Somewhere on the Lost Highway of my youth, the idea that I was incapable of reading a map somehow got stuck to me (sorta like Cracker Jacks from the backseat of the family car), and became part of my self-identity. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that my mom, who spent part of her formative years in the South, absolutely refused to use conventional directional terms--such as "head North toward Frederick", or even "take a left onto Main Street." Oh, no. She insisted on the heartwarmingly folksy (but at times goshawful confusing) "turn after the huge oak tree", or "it's the yellow house on the right, with the blue shutters" (heaven forbid the tree gets cut down, or they decide to paint the house!) Anyway, bless her little pea-pickin' heart (another quaint hand-me-down from the Kentucky relatives), she must have rubbed off on me. I would look at a gigantic unfolded map, just covered in squiggly lines and tiny print, and despair at ever being able to use it to actually get anywhere. (And yes, I'm...mature...enough to have used real, live, paper-and-ink map pages...that did not speak turn-by-turn instructions. I know, VERY old-school!)
That feeling of Navigational Helplessness endured through my college years. But let's face it, as a student I didn't exactly have lots of wild, far-flung adventures to find my way through (pity, that). However, a college boyfriend, a no-nonsense Yankee (somehow I chose to overlook this) utterly rejected the notion that I was map-challenged. He took it upon himself to convince me that: 1) I should not fear or avoid maps; and 2) that they could be...fun! (you can see why we got along--bit of a nerd, himself!) Long story short (yeah, like THAT ever happens), by the time I treated myself to a European Tour as a reward for surviving graduate school, I had made so much progress in my Map Therapy that I felt comfortable and confident using street guides to, say, search for the Royal Castle in Madrid, or the non-topless beaches in Nice (because making a mistake there could be extremely ugly), or the Coliseum in Rome.
Back in the States, and flush with my Continental Success, I came to the realization that on my maiden journey, I'd picked up more than precious memories and valuable experiences--I now had an incurable Travel Bug. With no more good reasons to fear the Great Unknown (aka: anything outside of Maryland), I began making plans to drive myself around the good old U.S.A., just to see what there was to see. Turns out, there was A LOT. On my first Major Solo Trek, I covered 8,300 miles in a little black Neon...a huge oval path across the country all the way to California and back...with a trusty (free) map from AAA helping me along. For three weeks, I negotiated my way through cities and across entire states, without once getting lost! After that, I made sure to get the heck outta Dodge every summer, venturing to other beautiful American locales (Colorado, Yellowstone, Memphis, Nashville, New Orleans, Chicago, etc..."this land is your land, this land is my land"!) For a formerly directionally-squeamish, map-averse girl, this was a total turnaround (ha ha). I guess you could say I had finally...found myself (SORRY!)
However, I did have a point in mind when relating this rambling narrative (and it wasn't just to regale you with whimsical anecdotes about "When I was a Youngster"). This is not the End of the Story (cue suspenseful music)...stay tuned for our next installment: Map Woman meets GPS Girl...
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Snow What?
Well, I guess it had to happen sometime. We experienced several precipatory near-misses in December and January--the kind where the Weather Weenies worked themselves into a lather about "SNOW Coming Our Way" and prognosticated ominously about the size of the storm, the possible accumulation amounts, and the potential treacherous driving conditions--and we ended up with (dun-dun-dun-duh)...a light sprinkle of rain. Each time (after mocking the meteorologists) we chuckled in relief, expressed sympathy for Philadelphia, or New York, or Boston--whoever had taken the Winter Bullet for us this time--and calmly went about our business.
Maybe we should have laughed a little less, since it appears we ticked off Mother Nature (or perhaps her son, Snow Miser). She sent us a sugar-frosted Snow Bomb this time, arriving exactly at Rush Hour yesterday. The skies opened up and the white stuff began to fly, cascading down on us at a fast and furious pace. Just to add visual excitement to the show, she threw in flashes of lightning, and enough of a breeze to stir up dancing snow funnels. The kids were already off from school (yes, our school system had them stay home...because you know, it MIGHT snow later...or something), and Husband fortunately made it back before the roads got horribly dangerous. I had even dragged Riley to the grocery store earlier (oops, of course I mean "persuaded to accompany me and be a helpful, cheerful assistant"), so we were all set, foodwise. Possibly more critical: we had managed to visit Beers R Us as well; so really, our biggest concern involved the flickering lights and the unsettling crashing noises reaching our ears from the white-blanketed Outside World.
As far as the power situation, we remained among the Electrically Favored. Our house went dark for all of about 10 seconds, just long enough for Emergency Technician Derek to locate and distribute flashlights (I'm not kidding--I immediately put him in charge of our Family Safety Plan...just as soon as I invent one!) When we finally got curious enough to investigate all of the weird sounds happening out in the dark, we discovered that it was branches crashing down onto ground from the weight of the wet, heavy snowfall. In fact, one large limb from the sizable old maple tree in our front yard had snapped off and was lying across the driveway. BUT...that was the extent of the damage. (Phew!!!) Naturally, the kids were off again today, and Husband was effectively blocked in (besides the fact that his little Honda, reliable and fuel-efficient though it may be--is not what you'd call a Snow Beast), so we bundled up and trooped outside to survey the Winter Scene. Even I've gotta admit, it was pretty.
But after the drama and week-long buried-alive situation of last year's "Snowpocalypse" and "Snowmageddon", the very first thought that popped into my winter-weary brain was: "Pshaw--who needs a plow? I can SO get out of here! And the second thought, hard on the heels of the first: NOW can we please have Spring?
Maybe we should have laughed a little less, since it appears we ticked off Mother Nature (or perhaps her son, Snow Miser). She sent us a sugar-frosted Snow Bomb this time, arriving exactly at Rush Hour yesterday. The skies opened up and the white stuff began to fly, cascading down on us at a fast and furious pace. Just to add visual excitement to the show, she threw in flashes of lightning, and enough of a breeze to stir up dancing snow funnels. The kids were already off from school (yes, our school system had them stay home...because you know, it MIGHT snow later...or something), and Husband fortunately made it back before the roads got horribly dangerous. I had even dragged Riley to the grocery store earlier (oops, of course I mean "persuaded to accompany me and be a helpful, cheerful assistant"), so we were all set, foodwise. Possibly more critical: we had managed to visit Beers R Us as well; so really, our biggest concern involved the flickering lights and the unsettling crashing noises reaching our ears from the white-blanketed Outside World.
