeth, and rally the troops for the Big Exit. Of course, there's no time in the split-second itinerary to walk to the bus stop (it takes 3.5 minutes, and we haven't done it in the 6 years Derek has been in school so far), so we grab lunches, backpacks, jackets, etc. and pile into the car. Depending on how late we are, I may resemble the very craziest New York City Taxicab Driver--barreling down the street, scaring pedestrians onto the sidewalk, honking my horn--so desperate am I not to miss the bus. (Okay, before you call the police on me, this is a total exaggeration. Really, I'm only cursing like a taxicab driver...in my head, anyway...) Then, with Derek and Riley safely on their way to school, I can relax and become Professional Working Mom for a few hours.
Fast forward to when we all get home, and a new set of jobs awaits. First, there's Educational Support Staff: supervising homework, checking answers, signing papers, corralling assignments. Of course, the caged animals must be allowed to run free for a while after being stuck in a classroom all day, so they will require a Playground Monitor to mediate the inevitable backyard disagreements. All too soon, we must switch to Soccer Mode, in which they need a Trainer to help them gear up for practice--tying cleats, tightening shinguards, filling water bottles, finding balls. While they're gone, I go into Nutritionist Mode, using the time to throw dinner together and to plan what to serve for the rest of the week's hectic evening meals (hmm, will anyone notice if we eat pizza two nights this week?)
Finally, after all the hullabaloo winds down, the magical hour of the night arrives ("Almost-Made-It-To-Bedtime") when we all bring a book and climb into the King-sized bed in Mom and Dad's room, for Snuggle and Reading Time. Rest up, weary people, for tomorrow, the carousel starts spinning again at 7:45 sharp! (Tomorrow I will attempt: to eat breakfast; to leave the house calmly and make it to the bus stop with time to spare; and to actually grab the right shoes on my way out the door, so I don't spend the rest of the day worrying about how they clash with my pants. Lofty goals, I realize...Wish me luck!)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Boo! (now pass the chocolate, please!)
It's Halloween, the day that kids await with gleeful anticipation, dreaming of spooky decorations, creative costumes, and bags full of sweet treats. Except if you're my sons...who apparently have gotten over the whole Halloween hype at the tender ages of 10 and 7. I have to admit, I was kind of blindsided by their newfound indifference to this most chocolate-fueled of all holidays. True, Derek is a 5th-grade boy this year, but he's never given any indication that his upper-elementary-school dignity would be compromised by dressing up for a few hours. After all, this is the boy who has always been comfortable donning "special outfits"--one of my very favorite photos of him EVER, happened when he was 3 years old, and proudly wore a gauzy, pastel Fairy Dress to fit in with his little-girl-playgroup-friends (this picture will naturally be forever preserved in a place of honor, to show his future Prom Date). And for quite a while, Riley steadfastly clung to his precious Thomas the Tank Engine costume, happily trotting it out for three Halloweens in a row.
So the fact that neither of them wanted to participate in the Costume Drama came as something of a shock. (EVEN for the school parade, when everyone else was going to be all decked out! Don't get me wrong: I love that they possess the confidence and independent spirit not to follow the crowd...who knew that Halloween would give them a golden opportunity to practice Just Say No!) But then Derek made an offhand comment that triggered a crushing wave of Mom Guilt. He placidly remarked, "People give out junk anyway, and we're not allowed to eat most of it, so it's not really worth going out trick-or-treating." Oh no! He could not have sounded more like me if someone had paid him to imitate his mother. And his parental inspiration? Over the last several years, especially with Derek's braces, I've instituted a policy of: "only good-quality candy, preferably chocolate" when weeding out their Halloween haul (that means the Nerds, the Tootsie Rolls, the Laffy Taffy--anything that's the equivalent of rubbing unadulterated sugar on your teeth--goes straight into the garbage) I had the best of intentions: trying to prevent cavities and sugar comas...but I inadvertently ruined Halloween! Bad Mommy!
Actually, upon calmer reflection, the boys have never been that into the rituals surrounding this particular celebration anyway. They used to enjoy visiting pumpkin patches every Fall, but after going every year since Derek was in preschool, they're waaaay over it. Being on the "easily frightened" end of the scale, they don't particularly care for scary movies or haunted houses. This year, they tell me they'd like to stay home, greet kids at the door, and pass out candy. And I promised that not only would I buy high-end sweets, I'd make sure to stock only our favorites, in greater quantity than we could possibly need to give away...thus we'll end up with our own stash....without needing to put on funny clothes, trudge around in the cold and dark, and beg at peoples' doors! Now that's a new Halloween tradition I can get behind!
So the fact that neither of them wanted to participate in the Costume Drama came as something of a shock. (EVEN for the school parade, when everyone else was going to be all decked out! Don't get me wrong: I love that they possess the confidence and independent spirit not to follow the crowd...who knew that Halloween would give them a golden opportunity to practice Just Say No!) But then Derek made an offhand comment that triggered a crushing wave of Mom Guilt. He placidly remarked, "People give out junk anyway, and we're not allowed to eat most of it, so it's not really worth going out trick-or-treating." Oh no! He could not have sounded more like me if someone had paid him to imitate his mother. And his parental inspiration? Over the last several years, especially with Derek's braces, I've instituted a policy of: "only good-quality candy, preferably chocolate" when weeding out their Halloween haul (that means the Nerds, the Tootsie Rolls, the Laffy Taffy--anything that's the equivalent of rubbing unadulterated sugar on your teeth--goes straight into the garbage) I had the best of intentions: trying to prevent cavities and sugar comas...but I inadvertently ruined Halloween! Bad Mommy!
Actually, upon calmer reflection, the boys have never been that into the rituals surrounding this particular celebration anyway. They used to enjoy visiting pumpkin patches every Fall, but after going every year since Derek was in preschool, they're waaaay over it. Being on the "easily frightened" end of the scale, they don't particularly care for scary movies or haunted houses. This year, they tell me they'd like to stay home, greet kids at the door, and pass out candy. And I promised that not only would I buy high-end sweets, I'd make sure to stock only our favorites, in greater quantity than we could possibly need to give away...thus we'll end up with our own stash....without needing to put on funny clothes, trudge around in the cold and dark, and beg at peoples' doors! Now that's a new Halloween tradition I can get behind!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Warning: that spoon may be a weapon (who knew?)
One of the myriad reasons that I (only sort-of) joke about being a Misplaced Californian is that I've been environmentally-conscious to some degree for quite awhile now. (Or, to put it another way, I was "green" when that was just another color in the Crayola box...) For example, when I drove cross-country in the mid-90s, I kept each and every one of my empty Diet Dr. Pepper bottles (and there were oh-so-many) in my trunk since I couldn't find any place to recycle them--until I reached California, of course. (Incidentally, while on the Left Coast I also discovered Power Bars and "wrap" sandwiches, two other brilliant inventions that had not yet spread across the nation, but which profoundly changed my life...a story for another time, perhaps.) And while I'm not about to join Greenpeace and chain myself to any whaling ships (which would be difficult to do in Maryland anyway), I do try to make responsible choices in my everyday life to lessen my impact on Mother Earth. And, as is my absolute right as a parent, I'm hauling my children along with me on the Tree-Hugging Mission.
Maybe because I introduced the Conservation Concept to them at such an early age, the boys barely bat an eye at many of the practices we follow on a day-to-day basis. Derek will nonchalantly ask me, "Can this be recycled or do I have to throw it away?" Riley will check to see if something can be put in the compost bin. Since the previous school year, they each have had a set of reusable PVC-free plastic bags to pack their snacks and lunch food. And recently, I went the final step to making their home-packed meals completely trash-free. I bought them each a cute, soccer-ball-patterned cloth napkin and a set of bamboo utensils for their lunchboxes. Bless their little Earth-loving hearts, they thought their new supplies were super-cool.
