Wednesday, June 29, 2011

It was nice while it lasted...

Every year, Husband makes a pilgrimage to South Carolina with Derek and Riley in tow, to visit his parents (also known as the boys' Paternal Grandparents). It has become an Annual Male Bonding Trip, a special time for the Westman Men to enjoy each others' company while frolicking at the beach and being spoiled rotten by my In-Laws. My supporting role in the entire affair is very limited (Husband even arranges the travel plans...and packs! Heavenly!) and ends when I lovingly hug and kiss them all, wave them goodbye at the curb, and promise to miss them at least a little bit while they're away. You see, unlike Husband--who when given a choice, prefers to be with people most of the time--I have recurring desire for peace and quiet, to be left alone for a while (I think of it as a metaphor: Husband wants to belong to a Pack; I'm more of a Lone Wolf...) It's not that I don't like people; I can be quite social. But my Interactive Batteries definitely wear down, and require recharging. Friends always ask me, "What are you going to do with yourself while your family is gone?" They seem to be on the verge of expressing sympathy, as though they regard my time alone as punishment. (rather than the precious gift it actually is!) This year, the guys decided to make it a 6-day Southern Stay, so my answer to the usual query required a little more thought and decision-making. After all, how DOES one fill the plethora of free time, in the absence of a daily agenda of laundering, and meal-preparing, and tidying, and errand-running, and appointment-keeping?

Well, here's what I "got away with" while no one was around to monitor my behavior: I ate popcorn for dinner one night, without worrying about setting a good example for growing boys. I watched TV (in the middle of the day, very decadent) that was decidedly NOT appropriate for young eyes and ears. I treated myself to dessert, even if I hadn't even so much as touched a vegetable with my meal. I stayed up too late reading, and slept-in the next day. As if those little rebellious acts weren't altogether more fun than one person should be allowed to have, (I'm fairly easy to please, can you tell?) I also took a long, leisurely bike ride; attended a birthday Happy Hour for my sister (conversation with adults! and fruity beverages! I also don't get out much, obviously); checked off another Historical Must-See (Monticello); and viewed a movie entirely of my own choosing (oddly enough, rather than seizing this Golden Opportunity to watch a Chick Flick without any Spousal Whining...I went with: The A-Team. Yep, just me and Bradley Cooper...and lots of stuff blowing up!)

Okay, I admit I did have to attend to a few regular chores, (laundry--yes, I wore clothes even when no one was around to see me...grocery store--a girl's gotta eat, as I think I've made abundantly clear...washing a few dishes...) and suddenly, seemingly in the blink of an eye, my Solo Stint was over and it was time for the Male Posse to return to the fold. Like any good homecoming, it was joyful and exciting. Everyone was happy to see each other, there were stories to tell and pictures to show, and most importantly, having accomplished the necessary howling while on my own, Mom Wolf was re-energized and ready to rejoin the Pack once more. Somehow I'll have to make sure it's not another whole year before I manage to work in a junk-food dinner, adult beverage...and (cinematic) date with Bradley Cooper again!

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Oh I wish I was in Dixie (oh wait, I AM!)

Have you heard the old saying, "While the boys are away, the Lady of the House will play?" (No? Well, I might have coined it myself...just now.) What it means in this case is: I so thoroughly enjoyed myself last year on my Night Away From Home that I decided to make it an annual tradition. So what did I come up with for my 2nd Annual Solo Overnight? Well, since I seem to be well on my way to a Historical Trend here anyway, I decided to visit my third Dead Patriot's house for this calendar year. (Yeah, I do love me some...men in wigs...) This time I was calling on Thomas Jefferson's colonial masterpiece, Monticello, which presides over a sprawling plantation in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains near Charlottesville, Virginia. Logistically, this translated into a 2-1/2 hour drive south for me--deep into Confederate Country. In order to cultivate the proper frame of mind before venturing into Dixie, I drank some sweet tea (okay, it was from Starbucks, but it counts, right?), ate some grits (well, I would have, but I don't think they even sell them North of the Mason Dixon Line...and if they do, I have NO IDEA how to prepare them anyway), practiced my "hey, y'all" (my mother's family is from Kentucky, so this one comes naturally), and donned a hoop skirt (sorry, now I'm just making stuff up).