As far as the power situation, we remained among the Electrically Favored. Our house went dark for all of about 10 seconds, just long enough for Emergency Technician Derek to locate and distribute flashlights (I'm not kidding--I immediately put him in charge of our Family Safety Plan...just as soon as I invent one!) When we finally got curious enough to investigate all of the weird sounds happening out in the dark, we discovered that it was branches crashing down onto ground from the weight of the wet, heavy snowfall. In fact, one large limb from the sizable old maple tree in our front yard had snapped off and was lying across the driveway. BUT...that was the extent of the damage. (Phew!!!) Naturally, the kids were off again today, and Husband was effectively blocked in (besides the fact that his little Honda, reliable and fuel-efficient though it may be--is not what you'd call a Snow Beast), so we bundled up and trooped outside to survey the Winter Scene. Even I've gotta admit, it was pretty.
But after the drama and week-long buried-alive situation of last year's "Snowpocalypse" and "Snowmageddon", the very first thought that popped into my winter-weary brain was: "Pshaw--who needs a plow? I can SO get out of here! And the second thought, hard on the heels of the first: NOW can we please have Spring?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The germs won this one (but we'll be back!)
Everyone knows the saying "it'll be a cold day in hell when (insert improbable or undesirable event) happens!" Well, let me just say that for me, this first month of 2011 feels like one big endless frigid day in Hades. Of course there are the usual delightful Winter elements that all of us experience: the bone-chilling cold, the biting wind, the desert-dry air. But this year, my household somehow seems to have scored the Extra-Special January Family Fun Pack...that's right, you get all of the above, PLUS...(wait with bated breath to see what you've won) an assortment of...really nasty germs*!! (and the crowd goes wild) Man, I do not remember signing up for this nonsense--did I fill out something without looking?
First Husband came down hard with the flu. Then I got tired of waiting for the Stubborn Gobs of Gunk in my head to just go away already, and got treated for a sinus infection. Next, we decided to drag Riley to his pediatrician with a definite case of the Snot and Cough Syndrome (I made that up, can you tell? I think the medical profession should adopt it. I want royalties.) that was persisting for weeks on end. Yep, sinus infection and antibiotic #2 in the family. Let's see, who went down after that; it all gets so confusing when you're under siege from a Battalion of Bacteria... oh yes, it was Husband again, whose friend Influenza invited his colleague, Bronchitis (without permission, I might add...very bad form, even for microscopic organisms). For those keeping score: antibiotic #3.
All along, we had been marveling at how Derek seemed to be ducking the various illnesses (sometimes knocking wood just isn't enough)...until last night, when he began complaining of a sore throat and headache. This morning he woke up with the same symptoms, but didn't have a fever, so I gave him a dose of Kiddie Motrin (the Wonder Drug), encouraged him to be a brave little soldier (in the War on Microbes), and sent him off to school. He made it through his day, then dragged himself home and curled up on his bed in a miserable lump. Uh oh: so very much NOT typical Derek behavior. Since our pediatrician's so close, they agreed to see him right away...one gag-inducing throat swab later, we had (drumroll) STREP. And yes, antibiotic #4. (Incidentally, I was feeling like Worst Mom Ever--again--when the doctor told me she herself goes by this rule: if they're not throwing up or feverish, they go to school. Okay, then, I'm back to...Pretty Okay Mom!)
So you can understand why I say: We. Are. Done. Notice to all little wiggly creatures that may still be floating around out there, looking for warm, hospitable hosts--our noses, and throats, and ears, and lungs, and tummies, (and whatever other places you may like to lurk and wreak havoc) are like Switzerland...OFF LIMITS. If you should choose to ignore this warning, be aware: we have Amoxicillan...and we're not afraid to use it!
*Selection will vary. Not all germs will be available to all customers. Other restrictions apply. See doctor for details. No returns or refunds...but exchanges may very well occur among the "winners".
First Husband came down hard with the flu. Then I got tired of waiting for the Stubborn Gobs of Gunk in my head to just go away already, and got treated for a sinus infection. Next, we decided to drag Riley to his pediatrician with a definite case of the Snot and Cough Syndrome (I made that up, can you tell? I think the medical profession should adopt it. I want royalties.) that was persisting for weeks on end. Yep, sinus infection and antibiotic #2 in the family. Let's see, who went down after that; it all gets so confusing when you're under siege from a Battalion of Bacteria... oh yes, it was Husband again, whose friend Influenza invited his colleague, Bronchitis (without permission, I might add...very bad form, even for microscopic organisms). For those keeping score: antibiotic #3.
All along, we had been marveling at how Derek seemed to be ducking the various illnesses (sometimes knocking wood just isn't enough)...until last night, when he began complaining of a sore throat and headache. This morning he woke up with the same symptoms, but didn't have a fever, so I gave him a dose of Kiddie Motrin (the Wonder Drug), encouraged him to be a brave little soldier (in the War on Microbes), and sent him off to school. He made it through his day, then dragged himself home and curled up on his bed in a miserable lump. Uh oh: so very much NOT typical Derek behavior. Since our pediatrician's so close, they agreed to see him right away...one gag-inducing throat swab later, we had (drumroll) STREP. And yes, antibiotic #4. (Incidentally, I was feeling like Worst Mom Ever--again--when the doctor told me she herself goes by this rule: if they're not throwing up or feverish, they go to school. Okay, then, I'm back to...Pretty Okay Mom!)
So you can understand why I say: We. Are. Done. Notice to all little wiggly creatures that may still be floating around out there, looking for warm, hospitable hosts--our noses, and throats, and ears, and lungs, and tummies, (and whatever other places you may like to lurk and wreak havoc) are like Switzerland...OFF LIMITS. If you should choose to ignore this warning, be aware: we have Amoxicillan...and we're not afraid to use it!