It was actually Husband who thought to ask them at dinner one day, "What do your friends think? Do you get teased?" Derek quickly replied, with a great deal of enthusiasm, "No, they think it's awesome!" Feeling suddenly warm and fuzzy toward 5th-grade boys, I chimed in, "Maybe they'll tell their Moms about it, and you'll start a trend!" I had just begun to see wild visions of an entire elementary school reducing its waste and utilizing sustainable resources...when he destroyed my fantasy by adding, "The guys think these bamboo spoons are excellent for having sword fights at the table!" Oh well. Maybe Al Gore started out as a Bamboo-Utensil-Waving Crusader, taking the message to his buddies, one stab at a time...or I'm going to get an interesting call from the Principal one day very soon...and have a Suspended (and "grounded", ha ha!) Environmentalist on my hands!
Maybe because I introduced the Conservation Concept to them at such an early age, the boys barely bat an eye at many of the practices we follow on a day-to-day basis. Derek will nonchalantly ask me, "Can this be recycled or do I have to throw it away?" Riley will check to see if something can be put in the compost bin. Since the previous school year, they each have had a set of reusable PVC-free plastic bags to pack their snacks and lunch food. And recently, I went the final step to making their home-packed meals completely trash-free. I bought them each a cute, soccer-ball-patterned cloth napkin and a set of bamboo utensils for their lunchboxes. Bless their little Earth-loving hearts, they thought their new supplies were super-cool.
It was actually Husband who thought to ask them at dinner one day, "What do your friends think? Do you get teased?" Derek quickly replied, with a great deal of enthusiasm, "No, they think it's awesome!" Feeling suddenly warm and fuzzy toward 5th-grade boys, I chimed in, "Maybe they'll tell their Moms about it, and you'll start a trend!" I had just begun to see wild visions of an entire elementary school reducing its waste and utilizing sustainable resources...when he destroyed my fantasy by adding, "The guys think these bamboo spoons are excellent for having sword fights at the table!" Oh well. Maybe Al Gore started out as a Bamboo-Utensil-Waving Crusader, taking the message to his buddies, one stab at a time...or I'm going to get an interesting call from the Principal one day very soon...and have a Suspended (and "grounded", ha ha!) Environmentalist on my hands!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Boys Bursting their Bubble
On the broad spectrum of parenting, ranging from Laissez Faire (translated as "let the little monsters run amok") to Petunia Dursley (i.e. "locking the children in a closet under the stairs"), I think of myself as falling somewhere around Protective Mom (possibly leaning toward Overly-Sheltering, but I can live with that). I monitor what the kids are allowed to watch on TV; I limit them to G or PG movies; I curb my own language when they're around (darn it!); I even pay attention to the radio stations we choose, to try to avoid racy DJ commentary and such. But sometimes I wonder, as my boys leave me to venture out into the Big, Wide World...of Elementary School...just how in the heck they pick up some of the interesting and varied information that they bring back home and share at the end of each day.
I do know that on occasion they have a chance to experience school-sponsored Cultural Activities, with the intention of expanding their awareness of the Fine Arts. For example Derek and the rest of the 5th grade recently went to a performance of the National Philharmonic Orchestra at Strathmore Music Hall in Bethesda. They heard selections from Tchaikovsky and Mussorgsky, including excerpts from the 1812 Overture, complete with cannon effects--a HUGE treat for 10-year old boys! When asked what else he remembered, Derek came up with "Ballet of the Hatching Chicks", which sounded so ridiculous that it reduced us all to hysterical laughter...until we looked it up on the program and discovered the piece really is called: "Ballet of the Chicks in their Shells." Um, unborn birds...dancing? What the? (Russian geniuses partaking of a little too much vodka while composing, maybe?) Nevertheless--at least for an hour--they're appreciating a kind of music that doesn't get played on Hot 99.5, with lyrics referring to "booties" and "hotties" and whatnot.
Then there are incidents for which I have absolutely no explanation. Case in point: Derek was playing Wii the other day, trash-talking the opposing soccer team as usual. Normally I tune out his constant stream of patter, but this time one comment caught my attention. Out of the blue, he vehemently exclaimed, "I like my sandwiches like I like my girls: CHUNKY!" Oh. My. Goodness. (still watching my tongue, you'll notice) Sitting in the office at the computer, I didn't even bother to ask him what that means or where he got it. In this case, I just don't think I want to know. However, in the natural order of things, I believe he has rubbed off on his younger brother, who could be heard to declare yesterday (also while playing Wii--maybe that's the problem. Blame it on the Rated-E-for-Everyone stinkin' video games!) "Lollipops are like girls: sweet...and colorful!" Sigh. I give up. Clearly they've broken free of my Parental Net and are absorbing Pop Culture...and stuff. Oh well, I guess as long as they don't adopt Kanye as their role model, it will all turn out okay, right?!
I do know that on occasion they have a chance to experience school-sponsored Cultural Activities, with the intention of expanding their awareness of the Fine Arts. For example Derek and the rest of the 5th grade recently went to a performance of the National Philharmonic Orchestra at Strathmore Music Hall in Bethesda. They heard selections from Tchaikovsky and Mussorgsky, including excerpts from the 1812 Overture, complete with cannon effects--a HUGE treat for 10-year old boys! When asked what else he remembered, Derek came up with "Ballet of the Hatching Chicks", which sounded so ridiculous that it reduced us all to hysterical laughter...until we looked it up on the program and discovered the piece really is called: "Ballet of the Chicks in their Shells." Um, unborn birds...dancing? What the? (Russian geniuses partaking of a little too much vodka while composing, maybe?) Nevertheless--at least for an hour--they're appreciating a kind of music that doesn't get played on Hot 99.5, with lyrics referring to "booties" and "hotties" and whatnot.
Then there are incidents for which I have absolutely no explanation. Case in point: Derek was playing Wii the other day, trash-talking the opposing soccer team as usual. Normally I tune out his constant stream of patter, but this time one comment caught my attention. Out of the blue, he vehemently exclaimed, "I like my sandwiches like I like my girls: CHUNKY!" Oh. My. Goodness. (still watching my tongue, you'll notice) Sitting in the office at the computer, I didn't even bother to ask him what that means or where he got it. In this case, I just don't think I want to know. However, in the natural order of things, I believe he has rubbed off on his younger brother, who could be heard to declare yesterday (also while playing Wii--maybe that's the problem. Blame it on the Rated-E-for-Everyone stinkin' video games!) "Lollipops are like girls: sweet...and colorful!" Sigh. I give up. Clearly they've broken free of my Parental Net and are absorbing Pop Culture...and stuff. Oh well, I guess as long as they don't adopt Kanye as their role model, it will all turn out okay, right?!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Drumroll, please!
Back when Derek--now aged 10 (and a half! gasp!)--was but a wee tot, he used to bang on absolutely everything, pretending it was a drum. Okay, I realize that every boy on Earth does that. But then he grew up a little, and while he still pounded on stuff, it actually sounded like he was attempting to make rhythms. Don't get me wrong, it continued to be quite loud, but somewhat more...organized, I guess. Then came the fateful day when he got old enough to start making cute little requests, such as "Mommy, I'd like to take Drum Lessons!" So as a supportive, encouraging Mom, what did I do? Signed him up for guitar lessons instead, of course! My rationalization at the time went something like this: he needs to learn to read music first, playing guitar will help him with his songwriting...Mom's ears and nerves just aren't ready for drum practice every night...