Anyway, after a pleasantly scenic drive through lush green countryside, I arrived in Middle-of-Nowhere, Virginia, home of our much-revered third President. And I must say, each time I've explored these National Historical Monuments, I've come away with an appreciation for the wealth and architecture of the structures themselves, but an absolute AWE for the brilliant men who resided there. Jefferson is no exception. We are all familiar with one of his most famous achievements--that modest little document known as the Declaration of Independence. (You know the one...that introduced the radical, heretofore unimagined concept of "rights for all men" and an "elected government"...oh, and that famous trio "Life, Liberty, and the Purfuit of Happinefs"...I swear the Founding Fathers were geniuses, but they seriously needed to break free of Mother England's ridiculous spelling rules.) However, I didn't realize TJ was only 33 years old when he penned it. Among his other skills: he was an accomplished violinist, a self-taught architect, and a voracious reader who could decode books in 7 different languages. He also presented a bit of a conundrum, as he spoke against slavery, calling it an "abominable crime", yet owned slaves himself to help run his enormous estate. According to our Tour Guide, Jefferson wrote abolitionist language into the original Declaration of Independence, but had to remove it when too many states refused to sign it as presented.

Having absorbed a headful of information about the Man behind the Myth, and having strolled through his charming flower and vegetable gardens, I prepared to take my leave of the altogether impressive Monticello. But wait! There's more! No one bothered to mention this during my hours at the Jefferson's homestead...but his close friend, the 5th Leader of the young United States, lived only 2 miles away. Yes, James Monroe, hereafter to be referred to as the Bonus Deceased President! (That would be Number 4, for all of you keeping score...or is that just me?) Confession: I was tired of walking and weary of listening to History Class by this time of the late-afternoon, so I didn't give Mr. Monroe the same attention I'd lavished on Tom. Here's what I picked up before my brain completely shut down for the day: JM held more offices than any other statesman before or since (Senator, Ambassador, Governor, Secretary of State, Secretary of War, and President); he orchestrated the Louisiana Purchase for then-President Jefferson by negotiating with Napoleon Bonaparte; (and scored that huge parcel of land for roughly 3-1/2 cents an acre!) and during his own time in office, he sent Lewis and Clark on their legendary expedition to explore the new American West. At this point, our loquacious Tour Guide seemed like she could go on all day, so when her back was turned, I slipped out and made a break for my car--shhh! it's our little secret!

So once again I was able to explore a new-to-me Famous Place and indulge my Dorky History Habit, all while partaking of abundant fresh air and exercise...oh, and I filed away facts and stories to bore--I mean thrill and entertain--my family when they return from South Carolina. I guess all I need now to complete my Southern Adventure...is a big bowl of grits for breakfast!

Friday, June 24, 2011

A Pedal in the Park

When I used to live in Bethesda (or, referring to it in the local vernacular, as we Marylanders like to do: The High Rent District...which also explains why I don't live there anymore...but I digress) I would routinely hop on my bike and ride a gorgeous, paved, shady bike route all the way to Georgetown. It's a converted Rail Trail, which means it's smooth and fairly level, with no steep grades that would have hindered a freight train back in the day. The topography of this particular area is such that it happens to slope ever so gently downhill from the Maryland side toward the Potomac River...and then uphill on the way back (more on that later). Although my bike still gets plenty of use each Summer, I hadn't ridden this particular path since Husband and I moved to Olney...in 1999. So with the boys on their annual South Carolina Sojourn, I decided to revisit my old stomping (um, pedaling) grounds.

I carefully prepped myself for my woodsy outing--packing sunscreen, bug-repellent bracelet, Clif bar, and several bottles of water. Then I ate a healthy, fortifying breakfast of yogurt, walnuts, and a banana...for my half-hour drive to Bethesda (but I had tons of energy for that grueling commute, I tell ya!) When I arrived at the parking lot where the trail begins, I took a deep breath, pointed my wheels South, and rolled onto the peaceful, tree-lined path. The patchy sunlight warmed me, the delicate breeze tickled my skin...the water I so diligently drank to pre-hydrate myself before my workout made me feel an urgent need to pee already (more on that later, as well...I know you're holding your breath for this one). Along the 6 miles down to D.C., I passed casual strollers, families with strollers, power-walkers, one senior-citizen using a walker (I gave a silent "You go, Granny" cheer for her as I rode by). I saw plenty of well-behaved dogs, a number of wild-strawberry-pickers (to clarify: the fruit was wild, the people appeared quite tame), and a few determined runners. Then there were the Serious Bikers in their official form-fitting jerseys and padded shorts, Power Bars tucked into their pockets, hunched over their handlebars and speeding by as if they were late for a Lunch Meeting with Lance Armstrong himself. (I gave them a wide berth--they scare me!)

