Monday, May 30, 2011

Exploring Towns and Trails...

It has been well-documented (by me, anyway) that I am a First-Class History Nerd (Do you like that? I just made up my own Title! I figure if I'm going to make fun of myself AND be an overgrown Student, I might as well sound official and high-ranking). When I wrangle a few spare hours in my schedule and can sneak away, I love to drive to Places of Historical Importance and take pictures, while walking around reading each and every one of the informational signs (taking notes of course in case someone quizzes me later...sadly no one has yet tested me on how much I've retained from my self-imposed "classes"...obviously it doesn't stop me from giving an Oral and/or Written Report anyway). Now, one of the utter joys of Parenthood is: I get to drag my children along! On their long weekend! You want to go to the pool? Nah, we're going to grab this Memorial Day opportunity to take the first Family Field Trip of the season! Put down the beach towel and goggles, and get in the car!

All joking aside, I am lucky that my family doesn't just come along because I say so (although they do understand that "Mom's Word is Law"...hahahahaha!); they actually savor these jaunts as much as I do. This time, we ventured out to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, site of John Brown's Rebellion in 1859, and also repeated occupation and destruction during the Civil War a few years later. These days, it's a quaint little town, with buildings preserved or reconstructed to resemble their 1800s appearance. Dry Goods Store (stacked with cloth, cooking needs, and other household supplies), Provost Marshall's Office (complete with a list on the wall of Prisoners being held in the local jail), Boarding House--you can wander in and marvel at the apparent simplicity of life 150 years ago. Harpers Ferry also sits on a railroad line which is still in use today (yes, several trains chugged by while we were there...and yes, it was thrilling for the boys, who may never outgrow their fascination with locomotives!) To make it even more strategically significant during the War Between the States: the C & O Canal, the Potomac River AND the Shenendoah River all meander through this tiny 'burb. Since it's also nestled in a small valley in the Blue Ridge Mountains, you can climb up to some bluffs and enjoy a breathtaking panoramic view overlooking the rivers and the tree-covered hillsides.

As we traversed the steep, narrow streets, popping in and out of souvenir shops and educational spots, Derek played it ultra-low-key--fully and agreeably participating, just...quietly. Riley made up for it by bouncing up and down like an overactive puppy, exclaiming every few steps "This is so awesome! I love Harpers Ferry! Best day EVER!" (In case you're wondering, I checked the Trail Mix I had thrown together for our pre-hiking snack, and there was definitely not any kind of stimulant in it. He's just brimming with youthful exuberance, I guess!) After filling up on history, fruit, and nuts, it was time to tackle our next challenge--hiking. The Appalacian Trail passes through Harpers Ferry, and we were determined to do at least a small piece of it (assuring the boys we would not be force-marching them to Maine or Georgia...not today, anyway.) We've walked bits of the Trail before, but let me just tell you, this section was pretty rough. As in: straight uphill, rocky, and often one-person wide. While we began our trek filled with energy and excitement, I don't think we made it even a mile before turning around and heading back (blessedly) downhill. Riley (the shortest of our Outdoor Crew) called "Uncle" first, but honestly, no one disagreed with him. (Even though Derek, just to be oppositional, pointedly continued to leap over boulders and sprint up inclines and declare himself "not tired".) So it turned out to be a short but satisfying hike for us.

I can only hope that by starting them young, I've successfully brainwashed--I mean trained--the boys to appreciate these excursions, so we get as many years as possible out of them before they're "too cool" to hang out with their parents. Hey, you think it would help if I made us all First Class History Nerd badges to wear? On second thought, maybe I'd be better off just sprinkling caffeine into the trail mix when it becomes necessary...

Friday, May 27, 2011

My baby left me! (well, sort of...)

My older son Derek has never been what you'd call a "boundary pusher". He tends to accept whatever limitations we place on him without complaint, and doesn't often press us for more freedom or privileges. It was only in the last few months--when one of his friends began calling and asking if Derek could come to his house--that I allowed him to ride his bike alone, out into the big, scary world...to the end of our street, around the corner and one cul-de-sac over. Maybe it's a First Child thing; Derek isn't trying to follow in anyone's footsteps, looking up to someone who gets to go more places and do more things. On the other hand, Riley IS the Little Brother, 3 years younger, but already itching to keep pace with his sibling. Riley has always requested permission to do exactly the same thing his Older Brother gets to do--whether it's eating a second piece of cake at a birthday party, playing a cool new video game, or exploring the neighborhood (careening behind Derek at breakneck speed on his scooter).