*Selection will vary. Not all germs will be available to all customers. Other restrictions apply. See doctor for details. No returns or refunds...but exchanges may very well occur among the "winners".
Sunday, January 23, 2011
No More Kings, no more kings...(sing along!)
Having lived my entire life a short hop-skip-and jump from Washington D.C., I have always felt fortunate--and spoiled--by the glut of culture and history and architectural beauty that lies right at our fingertips. We have the incomparable Smithsonian, we have the stunning National Zoo (with not one, but TWO new litters of lion cubs, and loaner-pandas for 5 more years--whoo hoo!), we have one-of-a-kind monuments galore! I try to remember to take advantage of all the cool stuff, but once in a while it comes to my attention that I've missed something very important. Case in point: this past Fall, Derek's class visited Mt. Vernon as part of their 5th-grade Social Studies curriculum (heavy on the Colonial and Revolutionary War period this year, apparently). When he came home and told me about it, not only did it sound like a fascinating place to go, but I also realized that I may never have been there, myself. A shocking, unacceptable omission in my Lifelong Learning Program! (What, doesn't everyone want to take a voluntary Educational Field Trip on their day off? And then complete a self-assigned essay about it on the weekend? Am I being a Super Nerd again? Yeah, that happens...)
So I packed up some snacks, my trusty Nikon (the one with real film--'cuz that's how old George would have done it...or I could be making stuff up...) and a LOT of warm clothing, and hit the road. (Editorial Note: the last time I took an impromptu Mini-Road-Trip was in June, when there was a crushing heat wave, with the combined temperature and humidity feeling like 104 degrees. And this time? Below-freezing temps, with gusty winds up to 20 mph, making it feel like: 15 degrees. Yeah, I thrive in extreme conditions, baby! So what if I didn't regain feeling in my fingers or toes for 2 days?) I followed the Colonists' path (okay, not exactly, but I did drive the George Washington Parkway, so that counts, right?) into Virginia, on a tree-lined, winding road that hugs the Potomac River. The midmorning sun sparkled off of the water as I rounded a curve and spied the Washington Monument (and no matter how long I've lived here, or how often I see it, that sight never fails to move me.) Gorgeous.
And then, after a peaceful hour of zen-driving: Mt. Vernon. I'll restrain myself (with great difficulty) from boring you with the endless array of details that I personally found captivating (However, you can go ahead and give me a quiz, I'm ready. No really, ask me anything!) Suffice it to say, from the farm buildings, to the servants' (and slaves', unfortunately) quarters, to the 21-room mansion itself, all of the artifact-filled, historically-accurate structures offered an unparalleled glimpse into the life of the wealthy landowner and military hero who became our first President. The cheerful, enthusiastic guides spun tales about George, as a self-taught man (he wasn't able to go to college, but owned hundreds of books, an astonishing library in those days); an innovative farmer (the first one in Virginia to switch his cash crop from tobacco to wheat--huzzah, George!); a diversified businessman (besides his livestock, orchard and vegetable gardens, his holdings included a gristmill, a fishery, and a distillery!); a keen-minded tactician and respected Commander of the Colonial Army; and of course the first leader of the newly-established United States of America. And of course, they've added a technological marvel of a museum, where 1776 shakes hands with 2010. You can view the famous dentures (one word: ICK), push buttons on an interactive display that shows each side's battle victories, even examine scientists' reconstruction of George's facial features, using the latest up-to-the minute forensic techniques. Super cool.
As I traipsed around the wind-swept grounds and soaked in the plantation's atmosphere, I felt transported back to early-American times (albeit thankful for my L.L. Bean coat and Thinsulate gloves!). Until I stopped for some very modern refreshment (veggie wrap and fountain soda), I expected to see the Washingtons or one of their employees coming around any given corner. All-in-all, a highly satisfying, informative jaunt for an unabashed History Dork!
So I packed up some snacks, my trusty Nikon (the one with real film--'cuz that's how old George would have done it...or I could be making stuff up...) and a LOT of warm clothing, and hit the road. (Editorial Note: the last time I took an impromptu Mini-Road-Trip was in June, when there was a crushing heat wave, with the combined temperature and humidity feeling like 104 degrees. And this time? Below-freezing temps, with gusty winds up to 20 mph, making it feel like: 15 degrees. Yeah, I thrive in extreme conditions, baby! So what if I didn't regain feeling in my fingers or toes for 2 days?) I followed the Colonists' path (okay, not exactly, but I did drive the George Washington Parkway, so that counts, right?) into Virginia, on a tree-lined, winding road that hugs the Potomac River. The midmorning sun sparkled off of the water as I rounded a curve and spied the Washington Monument (and no matter how long I've lived here, or how often I see it, that sight never fails to move me.) Gorgeous.
And then, after a peaceful hour of zen-driving: Mt. Vernon. I'll restrain myself (with great difficulty) from boring you with the endless array of details that I personally found captivating (However, you can go ahead and give me a quiz, I'm ready. No really, ask me anything!) Suffice it to say, from the farm buildings, to the servants' (and slaves', unfortunately) quarters, to the 21-room mansion itself, all of the artifact-filled, historically-accurate structures offered an unparalleled glimpse into the life of the wealthy landowner and military hero who became our first President. The cheerful, enthusiastic guides spun tales about George, as a self-taught man (he wasn't able to go to college, but owned hundreds of books, an astonishing library in those days); an innovative farmer (the first one in Virginia to switch his cash crop from tobacco to wheat--huzzah, George!); a diversified businessman (besides his livestock, orchard and vegetable gardens, his holdings included a gristmill, a fishery, and a distillery!); a keen-minded tactician and respected Commander of the Colonial Army; and of course the first leader of the newly-established United States of America. And of course, they've added a technological marvel of a museum, where 1776 shakes hands with 2010. You can view the famous dentures (one word: ICK), push buttons on an interactive display that shows each side's battle victories, even examine scientists' reconstruction of George's facial features, using the latest up-to-the minute forensic techniques. Super cool.