Much faster than I expected, I crossed over into the District and spied the Washington Monument, presiding elegantly over the Potomac River and the Georgetown skyline. I was pleased with myself, I was invigorated, I was barely breathing hard or sweating very much...I still had to turn around and haul myself 6 miles back in the other direction. I mentioned already that the return trip is ever-so-slightly uphill, right? There are no discernible elevation changes, but your calves...and hamstrings...and glutes will keep you informed in no uncertain terms that the real pedaling work is coming. Also, did I happen to note that I had to pee? Since Bethesda? Memo to the Park Service--LOVE what you've done with the trail; it's stunning, really, clean and well-maintained...now if it wouldn't trouble you too much, we exercisers of the Female Persuasion would just adore having a Porta-Potty anywhere along the length of the path. Thanks. (And yes, I did what had to be done in such an emergency: peed in the woods. Quite competently, I might add. My children would be so proud. Or horrified, not sure which.) Having taken care of...business, I encouraged my tired legs to get a move on, and doggedly plowed back toward Maryland. Those last few miles were...taxing, but it did feel awesome to finish! Especially when I wheeled my bike back to the car and saw that I had almost an hour-and-a-half left on my meter--can you say LUNCH?

All-in-all, it was a completely satisfying day...but check with me tomorrow to see if I can still walk!

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Bedtime Stories...

When Derek was in 3rd grade and had just turned 8, we allowed him to have a friend stay overnight for the first time. Honestly, I don't remember too much about that initial Sleepover, except that the boys giggled and wrestled so late into the night that I wondered why they don't just call them "Stay-up-as-long-as-you-can-overs." (Too wordy, perhaps? But so much more accurate!) At this point, a few years later, Derek is a seasoned Sleepover veteran, having both attended and hosted dozens of them. Now Riley, always watching his older brother and consequently suffering a severe case of Monkey See, Monkey-Want-To-Do, recently requested his own Sleepover Playdate. And, although he just finished 2nd grade, we decided without much debate to let him go ahead and invite someone over. (I attribute this lenience to what I call Second Child Syndrome, which can be summed up as follows: "Eh, it didn't kill us the first time, so why not?!") Happily for all concerned, he chose a pre-approved classmate/soccer teammate that we have known for a while and already like!

On the appointed day, Riley's buddy Jay arrived with a bulging backpack, a gigantic grin, and a heaping helping of enthusiasm. The boys wasted no time, but plowed right into the day's activities--shooting soccer goals in the backyard, swimming at the neighborhood pool, and yes, giggling and wrestling. When they had run around sufficiently to expend their daily surplus of energy, I set all 3 of them up in front of the TV with pizza and Pirates of the Caribbean. For a while, Captain Jack Sparrow had them whooping it up with his onscreen antics. But suddenly, during a lull in the action, I happened to glance over and see Jay, fast asleep with one arm tucked inside his t-shirt. (To be fair, it was the outrageous hour of...9:15!) Riley seemed stunned...his designated Late Night Partner in Crime turned out to be more of the Early-to-Bed, Early-to-Rise kind of guy. Neither the nautical battles nor the hollering ruffians in the movie disturbed Jay's peaceful slumber, and when the flick ended, Husband carried him to bed and deposited him gently onto his air mattress. (His mother had called at approximately 9:16 and asked to say goodnight to her son...but we had to inform her that sadly, Riley appeared to have broken him. She laughingly assured us that this was typical behavior for Jay--whew! We didn't wreck him after all!)

In contrast, let's review the events of the last time Derek had a friend over. The shenanigans commenced with a heated, strategical Nerf battle that spanned the entire house, and had to be shut down for safety reasons (let's just say a Cease Fire Treaty was enforced by the Prime Mom-ister...ha!) Then a spirited Wii session of Lego Rock Band began, highlighted by a truly horrendous, off-key rendition of The Final Countdown. (by Derek's friend Brian--whose falsetto could melt your eardrums, and who screeches, I believe, just to irritate me as much as humanly possible!) Next we were treated to thumping and bumping from Derek's room that brought to mind, oh, I don't know, maybe elephants tap dancing? It turned out to be an impromptu basketball game...after they were supposed to be settling down for bed. At this juncture, I found it necessary to resort to the most dire threat I could levy on 11-year olds: "If you don't go to sleep, there will be no video games tomorrow!" Yep, that's the last I heard of them until breakfast the next day...