So I absolutely should have seen this coming--Riley asked the other day "Can I go to the park?" I just stared at him, shocked and horrified (like he'd asked if he could shoot squirrels in the backyard, or something). Finally I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind: "By yourself?" In response, he flashed me an innocent, crooked-toothed, hopeful grin and nodded vigorously. Internally, the following raging Mom-alogue ensued: "But...but...you're so little! There could be bad people there! (You know, like teenagers or something!) Or another kid could be mean to you, and I won't be around to help you cope! Or you could fall and scrape a knee, and I won't be able to kiss it! Wouldn't your brother like to go, too? He may be the skinniest bodyguard ever, but at least it's something! (And the grand crescendo) C'mon, Derek's 11, and stands nose-to-nose with me by now...but you're my BABY!" Riley just stood there, gazing up at me expectantly while waiting calmly for the verdict. So I took a few deep breaths, got a grip, and started sternly reviewing the Ground Rules:

--"Wear your helmet." (He automatically does this anyway, but since I was kind of freaking out, I thought I'd just start from the beginning. To his credit, he graciously accepted this without rolling his eyes or saying "Duh!")
--"Come to a full stop at the corner". (as if there were a Police Officer waiting to issue you a citation--hey, there's an idea for our Tax Dollars--Playground Cop! I'm writing to my County Council Member right away!)
--"Look both ways for cars". (Again, obvious...but I think he could sense a taste of independence within his grasp, so he patiently tolerated the Safety Lecture.)
--"Get along with others". To which he immediately replied, "Don't worry, Mom, I'll be nice to the (wait for it...) LITTLE KIDS!" (What does that mean? People shorter than you? How about you just go ahead and treat all of the taller ones well, also!)

Then of course there was the unspoken, heavily-implied final plea: "Come back soon!" As I watched him zooming down the street, racing toward his first Solo Adventure, I realized I was maybe getting an early preview of the High School Years...when the boys will be driving away (hold on a minute, I'm hyperventilating...okay, I'm firmly back in Happy Denial). They'll head out on a date, or to meet friends, and I'll keep a vigil, periodically glancing at the window for returning headlights, until they arrive safely back at the Home Port. Perhaps we ALL need to break this process into tiny increments to test the waters. (After all, what I view as the soft pillow of Parental Protection that I like to maintain around my children, they probably would call...smothering.) This time, Riley returned after 20 minutes or so, reported on his mini-field-trip, and blithely moved on to the next activity (within the secure confines of the back yard--whew!). I breathed a sigh of relief, and mentally patted us both on the back for our reasonable attitudes and mature behavior.  I feel like we successfully passed some kind of Family Pre-Test; I know the tougher questions are coming, but at least now I have some more time to study!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

"The Most Important Meal of the Day?!"

Here we go again with the Breakfast Club...the boys get their eyes open enough to dig into their Apple Jacks, then plow ahead with the daily Topic to Flummox Mom. Today's Morning Meeting started out on the light side, with Derek inquiring as to whether I had saved the videos I took of  him square-dancing. "Of course I did," I assured him in my brightest, sugariest voice (you know the one--where the implied message is "with this embarrassing footage, I retain Parental Leverage that I'm never giving up...EVER!"). I let the veiled threat sink in for a moment; then in case he couldn't quite conjure up enough horrifying possibilities on his own, I added, "And I'm going to show it to your grandparents, and your cousins, and your first girlfriend, and your Prom date, and eventually, the girl you want to marry!" I'm not sure how effective this turned out to be in the end, though, as his response was an extended, tortured groan and an emphatic, "No, Mom...not the cousins!" (According to Derek, they're too young and impressionable to be exposed to the spectacle of 5th graders do-si-do-ing.)

I think as much to change the painful subject as for any other good reason, Derek then launched into a story about what he and some soccer pals discussed at practice the other night, during a "boring drill." (Sorry, Coach, I'm sure they were paying the utmost of attention and working their hardest to master the skills you were trying to teach them...nevermind, you were once an 11-year old boy, so you know what you're dealing with!) Apparently (I don't know how the subject came up...they probably don't, either) the Sporto Boys were talking about the 5 Senses. Derek announced that in addition to the usual Sight, Taste, Touch, Hearing, and Smell, he possesses a 6th, "Soccer Sense". Not to be outdone, his buddy declared that he had all of these, PLUS "Rock Band Sense". You see where this is going, right? Typical Male One-Upmanship...Derek came back with, "Oh yeah? Well I also have "Awesome Sense". (What does that even mean? I'll see if it appears in my Dictionary of Boy-Speak.) And, to bring the contest to a rousing close, another of his friends topped them all with, "I have..."Girl Sense!" (I can only assume that means something like "Attractiveness to the Opposite Sex" or "Understanding of Females" and not...an "Innate Flair for Decorating and Fashion". I swear, it's a wonder no one got hit in the head by a ball, or knocked over by a teammate during this silly, chatty "practice" session...)