As I traipsed around the wind-swept grounds and soaked in the plantation's atmosphere, I felt transported back to early-American times (albeit thankful for my L.L. Bean coat and Thinsulate gloves!). Until I stopped for some very modern refreshment (veggie wrap and fountain soda), I expected to see the Washingtons or one of their employees coming around any given corner. All-in-all, a highly satisfying, informative jaunt for an unabashed History Dork!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Shake it if you've got it!
A long, long time ago, I used to be a shy, bookish, quiet, self-conscious, clumsy, chubby youngster. (Pause for snorts of incredulous laughter to die down...) Unless it involved walking outside to sit on the porch and read, or maybe sneaking into the kitchen for a between-meals cookie, I nursed a severe exercise allergy. Yet somehow I ended up in dance classes. (Perhaps my mother thought to trick me into getting some physical activity by emphasizing the sparkly leotards..and feathered tiaras. I mean really, who can resist a tiara?) I took tap and ballet for several years, and of course participated in the recitals. I remember my mom spray-painting my shoes silver as required for the costume...I can still feel the the itchy sequins and the ultra-wedgie that darn bodysuit gave me. (We were learning at a young and tender age: beauty = sacrifice...and the secondary but equally vital lesson: "no picking at your underwear on stage"!)
Anyway, somewhere in my adolescence I discovered my inner athlete (finally) and added regular workouts to my life. At this point it's accurate to say that fitness is an integral part of my personality--I don't think about it, I just do it. (Yeah, that's me, a Nike commercial...without all the dripping sweat...oh, or the super-buff bod!) That's not to insinuate that I just LOVE my training plan; walking, running, biking, lifting weights can all get tedious. (However, I do adore food, and also have a bit of a chocolate...fetish, I mean appreciation...therefore I accept that I've got to put in the calorie-burning time.) So a couple of years ago I stumbled onto an adult (wait for it) HIP HOP class that I just had to try. Let me tell you, it is not your grandma's kind of dancing! Pink, or Katy Perry, or Kanye, or the Black Eyed Peas blast from the stereo, and we strut, and shimmy, and body roll, and wiggle our hips to the beat as we learn the choreography for each new song. (I always joke that I'm "releasing my inner Beyonce"...and who would have guessed that this 40-something suburban mom even had one of those?)
Don't get me wrong, there are times when I wonder whether I'm quite funky enough to pull this off. Like today, when we started a new dance to the tune Like a G6. True Confessions time: I had no earthly idea what that term meant. (Of course I Googled it to find out--does that make me hipper? or just nerdier? Either way, I felt much better when the other, similarly-aged, non-club-going moms in the class admitted to doing the exact same thing.) Then the lady next to me informed us that she'd also looked up the word "slizzard" at the request of one of her kids. When the search engine promptly spit out the definition ("being high and drunk at the same time"...just charming) she did what any of us would do in that situation: immediately shut down the page and told a bold-faced lie ("oh, it's a kind of lizard, honey!").
Okay, so we might never be ready to perform as backup dancers on the MTV Awards show...still, for this one hour of the week, we certainly do get our groove on. It's by far my favorite workout, even if there are no tiaras...yet!
Anyway, somewhere in my adolescence I discovered my inner athlete (finally) and added regular workouts to my life. At this point it's accurate to say that fitness is an integral part of my personality--I don't think about it, I just do it. (Yeah, that's me, a Nike commercial...without all the dripping sweat...oh, or the super-buff bod!) That's not to insinuate that I just LOVE my training plan; walking, running, biking, lifting weights can all get tedious. (However, I do adore food, and also have a bit of a chocolate...fetish, I mean appreciation...therefore I accept that I've got to put in the calorie-burning time.) So a couple of years ago I stumbled onto an adult (wait for it) HIP HOP class that I just had to try. Let me tell you, it is not your grandma's kind of dancing! Pink, or Katy Perry, or Kanye, or the Black Eyed Peas blast from the stereo, and we strut, and shimmy, and body roll, and wiggle our hips to the beat as we learn the choreography for each new song. (I always joke that I'm "releasing my inner Beyonce"...and who would have guessed that this 40-something suburban mom even had one of those?)
Don't get me wrong, there are times when I wonder whether I'm quite funky enough to pull this off. Like today, when we started a new dance to the tune Like a G6. True Confessions time: I had no earthly idea what that term meant. (Of course I Googled it to find out--does that make me hipper? or just nerdier? Either way, I felt much better when the other, similarly-aged, non-club-going moms in the class admitted to doing the exact same thing.) Then the lady next to me informed us that she'd also looked up the word "slizzard" at the request of one of her kids. When the search engine promptly spit out the definition ("being high and drunk at the same time"...just charming) she did what any of us would do in that situation: immediately shut down the page and told a bold-faced lie ("oh, it's a kind of lizard, honey!").
Okay, so we might never be ready to perform as backup dancers on the MTV Awards show...still, for this one hour of the week, we certainly do get our groove on. It's by far my favorite workout, even if there are no tiaras...yet!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Icy outside? We've got indoor games...
The Reverend Martin Luther King had a dream, for peace and harmony, tolerance and understanding, freedom and equality among people of all races. These are powerful, noble goals that the Community of Mankind is obviously still working to achieve. As we enjoy a cold January 3-day weekend in his name, (it's snowing as we speak--how much do you want to bet school is canceled tomorrow? Aargh! Um, I mean: even more Special Time with my Beloved Sons...) I pause to reflect upon my own aspirations for obtaining balance and serenity in my life. And after all this blessed Winter inside-the-house togetherness, it has become abundantly clear to me that the ultimate answer is: Less Time Spent with Gooberheads.