But at least that was better than what I hear happened at Derek's most recent Sleepover, which fortunately did NOT happen here. When the Prodigal Son dragged his exhausted self back through the door the next morning, yawning and struggling to put one foot in front of the other, we demanded the gritty details. And--bless his heart--our full-disclosure-guy immediately came clean (or was it "boasted"?) about his evening's entertainment. Let's see, after the planned and supervised portion of the festivities (a Birthday Outing to a forest-adventure-ziplining venue, followed by an End-of-the-School-Year picnic), our intrepid young men helped themselves to leftover steak and mashed potatoes at 10:30 p.m. (after the parents had gone to bed--who can blame them?) Then, according to our reporter, they were "bored" at midnight...so they made ice cream sundaes...and watched funny videos on YouTube!

I think the lesson here is exceedingly clear: Jay can come over anytime he wants...and Derek is never leaving the house after dark again!

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Summer Begins...

This past Friday we enjoyed the first of 73 Summer Break days. While it's true that everyone woke up and yawned their way downstairs for breakfast at the normal time--darn those internal alarm clocks--it felt sooo carefree and unhurried to be able to linger over our coffee and cereal, without the usual frantic scramble to assemble school gear, stuff backpacks, and rush to the bus stop. The school hiatus stretches out before us, tantalizingly filled with anticipation and possibilities and half-formed plans. Every morning beckons with the question: "What should we do today?" After all, there are afternoons to splash in the pool, and classmates to run around in the yard with, and novels to read outside under a shady tree, and cool places to visit on Family Field Trips. And of course let’s not forget Brother Bonding to do. Right now, June finds us starry-eyed as we contemplate the dizzying, exciting array of choices…at least until the warm-and-fuzzy Hallmark commercial ends and reality comes dripping down around us like a sticky ice-cream cone.  

At that point, we get something more along the lines of the following refrain: “it’s too hot and humid”; “I can’t stand the bugs”; “I’m boooored”; “everyone’s away on vacation”; “I finished all my books”; “he’s bothering me”. And since this is my duo of bottomless-pit boys we’re discussing, let’s not forget that they require sustenance every, oh, two hours or so to prevent the Low-Blood-Sugar-Snarls. We might have an additional…concern…if an incident yesterday is any indication. Derek and Riley were both in the family room, intently focused on their respective video game pursuits. I called down, “It’s pushing 2:00, who wants lunch?” Derek paused his virtual soccer match to give this inquiry some thoughtful consideration, then countered, “Can I put in an order?” (accompanied by an expectant, hopeful grin—as if being as cute as possible would make me more inclined to agree!) I greeted this outrageous question with the reaction it deserved: hand on hip, incredulous Mom Face, and an oozingly sarcastic, “This is not a restaurant, unless you pay in cash and plan to tip extremely well!” Not deterred in the slightest, Derek replied, “It’s worth a HUG!” As he ran up to deliver the payoff as promised, he added, “I’d like a turkey sandwich, with cheese, the cheese slightly melted, and the bread lightly toasted.” (Oh, you have got to be joking. I’d like a spa getaway in Southern California, but THAT’S not likely to happen either, is it?)

So I think it’s safe to say that the idealistic notion of Easy-Living-Summertime—at least for me—has succumbed to the actual day-to-day routine of the WestEnders Bed and Breakfast. At least until I achieve my NEW goals: teaching the boys how to cook…and clean…and do laundry…then maybe I’ll get my Mommy Spa Day after all!


Friday, June 17, 2011

So long, farewell...

We interrupt our Blogpost to bring you this Special Announcement...the school year...is...O-V-E-R! (and the crowd goes wild, thank you for playing along). Now, in any given June, this very important day arrives just in the nick of time...to save our sanity. The weather is warmer, the pool beckons, the brains are chock-full of...learning and whatnot...in short, the Natives are Restless (and I do mean that literally--for the past week or so, the boys have been pacing like caged wild animals, impatiently waiting to be sprung loose out into the unsuspecting world). The end of this particular academic year brought with it some additional hoopla (beyond the customary "Hallelujah, We're Free" Song and Happy Dance that usually occur). Derek just wrapped up 5th-grade, meaning that he's officially completed Elementary School, and will be moving on to Middle School in the Fall.

