Monday, March 29, 2010

What's in a Name?

My husband and I sometimes amuse ourselves (when anyone cares enough to smile and nod politely) by telling the story of how we came up with our sons' names. With Baby #1, before we knew the sex, we already had several girls' names in mind. But, we were really struggling with what to call a boy (good thing we decided, huh?) In order to break the mental block (and to feed an incessantly hungry pregnant woman!), we went to Austin Grill for dinner one night and brainstormed over chips and salsa. As we threw out possibilities, the list of potential monikers grew to maybe 10 or so, but the minute someone mentioned "Derek", we knew that was It. With Baby #2, we went down to the wire, disagreeing back-and-forth for months without being able to commit to anything that we both liked. Then the night before I went into labor (which was NOT supposed to happen with a scheduled C-section--again, good thing we made up our minds!) Royce suggested we sit down and hammer it out...Riley Christopher rolled off my tongue, and that was that.

In the seven years since that night, the subject of "names" hasn't come up much (except when one brother calls the other a poopyhead or something similar, and I have to intervene). Until last week, when the same Riley Christopher, now a 6-1/2 year old wiseguy, poked his head into my room after school--no "hi, Mom, I'm home! by the way--and inquired, with a huge hopeful grin, "Can we change my name to Bradley?" I looked at my baby, in his muddy shirt, his face flushed from playing basketball, impish Riley-ness written all over him, and asked the obvious, "Why would you want to do THAT?" Undeterred, he shot back, "My name is kinda getting old, and I'm tired of it." (Dude, how "tired" can you be, you're S-I-X! Heaven help me, this child will be campaigning for tattoos and pierced...somethings by Middle School, to fend off his Adolescent Boredom.) As this was going through my head, he took advantage of the momentary pause in Mommy Protest to proclaim with great pride, "And I know how to spell it! B-r-a-d-l-y!" (Um, there's an "e". He took this in stride as well.) Then he put on his most adorable, most innocent face, and said, "Pleeeeeaaaassssseee?"

Weakened by this strong parting shot, I heard myself promising to think about it. And fortunately for me he was fooled by this age-old Parental Stalling Tactic, and left happily to go back outside. So far, to my great relief, he hasn't brought it up again. If he does, maybe I can distract him...maybe he'll accept a cool new nickname...or as a last resort, a temporary tattoo!

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Just a Wacky Wednesday...

I am a person who seeks to cultivate neatness and organization in her life (those who know me: I'll let you decide if this qualifies as the World's Biggest Understatement). I am a (near-fanatical, truth be told) List Maker. I like writing down agenda items--in nice, even columns, in the order they are to be addressed--and I like crossing them off when they have been accomplished. Most days, my system runs fairly smoothly. Today was distinctly NOT one of those days.

My To-Do List looked fairly simple and manageable:
Riley to pediatrician (9:00)
errands: Costco/Target
Dance Class (12:30)
Volunteer in Derek's class (2:00)

We actually came out of the gate strong, arriving at the pediatrician right on time. Then Riley introduced the first glitch into my carefully orchestrated and timed plan, with a deceptively innocent comment that began "when we go home to get my backpack"...Whoa, back up, Bub! Let me get this straight: you left your stuff at home, when you're supposed to be going directly to school (a place we have to drive right past, to get your things from the house). So, add in one extra roundtrip for Mom, who after depositing Riley at school, heads back to retrieve lunch and homework, and bring them to school (the Secretaries, bless their hearts, take this in stride, nodding with sympathy and understanding instead of wondering aloud why the Crazy Lady can't bring her offspring AND his school supplies in at the same time.)

Now I'm already behind schedule for my shopping, so I blaze a trail to Columbia (further than the Gaithersburg Costco, by MUCH swankier). While I'm there, even though I have a half-tank of gas, I fill up anyway (not technically on my List, but 15 cents-per-gallon cheaper than in Olney!). Next I get distracted by the Fancy Beer Store next to the gas station, remembering we have friends coming over for dinner on Saturday. This place has a mind-boggling selection, might as well stop in and get that out of the way (I can check off something from my tomorrow list--yay, me!) I make up time by whipping through Costco--not even stopping for Free Samples, that's how serious I am.