And being the cooperative, easygoing kid that he (generally) is, he accepted the Guitar Detour with good grace. In fact, he stuck with it for about a year and a half before telling me calmly that he was tired of it, and wanted to quit. (We had prolonged the enthusiasm by conceding to an electric guitar halfway through--evidently the boy needed more AC/DC, less Jimmy Buffett--but even the allure of the amp had worn off, it seems). Then he wisely let the issue drop for a few months...before returning to the topic of drum lessons again. (I guess that wasn't just a passing fancy, huh? Drat!) There was no dodging it this time, so we have scheduled the Instructional Percussion Mayhem to begin November 1st. Although my world is about to get potentially much noisier, I'm looking for Silver Linings...such as: the drum set is in the basement, which means if we close the door, and I retreat to the top floor of the house, I can feel vibrations, but not actually hear anything...while drums may have a "volume factor", at least we'll be spared the dying-animal-screeching of a beginning violin or trumpet player...and best of all, I have a week and a half to stock up on industrial-strength foam earplugs, herbal tea, and soothing aromatherapy candles to help me block out the auditory stress on Lesson Days!
And being the cooperative, easygoing kid that he (generally) is, he accepted the Guitar Detour with good grace. In fact, he stuck with it for about a year and a half before telling me calmly that he was tired of it, and wanted to quit. (We had prolonged the enthusiasm by conceding to an electric guitar halfway through--evidently the boy needed more AC/DC, less Jimmy Buffett--but even the allure of the amp had worn off, it seems). Then he wisely let the issue drop for a few months...before returning to the topic of drum lessons again. (I guess that wasn't just a passing fancy, huh? Drat!) There was no dodging it this time, so we have scheduled the Instructional Percussion Mayhem to begin November 1st. Although my world is about to get potentially much noisier, I'm looking for Silver Linings...such as: the drum set is in the basement, which means if we close the door, and I retreat to the top floor of the house, I can feel vibrations, but not actually hear anything...while drums may have a "volume factor", at least we'll be spared the dying-animal-screeching of a beginning violin or trumpet player...and best of all, I have a week and a half to stock up on industrial-strength foam earplugs, herbal tea, and soothing aromatherapy candles to help me block out the auditory stress on Lesson Days!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
(Grown-Up) Bathroom Talk
My life right now revolves around the Epic Bathroom Remodel. I suppose it really all started this summer, as Husband and I pondered and discussed going forward with the project. Then there was the hypothetical spending of money, (followed by the whimpering with pain as the Total Potential Investment climbed higher and higher...immediately after which came hysterical bargaining: we don't really NEED that many toilets in the house, right? The kids can just go to Community College, yes? And retirement is overrated, I'm sure!) Which is why we are undertaking the actual process months after it began, having done some realistic budgeting in the meantime.
Now, the real adventure begins. My week got underway in a hurry on Monday morning, when I was awakened by the melodic pealing of the doorbell...at 7:35 a.m. (Okay, I was technically awake, but still wrapped between the fuzzy flannel sheets in my darkened bedroom.) Blearily I rolled out of bed and greeted my beaming, almost-revoltingly-chipper Contractor at the door. "We didn't notice how early it was!" he apologized. "We can wait in the driveway until 8 if you want!" I mumbled something about getting dressed, and then let him in. While he and his guys hauled in their tools, set up their work area, and prepped for the day, I rousted the other hibernating creatures (aka: the boys) and fed them. Shortly thereafter the most goshawful racket commenced. There was banging on walls, shrieking of power tools, crashing of tiles...and every so often I'd look up to see a piece of my shower heading out the door on a Workman's back. (They never failed to smile at me politely as they went by...I couldn't help but wonder if they were thinking, "Hey, lady, we're having a BLAST wrecking your bathroom!")
Fortunately, I got to escape the madness by going to my own job that day. Even the Montgomery College campus, teeming with noisy, boisterous students, seemed so peaceful by comparison! When I returned home over 6 hours later, they seemed to have made a great deal of headway in the destructive process. (Um...nice going?) The only true inconvenience was that they had to turn the water off while they manipulated the pipes. And I was...so... parched! (amazing how much thirstier you feel when there's no possibility of having a cool drink of water...is it too early for a cocktail?) And the crashing, sawing, etc. continued, all overlaid by an acrid, smoky smell. Wait, is something burning? Is there supposed to be fire involved? Before I had time to fully panic, they rolled up their tarps, de-plastic-wrapped my bedroom, and quietly departed for the day (with the house still intact, apparently).
The next morning I was ready for them--up and presentable when the crew appeared at the much-more-decent hour of 8 a.m. After shuffling the kids off to school, I prepared myself to storm Home Depot once more. My mission: an elusive Shower Curtain Rod. (Because, you know, I had already spent over a thousand dollars on "accessories" to outfit a 5x5 bathroom, so what's one more charge, right?) Oh, and the Medicine Cabinet that I had chosen was cracked already, in the box, so that had to be exchanged as well. (and perhaps I should take the opportunity to choose a better-made product, yes?) Okay, here I go! I've located the Shower Curtain Rods! They have white! And chrome! But each and every one of the fixtures I have already selected and purchased is: Brushed freakin' Nickel! And everything MUST match or it'll look totally stupid! I'm hyperventilating! So, a few deep, calming breaths later, I am able to move on. You'll be relieved to hear that the Medicine Cabinet decision was not nearly as traumatic. Now, with the exception of a few more very minor details, I just have to stay out of their way and let the magical Bathroom Transformation happen...
Whew, what a week! Oh no...it's...only...Tuesday! (Somebody get me that cocktail now, please...)
Now, the real adventure begins. My week got underway in a hurry on Monday morning, when I was awakened by the melodic pealing of the doorbell...at 7:35 a.m. (Okay, I was technically awake, but still wrapped between the fuzzy flannel sheets in my darkened bedroom.) Blearily I rolled out of bed and greeted my beaming, almost-revoltingly-chipper Contractor at the door. "We didn't notice how early it was!" he apologized. "We can wait in the driveway until 8 if you want!" I mumbled something about getting dressed, and then let him in. While he and his guys hauled in their tools, set up their work area, and prepped for the day, I rousted the other hibernating creatures (aka: the boys) and fed them. Shortly thereafter the most goshawful racket commenced. There was banging on walls, shrieking of power tools, crashing of tiles...and every so often I'd look up to see a piece of my shower heading out the door on a Workman's back. (They never failed to smile at me politely as they went by...I couldn't help but wonder if they were thinking, "Hey, lady, we're having a BLAST wrecking your bathroom!")
Fortunately, I got to escape the madness by going to my own job that day. Even the Montgomery College campus, teeming with noisy, boisterous students, seemed so peaceful by comparison! When I returned home over 6 hours later, they seemed to have made a great deal of headway in the destructive process. (Um...nice going?) The only true inconvenience was that they had to turn the water off while they manipulated the pipes. And I was...so... parched! (amazing how much thirstier you feel when there's no possibility of having a cool drink of water...is it too early for a cocktail?) And the crashing, sawing, etc. continued, all overlaid by an acrid, smoky smell. Wait, is something burning? Is there supposed to be fire involved? Before I had time to fully panic, they rolled up their tarps, de-plastic-wrapped my bedroom, and quietly departed for the day (with the house still intact, apparently).