Finally, Riley, who had been mostly a silent listener thus far, chimed in to contribute...the Doozy of the Day. He was babbling on about how he's going to love his Toad stuffed animal forever, even when he grows up, blah, blah, blah. Derek said something smart-alecky about how Riley was never going to have a wife and family if he continued to cling to his little stuffed friend. Riley seemed okay with this brotherly teasing, but then after a moment's quiet contemplation, he innocently asked, "Mom, why can't boys marry each other?" (Oh. Good. Grief. Seriously, there is not enough coffee in the UNIVERSE for me to have these Breakfast Bombshells dropped on me. I've really got to start sleeping in...until after they leave for school!) So, here we go...do I deflect the issue entirely? Offer a superficial answer? Or treat the spirit of the question by addressing it truthfully? Early though it was, I opted to dive in and give a real response, with enough facts and information to satisfy both of them.

Whew! Yet another conversational speed bump safely navigated. Now please, please go to school. Mom needs some more coffee...and maybe a nice mid-morning nap after that taxing Family Meal!

Monday, May 23, 2011

Caution: Bathing Suit Season Just Ahead!

Wow, May is just zippety-zipping along, which can only mean one thing: the "Official Start of Summer" is right around the corner. Let me confess, though, that I never got that "Memorial Day = Summer" thing. I know, I know, it's the first weekend when people start flocking to the beach, lined up on the Bay Bridge like lemmings...but I've got a little secret for you: here in Maryland, the ocean is still COLD. Our pool opens this Saturday as well, but you can bet my sensitive tootsies (and other parts) won't be entering that chilly water anytime soon. (Actually, for me it's more like July 4th before it's temperate enough for me to get in. Until then, my Swim Time involves lounging in a chaise, flipping through a magazine, chatting with other parents, and watching the kids turn blue.) Also, for us here in the mid-East-coast region, school is still very much in session. Yes, my boys will remain under lock and key until June 16th. So...Summer? Not quite feeling it yet.

There are a few hints, however, that the much-anticipated warm weather (that finally graced us with its presence) is going to re-energize our anemic Social Calendar. After an oh-so-long, frigid Winter, and a chilly, rainy Spring, it seems that everyone we know is now venturing out into the sunshine and catching up on what happened to each other in the past six months of semi-hibernation. (Why, just this past week at Soccer Games, we sideline-parents noted that for the first time, we were NOT layered in multiple fleeces to watch our sons play!) Suddenly the Picnic Invitations are pouring in (and with them, other sure signs of impending Summer: ladies rushing to get pre-sandal pedicures, and men refilling their grills' propane tanks). And not just for the family--Riley has a few birthday parties to attend himself, and Derek has all of the above, plus End-of-School Shindigs, and 5th-Grade Graduation activities on his own packed schedule.

Then there's the upswing in Sporting Events. Besides the soccer practices and games--Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights, and Saturday mornings--it's Baseball Season (yes, technically it's been baseball season since the beginning of April, but we tend to ignore the Boys of Summer until the temperature climbs above 50 degrees, and the sun is strong enough to eliminate the need for a turtleneck/sweater/jeans/gloves/boots ensemble while watching a contest. Frozen tushie on plastic seats? So not my favorite American Pastime!) Anyway, we can now enjoy calling balls and strikes from the stands, while noshing on ballpark hotdogs (or french fries, in my case) and sipping a tall, icy soda. Aahhh. And in other sports news, Derek asked yesterday, "Hey, Mom, can we play tennis?" What? My favorite game ever? You betcha, son! This time Riley wanted to join us, so they played Doubles against me...sort of. There was quite a bit of comical "that was yours!" as the ball whizzed between them, or near-catastrophes as each of them swung, narrowly missing whacking each other in the head. At this point Riley hasn't developed a smooth swing yet, so there's a lot of hacking at the ball, as if he's trying to cleave it in half (and he obstinately refuses to take suggestions or advice--stubborn much? Oh wait, he's my son. Sigh.) Derek on the other hand plays pretty well...until he gets frustrated that he's not returning every shot with Rafael Nadal-style speed and accuracy, and starts to spiral downward into a huffy fit of pique. You've heard the saying: "In tennis, Love means nothing?" Well, my version goes something like this: "In tennis, Love means refraining from smacking balls at my children on purpose." (Too long for a bumper sticker, but maybe a t-shirt?)