Back in the car, I check the clock...I may JUST have enough time left to hit Target for the 5 items I need.  That's when I make what proves to be my Fatal Mistake. "I think if I take this (earlier) exit, it'll save me some time." And in an instant, I was well-and-truly L-O-S-T.  It was actually a little surreal, like I'd driven through some kind of invisible gateway into the Columbia Labyrinth from Hell. Office Park, Neighborhood, Community Center--Id never seen any of it and had no idea where I was. I felt the minutes ticking away, becoming increasingly irked by the insipid road names they hand out in this town (hey, it gave me someplace constructive to focus my irritation). Melting Springs Lane. Bluebird Circle. Ick. The very last straw was when I saw a sign that said: Traffic Calming Ahead. What the--you mean speed bumps?  (Bouncing over those obnoxious things is supposed to calm you in this Loony Town? How's that working out?)

Obviously, Target was cut from the List for today. But fortunately for me and all of my fellow motorists, I soon stumbled across a road I recognized. I even managed to hightail it home in time to unload my purchases and get to Dance Class. AND after that I made it back to the Elementary School (3rd time today, if you're keeping score at home...or if you're Derek's teacher, who actually laughed when she spotted me in the hallway...again) to shape the malleable minds of 4th graders.

The day was winding down, when--drat, I knew I forgot something important! I completely neglected to add "nap with feet up" to the end of my List. Oh well, better start making a new List for Thursday!

Monday, March 22, 2010

Mini March Madness

It seems fitting that in the midst of the NCAA Tournament, we just survived our own little basketball drama around here. Let me start from the beginning...this was the first winter Derek chose to play in an actual Basketball League (after several years of intense driveway competition with the neighborhood guys). He always said he was nervous about getting pummeled out there, being the skinny dude that he is. I guess he finally felt "big enough"--all 4-1/2 foot, 64 pounds of him!

So, we signed him up for the 4th/5th grade Pee Wee Division (I did not make that up; I would have suggested a MUCH cooler name...like the Half-Pint Hoopsters...or something). He had a wonderful coach, a very patient and positive man. He already knew several of his teammates, from his elementary school (and he was not the shortest one!) Once they started facing other teams, it turned out that the Marshmallows* were really good! And Derek had the time of his life sprinting around the court each week. He fiercely guarded his man, he stole the ball on occasion, he managed a few rebounds, and he even scored once in a while. (When he made a shot, he broadcast his excitement by doing a fist-pump as he ran back on defense. His coaches and I thought that was adorable.)

The Light-Brown Bombers bulldozed their way through the season, racking up a 6-2 record. The playoffs were single-elimination, and his team had to win three times to make it to the finals. The first two games went well, with little need for hyperventilating on Mom's part. The third contest was a rematch with one of the teams that beat Derek's squad during the regular season. By this time everyone--parents and kids alike--were stoked, because the Championship would be held at the high school, in the main gym, using the real scoreboard...VERY big deal. After leading 17-2 midway, Derek's team survived a strong second-half comeback, and held on by their fingernails to secure a one-point victory in the Semifinal game. (I alternated between yelling words of encouragement and holding my breath, until the final buzzer.)

They earned themselves a spot in the Championship game; as a reward, they got to face the only other team that had beaten them during the season! And watching those 10 and 11-year olds out there, it was impossible to imagine Maryland or Kentucky or anyone playing with more heart and determination. They left everything they had out on that floor, and ended up losing a heartbreaker, 32-29. (Incidentally, Coach told us later in an email that the opposing team hadn't lost a game...IN 2 YEARS.) Afterwards, Derek shuffled his feet in the middle of the floor, head hanging, struggling not to let the tears in his eyes spill over in front of everyone. You know the phrase "I feel your pain"? It was agonizing to see my baby so upset. Of course I told him how tremendously proud we were of him and his team, and reminded him of what a great season they had, and assured him  they'd given it their best shot...when none of that seemed to be helping, I pulled out the last resort:  celebratory milkshake, anyone?  (and once again, ice cream cures all!)