The next morning I was ready for them--up and presentable when the crew appeared at the much-more-decent hour of 8 a.m. After shuffling the kids off to school, I prepared myself to storm Home Depot once more. My mission: an elusive Shower Curtain Rod. (Because, you know, I had already spent over a thousand dollars on "accessories" to outfit a 5x5 bathroom, so what's one more charge, right?) Oh, and the Medicine Cabinet that I had chosen was cracked already, in the box, so that had to be exchanged as well. (and perhaps I should take the opportunity to choose a better-made product, yes?) Okay, here I go! I've located the Shower Curtain Rods! They have white! And chrome! But each and every one of the fixtures I have already selected and purchased is: Brushed freakin' Nickel! And everything MUST match or it'll look totally stupid! I'm hyperventilating! So, a few deep, calming breaths later, I am able to move on. You'll be relieved to hear that the Medicine Cabinet decision was not nearly as traumatic. Now, with the exception of a few more very minor details, I just have to stay out of their way and let the magical Bathroom Transformation happen...
Whew, what a week! Oh no...it's...only...Tuesday! (Somebody get me that cocktail now, please...)
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
A Shower of Things to Ponder
Today at work--for some reason that I just can't put my finger on at the moment, but I'm sure it was completely appropriate and relevant at the time--I had an interesting discussion about: showering. Specifically, my colleague and I (let's call her "Natasha") marveled at the myriad differences between basic Male Hygiene and intricate Female Cleansing Rituals.
Now, as a card-carrying member of the Female Club, I can speak knowledgeably to the mysterious and complex nature of Girl Bathroom Behavior. Let me tell you that when we enter that private inner-domain, shut the door (to keep the kids from following), and turn on the water (after yelling the necessary reminder "no one flush until I get out!"), the many-faceted showering process has only just begun. First, a Girl Shower involves an array of products and tools. During any given shower, for example, there will certainly be application of a cleansing product (soap, body wash) to the skin (with washcloth, "scrubbie-thing", loofah). Of course, a separate cleanser goes on the delicate facial region (promising various anti-aging, wrinkle-reducing, skin-brightening effects). There may also be exfoliation of chosen parts of the body, using yet another type of cream (often containing helpful "microbeads"). Hair removal could very well occur, requiring a specially-designed gel to be slathered onto the targeted areas, followed by painstaking manipulation of a sharp object--with slippery hands. Finally, hair must be washed (using a shampoo designed for your exact hair type, length, texture, etc.), rinsed, and conditioned. And when the water finally goes off? (or runs out, depending) Don't even get me STARTED on the lotioning and whatnot that has to happen before donning one's pajamas and falling into bed (there's a reason I shower at night!)
Finally arriving at the point of my lunchtime rant: I live in a house with 3 male people of various sizes...they all sport short haircuts, and are generally non-product-using, low-maintenance kind-of-guys. So, you would THINK five-minute showers would be the norm. They simply need to jump in, lather up with the bar of soap I've left for them (okay, the boys' knees tend to be green and black from rolling around on the ground, so add a minute or two for those), rub a dot of shampoo through their hair, rinse everything off, and get out. Am I right? So how--in the name of all things wet and wild--can they possibly linger under the spray for 15 minutes? What the heck is going on in there? Do I really want to know? Maybe it's better not to get into the grimy details (so to speak), but all I can say is: I'd better not catch anybody using my super-special girly beauty supplies! And if you know what's good for you, leave some hot water for the Queen!
Now, as a card-carrying member of the Female Club, I can speak knowledgeably to the mysterious and complex nature of Girl Bathroom Behavior. Let me tell you that when we enter that private inner-domain, shut the door (to keep the kids from following), and turn on the water (after yelling the necessary reminder "no one flush until I get out!"), the many-faceted showering process has only just begun. First, a Girl Shower involves an array of products and tools. During any given shower, for example, there will certainly be application of a cleansing product (soap, body wash) to the skin (with washcloth, "scrubbie-thing", loofah). Of course, a separate cleanser goes on the delicate facial region (promising various anti-aging, wrinkle-reducing, skin-brightening effects). There may also be exfoliation of chosen parts of the body, using yet another type of cream (often containing helpful "microbeads"). Hair removal could very well occur, requiring a specially-designed gel to be slathered onto the targeted areas, followed by painstaking manipulation of a sharp object--with slippery hands. Finally, hair must be washed (using a shampoo designed for your exact hair type, length, texture, etc.), rinsed, and conditioned. And when the water finally goes off? (or runs out, depending) Don't even get me STARTED on the lotioning and whatnot that has to happen before donning one's pajamas and falling into bed (there's a reason I shower at night!)
Finally arriving at the point of my lunchtime rant: I live in a house with 3 male people of various sizes...they all sport short haircuts, and are generally non-product-using, low-maintenance kind-of-guys. So, you would THINK five-minute showers would be the norm. They simply need to jump in, lather up with the bar of soap I've left for them (okay, the boys' knees tend to be green and black from rolling around on the ground, so add a minute or two for those), rub a dot of shampoo through their hair, rinse everything off, and get out. Am I right? So how--in the name of all things wet and wild--can they possibly linger under the spray for 15 minutes? What the heck is going on in there? Do I really want to know? Maybe it's better not to get into the grimy details (so to speak), but all I can say is: I'd better not catch anybody using my super-special girly beauty supplies! And if you know what's good for you, leave some hot water for the Queen!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Run, Forrest--I mean Derek!
I took up running in the summer between Freshman and Sophomore years of High School, when I was 15. I remember this clearly for several reasons; first, I had been a relatively sedentary, bookish, slightly-pudgy child until sometime during Middle School, when I resolved to start getting some exercise and banish the no-longer-cute "baby fat" that was lingering into adolescence. So, I'd been riding my bike and taking walks for a couple of years, but for reasons that I cannot recall, I suddenly decided I was going to...play field hockey. (I would love to visit my teenage self and ask her: what the HECK? Field hockey? Because wearing a mouthguard and whacking other girls in the shins sounded like a rocking good time?) Anyway, a good friend of mine who had been on the team Freshman year advised me to start training during the summer, so "you won't throw up during the first week of practice." (And yet...rather than dropping the idea and bolting in the other direction like a sensible girl, I accepted her words of wisdom and started my butt on a running program immediately.)
I've been running ever since (although not continuously--boy would that suck!). In my crazy teens, I ran almost every day; like the post office, I was not deterred by precipitation, temperature, darkness, what have you. Then I reached the advanced age of--oh, let's say my mid-20s--and realized that I was, in fact, rather fond of my knees, and if I would prefer to continue using them, I should cut back on the pounding and mix in some gentler stuff (welcome back, biking, walking, dancing, and other cardio-pursuits). My point is (and I'm sure you've been wondering when I was going to stop babbling and just get to it already): exercise is a part of who I am. I do it because I must, to maintain my physical health and mental well-being. (Not to mention: so I can EAT chocolate and other goodies without becoming a blimp.)
Now, I have a two sons who are dizzyingly physical creatures. It's in their very nature to run and jump and tackle and throw and catch--and lots of other verbs as well--and they do it for the pure joy of motion. There is no "workout" to them, something to be scheduled and suffered through and checked off; it's more like...breathing...just as necessary, just as easy, and loads more enjoyable. Recently Derek (age 10) began campaigning for permission to come running with me. "Hmm", I considered, "71 pounds, 4-1/2 feet tall, can he actually be ready for this?" (Related Important Question: am I ready for this?) Last Friday night we gave it a try. I had planned to take him to the high school, so we could each go at our own pace around the flat track, but it was Homecoming, so we couldn't get near the place. Instead, we set out into our surrounding neighborhood to do one of my usual loops (including some short uphill stretches, but lacking bleachers to sit down and take a break!) And what do you know--the boy hung in there for 2.5 miles. He asked to slow down to a walk twice, for about 100-yards each time, but otherwise he chatted and jogged happily right next to me.