How did I come to this point of clarity? I believe it began to crystallize when I observed the Male Trio (husband, 10-year old son, 7-year old son) in their natural habitat: in front of the television watching the Ravens/Steelers playoff game. They lined up on the couch, beverages within easy reach, and decimated a 4-pound bag of nuts while periodically leaping to their feet (scattering shells and bits of pistachio-skins on the couch, floor, and table of course) and yelling either insults or encouragement at the players scampering around on the field. It was...quite a spectacle. But the SportsCenter highlight reel moment had to be when I strode into the room, toting the laundry basket, and requested that they put their pjs on so I could add their clothes into the load I was about to start. Without shifting their eyes from the riveting action on the screen, Derek and Riley proceeded to strip naked and toss their clothing in my direction. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that they would have finished watching the entire game in their birthday suits if I hadn't demanded that they go get dressed.
They also watched the Patriots/Jets game (and did an obnoxious amount of mocking Tom Brady's hair, I might add). And the aftermath of all this macho-gridiron-bonding? Last night 7-year old Riley admonished me to "man up and choose a light beer with more taste!" Oh. Good. Grief. (As he was wrapped in a towel at the time, having just showered, I responded that he should "man up and put on some underwear". Somehow it seemed appropriate at the time...)
Then, there's Derek, for whom sarcasm has become the default tone of voice, and 5th-grade-silliness the prevailing communication style. For example, he informed me that he made up an improved version of the classic Rock/Paper/Scissors game. His new twist adds two more options (ready for this?): Santa...and Spongebob. He then taught everyone on his bus the new rules--and accompanying body motions. Because I'm SURE you feel absolutely overcome by suspense and compelled to play, here is a breakdown of the Rock/Paper/Scissors/Santa/Spongebob heirarchy: Rock pounds Scissors; Scissors cuts Spongebob in half; Spongebob ruins Paper by...farting magic bubbles (sigh); Paper defeats Santa, who is exhausted by all the wrapping he has to do; Santa chucks Rock out a window. Now aren't you thrilled to know that? Oh, and of course the critically important gestures: for Santa, you hold your belly and shake it (um...like a "bowl full of jelly"...I guess); for Spongebob, you place your hands on the side of your face and rub up and down (don't ask me, I just work here...). So I can just picture my son, in his neon-yellow Patrol belt that marks him as an elementary school role-model and authority figure...imparting a big heaping bunch of nonsense to a rapt audience of younger kids on the school bus. I guess I should be ecstatic that at least he's not teaching them swear words or stealing their lunch money by running a 3-Card Monte scam. No, he's just the Bus Clown. Awesome. Makes a mother so proud, I tell ya.
Well, that concludes today's January Report...and if they're granted their first Snow Day of the season, I'm sure there'll be more goofiness to come. Stay tuned...better yet, I'll Rock/Paper/Scissors/Santa/Spongebob you for who gets to make the Starbucks run (hope I win--I'll bet I can make that little errand last for HOURS!)
How did I come to this point of clarity? I believe it began to crystallize when I observed the Male Trio (husband, 10-year old son, 7-year old son) in their natural habitat: in front of the television watching the Ravens/Steelers playoff game. They lined up on the couch, beverages within easy reach, and decimated a 4-pound bag of nuts while periodically leaping to their feet (scattering shells and bits of pistachio-skins on the couch, floor, and table of course) and yelling either insults or encouragement at the players scampering around on the field. It was...quite a spectacle. But the SportsCenter highlight reel moment had to be when I strode into the room, toting the laundry basket, and requested that they put their pjs on so I could add their clothes into the load I was about to start. Without shifting their eyes from the riveting action on the screen, Derek and Riley proceeded to strip naked and toss their clothing in my direction. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that they would have finished watching the entire game in their birthday suits if I hadn't demanded that they go get dressed.
They also watched the Patriots/Jets game (and did an obnoxious amount of mocking Tom Brady's hair, I might add). And the aftermath of all this macho-gridiron-bonding? Last night 7-year old Riley admonished me to "man up and choose a light beer with more taste!" Oh. Good. Grief. (As he was wrapped in a towel at the time, having just showered, I responded that he should "man up and put on some underwear". Somehow it seemed appropriate at the time...)
Then, there's Derek, for whom sarcasm has become the default tone of voice, and 5th-grade-silliness the prevailing communication style. For example, he informed me that he made up an improved version of the classic Rock/Paper/Scissors game. His new twist adds two more options (ready for this?): Santa...and Spongebob. He then taught everyone on his bus the new rules--and accompanying body motions. Because I'm SURE you feel absolutely overcome by suspense and compelled to play, here is a breakdown of the Rock/Paper/Scissors/Santa/Spongebob heirarchy: Rock pounds Scissors; Scissors cuts Spongebob in half; Spongebob ruins Paper by...farting magic bubbles (sigh); Paper defeats Santa, who is exhausted by all the wrapping he has to do; Santa chucks Rock out a window. Now aren't you thrilled to know that? Oh, and of course the critically important gestures: for Santa, you hold your belly and shake it (um...like a "bowl full of jelly"...I guess); for Spongebob, you place your hands on the side of your face and rub up and down (don't ask me, I just work here...). So I can just picture my son, in his neon-yellow Patrol belt that marks him as an elementary school role-model and authority figure...imparting a big heaping bunch of nonsense to a rapt audience of younger kids on the school bus. I guess I should be ecstatic that at least he's not teaching them swear words or stealing their lunch money by running a 3-Card Monte scam. No, he's just the Bus Clown. Awesome. Makes a mother so proud, I tell ya.
Well, that concludes today's January Report...and if they're granted their first Snow Day of the season, I'm sure there'll be more goofiness to come. Stay tuned...better yet, I'll Rock/Paper/Scissors/Santa/Spongebob you for who gets to make the Starbucks run (hope I win--I'll bet I can make that little errand last for HOURS!)
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
We need a *Wintervention*!