*I swear this is what they called themselves, due to their light-tan shirts. However, we parents just could not bring ourselves to yell "Go Marshmallows" at games!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Holy Hormones, Batman!

When I showed up for my Volunteer Time in Derek's classroom today, I was all fired-up to tackle 4th-grade Writer's Workshop. Bring on the commas and semi-colons! Let's analyze those Themes and Morals and whatnot!  Ahem. Instead, as I quietly slipped into the back of the room and took a seat to await instructions, I was treated to an unscheduled Class Discussion about (apparently unacceptable) Recess Behavior...and (evidently questionable) Personal Hygiene.

Issue #1: It seems that after a winter chock-full of epic snowstorms, weeks and weeks and WEEKS of indoor recess, and unseasonably warm March temperatures, the 10-year old Natives are bursting with Spring-fever-induced enthusiasm...in short: Running Amok. Teacher patiently reminded them to make good choices, think about their behavior (i.e: cease acting like Wild Playground Savages), and that was that.

But then, there was Issue #2: Teacher smoothly changed the subject, mentioning that as the temperatures continue (hopefully!) to rise, and the students spend more time running around and playing, it is important to: shower every night. (At this point, I guiltily did a surreptitious-armpit-sniff, since I had come to her classroom straight from Hip-Hop Dance. But wait! I cleaned up and changed clothes at the studio, so I promise I was not responsible for any odor!) She went on to explain that while they still "smelled like kids" right now, soon they would "smell more like pre-teens". "What do kids smell like?" one voice piped up.  "Dirt," she answered decisively. "What about pre-teens?" She wrinkled her nose, "Sweat!" She matter-of-factly went on to explain that if anyone wanted to talk to their parents about deodorant, the could certainly do so when they got home. (I'll just BET dinner conversation was a show-stopper in many houses tonight!)

So there I sat, choking back snorts of laughter, trying desperately to avoid meeting her eyes so that I could maintain at least a semi-adult-professional demeanor in front of the impressionable children.  Fortunately for me, at that point the natural smart-aleckness of 4th-graders took over, and one boy (Derek's best friend, incidentally) proclaimed that he had "3 kinds of Axe Body Spray at home!" There were appreciative titters among his classmates--however, I was thinking, "I'm pretty sure he's making that up, but please don't let him decide to wear that stuff to school, especially all at the same time!" Another boy (Derek's OTHER best friend) declared that he would spray his feet...since they were so hairy...And that clearly  signaled the end of any rational discussion. It was time to somehow rally for a Social Studies lesson.

And what did I learn today? You just never know what you're in for when you sign up for that innocent-sounding Classroom Volunteer position. Sometimes it's Native American reports, sometimes it's "Our Bodies, Ourselves" (the Introductory Version, at least). So when Teacher apologetically asked me to go cut paper and draw timelines, rather than working with kids today, I gratefully seized the chance. It meant I got to escape to the safety of the peaceful Teachers' Lounge instead of remaining in the Hormonal Pit of 4th Grade. And later, I'll have to see how Derek feels about deodorant...

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Welcome to the Bank of Mom

When I was 15 years old, I told my parents I wanted a "good camera". Back then, what that meant was: 35 mm FILM, with adjustable f-stop settings and manual focus...rather than a point-and-shoot Polaroid where the picture popped out the front. As I remember it, my Mom said something along the lines of "that's nice, dear, you'd better start saving up." So, that's exactly what I did.  I hoarded my babysitting money (probably in my sock drawer) until I had a big enough wad 'o cash. (I believe it was around $200, an exorbitant amount of dough to me, at that tender age!) And I bought myself my first Ricoh camera. (I also continued to use that thing--stubbornly resisting "the digital age"--until about 5 years ago, when I dropped it on a concrete path while shooting Fall foliage. R.I.P Ricoh.)  My point is, although these days I fully embrace the beauty of shopping-with-credit-cards, and I have been known to succumb to impulse-buying (cute purse, anyone?), deep down I still harbor an ingrained Saving Mentality that I absorbed from my frugal parents in my formative consumer years.

