Saturday, July 31, 2010

July Amnesia: where did it go?

A certain phenomenon occurs every year at about this time. You'd think I would have learned to expect it by now, or at least see it coming, and therefore be prepared...but it still sneaks up on me each July, somehow taking me completely by surprise. Let's call it the "Oh my gosh it's almost August and we haven't done ANYTHING on our 'Summer Fun List' yet" Syndrome (wordy, but descriptive, don't you think?)! Because of course, in May or June, I sit down and ponder all the exciting, adventurous, educational, and cool activities we could possibly cram into the Summer Vacation, and then I compile a nice, long agenda to keep us busy for the 9 weeks or so the kids have before returning to jail...I mean school. But then they go visit their grandparents in South Carolina, and June is suddenly over. And after we go to the pool a bunch of times and schedule a few playdates and do our week of camp--good grief July is nearly gone too how did that happen...AGAIN?

Parental Panic sets in. So it's time to get a move on and accomplish some of this Fun Stuff, by golly. Low-Key Summer Mom is about to go all Julie-the-Cruise-Director on your butts, so let's gear up and make some memories! (And no, the 2 times we've played Mini-Golf do not count! They weren't on the List, so we couldn't put that satisfying check mark to show our progress! Focus, people!) First up: Smithsonian (when getting such a late start, it's best to Go Big right out of the gate, I think.) This field trip ranks high for a couple of reasons: we get to ride a Metro train into downtown Washington D.C.; and we get to take in a unique (free!)  museum (extra points for the Cultural aspect, if anyone's keeping score).

We begin with the Metro ride, always an event in-and-of itself. The boys are 10 and almost-7 now, and still love riding trains, as much as they did when they were toddlers. They like manipulating the Farecard machines to get our tickets; they enjoy counting the stops on the Metro map; they delight in looking out the windows at the aboveground stations (heck, even the graffiti on the buildings in certain sections of D.C. fascinates them! AND to get to the Smithsonian stop, you have to: change trains...utter joy). Even I have to admit, no matter how many times I've been there in my life, emerging from the station escalator onto the National Mall never fails to thrill me. Look left: Washington Monument.  Look right: Capitol Building (but don't linger too long, or the out-of-towners who are gazing upward, rather than watching where they're going, just might trample you!)

For Friday's excursion, I chose the American History Museum, which the kids had never been to, and which I had last visited in, oh, maybe the 80s? There were some of the nostalgic things I remembered with great fondness...Fonzie's jacket, Dorothy's ruby slippers, a Kermit puppet, the First Ladies' gowns. These had been joined by some other neat mementos such as Apolo Ohno's skates, and Simba's mask and Rafiki's costume from the Lion King stage play. I enjoyed the painstakingly recreated model of Julia Child's kitchen, after having seen the movie Julie & Julia a few months ago. The boys had fun in the Invention room, where they built a working circuit and tried out a windsurfing demonstration. We all thought the Transportation wing was super-awesome...because, really, who doesn't ooh and aah over old locomotives and turn-of-the-century automobiles? (or is that just us?) I personally found the Military section to be mostly disturbing, but Derek darted around wide-eyed (boys and guns, what is up with that?). I did, however, marvel at the stone block of the Berlin Wall on display. And we all paused for a few moments of quiet reflection in front of the chunk of the World Trade Center from 9/11.

Finally, I deemed that they were sufficiently full of Culture (as they were beginning to get that glazed "I'm done" look), and we were ready to head back home. I felt pleased that we had managed to squeeze at least one Summer Fun Event into July, and had not utterly frittered the month away. Now we can go back to lounging on lawnchairs, sipping lemonade and fanning ourselves...until next week's first planned August Outing!

Monday, July 26, 2010

What's Cooking?

The most recent sign of "growing up"--or maybe the Apocalypse, I'm not sure which just yet--came from 10-year old Derek. He suddenly announced one day, "Mom, I want you to teach me how to cook!" Oh, so many tangled thoughts to sort out before I could even respond...should I go with brutally truthful: "But I loathe cooking!" Or unapologetically realistic: "Sure, this is how you program the microwave..." Or tip-of-the-tongue sarcastic: "Let's get right on that, Emeril."  Fortunately what actually came out was more like, "Um, okay honey, you can help with tonight's dinner!"

Since I've been in a seriously Anti-Cooking Mode this summer, that first meal prepared by me and Assistant Chef Derek consisted of sunny-side-up eggs, microwave bacon, and toast. He cracked eggs into the pan (only a few shells), nuked the bacon (no burned fingers) and buttered the toast (most of the butter actually making it onto the bread). And when he was done, he absolutely beamed with pride and pleasure at his accomplishment. The next night, continuing with the "fast and easy" dinner plan, he tackled soup (from a can...microwaved...I really am slacking, aren't I) and grilled cheese. We discussed in great detail and with appropriate gravity the essential elements of an outstanding grilled cheese sandwich: assuring the proper butter-to-bread ratio; choosing the amount and type of cheese used;  assessing desirable level of "brown-ness" and turning at the ideal moment; and assuring peak gooeyness of cheese without over-toasting.