So, as we head toward the Long Weekend, let's put the rackets down, take a deep breath, and start cultivating our calm, light-hearted Summer Attitudes. Repeat after me: iced tea...watermelon...grilled (veggie) burgers...rematch with Team Derek and Riley...

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

The Merry Month of May?

I'm extremely fortunate in that both of my boys generally like school. Of course, they would vehemently deny this to their dying breath. And each of them, without pausing to reflect, can readily spout off a litany of things they absolutely despise, such as Music Class ("they make us sing...and the songs are stupid"), Standardized Testing ("it's so boring"), and even Lunchtime Rules (I'm not exactly sure what the complaint is here, but I imagine it's due to the fact that they're expected to sit and eat in a semi-civilized fashion...oh, the torture.)  Every year, however, we reach a certain point--by mid-to-late May....as in "right now"--at which they are just D-O-N-E. Tragically for them, almost 4 more weeks of school remain, which they must endure before they're sprung for Summer Vacation.

There are telltale signs that I've learned to recognize over the years, which alert me to the fact that my sons are speeding toward their annual May Meltdown. First it becomes harder to drag them inside for dinner and homework ("It can't be time to come in; it's still so bright out!" is the common refrain. To which I reply: "yes, but since you're not using the extra daylight to plant crops, get your butt in here anyway"). Then comes the daily struggle to roust them out of their blankets in the morning ("It's just so...early!") Finally, I watch for the final stage of their School Malaise: the dramatic trudging to the bus stop in the morning, the slumped shoulders under the suddenly-burdensome weight of their backpacks, and the heavy sighs they give when they see the approaching school bus. It's a dramatic tableau, I assure you. (Except for me--exuberantly waving them goodbye, with the full knowledge that I have the next 7 hours to get things done all by myself. Yippee!)

Lately, though, the boys have been making their dissatisfaction even clearer to me. For instance, Derek started a conversation one day with the offhanded remark, "Eh, I think I'm done with school." Oh, REALLY? That's interesting news, do go on! He continued, "I know reading, and writing, and basic math. That's all a soccer player* needs to know (*his current #1 Preferred Future Job). And an author*? For that you just write a bunch of fantasy, get paid millions of dollars, and retire...so who needs any more school?" (*his "Back Up Plan" for gainful employment) He was joking...I think...but I hastened to disabuse him of the notion that he would be finished with his education any time soon. (He took it well, and wandered agreeably off to play.) Then Riley, at the bus stop the other day, commented that "The problem with second grade ("oh, this ought to be good, I thought) is that by now you're kind of tired of your teacher, and you're ready for a different one." Oh. Good Grief. My jaded 7-1/2 year-old lasted only 8 months before coming down with an acute case of Scholastic Burn Out. A few days later, Husband was monitoring Riley as he completed his Reading assignment. While attempting to write "glossary", Riley spelled it "ery". Husband pointed out the error, to which Riley reportedly exhaled wearily, slumped over his paper, and sighed, "Huh, English!" (That's right, honey, you've stumbled upon a deep, dark Academic Secret: inconsistent spelling rules exist solely to throw you into a pit of Homework Despair. Sorry about that.)

So, I believe it's safe to say that everyone in our household awaits the end of the school year with bated breath...is it June yet?

Monday, May 16, 2011

Go West, Young 5th Graders!