With my own kids, operating on the belief that it's never too early to begin Money Management Training, Husband and I agreed to start giving Derek an allowance at age 5. Of course at first he spent every penny on inexpensive little toys (which were lost or forgotten or broken very quickly). Over time, we talked about things like: making sure you REALLY want something before you spend your money; saving for higher-quality items; recognizing why "cheaper" is not necessarily better; avoiding the peril of buying stuff "made in China", etc. After almost 5 years of such discussions, it seems my budding Capitalist has blossomed into quite the Tycoon. By carefully stashing his monthly allowance in his little red wallet, he has amassed $160. He has been waiting patiently, deciding what to buy with it, wanting to be absolutely solid about his purchase choice before he parts with his nest egg.

Finally, this week he informed me that he was ready. His decision? A Nintendo DS (since we had long ago established that Mom and Dad would NOT be giving him one, he bided his time until he could get his own). By searching together on Amazon, we established that he had enough money for the system itself, and a game, with some left over to start saving again. (I also seized the opportunity to discuss how he was saving not only the $5 Amazon took off for its "sale price", but also the sales tax they don't charge. And free shipping, let's not forget! I may be creating an Internet Shopping Monster...). So after our transaction, Derek seems to feels proud and confident, for doing this "on his own". And I feel like he's gained some Valuable Life Skills in the process. Not bad for a hundred and fifty bucks!

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Theme for the Week: Good News/Bad News

It has been one weird week around here. (I shudder to think it's only Wednesday--can I just hide out until the weekend? I'll be hiding under the covers...wake me on Saturday...)

We'll start with last Saturday (I know, technically not this week, but it fits the theme, you'll see). Royce took his car in for routine service, and we already knew it was going to be an expensive one (105K miles, timing belt due to be replaced, on top of the other scheduled under-the-hood stuff).  Expected cost: around $700-800. Foreshadowing of doom: Royce brightly mentioned as he headed out the door to go drop it off, "Hey, while they're poking around in there, I'll have them check out that unexplained clunking noise I've been hearing for about a year!" Of course that little knocking sound turned out to be "very dangerous, must be fixed right away!", to the tune of:  $2,400. (I'd tell you exactly what was wrong, but I'd never heard of the particular parts the mechanic mentioned, so he could have been making them up for all I know.) Obviously, that's the bad news. The garage manager did quickly point out (probably in response to my hyperventilating in his ear, trying not to faint at the total) that "these Hondas are usually good for 270,000 miles!"  Well, that's VERY good to know, as Royce will now be driving this car until its wheels fall off.

The next day, Riley woke up with an odd pain in the vicinity of his left hip.  No visible bruise, no memory of hurting it, no pain when touching the area...he just hobbled like a little old man when he tried to walk or bend. This was the second time in the last several months that this mysterious ache has shown up overnight, so I was a bit worried. Off we went on Monday to the pediatrician, who palpated and stretched and examined him. Just to be safe, she ordered an x-ray. In the meantime, she also remarked on his gunky nose (which I had dismissed as "stupid pollen, flying around already") and listened to his lungs. So the good news: the x-ray was negative (although that means we don't know WHY it hurts, it should go away with Motrin-the-wonder-drug).  But the bad news: she heard a faint "wheeze" and he has...bronchitis.  What?  Not a proud Mommy Moment, let me tell you, when you don't even notice your child is sick!

Tuesday, nothing (proving once again that time-honored adage: no news is good news!)

But then came Wednesday, a day chock-full of chores and general running-around for me. When I returned from my journey to Target and was bringing the bags inside, I happened to glance at the garage floor where my car is usually parked and saw a small puddle of oil. Now, the only time my car has ever leaked oil was when it had a blown head gasket (for those who don't speak "car", head gasket means: really-stinking-expensive-repair).  So you'll pardon me if I freaked out a little bit and started making plans to get rid of the car, tomorrow if possible.