And then when we were ready to serve our creations to the hungry family, Derek admitted, "Wow, cooking is hard work!" So it turns out that this little exercise was valuable to both of us for several reasons I couldn't have anticipated...most obviously, we shared some valuable Mom/Son bonding time. Secondly, Derek got a small glimpse into the fact that Mom has a tough job!  Finally, my not-so-little-anymore young man gained a Real World Life Lesson in food prep for the future...you know, that much-anticipated period of my life when Derek will say, "Mom, I'm hungry," and I will reply, "That's nice, go make yourself something, dear!" (while continuing to relax with my feet up, reading a magazine and sipping my iced tea...ahh, such a beautiful daydream...)

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Stories of a Summer So Far

Each year as the boys get older I wonder which kind of Summer we're going to have: the one where two brothers get along in perfect harmony and play peacefully together from sunrise to sunset (stop laughing!), or the other variety, where there is more petty bickering, and picking on each other, and arguing about absolutely ridiculous things than you would normally see on The Real World (come to think of it, we've ONLY had the latter kind, but at least it's the PG version, no bleeping out the bad words, or bloody fistfights...yet).

This year Derek is 10, and experimentally dipping his toes into those murky pre-teen waters. I've discovered since school let out that this age comes with a growing ability to skillfully and effectively push your little brother's buttons.  Derek seems to be enjoying exercising this newfound power, and figuring out just how far he can go before either Riley bursts into tears or Mom yells at him to knock it off.  Just yesterday, he scored his first hit of the morning by refusing to give Riley a hug when he asked for one. Naturally Riley's sensitive feelings were hurt, and when I asked Derek (with exasperation, through gritted teeth--it was not yet 8:30 in the morning after all) why he couldn't just hug his brother, for crying out loud, he shot back, with a smart-alecky smirk, "hugs are unsanitary." (deep breathing, imagining my happy place...it's not working...)

But then there are times when they show that they do still appreciate their brotherly bond--like when they have "Brother Sleepovers" in each others' rooms and we can hear them chuckling after the lights go out (for all I know, they're regaling each other with their extensive repertoire of fart jokes, but hey, I don't have to listen, for once, so it's all good!) Or when they collaborate on Wii Guitar Hero to rock "We Are the Champions" (mohawked wild-man Riley banging the drums, more conservative buzz-cut Derek calmly working the guitar). Or even when they assign themselves international soccer player personas and relive World Cup games in the living room (Derek scoring goals, Riley blocking shots...Mom assigning Red Cards as necessary).

These moments--sandwiched in between the "Derek's being mean" and the "Riley's cheating" and the "I'm never playing with him again!"--give me hope that the boys will eventually develop a mature, non-confrontational brother relationship and enjoy each others' company most of the time. Or is that notion just as mythical as leprechauns and unicorns? Excuse me, I'm going back to my happy place...

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Warning: Very Punny

I grew up with a father who had a tremendous appreciation for the English language. For me and my siblings, this meant that he would frequently interrupt dinnertime conversation to correct what he saw as any egregious grammatical misstep (Me: "me and her were going..." Dad: (loudly) "she and I!") However, it is thanks to him that I unequivocably understand the difference between the subjective ("You and I are friends") and objective ("Let's keep this between you and me") pronoun case (and also the reason that I have an uncontrollable tendency to cringe at bad grammar, myself...). It also led to him having an insatiable proclivity for bad puns.

The reason I mention it is because this tragic character flaw seems to have surfaced without warning in my 10-year old son. Tonight my husband was pouring a beverage, and when the cold liquid touched the surface of the glass, it abruptly cracked. As we rushed to save the drink, Riley curiously asked why that had occurred. Never one to miss a "teachable moment", I explained that there must have been a "hairline crack" that had spread due to the sudden change in temperature. He of course then wanted to know what that term meant...and (once again--will I NEVER learn?) I answered without screening my words: "that means it's not visible to the naked eye." I did catch myself, though; I instantly turned to Derek, spied the mischievous gleam in his eye, and firmly advised him, "Do NOT make a 'naked eye' joke!"

Momentarily thwarted but apparently undaunted, he vanished into the adjacent room. Approximately 30 seconds later, he leaped into view, COMPLETELY NUDE, with a piece of paper Scotch-taped to his chest. On the paper he had simply written a capital "I".  "Look",  he gleefully exclaimed, "I'm a NAKED I!"