Last Friday Derek and the rest of his 5th-grade class, divided into "families" of 4 students each, spent the day hiking to California, towing their Conestoga wagons. (Okay, they didn't really go all the way to the other coast, but by the end of their 6-mile trek, I believe they felt like they'd gone cross-country!) It was an event called Westward Ho, designed to teach them about how American pioneers in the 1800s moved from the populated Eastern part of the U.S. to the relatively unexplored Western Territories. The kids spent weeks outfitting their wagons (I donated our rugged Little Tikes vehicle, left over from dragging-kids-to-the-playground days...and the stories that Derek regaled us with--about 11-year old boys wielding hammers and nails--made me cringe and inspect for dire "construction injuries" each afternoon), "purchasing" supplies for the journey, meeting with their Wagon Family to strategize and divide up chores, and cooking some of the food they would need for their long, arduous trip...oh, and how could I forget...rehearsing their Square Dancing! (I listened to more complaints and grumbling about that--you would have thought they were forcing the poor children to eat bugs or something...although I got the distinct impression that at least in Derek's case, consuming insects would have been preferable to...touching girls!) They learned about some of the hardships they would face (unpredictable terrain, possible mechanical failures...parents with video cameras); practiced pulling, lifting, and braking their wagon as a team; and simulated some problem-solving exercises to get them used to thinking critically and creatively should unexpected challenges arise. The seemingly endless array of details fell into place one by one, including--at the last minute--throwing together an authentic Pioneer Outfit.

Finally the day arrived, and it was time to set out on this epic educational adventure. A snaky, stretchy line of girls in long skirts and bonnets, and boys in jeans, plaid shirts and wide-brimmed hats left the asphalt playground of the elementary school and began walking. Enthusiasm ran high, with much laughing and joking in the early, easy going. The first obstacle actually snuck up on us, as it came in the form of a completely innocuous-looking field of grass. Very TALL grass. The wagons--with their wheels built to tote toddlers down the sidewalk--proved difficult to wrangle through the "prairieland". I was proud of the boys in Derek's group as they paused, pondered, and proposed a plan to deal with the balky-wheel problem (in true Male Pioneering fashion, their grand solution was: kicking the wheels at regular intervals to keep them straight. I'm not kidding. And it did work!) A short time later, a true test of strength and stamina faced our explorers: the first of 5 streams they would need to cross in their quest for California. They had to carry their wagon down one steep, muddy bank, slosh through the water (hopefully without spilling cargo or dropping the actual wagon itself, of course), and slip and slide up the other side. Oh, and we parents? We were required to stand in the creek (up to our ankles in cold water, I might add! indignantly!) and prevent anyone from falling. Everyone made it safely, and it was a vastly entertaining operation...but from that point on, our feet remained cold and wet for the rest of the day (did I mention it was only 10 a.m.?)

After that, the settlers encountered fallen logs, large rocks, rutted portions of the path...all of which they had to work together to overcome (most of the time by lifting the wagon over, which became smoother and quicker with each incident). Derek's wagon family got along beautifully, toiling as a well-choreographed unit, but as the day dragged on, they joked a little less and drooped a little more, until finally they took on the aura of truly footsore, travel-weary pioneers in desperate need of a solid meal, a hot shower...and maybe a few hours on the couch in front of SportsCenter. (They did briefly perk up when we stopped for lunch. All of the students enjoyed sitting down for a while on the soft grass...and the boys relished being given permission by their teachers to go off into the woods and pee on the trees! Honest Outdoorsman Spirit, I tell ya...) That last half-hour before reaching our destination tested everyone's patience and endurance (Now that I think of it, I'm sure the original pioneer children coined the phrase "Are we there yet?"

At long last, we plodded up one final hill, across a small bridge, and back into civilization. The newest Western Settlers were never happier to see a parking lot in their entire lives, that much is certain. And since their teachers had requested that they bring in a spare pair of shoes and socks to school the day before, and had transported them to our ending point, our little campers revived at the prospect of warm, dry feet. Not to mention: FOOD. Each family prepared their Santa Fe Stew (with all the cooperation and can-do attitude required to...operate a can opener and dump ingredients into a pot), shook their cream to transform it into butter, and savored their first meal as brave, groundbreaking 19th-century Americans. To cap off the afternoon festivities, these intrepid boys and girls mustered every ounce of their courage and fortitude to show their parents (the thing they'd all been dreading) the Square Dancing. The boys' faces ranged from sullen to disgruntled to intense (as in "I will not trip, I will not knock anyone over, I will remember the steps). And, naturally, the girls smiled sweetly and appeared to be enjoying themselves. I can remember myself going through exactly the same thing when I was about Derek's age, so I do sympathize with the torture of being forced to do-si-do and promenade with the opposite sex...but as a parent, it was adorable. And the video I took of Derek dancing--and glaring at me--is priceless.

When it was all over, Derek and I made a beeline for our trusty steed, I mean Subaru, and headed home. We were damp, we were muddy, and we were exhausted...but it was an awesome day. (And after a Big Gulp, an indoor-bathroom break, and a steaming hot rinse, I was as good as new! Tomorrow, let's walk back to the East Coast!)