However, I calmed down enough to go back out I went for one last errand, and this time when I came back I noticed my rear passenger tire looked a little low. I made a mental note to check the pressure later, and went inside. Flash forward to about 4:30, when I was preparing to go pick Riley up from basketball (yes, he does recover remarkably quickly).  I backed the car out of the garage into the sunlight to better read the tire pressure gauge...and in those few feet, it went completely flat.  At this point the neighborhood boys gathered around staring in apparent fascination at a real, live flat tire.  Derek very helpfully pointed out, in case I hadn't quite grasped the problem, "Mom, your tire's, um, really flat!" (I refrained from smacking him...just barely.) The situation had become so absurd, there was really only one thing to do: "Well, guys, let's see if we can find the nail!" I suggested.  And sure enough, there was a big old shiny screw in the tread. The good news, I guess, is that I made it all the way home on it. The bad news may come when I get the dratted oil leak checked out (grrr!). (Oh, and I got a ride from a neighbor, so Riley is NOT still at school waiting for me.)

If unfortunate events are said to come in bunches, then surely I'm done for the moment! Thursday should be all rainbows and bluebirds and sunshine, right? If not, I'm staying in bed!

Monday, March 8, 2010

If I had my way...(or a Magic Lamp?)

--A serving of two chocolate chip cookies (like those I surreptitiously ate at 10:30 this morning--shhh!) would contain the majority of your daily vitamins and minerals.  Broccoli and green beans, on the other hand, would contain empty calories, making them "treats" to be enjoyed only occasionally, in moderation (and before anyone starts to yammer about the stellar nutritional value of the leafy green stuff, let me clarify: I do like the healthy stuff...but I LOVE dessert : )

--A magical, mysterious occurrence would take place each year, triggered by people everywhere flipping their calendars from February to March.  Once our pages were all synchronized (do NOT be late!), it would signal the instant and official end of Winter. The temperature from that point on would never dip below 50 degrees. Any remaining snow would disappear overnight. (Anyone know where I can get me some fairy dust, to make this happen?)

--The human body would really only need to be exercised for a half-hour or so, once or twice a week, to remain in ultra-flexible, toned, cardio-vascularly fit (I think I made that word up, did you notice?) form. Oh, and it almost goes without saying: you wouldn't gain any weight by chowing down and skipping workouts, either! Now I'm not knocking the Great Designer or anything, I'm just saying that if I could get away with minimal exercise, without turning into an out-of-breath, chubby, flabby girl, that would be awesome!

--Finally, as I go downstairs to oversee yet another load of astonishingly dirty clothing shed by my sons (I swear they roll in mud puddles for fun...I just haven't actually caught them at it yet), my ultimate wish would be for my house to be completely surrounded by an invisible "Grime Barrier".  All filth would just automatically fall off of clothing, and shoes, and even hands and faces, at the door when anyone entered. (The garage would become a disaster area, but I can live with that--Husband's territory!)

So that's my Dream--but back in Reality: I have to go sweep up the pebbles and sand and soil from the floor by the kitchen door...then put on another sweater since I'm cold...then transfer the (hopefully restored-to-original-color) laundry to the dryer...then (sigh) lift weights. Maybe when I'm done all that, I'll have a few more well-earned, nutritious chocolate chip cookies!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Fashion Sense?

It is (sometimes painfully) obvious to all that know me and my family that we do NOT do "fashion" in my house. (Let me be clear before anyone gets outraged, we DO wear clothes!)  There are no designer pieces in any of our closets.  I don't have a girly shoe fetish (not that there's anything wrong with that, but the gene just missed me somehow). The boys (thank goodness) haven't yet taken to bugging me for the latest "hot gear" that "everyone's wearing" at school (or worse yet: "Mom, chicks dig it!" I dread the day...). The most important thing for all of us, I'd have to say, is that our clothes fit right, and feel good.  Anything beyond that is just fluff.