Oh. My. Goodness.  Your Pop-Pop would be sooooo proud! (and heaven help the rest of us!)

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Music to my ears...

In the continuing saga of "I want to be exactly like my big brother",  Riley lamented recently that he doesn't have his own mp3 player. It is of course useless to point out that Derek only has one because I upgraded mine, and passed on the little iPod Shuffle I didn't need anymore. It also makes absolutely no difference whatsoever--at least in his mind--that Riley is 3 years younger than Derek...when you're the second child, you see what's out there, and by golly, you want some of that cool stuff too!

So we'll probably get Riley his own inexpensive music player for his 7th birthday next month. Then I'm sure both he and Derek will thoughtfully provide me with handwritten lists of the songs they want me to download from iTunes. (They don't seem to be aware that this actually costs money...or they don't care because it's Mom's phantom credit card that makes it all magically happen for them!) Some of the latest selections have included Lady Gaga, Taio Cruz, Jason Derulo, and Iyaz. But I'm just a little concerned about what Riley will be requesting, since he boldly announced the other night that "my favorite singer is: Fergie!" Oh, really? I couldn't actually quiz him any further about just why he likes her, since Derek was rolling around on the floor gasping "Fergie...FERGIE!" in between bouts of giggling. However, the immediate effect of this proclamation has been that they now both walk around the house shouting "Imma Be...a monkey! Imma Be...your BUTT! etc., etc." (Sigh.)

There is one huge bright spot to this silliness, though...last night Riley had borrowed my player, and both boys were lying on my bed listening to their own tunes. And it was profoundly calm. For that blessed period before bedtime, there was no nonsensical chattering, no arguing, no talking loudly over each other, no poking or tackling or wrestling...and if that's how music tames the savage beasts, then let me just say: mp3 player: $60; music downloads: $30; a few minutes of peace and quiet: PRICELESS!!!!

Monday, July 12, 2010

Confession and Absolution, Family Style

As a parent, there are many opportunities--every day, in fact--to make mistakes. These can run the gamut from completely inocuous ("oops, I forgot to pack your lunch for school") to Lifetime-of-Therapy level ("sorry, honey, I forgot mention that we found you as an infant in the woods being raised by wolves and took you in"). Fortunately, most of the blunders fall in the garden-variety "geez, I wish I could take that back" category.  For example, I can't even count the number of times I've heard myself lecturing or reprimanding one of the boys, as though I was an outsider observing the conversation (Parental Out-of-Body Experience, very X-Files) and fervently wished I could just stop talking right now. It's as though I can recognize, from that spot over in the corner where I'm watching, that I'm being too harsh, or too sarcastic, or just beating the subject into the ground unnecessarily. Then I'd like to swallow the words right back up, rewind, take a breath, and start over.

Riley and I had one of those encounters the other day. He was trying to pull the foil cover off an individual-serving cup of applesauce, probably talking at the same time and not paying full attention to the task (this IS Riley, after all.) Anyway, he had to tug really hard, and when the lid finally came free with a jolt, it splashed applesauce all over the floor. Not a big deal, right? "Of course not! It could happen to anyone, we can wipe that right up in 2 seconds!" That's how I SHOULD have handled it. Instead, irritated already from the long morning of refereeing rumbles and squelching brotherly bickering, I snapped at Riley. "Can't you be more careful, you do this all the time, (and here comes the Mother of all Final Insults) you are the worst applesauce-opener in the world!" It sounds ridiculous, and another kid might have laughed it off and broken the tension, but Riley is ultra-sensitive and easily-injured. And even as the sentence was hurtling out of my mouth, I already wanted to snatch it out of the air before it reached his ears and hurt his feelings. But it was too late, as his eyes filled with tears, his lip quivered, and he stomped out of the kitchen, leaving the sad pile of applesauce and his regretful Mom.

This is one of those times that I think "thank goodness for boys"...because after a brief cooling-off period in his room, Riley resumed playing as though nothing had ever happened. I calmly told him he could eat his applesauce when he was ready, and that seemed to be the end of it (except for the guilt still gurgling in my gut, but as a Mom, I'm somewhat used to this by now). However, at the end of the day, Riley came into my room to find me, sat down, gazed into my eyes very seriously and said, "I forgive you for saying I'm the worst applesauce-opener in the world, Mom." Feeling completely awed by his thoughtfulness and generosity, I hugged my not-quite-seven-year old tightly. And as we put this incident behind us, I am grateful for the resilience of kids in general, the non-grudge-holding nature of my own boys, and the universal healing power of forgiveness. (Also the fact that this turned out not to be a Lifetime of Therapy Offense! Whew!)