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Free to be you and me!

Well, friends, it's May again. And do you know what that means? The glorious weeks that I yearn for all year, and anticipate with great excitement and impatience, have at long last arrived. That's right: my Spring Semester has drawn to a close, but the little Indentured Students--I mean my children--will remain safely enclosed in the Halls of Learning for another blessed month. So, for this lovely, happy time, I'm free, I'm free! (Except for errands, and chores, and volunteering, and House Projects...but other than that, I am totally unfettered, baby! I am the Master of my Destiny, the Captain of my Ship...and clearly, I am positively giddy at the prospect of so many unscheduled hours. I'd better rein it in a bit, lest I burn out too early.)

The very first Tuesday I didn't have to report to work felt downright momentous. What to do with my Spare Day? Why, venture out on an Educational Excursion, of course! (And yes, this is what I choose to do for "fun". If I were to star in a reality show, it would be called Nerds on the Town.) This time, I chose to visit Gunston Hall Plantation, former home of nearly-forgotten Revolutionary-War-Era patriot George Mason. (He does have a university named for him, but in distinct contrast to his famous colleagues--Thomas Jefferson and George Washington (yeah, that OTHER George)--nowadays no one seems too clear on what exactly he contributed to the Colonial Rebellion. But fear not, I'm here to tell you!) Gunston Hall lies near Lorton, Virginia and overlooks the Potomac River (apparently influential, wealthy 1700s landowners named George--Washington, Mason, whatever--were very keen on building their mansions with a view of the water.) The Colonial Dames (I am not making that up) oversee the property, and have invested what appears to be enormous amounts of time and money recreating the place in painstaking, authentic detail according to what it looked like in Mason's time. There is even archeological digging going on daily, with scientist sifting the soil for artifacts or other clues to the past.

Upon arriving, the cheerful Front Desk Attendant directs you to a 10-minute movie that provides a summary of George Mason's life, both private and political. I swear as I sat down and made myself comfortable to absorb the details of the documentary, I found myself wishing I had a pen and paper...to take notes. (What? That deceptively friendly Historical Society lady who greeted us could have sprung a Pop Quiz, you never know!) It turns out, Mason was a very important man...whom history has practically ignored. For example, he is credited with penning the Virginia State Constitution. In it, he coined several iconic phrases that his buddy TJ admired and borrowed to re-use in...the Declaration of Independence. One of these might sound familiar--ever heard of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"? Yep, that was good old GM. He was evidently a staunch believer in the Rights of Mankind, and felt that they should be enumerated and protected in a concrete, legal way.

After his service to the Virginia government, he was invited to represent his state at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. He gave an address to the distinguished delegates, and helped draft the U.S. Constitution...but refused to sign it in the end. According to our trusty Tour Guide at Gunston Hall, Mason thought that the document gave too much power to the Federal Government, thereby ignoring the individual citizens' freedoms. (He supposedly had 19 objections altogether!) Because of his persuasive argument, James Madison later campaigned for the addition of a Bill of Rights to the Constitution. (So when you exercise your right to speak out against your leaders, or assemble for a meeting, or practice your religion, or brandish your personal firearm....and subsequently appear for your "speedy trial"...be sure to thank George Mason!) He seemed to have alienated GW with his protests, but Thomas Jefferson remained a lifelong friend and admirer, and continued to pay visits to Mason after he returned home to his plantation, until his quiet death in 1792.

As I meandered about the grounds on a pleasant Spring day, snapping photos, filing away mental reminders of what I wanted to include in my "report" when I got home, and absorbing the 18th-century atmosphere, I realized that communing with George Mason, the unrecognized Father of the Bill of Rights, was, in fact, the perfect way to spend my first day of summer freedom! I feel patriotic AND smarter!

Monday, May 9, 2011

(A few) thoughts on Mother's Day...

In honor of Mother's Day, today's remarks are dedicated to the women who raised us, as well as those who are still actively in Mommy Mode. As for me, my darling sons both made cards at school...my favorite part of Riley's declared, "If someone is mean, I will help you get happy!" (Aw, thanks, honey. But if it's all the same to you, I sincerely hope no one is mean to me today!) Derek wrote a brief note on lovely flowered stationery (no doubt given to him by his teacher). It read as follows: "Dear Mom: Thank you for cooking dinner and giving me my allowance. I could not buy video games without my allowance. Love, Derek." WOW! That boy just oozes gooey sentimentality, right? (It does, however, accurately and succinctly pinpoint the two most pressing concerns in his life at the moment: food and electronic entertainment. At least I get credit for providing him with his absolute favorite things...) I also was gifted with dark chocolate ("it's what's for breakfast"), allowed to sleep in, greeted by the aroma of freshly-made coffee when I ventured downstairs, and treated to Husband-prepared deviled crab for dinner. All I needed was a tiara (darn it, I keep meaning to get one of those) to complete my Queen for the Day celebration.