While I realize this event doesn't hold the same significance as, say, High School Graduation (obviously Derek won't be experiencing the whole "becoming an Adult and going off to College" thing at age 11), it stirred up a surprising amount of nostalgia and a touch of sadness as well. The emotions started emerging a little bit when I realized that we've lived in our house since Derek was (again, literally) a mere zygote--we found out I was pregnant two weeks after moving in. (which explains why I was so exhausted lugging all those boxes--alas, too late for me to utilize the "delicate condition" excuse!) He has attended the same Elementary School from Kindergarten through 5th grade, six...long...years. There's never another time in his life when that will happen. He's been climbing onto the same bus, filing in a (mostly) orderly line down the same hallways, eating in the same cafeteria, playing at recess with many of the same friends--and all that's about to change radically.

But first, we marked the Rite of Passage with a 5th-grade Memories Ceremony. Derek groused for DAYS about the "dress code" for this shindig. Imagine, the teachers decreed that the boys had to wear khakis and collared shirts! The nerve of them! (They told the girls what to wear as well, but I'm sure that was completely unnecessary; it was for the young men they felt the need to spell out proper attire...as in not t-shirts, shorts, or jeans!) Then he spent some quality time alternately complaining about and mocking the song they were being forced to perform (something about "soaring like an eagle, up to the stars" or similar sentimental silliness). However, he perked up considerably when a classmate created "alternative lyrics" that the boys muttered under their breath to amuse themselves during rehearsals..."like an eagle I will poop on your car". (Yep, they're totally ready for the next step up in maturity. Oh, and I threatened dire consequences if he sang that during the actual solemn, dignified occasion).

On the day of the assembly, I took my seat with the other moms and dads. Some had tissues and looked weepy already. (Not me! I was holding it together!) Some appeared relieved that their offspring had successfully finished 5th-grade. ALL had film or video cameras at the ready to capture the pomp and circumstance. When the students filed in and took their places, I saw Derek (average-height, therefore tucked into the middle of the pack of 100-or-so kids) craning his neck to locate me. So I did what any mother would do in this situation: I waved vigorously. And my typical-pre-adolescent-boy grinned happily, then apparently remembered he was supposed to be "cool" and ducked his head in embarrassment. (Hey, I refrained form jumping up and down, windmilling my arms and yelling, HI, SWEETIE! What more can he ask?) The rest of the show was typical commencement stuff--awards, "certificates of achievement" for all the students, remarks by the Principal to send them on their way. All of which led us closer to the real celebration immediately afterwards: Cookies in the Courtyard! (One somewhat startling revelation: in the Program, they were officially identified for the first time as The Class of 2018. YIKES! That makes it seem much more...imminent and scary, yes? Okay, for me, anyway.)

So, off we went to socialize and bid farewell to the 5th-grade staff (at least for the first time, I will be doing this again in three years with Riley). It was a normal gathering: the parents mingled, the girls stood in packs laughing and chatting...and the boys climbed the trees, shoved each other down the hill, chased one another around, and held contests to see who could cram the most brownies in their mouths at once. (Such proud moments for those of us who produced the little monsters...) Finally, the excitement wound down, and we were ready to take our leave. For Derek, the first six years of his education are behind him, and he's setting out for new frontiers. For Riley and me, it's See You in September! Now let the Summer games begin!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

The Life of Riley

And now, in the interest of fair play (because you know I absolutely LIVE to torture--I mean immortalize in print--each of my beloved sons equally) it's time for Tales of Riley. We'll start with a conversation, since after all, the boy does love to talk (and talk...and talk. Like his mother, who probably picked it up from her own mother, he keeps up a running commentary even when no one else is listening. My mom always used to say that it was fine to chat with yourself; it was when you started answering that you had a problem. I myself prefer to label it "thinking out loud"--makes it sound much healthier!) Now, where was I? Oh yes, Riley and I were at the kitchen counter, discussing the potential dinner menu at Chez WestEnders (That gives the proceedings such an elevated tone, as if I were actually going to cook something fancy...hahahaha!). I mentioned the ever-popular Easy Mac as a side-dish choice, and he predictably replied, "I like mac-and-cheese!" "Well, who doesn't?" I flippantly remarked. Of course you recognize this as a standard Rhetorical Question, but Riley never met an inquiry he didn't consider worthy of his full attention and response. Without missing a beat, he said decisively, "Vegans!" Um...yes...you're utterly, technically right, sweetie. He then thoughtfully asked, "What's a vegan, anyway?" I dutifully launched into an explanation of those who opt not to consume foods derived from animals in any form, such as milk and butter (his face started to reflect disbelief), eggs (his surprise grew), or cheese (full-blown astonishment). He regarded me with an open mouth for a moment, then sputtered, "That's just LAME!" I choked back a laugh, then did the requisite little speech on "respecting other peoples' choices, recognizing the environmental impact of our diet, not calling those who eat differently from us by rude names, blah, blah, blah". And I poured a glass of milk, boiled a hotdog, and nuked the Easy Mac for my youngest omnivore.