So I emerged from my bedroom ready for work yesterday, dressed in a conservative, coordinated khaki pant/knit shirt/cardigan sweater combo. I had done makeup, I had accessorized; I felt downright polished and pulled-together, I tell ya! Then on the landing I ran into Derek, who gave my outfit a quick up-and-down-scan. I do not remember if he actually said out loud, "Is that what you're wearing?", but he did wrinkle his nose and proclaim my ensemble (a word he can't even pronounce, by the way): too brown. Now this is absolutely precious, coming from the boy who has been known to unselfconsciously leave the house sporting a migraine-inducing combo of orange, purple, and green...more than once. Some of his getups are just perfect--for Clown College.  Mainstream 4th grade?  Not so much. Apparently, the concept of "neutral" is lost on this boy. Also, the related term "matching".

And you know what?  That's just peachy with me. In fact, I give thanks on a regular basis that as the mother of two boys, I get to completely avoid certain battles; for example, I have never had to talk anyone out of wearing a tutu and tiara to school (that would be a whole other issue, wouldn't it?)  My sons know the rule: if it's washed, and free of holes (okay, very small holes are sometimes overlooked), it's fair game. Clashing? Whatever. You wore it yesterday? If it came out of the laundry, go for it. (Incidentally, this policy often leads to them dressing directly out of their clean clothes pile, without ever putting anything back in the drawers. Eh, I can live with that.) After the smart-aleck commentary, however, I did find it necessary to point out to Derek that he himself gets away with donning a pair of jeans and a t-shirt every...single...day. Then I grabbed my bag (complementary with, but not matching, my boots), and took my boring-clad self off to work (looking pretty good, if I do say so myself!)

Monday, March 1, 2010

The Hamstring's Connected to the...Nevermind!

Here at Team WestEnders, we are a sporty group.  The kids play basketball and soccer and baseball and any other imaginable kind of "ball". Husband gets out there with them and runs, throws, catches, bats, shoots, tackles (not all at once--yet!). I tend to get my exercise-fix by running, walking, biking, dancing (somehow, my sons won't join me in that last one. Apparently they don't have an "Inner Beyonce" like I do...hmm, actually, that's probably a good thing). My point is: physical activity has always been kind of woven seamlessly into our family life. However, lately there has been a new wrinkle; Derek, age almost 10, who has for his entire life been so skinny you can count each and every one of his ribs (even though he eats as much as me...at every meal) somehow has managed to develop actual bicep muscles (please ask to see them, he will be thrilled to show you). Therefore there is a dawning interest in some of the more technical body-related topics (a welcome departure from the usual male-obsession with bodily functions that has predominated up until now in our house!)

So last night, Derek, Riley and I were in Derek's room, and I think we might have been chatting about the importance of warming up and stretching in sports, but I seized the opportunity to teach them the names of some of the major leg muscles. (Yes, this passes for casual conversation in our house. Nerds raising nerds, I tell ya.)  Now, of course I was picturing this cozy scene as a valuable anatomy lesson--calves, shins, quadriceps, hamstrings.  Derek understood; he intently watched me point them out, then demonstrated their location on his own body. But then, I made my Fatal Mistake. So flushed was I with my success, so parentally-proud of myself for imparting this valuable wisdom to my children, that for just a moment I forgot that I was dealing with...immature young boys.

I unwisely took the discussion a step further, mentioning the role of--and here was the real problem--pointing out the glutes (at least I used my own, right?).  I suppose I should be grateful that they were already sitting on the floor, as there was approximately a one-second pause before Riley began rolling around and chanting in a singsong voice, "The butt cheeks are important, the butt cheeks are important!"  Derek meanwhile was unable to contribute, as he was cackling helplessly on the ground next to his brother.

What could I do? I sighed, rolled my eyes, and left the room so I could burst into laughter elsewhere.
Oh, and Here Endeth the Lesson.