Thursday, July 8, 2010

It's Like a Heat Wave (I'm Martha, they're the Vandellas : )

Remember oh-so-long ago--like, say, February--when here in Maryland we were busy shoveling heavy, deep mounds of snow…again? When we thought we were safe, after surviving “Snowpocalyse” in December, yet found ourselves struggling once more just to clear a path wide enough to walk…ANYWHERE outside our front door for some fresh air (and to escape yet another day of forced confinement with our beloved family)? When we fought valiantly to find a spot to heap more of the white stuff, since we had already created drifts higher than our heads? When we had to come up with another creative name to describe the catastrophic winter conditions? (“Snowmageddon”)  When we prayed that the kids would please, please go back to school sometime before Easter? When we couldn’t imagine a landscape that wasn’t blindingly white, or a time that we would ever be warm all-the-way-through again?

Well, the old adage “Be careful what you wish for” seems mighty timely right now, as we swelter through Summer in Hades—I mean Olney. Temperatures for the next week are predicted to fall in the sticky 95 to 100 degree range, which as far as I am concerned, is just very, very wrong (in fact, triple-digits should be illegal...anyone know who I call about that?) Did Maryland get picked up and scooted a little closer to the equator while I was sleeping? Did our forecast get mixed up with the one for Texas, or Arizona? Because I need to blame this ridiculous heat on someone, and that someone will be fired, as soon as I find them!

And don't get me started on the Air Quality, which is listed as Code Orange. Yes, observant readers, this is the same scale they use for Terror Alerts. While it may not be a matter of National Security, from the data gathered on my Test Subjects (ie: Self and Sons), I can report that breathing the wet-blanket atmosphere can actually pose quite a threat, in the form of Intense Stuffiness and Violent Sneezing.  Even the normally hardy, play-'til-you-drop boys are balking at venturing outside in this. When I suggested stepping out for a short walk today, Derek peered at me very seriously and uttered his one-word reply, "Hot." (I took this to mean a very firm "no" from the amount of feeling he managed to convey in that lone syllable.) I tried running it by Riley as well, but after a brief moment of consideration he responded, "No, I'm really more of an indoor person." (Um, that's news to me...since when, yesterday?) Here's a true measure of how yucky (professional meteorological term, don't you know) it is: they don't even want to go to the POOL. Yikes.

So we resorted to the wimpy-but-effective strategy I like to call the A.C. Sprint. To do this, you run from the cool house to the climate-controlled car to a frigid store and repeat until either your errands are done or you're at least satisfied that you "got out" for the day. Upon returning home, you renew your desperate hopes that the blasted Heat Wave will end soon, and the temperate, breezy Summer (that we earned by patiently freezing and shoveling during the Winter, right?) will arrive and stay. If not, it's gonna be a looong summer inside, kiddies!

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The All-Olney Tennis Club (Wimbledon, it is NOT)!

Although it seems distant and unreal to me now, I was a bit of a pudgy, awkward, unathletic kid until I finally unearthed my inner Sport Chick around the time I hit middle school. However, one thing I always remember enjoying--even in my early, anti-exercise days--is tennis.  Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't required to run up and down the length of a field...or perhaps it was the jaunty ponytails and crisp, perfectly-coordinated outfits the cute pro-girls wore...but somehow with a racket in my hand I didn't mind sweating in the summer sun on a baking-hot asphalt court, chasing balls around in circles. The satisfying thwack of a well-hit shot as it skimmed over the net gave me a thrill that made it all worthwhile.

And I still love it to this day, when I have the time (and energy...and a partner!) to play. So last summer I was sooo pleased when Derek (then age 9) expressed an interest in taking up the sport (no surprise, really, since he plays absolutely everything else involving a ball already, and must leave no game untried!) I gave him an old racket of mine, and we headed off to the courts near our house to give it a whirl. We only managed to practice a few times last summer, but by the time school started again I could already tell that my days of "taking it easy on him" were going to be very limited...as in "over before you know it." Although he's average height, and has always been on the skinny side, he possesses that enviable, can't-be-taught quality: Natural Athleticism. This works both for and against him in some ways, though; he picks up sports with astonishing ease and progresses quickly, but he also expects to start playing immediately at the level of, say, Andy Roddick.

Right at this moment, the benefit of my size and experience means that my strokes are stronger, and more accurate, and more consistent than his, of course. But he already, at age 10, comes up to my chin. And he's starting to show the tall, lanky, long-armed-and-legged build of his father. And he's ridiculously quick on his feet. I see him getting just a little better each time we face each other. So in a year or two, he's going to be able to get to everything I hit over the net, and his technique will have improved to the point that he can return all of my shots. I only hope that by then, since he will be just a little bit older and wiser, he will also have figured out that Good Sportsmanship, at least in the friendly, family game of tennis means: "not beating up on Mom"!