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...

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...)

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!

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!

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...

Monday, September 13, 2010

(future) Sharp Dressed Man

Just for funsies today, let's play a quick round of Jeopardy, shall we?
Okay, I'll start. Give me "Sentences I NEVER expected to hear come out of my son's mouth", for $1000, Alex." 
[Alex Trebek looks down his nose, fixes you with his superior stare and pompously intones in his best Gameshow Host Voice] "This morning, 10-year old Derek came down to breakfast shivering in his tee-shirt--due to the September early-morning chill--and said this..."

[You consider and discard several potential responses: "I need some hot chocolate"; "Where are my sweatshirts?" but these make too much sense to fit the category. All of the contestants hold their buzzers at the ready, but fail to press the button, utterly stumped by the question.]
Finally the "out-of-time" bell chimes and Alex provides the correct answer:
"Mom, I don't have enough long-sleeved shirts, we need to go shopping!"

I very nearly spit out my coffee. This is priceless, from the boy who regularly dresses out of his clean laundry pile, to avoid having to actually put it away, and therefore wears the same 2 or 3 outfits over and over again...the boy who rotates through only about a third of the items of clothing he owns anyway (most of which are donated from the boy across the street, so at least I didn't pay for them to sit in his dresser!)...the boy who has never once in his life even asked to be consulted on the purchasing of apparel (whatever I bring home is treated to a cursory glance, then wadded up and stuffed unceremoniously into a drawer with its fellows). Suddenly this child not only "needs more shirts" (a foreign concept in-and-of-itself), but wants to voluntarily venture into a store and pick them out himself? Who is this stranger and what has he done with my happily-fashion-oblivious kid?

So, my son...shopping. Jeesh. At least he's still nonchalant enough about Brand Names that he hasn't asked to go to Abercrombie or the Gap for his wardrobe. Or worse yet: ask to be dropped off at the mall with my credit card (a 5-word response says it all, I think: Not In This Lifetime, Pal!) But I can only wonder: what's next for the male tween? Hair gel? Calling girls after school for a "chat"? (or, Heaven forbid, asking for his own email account? Ha! Nobody's ready for that, trust me!) Hopefully he'll just take it slowly...maybe try a little bit of...oh, I don't know...dressing in matching shirts and pants, perhaps? Baby steps....

Thursday, September 9, 2010

You know Summer is really over when...

...let's start with the blatantly obvious: Labor Day has come and gone. Around here it's still warm enough for flip-flops and short sleeves, but you'd better watch out for the White-Pants Police! (Although, seriously, who can actually get away with wearing white pants? Unless you're a Supermodel who doesn't eat, or a childless person--who also never, ever even encounters any youngsters--they're just a Ketchup/Dirt/Glitter-and-Crayon Disaster waiting to happen.)

...Next, it's getting dark earlier. (Darn--just when I got used to 9:00 sunsets, too!) I went running tonight at 7:30, in a gentle twilight, and came back in can't-see-my-feet nighttime. Memo to self: when you have to use the glowing, greenish screen on your mp3 player to light the sidewalk so you don't trip over things: start going out earlier!

...Even though it seems like we just finished the Summer Reading and Math packets (oh, ahem, that's because we DID just wrap those babies up...the day before school started...hey, it still counts!), we have now entered the Homework Zone again. In fact, Derek discovered very quickly that 5th grade is serious business. In preparation for the Real World--or at least the apparent rigors of Middle School--he is expected to complete nightly assignments as well as recurring weekly tasks. On the second day of school he sat staring at his Homework Notebook, taking stock of the required activities for that night and sighed, with a slight catch in his voice, "Mom, 5th grade is haaard!"

...Christmas decorations show up in stores...wait, what? Yep, today in Target you could get a head start on purchasing twinkly lights to adorn the outside of your house (in 3 short months--so hurry! you know that in December they'll switch over to swimsuits!) Now, Halloween candy I understand. Who doesn't need a stash of festively Fall colored chocolates lying around? Why, it's practically a public service to make those available at the earliest possible date! (Especially when I--I mean WE...no, who am I kidding, I do mean I--plow through the first batch and have to sneak back to the store to replenish the supply. Is that just me?)

So, welcome to Fall:  put on a light sweater, pack away the pool toys, and pass the orange and black M&Ms!

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Memories

(Dedication--today's philosophical feeling and rambling reminiscences were inspired by: my younger son Riley.)

As we journey down our life's path, we encounter certain events along the way that we instantly recognize as Memories of a Lifetime. These classic milestones tend to be recalled with fondness ("remember Mardi Gras, '96?"), retold with gusto ("we stayed up all night playing pool!"), and embellished with abandon ("we must've had 100 strings of beads when we went home!"). We commemorate them with t-shirts from Disney World, photos of snorkeling with stingrays, and stories of shared connections ("we survived the Death-Defying Cab Ride in New York City! mmm, good times...") They become a part of our Personal History, and our Family Lore as well.