Here's the thing: he wanted to do this. No one was telling him to. No one was chasing him. He chose to run just for F-U-N. (And, I'm sure, so he could eat more afterwards--he IS my son, after all!) But you know something? It was fun for me as well. I'm sure at some point he'll want to listen to music rather than (ugh) talk to Mom while he runs. And soon after that he won't want to run with me anymore at all, since I'll just slow him down too much. So for now, I'm going to make the most of our sweaty bonding sessions, one mile (and Reward Cookie) at a time!
I've been running ever since (although not continuously--boy would that suck!). In my crazy teens, I ran almost every day; like the post office, I was not deterred by precipitation, temperature, darkness, what have you. Then I reached the advanced age of--oh, let's say my mid-20s--and realized that I was, in fact, rather fond of my knees, and if I would prefer to continue using them, I should cut back on the pounding and mix in some gentler stuff (welcome back, biking, walking, dancing, and other cardio-pursuits). My point is (and I'm sure you've been wondering when I was going to stop babbling and just get to it already): exercise is a part of who I am. I do it because I must, to maintain my physical health and mental well-being. (Not to mention: so I can EAT chocolate and other goodies without becoming a blimp.)
Now, I have a two sons who are dizzyingly physical creatures. It's in their very nature to run and jump and tackle and throw and catch--and lots of other verbs as well--and they do it for the pure joy of motion. There is no "workout" to them, something to be scheduled and suffered through and checked off; it's more like...breathing...just as necessary, just as easy, and loads more enjoyable. Recently Derek (age 10) began campaigning for permission to come running with me. "Hmm", I considered, "71 pounds, 4-1/2 feet tall, can he actually be ready for this?" (Related Important Question: am I ready for this?) Last Friday night we gave it a try. I had planned to take him to the high school, so we could each go at our own pace around the flat track, but it was Homecoming, so we couldn't get near the place. Instead, we set out into our surrounding neighborhood to do one of my usual loops (including some short uphill stretches, but lacking bleachers to sit down and take a break!) And what do you know--the boy hung in there for 2.5 miles. He asked to slow down to a walk twice, for about 100-yards each time, but otherwise he chatted and jogged happily right next to me.
Here's the thing: he wanted to do this. No one was telling him to. No one was chasing him. He chose to run just for F-U-N. (And, I'm sure, so he could eat more afterwards--he IS my son, after all!) But you know something? It was fun for me as well. I'm sure at some point he'll want to listen to music rather than (ugh) talk to Mom while he runs. And soon after that he won't want to run with me anymore at all, since I'll just slow him down too much. So for now, I'm going to make the most of our sweaty bonding sessions, one mile (and Reward Cookie) at a time!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A typewritten rant about...handwriting!
When I was in elementary school, Handwriting was as much a part of the curriculum as Reading, Math, and Spelling. I remember using specially-lined paper to practice forming the letters properly--although to my dismay, my penmanship never really developed into anything approaching the neat and pretty examples we were given. Eventually, all kids learned cursive as a sort of rite-of-passage (more "adult" handwriting, I guess). It always seemed a pain in the rear to me, however, and I reverted to the easier and faster "printing" method whenever I was allowed. (and then of course--finally--came computers--Hallelujah and Amen!)
Fast forward to modern-day elementary school. My kids use computers with greater ease than they push a pencil. So I was a little stunned when I found out that Derek would be taught cursive in the 3rd grade. It just seems so....Little House on the Prairie to be focusing on the dying art of cursive writing. Think about it--when was the last time you used cursive? Probably when adding your signature to an official document of some kind. And...that's about it. It's not like we're writing formal letters to our grandmothers on notecards anymore (which is the ONLY other reason I can imagine for writing in cursive!) Now he informs me that after the first marking period ends, all of his papers handed in for a grade will be submitted...in cursive. What the heck? Does that sound like child torture to anyone else besides me? Are the 5th-grade teachers also going to offer seminars in other Bygone Skills like "dialing a rotary phone" or "programming a VCR"?
I understand that kids today should know how to wield a pen in such a way that another human being can actually decipher what they've put down on paper. But I would LOVE to see some time spent on keyboarding instruction and practice. Because let's face it: by the time this generation reaches high school and college, they'll be toting their little Netbooks in their backpacks, typing notes during class lectures, emailing or posting all their assignments to the course website, participating in online discussions of the material...and the only thing they'll need cursive for is to sign their tuition check!
Fast forward to modern-day elementary school. My kids use computers with greater ease than they push a pencil. So I was a little stunned when I found out that Derek would be taught cursive in the 3rd grade. It just seems so....Little House on the Prairie to be focusing on the dying art of cursive writing. Think about it--when was the last time you used cursive? Probably when adding your signature to an official document of some kind. And...that's about it. It's not like we're writing formal letters to our grandmothers on notecards anymore (which is the ONLY other reason I can imagine for writing in cursive!) Now he informs me that after the first marking period ends, all of his papers handed in for a grade will be submitted...in cursive. What the heck? Does that sound like child torture to anyone else besides me? Are the 5th-grade teachers also going to offer seminars in other Bygone Skills like "dialing a rotary phone" or "programming a VCR"?
I understand that kids today should know how to wield a pen in such a way that another human being can actually decipher what they've put down on paper. But I would LOVE to see some time spent on keyboarding instruction and practice. Because let's face it: by the time this generation reaches high school and college, they'll be toting their little Netbooks in their backpacks, typing notes during class lectures, emailing or posting all their assignments to the course website, participating in online discussions of the material...and the only thing they'll need cursive for is to sign their tuition check!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
They're an American Band (kind of)
Everyone cover your ears; the Neighborhood Band is at it again! (and by the way, I'm not kidding about the need for earplugs--let's just say they need some tuning...) This time, they're trying to be more serious and organized, holding "meetings" on the back porch before "rehearsing their set". Derek had me show him how to plug his amp into the outside socket, so both the electric guitar and microphone could be even louder (um...YAY?!) He's also been writing songs* in his special notebook, for the singers to learn. I've even heard them practice the very important task of Announcing the Band Members, which they perform with great enthusiasm and importance, as though they are standing in a spotlight, onstage in an arena filled with thousands of screaming fans, rather than facing a backyard full of disinterested squirrels. Derek has begun politely prodding me again to sign him up for drum lessons (which he has wanted since he was about 2 years old--but I made him start with guitar so he could learn to read music...and because everyone knows drummers are Chick Magnets, and I hoped to postpone that phase for as long as possible...)
I fear he's already getting an small taste of the Rock Star Life, though. I overheard his Lead Singers (two neighbor girls) telling him one day that they "couldn't get his song out of their heads!" (confessed with much accompanying squealing and giggling) When we arrived home one afternoon and the rest of the posse was already outside playing, I swear they shrieked, jumped up and down, and called "Derek! Derek's here!" upon spotting our car. You would have thought the Jonas Brothers bus had pulled into our driveway. Another day, one of them had a friend over and was introducing her to Derek--her response was an excited: "Oh, you're Ellen's friend, the drummer!" (She doesn't even attend the same school as Derek. So he has potential groupies all over town, apparently. But if they start tossing articles of clothing at him, this whole Band thing is sooo O-V-E-R!) And finally, on the "business side" of things, Derek told me they'd decided not to let Alan be their Manager. Why? "He tried to come in and take over and change us. We didn't want the negative energy," he stated earnestly. Oh. Good. Grief.
The goals of this neophyte group? As outlined by Derek: to improve musically, to play for an actual audience, and...to get written up in the local paper! I wonder if this is how Bon Jovi got started...one day I'll be writing his memoir, all about the humble beginnings of a band that formed in a quiet Maryland suburb when the players were in elementary school. But first, I need to close the windows before After School Practice!