After eleven Mother's Days, it's funny for me to reflect now that, for a large portion of my 20s, I harbored deep doubts that I even wanted to have children. For whatever reason (and don't ask me; who knows what my fun and frivolous post-graduate-school persona was thinking), I suspected that I was just Not Motherhood Material. (Heck, some days I still wonder if I'm truly cut out for this job!) But obviously I took the plunge anyway, and so far seem to be doing okay bringing up two nutball children. What does that mean? Well, no one's lost an eye with a Nerf dart, no one's face has frozen that way, and no one's gone blind from sitting too close to the TV. (So judging by Old Wives' Tales, I'm batting a thousand!) Of course, since they're boys, I keep at my disposal, to apply at my own discretion, the Universal Disclaimer: "It's Your Father's Fault." And there are days that I just gaze upon my offspring, scratching my head and wondering, "who are these incomprehensible people, and why are they so bizarre? Like yesterday at the dinner table, when I actually heard these words coming out of my mouth: "Do NOT lick food off your brother's arm!" (I mean, it seems to go without saying, yes?)

My point is that Moms and Dads inevitably accumulate a vast assortment of anecdotes--running the gamut from the heartwarming, to the heartbreaking...to the ridiculous. (Ooh, lucky for my children--I write them down and publish them for others to enjoy along with me!) Well-meaning, earnest Parental Veterans can impart helpful advice about feeding babies, and getting them to sleep, and changing diapers without...incident...but no one can ever fully prepare you for dealing with unpredictable little human beings on a regular basis. For example, in my pre-mother-of-boys life, I could not possibly have imagined participating in the following conversation: Me (cautiously): "Derek how's your...soccer injury feeling this morning?" Derek (emphatically): "Oh, my nuts are sore!" (Sigh. Can we at least call them...oh, nevermind.) Nor could I have predicted that at some time in the future I would find it necessary to firmly state, "Riley, you must put some clothes on before coming down to eat with your family! (He was fresh out of the shower, dancing gleefully at the top of the stairs, shaking...well, NOT what his Mama gave him, obviously...having shed his towel in favor of..."air drying". I believe I then added: "It is NOT naked-dinner-day!" And the answer to the next obvious question is: no, in fact it is never naked-dinner-day, much to the boys' unending disappointment.)

So, here's to another year of exploring the Mysteries of Males (Step 1 apparently is: make them get dressed. Who knew?) Hopefully there's enough chocolate to see me through...and no one loses an eye over it!

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

She Works Hard for the Money...(or not)

Twice a year, I change jobs. I know, I know, it sounds fickle and irresponsible, like something I should have outgrown in my misspent youth, but it's really not my fault. Since I work at a college, I follow the semester schedule. What this means for me is that when classes end this week, I will leave the Professional World for a while and return to my regular full-time gig, as Commander in Chief...of my family.

I enjoy both parts of my Working Life, but it always takes me some time to adjust to the differences in my routine when I switch back and forth. During semester breaks, I no longer stand in front of my closet in the morning, selecting a carefully-coordinated outfit with matching accessories. (Oh, let's be brutally honest: when I'm not preparing for my place-of-gainful-employment, I toss on jeans and a sweatshirt, or shorts and a t-shirt, and call it my "ensemble" for the day.) For my Household Manager position, I tend to go light on the makeup (often dabbing on just enough to not be mistaken for a Suburban Zombie Mom at Giant). My "commute" changes from a continuous, semi-trafficky, 20-minute (give or take a few stoplights) stint...to a stop-and-go affair (Drive to CVS: stop. Continue to Costco: stop. On to the Library: stop. Etc, etc.) When I arrive at my workplace, I get to converse uninterrupted with my co-workers...like a real Adult! About all kinds of things that may not be appropriate for tender young ears (you know what I'm talking about: movies that don't revolve around animated creatures! restaurants without mac and cheese on the menu! Bonus: I don't have to manage my colleagues' behavior, or check their homework, or pack their lunches! No one--usually--talks back to me; and--generally--there's no whining! It's blissful, I tell you.)