Well, I wish I could say that so much has changed since I last wrote (2 whole days ago--my, how time flies when you're...sitting with your eyes tightly scrunched closed, wishing yourself to Tahiti!). But (heavy sigh) it's still cold, and still blustery (in other words: still January). Oh wait, there IS something different: now we have a light covering of crystallized snow on the ground as well. Thus far, the major Winter Whiteness has barely missed us by a hair each time (knocking wood!), unlike last year, when it seemed we got absolutely buried every time a meteorologist even mentioned snowflakes in the forecast. So I guess I should be breathing a sigh of relief...and maybe I will, when the kids go off to school. Riley dutifully slept with a spoon under his pillow last night, but his offering got us just enough of a dusting to delay schools by 2 hours and cancel my first dance class of the new session (big GRRR on that one--nothing chases the Winter Blues like shaking one's...everything!) (And by the way, can someone tell me just where that silly superstition came from? The Snow Spirits are a little short on silverware up there in the clouds? They're having trouble eating their ice cream? What?) Derek emerged from his room this morning blinking and yawning (like an owl...or a pre-teenager) and promptly greeted me with, "Hi, Mom; will you tell me what I want to hear, or will you suffer my wrath?" (Fortunately, the "wrath" of a 10-year old apparently consists of a big cheesy grin and a hug...even when I told him he had to go to school after all.)
Fortunately, I did the Proactive Mom thing yesterday, and made my 2-or-3-or-4-times-a-week supermarket run. (You'd think I'd have the whole "shopping for a family of 4" thing down to a science by now, right? Yet somehow I get my best dinner or snack ideas AFTER I've left the store. Or I just...forget stuff.) I, of course, had my normal list (FOOD, and lots of it!). But I had to contend with the "Oh no a storm is coming and we may never get out of our driveway or see the inside of a store again!" crowd. You know the ones, stocking their carts with all the available bread, milk, and toilet paper. (As if the rest of us don't have to eat, drink, or...pee...as well. Jeesh!) At least it was better than the dreaded alternative: taking the boys with me! (cue spooky music and horror movie scream--trust me, it's that bad!)
And now, I get to spend my shortened quiet kid-less hours waiting for the Handyman to arrive. But I don't mind in the least, as he will be performing a critical, lifesaving service for us--installing the new humidifier on the furnace. If you think I may be overstating the importance of this job, or its impact on our family and home, consider this: it's so freaking dry in here, I shock myself--ON THE WATER STREAM--when I wash my hands. Last night when I tried to kiss Derek goodnight, I zapped his head and my lips, and actually saw a spark (That can not be healthy!). Our new fancy-schmancy thermometer that sits on top of the fridge has an honest-to-goodness sad face icon next to the indoor humidity level. You know how you always hear "dry heat is better"? Well, let me tell you, "dry cold"? Not so much!
So, that's the report from the Snowy Desert that is our house right now...at least I can say we have plenty of food!
Fortunately, I did the Proactive Mom thing yesterday, and made my 2-or-3-or-4-times-a-week supermarket run. (You'd think I'd have the whole "shopping for a family of 4" thing down to a science by now, right? Yet somehow I get my best dinner or snack ideas AFTER I've left the store. Or I just...forget stuff.) I, of course, had my normal list (FOOD, and lots of it!). But I had to contend with the "Oh no a storm is coming and we may never get out of our driveway or see the inside of a store again!" crowd. You know the ones, stocking their carts with all the available bread, milk, and toilet paper. (As if the rest of us don't have to eat, drink, or...pee...as well. Jeesh!) At least it was better than the dreaded alternative: taking the boys with me! (cue spooky music and horror movie scream--trust me, it's that bad!)
And now, I get to spend my shortened quiet kid-less hours waiting for the Handyman to arrive. But I don't mind in the least, as he will be performing a critical, lifesaving service for us--installing the new humidifier on the furnace. If you think I may be overstating the importance of this job, or its impact on our family and home, consider this: it's so freaking dry in here, I shock myself--ON THE WATER STREAM--when I wash my hands. Last night when I tried to kiss Derek goodnight, I zapped his head and my lips, and actually saw a spark (That can not be healthy!). Our new fancy-schmancy thermometer that sits on top of the fridge has an honest-to-goodness sad face icon next to the indoor humidity level. You know how you always hear "dry heat is better"? Well, let me tell you, "dry cold"? Not so much!
So, that's the report from the Snowy Desert that is our house right now...at least I can say we have plenty of food!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Surviving January (by any means possible!)
With utmost apologies to Will Shakespeare, "now is the winter of [my] discontent". I mean, c'mon, is it STILL January? How is that possible, when I've had entirely enough cold for a full Winter season already? I guess it's not really a surprise, since I feel the same way every single year--after the holiday socializing and merrymaking have ended, the presents have been unwrapped, Christmas decorations have been packed away, and the festive twinkling lights adorning the neighborhood have gone dark for another year, it's just...blah. Now there's nothing to distract me from the disturbing thought that we have several long, frigid months to go before good old capri pants-and-sandals season shows up again.
Over the years, I've experimented with various strategies for keeping at least a light grip on my sanity (and circulation in my fingers and toes). Since my Grand Plan--the Winter Home in Bora Bora--isn't quite possible just yet, I've had to make do with alternative actions. Today, for example, I opted not to change out of my pajamas. Yep, true story. First thing this morning, I sprinted out to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway and decided that that brisk outing would do for my daily quota of fresh (20 degree) air. Later, I was having one of those moments when I wanted something yummy for lunch--something that was clearly not to be found in our kitchen. But watching the icy wind (I presume, since I was inside nursing my gigantic mug of hot coffee) blast through the bare trees in the backyard, I talked myself out of "hunting and gathering" (you know, just exactly like our forefathers did: driving to Chipotle and harvesting a nice Vegetarian Bowl with extra salsa) and into "making popcorn instead."
Even the polar bears...I mean boys...are suffering the chill. They gave it their very best effort today, trying to stick to their "Offseason Soccer Training Program" (I am NOT making this up--Derek created a clearly-written, comprehensive agenda, including shooting drills, offensive and defensive patterns, and a running regimen). But after about 15 minutes, they shivered back inside, complaining of not being able to feel their noses anymore. So I allowed them to follow a revised Indoor Practice Schedule, consisting of: a vigorous World Cup Soccer match on the Wii; an enthusiastic Ravens vs. Chiefs football viewing; and a calming Netflix DVD. Hey, since hibernating isn't an option (could you imagine Derek not eating for 2 hours, much less 2 months?), I thought this showed great flexibility and ingenuity on our part. And the best thing? We could accomplish all of this...in our pajamas!