*This is my favorite one of his compositions so far
Hit the Stage
A thousand people scream
as the spotlight beam
flashes on the stage.
The drummers start their beat.
It goes perfectly
with the sound of stamping feet.
I try to hide my smile
as I step onto the stage.
I start to sing
from a brand new page. (yeah)
Chorus: I'm playing for the fans
that pack the seats,
and I'm keeping time
to the drummer's beat.
I'm singin' from my heart,
and I'm just getting started.
I'm playing for the fans,
as I hit the stage.
oh, ohhhh, I'm gonna hit the stage...
I fear he's already getting an small taste of the Rock Star Life, though. I overheard his Lead Singers (two neighbor girls) telling him one day that they "couldn't get his song out of their heads!" (confessed with much accompanying squealing and giggling) When we arrived home one afternoon and the rest of the posse was already outside playing, I swear they shrieked, jumped up and down, and called "Derek! Derek's here!" upon spotting our car. You would have thought the Jonas Brothers bus had pulled into our driveway. Another day, one of them had a friend over and was introducing her to Derek--her response was an excited: "Oh, you're Ellen's friend, the drummer!" (She doesn't even attend the same school as Derek. So he has potential groupies all over town, apparently. But if they start tossing articles of clothing at him, this whole Band thing is sooo O-V-E-R!) And finally, on the "business side" of things, Derek told me they'd decided not to let Alan be their Manager. Why? "He tried to come in and take over and change us. We didn't want the negative energy," he stated earnestly. Oh. Good. Grief.
The goals of this neophyte group? As outlined by Derek: to improve musically, to play for an actual audience, and...to get written up in the local paper! I wonder if this is how Bon Jovi got started...one day I'll be writing his memoir, all about the humble beginnings of a band that formed in a quiet Maryland suburb when the players were in elementary school. But first, I need to close the windows before After School Practice!
*This is my favorite one of his compositions so far
Hit the Stage
A thousand people scream
as the spotlight beam
flashes on the stage.
The drummers start their beat.
It goes perfectly
with the sound of stamping feet.
I try to hide my smile
as I step onto the stage.
I start to sing
from a brand new page. (yeah)
Chorus: I'm playing for the fans
that pack the seats,
and I'm keeping time
to the drummer's beat.
I'm singin' from my heart,
and I'm just getting started.
I'm playing for the fans,
as I hit the stage.
oh, ohhhh, I'm gonna hit the stage...
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Another Conversational Whirlpool
Well, we survived the two-day Math Offensive (yes, our "reward" for conquering Mean, Median, and Mode was apparently the honor of tackling Stem-and-Leaf Plots and Box-and-Whisker graphs. Seriously? Show me the Statistical Supervillain who makes this nonsense up! I'd like to shove a pencil right in his...Central Tendency...) Anyway, with all that behind us, I foolishly thought we could just have a nice family breakfast, filled with casual small talk rather than brain-hurting educational terms. Do "normal" families sit around the table and comment on the weather forecast, or what to wear to school that day, or how the O's played last night? I wouldn't know. Our mealtime conversation began with Riley asking, "When our aunt gets married, do we have to dress up for her wedding? 'Cuz I'm wearing jeans!" (By the way, NO IDEA where this came from. Just call him Random Riley.)
Okay, so much for the planned early-morning lighthearted chat over cereal. As usual, it was about to get much worse. Riley proceeded to announce with conviction that when he grows up, he might just marry his cousin Haley. (It is unclear whether he was motivated by the fact that he believed this would excuse him from Formal Wear.) Uh oh. I breezily informed him that this would not be possible. (silently praying that he would drop it...yeah, right) "Why not?" he innocently wondered. "Cousins have the same genes," I began with very good intentions, only to be halted unceremoniously by the sudden snorts of laughter from both boys. Momentarily confused, I paused to figure out what was so darned funny..."NOT j-e-a-n-s like pants; g-e-n-e-s that you have inside your body!" "Oooohhhhh!" Riley giggled. I gamely tried to soldier on: "Your genes determine what you look like..." (still snickering)..."Since cousins share some of the same genes, it's a bad idea to mix them up..." And, at this point, they completely lost their tenuous grasp on control. Clutching their sides, gasping incoherently about "cousins sharing genes (jeans)" and "cousins getting their genes (jeans) mixed up", hiccuping with laughter.
So I gave up on the Biology Breakfast talk, and took my coffee to another room (to drink it in dignified silence). Maybe tomorrow, I can find myself a "normal" family who will take pity on me and invite me to eat at their house! Can't wait to talk about the blessedly-boring old weather...
Okay, so much for the planned early-morning lighthearted chat over cereal. As usual, it was about to get much worse. Riley proceeded to announce with conviction that when he grows up, he might just marry his cousin Haley. (It is unclear whether he was motivated by the fact that he believed this would excuse him from Formal Wear.) Uh oh. I breezily informed him that this would not be possible. (silently praying that he would drop it...yeah, right) "Why not?" he innocently wondered. "Cousins have the same genes," I began with very good intentions, only to be halted unceremoniously by the sudden snorts of laughter from both boys. Momentarily confused, I paused to figure out what was so darned funny..."NOT j-e-a-n-s like pants; g-e-n-e-s that you have inside your body!" "Oooohhhhh!" Riley giggled. I gamely tried to soldier on: "Your genes determine what you look like..." (still snickering)..."Since cousins share some of the same genes, it's a bad idea to mix them up..." And, at this point, they completely lost their tenuous grasp on control. Clutching their sides, gasping incoherently about "cousins sharing genes (jeans)" and "cousins getting their genes (jeans) mixed up", hiccuping with laughter.
So I gave up on the Biology Breakfast talk, and took my coffee to another room (to drink it in dignified silence). Maybe tomorrow, I can find myself a "normal" family who will take pity on me and invite me to eat at their house! Can't wait to talk about the blessedly-boring old weather...
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
It's a Math Flood--start bailing!
Has this ever happened to you: you're having a perfectly pleasant chat, about something completely innocuous (in our house, this often translates to "what's for breakfast/snack/dinner" or "is it time for me to play my DS now please please please"), when without warning the conversation takes a sudden turn into dangerous waters? This has happened twice in the past two days to me, courtesy of my darling children (naturally).
The first occurrence came last night during the deceptively serene, hushed time of day we like to refer to as: Homework Hour. Ten-year old Derek had completed his Math assignment and was awaiting my expert Mom-checking skills to approve his work so he could go play. There was one question where he was supposed to compare two graphs that presented the exact same data, in similar but subtly-different ways. The point was: to notice how the data could appear skewed, simply by the manner in which the researcher chose to set up his graph. Derek had initially missed the analysis part of the question, so when examining the graphs for a second time, he puzzled for a few moments, then abruptly jumped up and exclaimed, "Oh, I get it! In the second graph, the data will be clustered because of the interval!" Um, yeah! Precisely how I would have put it...Statistics Superboy. Believe it or not, it got worse from there. Clarifying another of his answers to me, he said, "Well, you don't have the numbers for this data set, so you don't know if there's an outlier." Right! I totally knew that! (Outlier? Like a number that's shunned, so lives apart from its number friends? Or a false number you can't trust?) Finally, we arrived at the last section, where he had to choose the correct option--among 'mean', 'median', and 'mode'--for organizing groups of numbers. Explaining his choice for one problem, he matter-of-factly stated: "I picked 'mean' because our teacher told us it's the most commonly used Measure of Central Tendency." Of course, sweetie, it's the...what you said!