Our next topic is somewhat more...delicate. With the warmer weather having (finally, hallelujah!) arrived, and with both boys being outdoorsy-run-around-sporty types, we have entered what I like to call "Daily Shower Season" (with the subtitle: "Make Sure You Use Soap AND Shampoo!). You may recall that Derek has had his own deodorant stick for a while (Tom's of Maine, unscented, for the record. This will become relevant shortly, you'll see). I don't feel it necessary to do a sniff test to check if he's using it, because so far he just doesn't seem to smell too much (thank goodness!). You can guess where this is going, yes? After the Saturday morning soccer games last weekend, both boys showered, as we had a party to attend later in the afternoon. In between engagements, Riley seized a few minutes of his free time to go outside and test his new, high-bouncing "Sky Ball" toy he'd gotten at one of the myriad birthday parties he's been to this month. I swear he was only out there for 10 minutes, but it was during that bout of miserably hot, humid, disgusting weather we had recently. When he came inside, he stood next to me to look at the newspaper section I was reading...and a certain...aroma...wafted up to assault my sensitive nose. I would describe it as a cross between a gym sneaker and a damp dog. Awesome! My not-quite-8-year-old has a personal odor problem! I marched him upstairs, directed him to change his shirt, and powdered his pits (which he protested vigorously, but I managed to convince him that smelling like a clean baby's butt was very appealing to others. I did not specify WHAT others). When I informed him that we would be getting him his very own deodorant, he was excited and ecstatic. He immediately insisted, "I want the lavender kind!" (Um, no, really, you don't want to go to school smelling like a flower!) Undeterred, he amended, "Okay, but I at least want something scented!" I assured him we'd find him something...manly...which he found completely hilarious. (I don't even know what that means, either...smells like Power Tools? Grilled steak? What?) The next day we stood in Roots Market, deliberating in the deodorant aisle. Of course we had to open each cryptically-named selection, give it a snort, then discuss our impressions--the employees must have LOVED us. (But after all, nobody really can predict what "Fresh Rain" means until they try it out, right? It could smell like mud puddles and worms, for all we know!) At last we tested Mountain Spring, which in my opinion was "light but pleasant", and was acceptable to Riley as well. He proudly took his purchase home and smeared some right away on his little pits (after a short tutorial as to the boundaries of application--all the way down to the elbows and ribs? Not necessary.)

And off we went to our next social engagement, all de-stinkified and ready to face the world! I hope that's the last personal product we have to deal with for a while...I'm SOOO not ready for shaving cream...

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The World of High Finance for Short People

To introduce this week's tidbits, let us begin with the practical...specifically money. When we started giving the boys an allowance a few years ago, I tried a few different "cash delivery models." There was the trial Once-a-Week-Payout--which failed pretty quickly, as it depended upon Mom actually having paper money in her possession to shell out...hahahaha! (and the darn kids don't take credit cards, imagine!) Then there was the even-less-popular Phantom Allowance where I promised them the bucks, but then forgot, or failed to stop by the ATM, or put it off for so long they threatened to sue me for Back Wages (Good thing they're too young to watch Law and Order; the day they figure out how to "lawyer up" I'll be in deep trouble.) So, I finally hit upon a system that works efficiently and effectively for us: the First-of-the-Month Plan. The Bank of Mom calculates what their net total will be, then forks it over all at once (minus their automatic 10% each deductions for Savings and Donations). They are then free to tuck it away and let it accumulate toward a larger purchase in the future, or spend, baby, spend as they see fit. Over time, the boys have demonstrated very different Consumer Personalities. There's Derek, the Prudent Saver, who at several times already in his 11-years has patiently socked away cash until he has had enough for a Bigger-Ticket Item. And...there's Riley, the Happy Spender, who barely has his itchy little fingers on the bills before he's dreaming and scheming about how to get rid of them.