Over the years, I've experimented with various strategies for keeping at least a light grip on my sanity (and circulation in my fingers and toes). Since my Grand Plan--the Winter Home in Bora Bora--isn't quite possible just yet, I've had to make do with alternative actions. Today, for example, I opted not to change out of my pajamas. Yep, true story. First thing this morning, I sprinted out to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway and decided that that brisk outing would do for my daily quota of fresh (20 degree) air. Later, I was having one of those moments when I wanted something yummy for lunch--something that was clearly not to be found in our kitchen. But watching the icy wind (I presume, since I was inside nursing my gigantic mug of hot coffee) blast through the bare trees in the backyard, I talked myself out of "hunting and gathering" (you know, just exactly like our forefathers did: driving to Chipotle and harvesting a nice Vegetarian Bowl with extra salsa) and into "making popcorn instead."
Even the polar bears...I mean boys...are suffering the chill. They gave it their very best effort today, trying to stick to their "Offseason Soccer Training Program" (I am NOT making this up--Derek created a clearly-written, comprehensive agenda, including shooting drills, offensive and defensive patterns, and a running regimen). But after about 15 minutes, they shivered back inside, complaining of not being able to feel their noses anymore. So I allowed them to follow a revised Indoor Practice Schedule, consisting of: a vigorous World Cup Soccer match on the Wii; an enthusiastic Ravens vs. Chiefs football viewing; and a calming Netflix DVD. Hey, since hibernating isn't an option (could you imagine Derek not eating for 2 hours, much less 2 months?), I thought this showed great flexibility and ingenuity on our part. And the best thing? We could accomplish all of this...in our pajamas!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Germ Warfare (on a very local level)
Well, the early days of 2011 have been better for some of us in the family than others. After a lovely New Year's weekend, the kids returned--reluctantly, grumblingly--back to school. (Let me just pause here for a moment and try to express my true feelings on that subject: YIPPEE!) Husband's company gives employees a four-day weekend around the holiday, so he had Monday the 3rd off. We were going to be...alone. Two adults with an entire day to spend doing whatever we wanted! The array of possibilities was almost too staggering to contemplate...we could (wait for it) see a movie! One that isn't animated...and doesn't have even one talking animal! Or we might eat lunch at a restaurant...one that uses cloth napkins and actual silverware! (although to be perfectly honest, we have done this with the kids, but it's getting awfully expensive the way Derek packs food away these days!) And we would be able to choose someplace too spicy, or too exotic for the boys, and NOT be asked to share our meals! Just imagining the blissful offspring-free hours made for such a pleasant daydream...right up until Husband woke up pale, and achy, and feverish...and then began violently heaving his insides into the toilet. (I wholeheartedly apologize for the graphic description, but if you think that's bad, you should have heard it!) My half-formed plans for our Carefree Couple Day evaporated, and I shifted gears to Plan B: "avoid FluMan like, well, the Plague!"
Now I'm sure all of you who are married--or have even ever attended a wedding--recall the special, caring things you promise each other in the vows: Better or Worse, Richer or Poorer...something else...oh yeah, Sickness or Health. Confessions of a Real Housewife of Maryland: I totally stink at that part. If one of the kids is under the weather, be it a stomach virus, or sinus infection, or strep throat, I'm a regular Florence Nightingale (well, usually without the horrific battlefield conditions). You need some juice? Coming right up. Your head hurts? I'll be back in a jif with the Motrin. Snuggle on the couch with Mommy? You bet! But somehow, when Husband goes down, all I can muster is an encouraging wave (from across the room--don't want to get too close to those icky germs!) and a hearty pep talk ("Buck up, trooper, you'll be fine!") Okay, AND a trip to the grocery store or pharmacy to get whatever he needs/wants. (As a matter of fact, earlier today I brought him Gatorade mix and chicken soup from Giant! That counts toward Supportive Wife Points, right? Yay me!)
And--while I know this goes in the Bad Wife column on the Marriage Spreadsheet (because someone's keeping score, right?)--I am unable to resist pointing out that 3 out of 4 of us received the flu vaccine this season--one guess as to who blew it off. I must also disclose (while I'm getting it off my chest) that I mentioned (alright, pushed) the vaccine to Husband, no fewer than 4 or 5 times during the Fall. The Handbook of Spouse Behavior (which I just made up, but if it actually exists I could be in trouble) might deem this "nagging". But really, which would you rather have: gentle, frequent reminders to do something healthy...or an "I told you so" while suffering grave intestinal distress? (For the record, I kept the "I told you so" to myself--see, I can be sympathetic on occasion!)
So I must conclude that, as this whole Wife/Mother thing is my primary job, there are definitely areas that need some improvement. In fact, I'll start right now! I'll go check and see if he would like some juice...or Motrin...or, what the heck, an empathetic high-five!
Now I'm sure all of you who are married--or have even ever attended a wedding--recall the special, caring things you promise each other in the vows: Better or Worse, Richer or Poorer...something else...oh yeah, Sickness or Health. Confessions of a Real Housewife of Maryland: I totally stink at that part. If one of the kids is under the weather, be it a stomach virus, or sinus infection, or strep throat, I'm a regular Florence Nightingale (well, usually without the horrific battlefield conditions). You need some juice? Coming right up. Your head hurts? I'll be back in a jif with the Motrin. Snuggle on the couch with Mommy? You bet! But somehow, when Husband goes down, all I can muster is an encouraging wave (from across the room--don't want to get too close to those icky germs!) and a hearty pep talk ("Buck up, trooper, you'll be fine!") Okay, AND a trip to the grocery store or pharmacy to get whatever he needs/wants. (As a matter of fact, earlier today I brought him Gatorade mix and chicken soup from Giant! That counts toward Supportive Wife Points, right? Yay me!)