At this point, statistically speaking, the probability of my brain shutting down in self-defense is: 100%. Who knew 6th-grade Math could be so 'mean'? (hahahaha! See, I'm losing it!) The only 'mode' I'm interested in right now goes on top of some warm apple pie! (mmmm, pie...) So here's a real-world math application for you: if Johna eats 2 slices of pie today (to help me forget the Number Trauma I've suffered), 1 tomorrow, and 3 the next day (before it goes stale, you know), what is the average number of calories she consumed? For Extra Credit: how many miles must she walk to ensure the pie doesn't permanently stick to her thighs? Answers are due by the end of the week, so get busy! (I'm going to get started on some pie...)
The first occurrence came last night during the deceptively serene, hushed time of day we like to refer to as: Homework Hour. Ten-year old Derek had completed his Math assignment and was awaiting my expert Mom-checking skills to approve his work so he could go play. There was one question where he was supposed to compare two graphs that presented the exact same data, in similar but subtly-different ways. The point was: to notice how the data could appear skewed, simply by the manner in which the researcher chose to set up his graph. Derek had initially missed the analysis part of the question, so when examining the graphs for a second time, he puzzled for a few moments, then abruptly jumped up and exclaimed, "Oh, I get it! In the second graph, the data will be clustered because of the interval!" Um, yeah! Precisely how I would have put it...Statistics Superboy. Believe it or not, it got worse from there. Clarifying another of his answers to me, he said, "Well, you don't have the numbers for this data set, so you don't know if there's an outlier." Right! I totally knew that! (Outlier? Like a number that's shunned, so lives apart from its number friends? Or a false number you can't trust?) Finally, we arrived at the last section, where he had to choose the correct option--among 'mean', 'median', and 'mode'--for organizing groups of numbers. Explaining his choice for one problem, he matter-of-factly stated: "I picked 'mean' because our teacher told us it's the most commonly used Measure of Central Tendency." Of course, sweetie, it's the...what you said!
At this point, statistically speaking, the probability of my brain shutting down in self-defense is: 100%. Who knew 6th-grade Math could be so 'mean'? (hahahaha! See, I'm losing it!) The only 'mode' I'm interested in right now goes on top of some warm apple pie! (mmmm, pie...) So here's a real-world math application for you: if Johna eats 2 slices of pie today (to help me forget the Number Trauma I've suffered), 1 tomorrow, and 3 the next day (before it goes stale, you know), what is the average number of calories she consumed? For Extra Credit: how many miles must she walk to ensure the pie doesn't permanently stick to her thighs? Answers are due by the end of the week, so get busy! (I'm going to get started on some pie...)
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Quotable Goofballs
There's a new show on TV this season called "Stuff" My Dad Says (PG version), which I have no intention of watching, although the title reminds me of a few of my own personal favorite Dad-isms. For example, when one of us kids would get hurt and come to him sobbing, Dad would peer at the injured area skeptically and then bellow something to the effect of, "C'mere, let me punch you in the arm, that'll give you something to cry about!" (It was meant as a joke, of course, to take our mind off the pain, but I don't recall it ever actually working...) Another special Father/Daughter moment stored lovingly in my memory: when I was an emotional, sassy, snotty teenage girl and would often shriek "You're driving me CRAZY!" (certainly accompanied by rolling my eyes to the heavens and throwing my hands in the air in despair), his inevitable response was "That's not a drive; that's a short walk!"
And I know that someday my kids will be Blogging and Tweeting and IMing their best Mom quotes to the world at large--but for now, it's my turn, and there's nothing they can do to stop me (mwah hah hah)! So without further ado, here are the recent winners from the Things My Kids Said file:
[at the kitchen counter, facing the dreaded Math Homework]
Derek (with wide eyes and solemn face): "I'm scared!"
Me (not yet suspecting anything): "Why?"
Derek (with a heavy sigh): "Because I have homework. Algebra is scary! Look, I have goosebumps!"
Me (sarcastically, giving him the full effect of Stern Mom Face): "That's just dry skin."
Derek (with enthusiasm): "No, it's the Aftermath of Algebra...hey, that'd be a good horror movie!
[at the mall, where those in control of the thermostat seem to feel that the optimum temperature is "Ice-Cube"...for your shopping comfort]
Me (rubbing my arms for emphasis and most likely shivering theatrically): "Jeez, I have a long-sleeved shirt AND a sweater on, and I'm still chilly!"
Riley (seriously): "Maybe we should get you a fleecy sweater."
Me (excitedly): "That's a great idea!"
Riley (doubtfully, and maybe just a tad concerned at Mom's silly antics in public): "Well, I was being dramatic, but okaaay..."
Such showmanship...I just can't imagine where they get it!
And I know that someday my kids will be Blogging and Tweeting and IMing their best Mom quotes to the world at large--but for now, it's my turn, and there's nothing they can do to stop me (mwah hah hah)! So without further ado, here are the recent winners from the Things My Kids Said file:
[at the kitchen counter, facing the dreaded Math Homework]
Derek (with wide eyes and solemn face): "I'm scared!"
Me (not yet suspecting anything): "Why?"
Derek (with a heavy sigh): "Because I have homework. Algebra is scary! Look, I have goosebumps!"
Me (sarcastically, giving him the full effect of Stern Mom Face): "That's just dry skin."
Derek (with enthusiasm): "No, it's the Aftermath of Algebra...hey, that'd be a good horror movie!
[at the mall, where those in control of the thermostat seem to feel that the optimum temperature is "Ice-Cube"...for your shopping comfort]
Me (rubbing my arms for emphasis and most likely shivering theatrically): "Jeez, I have a long-sleeved shirt AND a sweater on, and I'm still chilly!"
Riley (seriously): "Maybe we should get you a fleecy sweater."
Me (excitedly): "That's a great idea!"
Riley (doubtfully, and maybe just a tad concerned at Mom's silly antics in public): "Well, I was being dramatic, but okaaay..."
Such showmanship...I just can't imagine where they get it!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Clean, Green, and...Sane?
Lately I've been wrestling with a sticky problem: how does a certified Neat-Freak, someone who prefers things organized and put away, someone who detests dust and dirt, peacefully cohabitate with 3 males and a cat...without losing her mind, snapping one day in a fit of grime-induced hysteria, and attacking them all with a (biodegradeable) cloth and a spray bottle of (non-chemical) cleanser?
I do realize that as Household Boss, cleaning falls under my job description. However, unlike some people I know--who find joy in eradicating dust bunnies, sweeping up stray hairs, and polishing things until they sparkle--I LOATHE the cleaning process (I know, it's one of the great ironies of my life: love a clean house, hate to actually do the dirty work. Also: love to eat, hate to cook...hmm, definitely a pattern here, and it's not pointing to any Domestic Goddess awards for me!) In fact, following my family around the house, wiping up crumbs, scraping toothpaste out of my son's bathroom sink, putting toys and shoes and books back in their places, I was beginning to feel like the unappreciated, uncompensated Family Maid. Large amounts of grumpiness ensued. When I found myself attacking the boys' bathroom for the fourth day in a row (not to achieve any level of gleaming cleanliness, just to eliminate the pee from around the toilet area), muttering Bad Words under my breath, I knew the time had come to take action.
It was crystal-clear to me that I needed professional help (and not just lying on a Therapist's couch, moaning about my messy life). However, I first had to address a huge portion of Female Guilt. My internal struggle went something like this: Voice 1--"You only work part-time, you should be able to keep the house acceptably clean if you just apply yourself to it every day." To which Voice 2 would pipe up and whine--"But I don't WANNA clean up after everyone!" You can see my dilemma...Voice 2 clearly had the stronger argument. Then of course there was the obvious question, "can we afford this"? That one took a while to resolve in my mind, but one day (probably after dealing with yet another Bathroom Incident) it suddenly became apparent that the cost of hiring a Cleaning Service would be much less than the cost of treating my imminent Nervous Breakdown (and subsequent quiet vacation in the sterile Loony Bin.)