Then, of course, you have the major discrepancies in schedule and salary. I report to my outside-the-house job at specific hours, complete my duties, then leave. We don't really need to get into detail about the time requirements for the Mom Corps. But the real kicker is: only my "real job" provides a salary. Even if there was some kind of awesome Union of Licensed Professional Caregivers* that simply compensated me for the parts I don't like, I'd make a boatload of money billing for laundry services...and meal preparation...and grocery shopping...(*ULPC--someone get busy right away and set that up, will you? I'm not even kidding!)

So, next week if you see me out-and-about, looking pale, sporting ponytail-hair, wearing a tracksuit and sneakers, muttering to myself about needing to run to the craft store for supplies for my son's upcoming Social Studies project, please stop me and engage in a few minutes of grown-up interaction. I will be very grateful. And be sure to leave me an application for the ULPC!

Monday, May 2, 2011

Oh, it's time to start livin', time to take a little from the world we're given...*

*time to take time, 'cuz Spring will turn to Fall, in just no time at all. (From the musical Pippin).

I just finished celebrating my 44th birthday, which unexpectedly inspired a whole dumpster-sized bagful  of mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was thrilled to be leaving the actual number 43 behind. Why, you ask? It's a prime number, and I just don't trust them. (They're like...the lonely, friendless outcasts of the Integer World. At least to us Math Nerds.) And once I got over my 40s-Freakout a few years ago, I made peace with my age. After all, I'm still young enough to not have slowed down noticeably yet--except that in my more youthful past, a birthday might have been commemorated by an All-Night-Margarita-Fest in some swanky bar, and nowadays it is more likely to be marked by a delicious, week-long Sugar Extravaganza (this is in no way a bad thing...Cupcake Coma beats Hangover any day!) Yeah, my knees are definitely creakier than they were in their 20s, and I appreciate (and require!) my sleep a whole lot more with each passing year, but overall, 44 doesn't feel "old" at all to me now that I've arrived here safely.

Then, Husband came home from work having his own mini-age-crisis. Seems he'd glanced at some Actuarial Tables (don't ask me why...a little light reading at lunchtime? water cooler conversation? what goes on in 9-5 Corporate Land is an ongoing mystery to me), and discovered that his projected Life Expectancy is: 77. Wow. That doesn't seem very...optimistic. So he was a bit spooked about the fact that "Oh my gosh, I'm not just Middle Aged, but actually past the midpoint of my life!" Since he's very much NOT a dramatic, over-reactive person (like who? oh yeah, me), this was quite an emotional outburst for him. Before he dropped everything to go buy a convertible or get a Born to Run tattoo, I calmly, rationally pointed out that...he was being an idiot. No, no, I mean I reminded him that as a physically-fit, appropriate-weight, non-smoking, healthy-eating male, he would probably live much longer than the generalized "average" which also encompasses every bar-hopping, cheeseburger-chomping, chimney-smoking couch potato born in the same year as him. (He cancelled the order on the Audi Quattro after our little chat. And remains ink-free.)

As we all know, females tend to live longer (at least when their husbands don't go off half-crazy with Midlife Mania), so my magic number according to the chart was: 82. As it is, "taking care of myself" is written into my Daily Agenda, so I plan to continue doing my part to fend off Father Time. Of course, as much as it pains me to admit it, certain things remain out of my control. But barring illness or accident, I might be around for quite a while longer. Which naturally started me pondering...if I am halfway-through my lifespan, what would I like to accomplish in the time remaining? Certain things spring instantly to mind: I want to hike through a South American rainforest, visit the Egyptian pyramids, and go on an African safari, for example (you know, in between grocery shopping, filling the car with gas, and dropping kids off at soccer practice). Then I got stuck. I'm not exactly the thrill-seeking, adrenaline-adventure kind of girl, so things like "skydiving" or "climbing Mt. Everest" don't appeal to me. And although I love learning, I have no desire to, say, perfect the art of French cuisine or study how to paint watercolor landscapes. Hmm...some of my favorite pastimes are traveling, taking pictures, watching baseball games, and writing...so that gives me a brilliant idea: maybe I'll be the one to hop in a sportscar and drive around the country, posting photos and blogs from all 30 Major League Ballparks! Whoo hoo! Midlife Road Trip here I come! (I'll even have a tofu dog for you : )