And--while I know this goes in the Bad Wife column on the Marriage Spreadsheet (because someone's keeping score, right?)--I am unable to resist pointing out that 3 out of 4 of us received the flu vaccine this season--one guess as to who blew it off. I must also disclose (while I'm getting it off my chest) that I mentioned (alright, pushed) the vaccine to Husband, no fewer than 4 or 5 times during the Fall. The Handbook of Spouse Behavior (which I just made up, but if it actually exists I could be in trouble) might deem this "nagging". But really, which would you rather have: gentle, frequent reminders to do something healthy...or an "I told you so" while suffering grave intestinal distress? (For the record, I kept the "I told you so" to myself--see, I can be sympathetic on occasion!)
So I must conclude that, as this whole Wife/Mother thing is my primary job, there are definitely areas that need some improvement. In fact, I'll start right now! I'll go check and see if he would like some juice...or Motrin...or, what the heck, an empathetic high-five!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Welcome, 2011!
I've been very fortunate not to have suffered that dreaded Curse of a Blogger's Existence (too wordy, let's call it by its street nickname: Writer's Block) for some time now. It seems that lately, whenever I sit down with my laptop for designated Creative Time (yeah, scheduling the magic REALLY makes it happen, can you tell?), I come prepared with a ready-made story...like one of the Musical Monkeyboys will have written a noteworthy song (one that is incidentally just the perfect combination of adorable and potentially embarrassing to their future-teenage-dating selves)...or there will have been a Soccer Sports Achievement that must be chronicled, to relive and relish in years to come...or a Minor Medical Mishap will have occurred, that turns into an almost instant "we'll laugh about this later" if I can just capture it on paper--I mean "screen" moment.
But I have to confess, I'm feeling some real (self-applied, naturally) pressure here. It's a brand new year. Heck, it's a fresh decade. So I ought to make this first post of 2011 a thought-provoking, existential commentary, relating some small event in my own personal existence to the universal Meaning of Life, or at least the Global Community of Mankind ...and I got nothin'. Let me dig deep, and see if I can uncover any worthwhile Life Lessons from my first few days of January 2011...
--after a week of total togetherness with the Beloved Sons (in which, to their credit, they behaved beautifully--but they seemed to always be THERE whenever I turned around!), I opted to stay home alone and send the three WestMen off to a New Year's Eve party as our Team Representatives. They had their social time, I had my quiet time, and everyone was happy. Lesson: Sometimes, Mom needs everyone to go the heck away and leave her in blessed peace for a while!
--on New Year's Day, we visited my Great Aunt in her nursing home, and had dinner with my Mom, Dad, sister, brother, niece and nephews. We watched a little of the Rose Bowl Parade with Great Aunt Renie. I got to play Spiderman with my 3-year old nephew (he earnestly assigned me the role of Mary Jane...so I obediently sat there and cheered him on as he fought the Bad Guy...AKA Uncle Royce!) Derek and Riley wrestled with their rowdy cousins (who watch entirely too much UFC, by the way, but what can you do?) We all got to gather around the table and eat black-eyed peas for good luck in the coming year. Lesson: Even when they earn a timeout for landing a piledriver on your head (I'm not actually speaking metaphorically here, this did happen...to 2 different kids!), family is precious and should be treasured.
--also on 1/1/11, we traveled to a friend's house to cheer on Penn State in the Outback Bowl. There was much yelling at the players on the television. There was armchair refereeing. There was inventive-but-completely-clean trash talking among the fans. There were awesome snacks ('cuz for me, that's what "watching a football game" is all about anyway). In the end, the Florida Gators chomped the Nittany Lions (sorry), but still a good time was had by all. Lesson: You win some, you lose some, but it doesn't really seem to matter, as long as you're with friends.
Well, there you have it. I think what has become abundantly clear from this little dip into my stream of consciousness (thanks for paddling along) is that all I truly need to make 2011 happy and successful is: time with family, time with friends, and time by myself! That's it, time....to go!
But I have to confess, I'm feeling some real (self-applied, naturally) pressure here. It's a brand new year. Heck, it's a fresh decade. So I ought to make this first post of 2011 a thought-provoking, existential commentary, relating some small event in my own personal existence to the universal Meaning of Life, or at least the Global Community of Mankind ...and I got nothin'. Let me dig deep, and see if I can uncover any worthwhile Life Lessons from my first few days of January 2011...
--after a week of total togetherness with the Beloved Sons (in which, to their credit, they behaved beautifully--but they seemed to always be THERE whenever I turned around!), I opted to stay home alone and send the three WestMen off to a New Year's Eve party as our Team Representatives. They had their social time, I had my quiet time, and everyone was happy. Lesson: Sometimes, Mom needs everyone to go the heck away and leave her in blessed peace for a while!
--on New Year's Day, we visited my Great Aunt in her nursing home, and had dinner with my Mom, Dad, sister, brother, niece and nephews. We watched a little of the Rose Bowl Parade with Great Aunt Renie. I got to play Spiderman with my 3-year old nephew (he earnestly assigned me the role of Mary Jane...so I obediently sat there and cheered him on as he fought the Bad Guy...AKA Uncle Royce!) Derek and Riley wrestled with their rowdy cousins (who watch entirely too much UFC, by the way, but what can you do?) We all got to gather around the table and eat black-eyed peas for good luck in the coming year. Lesson: Even when they earn a timeout for landing a piledriver on your head (I'm not actually speaking metaphorically here, this did happen...to 2 different kids!), family is precious and should be treasured.
--also on 1/1/11, we traveled to a friend's house to cheer on Penn State in the Outback Bowl. There was much yelling at the players on the television. There was armchair refereeing. There was inventive-but-completely-clean trash talking among the fans. There were awesome snacks ('cuz for me, that's what "watching a football game" is all about anyway). In the end, the Florida Gators chomped the Nittany Lions (sorry), but still a good time was had by all. Lesson: You win some, you lose some, but it doesn't really seem to matter, as long as you're with friends.
Well, there you have it. I think what has become abundantly clear from this little dip into my stream of consciousness (thanks for paddling along) is that all I truly need to make 2011 happy and successful is: time with family, time with friends, and time by myself! That's it, time....to go!
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