So, I convinced Husband that we could--in fact, NEEDED to--do this, and set about finding an environmentally-responsible, Earth-conscious company that meshed well with my philosophical beliefs...and would still make the house shine. ("Scour the house while saving the planet", that's my motto!) And I've gotta tell ya, it was one of the best decisions I ever made. After the crew comes and waves their magic brooms, everything looks fresh and smells lightly-citrusy. No cat hair on the floor, no spiderwebs in the corners, no fingerprints on...everything. And yes, things get messed up again as we go about our day-to-day life, but I don't worry about it so much, since in the back of my mind I can hear my calming mantra: "They'll be back in 2 weeks." So forget the monetary cost for a moment and let me put it in terms of an Real-Life Equation: Clean House = Happy Mom. And that's a formula I think everyone who has to live with me can get behind!
I do realize that as Household Boss, cleaning falls under my job description. However, unlike some people I know--who find joy in eradicating dust bunnies, sweeping up stray hairs, and polishing things until they sparkle--I LOATHE the cleaning process (I know, it's one of the great ironies of my life: love a clean house, hate to actually do the dirty work. Also: love to eat, hate to cook...hmm, definitely a pattern here, and it's not pointing to any Domestic Goddess awards for me!) In fact, following my family around the house, wiping up crumbs, scraping toothpaste out of my son's bathroom sink, putting toys and shoes and books back in their places, I was beginning to feel like the unappreciated, uncompensated Family Maid. Large amounts of grumpiness ensued. When I found myself attacking the boys' bathroom for the fourth day in a row (not to achieve any level of gleaming cleanliness, just to eliminate the pee from around the toilet area), muttering Bad Words under my breath, I knew the time had come to take action.
It was crystal-clear to me that I needed professional help (and not just lying on a Therapist's couch, moaning about my messy life). However, I first had to address a huge portion of Female Guilt. My internal struggle went something like this: Voice 1--"You only work part-time, you should be able to keep the house acceptably clean if you just apply yourself to it every day." To which Voice 2 would pipe up and whine--"But I don't WANNA clean up after everyone!" You can see my dilemma...Voice 2 clearly had the stronger argument. Then of course there was the obvious question, "can we afford this"? That one took a while to resolve in my mind, but one day (probably after dealing with yet another Bathroom Incident) it suddenly became apparent that the cost of hiring a Cleaning Service would be much less than the cost of treating my imminent Nervous Breakdown (and subsequent quiet vacation in the sterile Loony Bin.)
So, I convinced Husband that we could--in fact, NEEDED to--do this, and set about finding an environmentally-responsible, Earth-conscious company that meshed well with my philosophical beliefs...and would still make the house shine. ("Scour the house while saving the planet", that's my motto!) And I've gotta tell ya, it was one of the best decisions I ever made. After the crew comes and waves their magic brooms, everything looks fresh and smells lightly-citrusy. No cat hair on the floor, no spiderwebs in the corners, no fingerprints on...everything. And yes, things get messed up again as we go about our day-to-day life, but I don't worry about it so much, since in the back of my mind I can hear my calming mantra: "They'll be back in 2 weeks." So forget the monetary cost for a moment and let me put it in terms of an Real-Life Equation: Clean House = Happy Mom. And that's a formula I think everyone who has to live with me can get behind!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
More vacation, anyone?
Ah, Fall. The kids have returned to school (has it been even 10 minutes since I mentioned how thrilled I am that they're out of my hair? Um...I mean that they're once again immersed in the beauty of learning, naturally!) Weekends (and various weeknights) are once more devoted to sports pursuits (watching Penn State football for the boys, competitive soccer playing and spectating for all of us, and counting the days until next April for beleaguered O's fans who have no playoffs to look forward to...for the 13th unlucky year in a row.) The days have begun to turn crisper (is that even a word? makes it sound like we're a bunch of celery stuck in a drawer in the fridge), and the nights can be downright chilly (in a pleasant, "wouldn't a pumpkin-spice latte taste good right about now" way). And, apparently, some of us still feel the Vacation Vibe so strongly that they're channeling Carnival Cruise Lines.
It started when my littlest Cabin Boy (that would be Riley) came into my room the other morning and said, "Mom, you know how all the decks on the ship had names? What should we call this floor of the house?" Oookaaay, I'll play along..."How about the Riviera Deck, since that was where we slept on the boat?" (And really, who wouldn't want their sleeping quarters named after a beautiful beach in France? I can almost hear the waves...) But he wasn't finished--"I'm going to go make a sign for my door, with my Cabin Number on it!" (By now I was feeling a glimmer of regret at encouraging this daydream--he'd better not expect me to fold towel animals for him...or leave a chocolate mint on his pillow every night...or deliver free room service!) From there, we decided that the basement, where the pingpong and air hockey tables reside, would henceforth be known as the Promenade Deck (corresponding to the "fun and games area" on the Carnival Pride). The entrance level of the house--with the kitchen and living room--was dubbed the Lido Deck, since our favorite restaurant and activities were found there on our cruise (and obviously, every ship must have a Lido Deck...we all learned that from the Love Boat, right? Sadly, mine does NOT come equipped with a smart-alecky-but-sensitive Isaac the Bartender.)
I will admit we all got waaay too caught up in this little fantasy...so much so that I was a bit surprised, and a LOT disappointed, when I looked out my window and saw grass, rather than the Ocean Blue. Even worse, a multi-course, scrumptious meal did not appear before me when the boys started clamoring for lunch. And the final bummer: no matter how hard we collectively wished it, our house did not appear to be moving any closer to a Caribbean island. Rats! How long until next summer vacation? I need to pull up a chair and a cold drink, and do some (very, VERY) advance trip-planning...on the Lido Deck...
It started when my littlest Cabin Boy (that would be Riley) came into my room the other morning and said, "Mom, you know how all the decks on the ship had names? What should we call this floor of the house?" Oookaaay, I'll play along..."How about the Riviera Deck, since that was where we slept on the boat?" (And really, who wouldn't want their sleeping quarters named after a beautiful beach in France? I can almost hear the waves...) But he wasn't finished--"I'm going to go make a sign for my door, with my Cabin Number on it!" (By now I was feeling a glimmer of regret at encouraging this daydream--he'd better not expect me to fold towel animals for him...or leave a chocolate mint on his pillow every night...or deliver free room service!) From there, we decided that the basement, where the pingpong and air hockey tables reside, would henceforth be known as the Promenade Deck (corresponding to the "fun and games area" on the Carnival Pride). The entrance level of the house--with the kitchen and living room--was dubbed the Lido Deck, since our favorite restaurant and activities were found there on our cruise (and obviously, every ship must have a Lido Deck...we all learned that from the Love Boat, right? Sadly, mine does NOT come equipped with a smart-alecky-but-sensitive Isaac the Bartender.)
I will admit we all got waaay too caught up in this little fantasy...so much so that I was a bit surprised, and a LOT disappointed, when I looked out my window and saw grass, rather than the Ocean Blue. Even worse, a multi-course, scrumptious meal did not appear before me when the boys started clamoring for lunch. And the final bummer: no matter how hard we collectively wished it, our house did not appear to be moving any closer to a Caribbean island. Rats! How long until next summer vacation? I need to pull up a chair and a cold drink, and do some (very, VERY) advance trip-planning...on the Lido Deck...
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