Kids, experiencing many things for the first time in their lives, embrace the world with a beautiful sense of wonder and joy. They're awesome at appreciating the Big Stuff.  BUT...they also notice and enjoy Little Things, in ways that we busy, stressed, distracted adults have forgotten how to--or don't make time to--do for ourselves. I think Grownups tend to get caught up in our everyday existence--school, work, sports practice, schedules, homework, to-do lists, errands, blah, blah, blah--because let's face it, if we stop to examine the very oozy and fascinating slug on the front porch, we might miss the school bus, and then we'll have to drive you, and be late for our job and...oops! There went another chance to stop the Runaway Parent Train and just act like a child again for a minute.

So (the point! I know you've been waiting for it, paddling patiently in my Stream of Consciousness) Riley, Derek, and Royce went to an Orioles game on Sunday. It was an absolutely gorgeous, sunny, warm day. The O's actually won, for a change. To top things off, the special Dugout Club kids' giveaway was a plastic batting helmet, which Riley liked so much he continued to wear until bedtime. In fact, it was such a Banner Day for him that when he got home, he solemnly informed Royce, "I'm going to keep this FOREVER...to remind me of my childhood." (Note: Riley is SEVEN...going on 17, at times.) A silly, cheap souvenir? Or a cherished token of one perfect day at a ballgame, male-bonding with your Dad and brother? In the eyes of my wise young man, it makes the Important Memory List. Little things, indeed.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Not your typical school year start...

Well, somehow September snuck up on me again, (yes, it happens every year, so you'd think I'd know better by now...but I firmly believe that the infamous Dog Days of August just melt my brain...yeah, we'll go with that...) and you know what that means: it's going to be a cool, crisp...94 degrees today! No, that's not it; September definitely doesn't mean Fall has arrived around here yet. Um, give me a minute...oh, I've got it: a new school year has started! Can you tell I'm still not quite in the swing of things? I blame our late-August vacation--it was a fabulous getaway, and a lovely way to wrap up the season, but the whole family seems to be suffering from a bit of a Summer Hangover. The kids are dragging their little butts out of bed grudgingly at 7:45--Derek even resorts to burying his head under the blanket some mornings (but I personally feel this is understandable and appropriate behavior, when your father visits your room at 7:40 and chirps in an obnoxiously perky voice, "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!" I'm surprised the kid hasn't resorted to hurling stuffed animals at my husband's head...I surely would).

Anyway...I was a bit worried about the tone of the upcoming year when we visited the elementary school for Open House the day before school started. That's when the kids finally discover the answer to the Big Mystery: Who will be my Teacher this year? Before we looked at the lists posted on the front door of the school, Derek announced, "If I don't have Mrs. W (his 4th-grade teacher) again, I'm quitting school!" Of course he was exaggerating, but the 5th-grade hyperbole went over Little Brother's head, so he  enthusiastically agreed: "yeah, if I don't get Mrs. M (his former Kindergarten teacher), I'm quitting too!"
(Ohhh-kaaay, I don't care if you get Mrs. Frankenstein, NOBODY is dropping out of elementary school! And unfortunately it's still too early to apply to a Drama Program, so can we please take it down a notch?) Derek ended up with his former 2nd-grade teacher, which seemed acceptable to him. There was a tense moment when we found out that his two closest buddies were in different classes, but Derek kept a stiff upper lip about it and resigned himself to hanging out with them at recess. Riley got his Reading Teacher from last year, and was overjoyed (whew! because if anyone was going to run away from home over this, it would be him!)

So all of a sudden we had to jump back into the Weekday Routine--backpacks, lunchbags, bus stop, homework. When the boys came home after 7 hours in the Land of Learning, I asked Riley how his first day had been. "Miserable," he sighed. Uh oh. Dare I ask why? "Because of all the stuff we had to do!" Clearly we need to build up some stamina for the rigors of 2nd grade...and in my head I was thinking: "one day down, one-hundred seventy nine to go!" Derek on the other hand reported that things were just fine in the Wide World of 5th Grade. He even gets to switch teachers for Math, and his BFF is in his group (yay! bonding over algebra...or whatever.) However, he has a Math Book for the first time ever, and it weighs approximately a TON. Add this to his Data Binder (2 inches thick), and his backpack (before adding his lunch) clocks in at a hefty 10 pounds (yes, I put it on the scale to be sure). For a kid who himself weighs 70 pounds--fully clothed, soaking wet, after a huge meal--this seems ridiculous! I'm going to have to put my Chiropractor on speed-dial this year...

And then, just to add a little more (unnecessary, if you ask me) excitement to the first week, On Wednesday the kids finally trudged up the street almost a half-hour later than usual. Sometimes this happens due to a bus breaking down or schedules getting backed up with the earlier dropoffs, so I wasn't overly concerned. However, when I asked Derek the reason behind the delay, he nonchalantly informed me that the school had been on a Code Red Lockdown and no one was allowed to leave until the situation was resolved. Alrighty, now I've really missed something--what "situation"? "The bank across the street was being robbed!" What the WHAT? I mean, sure, it sounds like a pleasant way to spend Dismissal Time, in your locked classroom, with the lights out, huddled in a corner away from the windows. Holy Guacamole! Nothing like a little Criminal Activity to liven up a boring old school day!

As we careen toward the end of Week 1 of the 2010-2011 academic year, I have fervent hopes that the craziness is finished, to be replaced by a prevailing sense of calm normalcy. Almost to Labor Day Weekend...keep your fingers crossed!