As their Financial Adviser, I mostly try NOT to micromanage their decisions. When I hand them the moolah, they must assume responsibility for their choices (as in--true example--"Riley, you opted to buy a Paint-Your-Own Rubber Ducky this month, now you're out of money until July. Deal with it."). Mostly, this has worked out quite well: it makes them at least stop and think about how to use their available resources before pulling the trigger on impulse purchases. I like to believe I'm helping to teach them the old-fashioned value of a dollar (which sure does not buy much these days, but they still get the point). However, I recently permitted us to tiptoe down a potentially perilous path...the one that leads to Buying on Credit. You see, Derek was hit with a sudden, powerful yearning to upgrade his Nintendo-DS (Don't ask me where he gets these crazy urges for shiny new tech toys...what?...I needed an Android phone!...Really!) He had most of the money already, but wouldn't accrue the rest for a few more months...so he requested an Advance on his allowance. (Oh, and he refused to settle for a Used model, to which his father oh-so-helpfully chimed in "Of course, you want it right out of the box, for that new car smell!" I am SOOO blaming this on the Y-Chromosome...)

After about a day's worth of deliberation, during which time he thoroughly examined the ramifications of blowing his wad of cash on one expensive toy, and I tried to weigh the pros and cons of approving this transaction, we came to the conclusion that he could go forward. The most relevant consequence as I saw it was that he would not have money for any new games to play on his spiffy new console. BUT. Since he had bought the original DS with his own savings as well, I offered to post it on Craigslist for him, and give him the proceeds. It sold in less than 48-hours. So much for the pain of being penniless until August...

Thus, in one fell swoop, I've imparted lessons about how to negotiate Cash Advances, buy desired items on Credit, and utilize the profitable Online Marketplace. Not a bad week's work for an Investment Guru. Now where's my commission? (Luckily I work for coffee and chocolate!)

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Da Doo Run Run Run...

Occasionally (okay, pretty frequently...alright, alright, all the stinkin' time) I experience a day that has me running circles to accomplish everything on my Do-or-Die (whoops, I mean To Do) Agenda. And that's fine; it comes with the territory of being a Wife/Mother/Household Manager. Since I'm an obsessive List-Maker, I write a detailed plan, usually even in the chronological or topographical order in which each item must be checked off, to maximize my time, energy, and gas mileage. The system generally makes sense to me...except when I pause to actually read my ridiculous schedule once in a while, and have to laugh at the absurdity of my rambling life.

Take today, for example. It started off with the regular stuff: (drink coffee--it goes without saying, but nothing gets done around here until that crucial first step occurs) feed kids, load up bookbags, shuttle them (boys and backpacks) to the bus-stop. Then the real fun begins. Here are the Stations I visited on my own personal Magical Mystery Tour of June 8, 2011 (minus the psychadelics, which might have helped things along...or at least enhanced the ride):

--Giant Food (Because no matter how much I beg, cajole, threaten or bribe, they just Won't. Stop. Eating. The nerve of those darn "growing boys"!)

--the Elementary School for a two-pronged errand...distribute the last edition of the Student Newspaper, hot off the presses, and see Riley perform in the 2nd-Grade Play (in which he made a concerted--ha ha--attempt to sing the songs while hiding behind the boy next to him, to prevent me from taking pictures. Doesn't matter, I caught him on video anyway, looking grumpy, but obediently following the tune and doing the hand motions nonetheless. Now who's the Most Stubborn? Oh wait, that's not a good title to have, is it?)

--Target for yet another birthday present. And just let me point out that from May 21st to June 18th (yes, we're talking 4 weeks), the Party Invitation Total stands at Riley: 3; Derek: 3, and an extra one that included them both. What the? And that doesn't even count End-of-the-School-Year shindigs, or Soccer picnics, or 5th-Grade Graduation galas. My kids' Social Life suddenly requires not only multi-colored pens to differentiate their activities on the Master Calendar, but also sticky notes, and coordination of transportation for pickup and dropoff, and major gift purchasing. And did I mention how many fun, fabulous fiestas I'm attending this month? Zip! Zilch! Nada! (Not entirely true--I do have Events of my own...just not nearly as many!)

--the Container Store (or, as I like to call it, the "Cute Little Boxes to Hold Absolutely Everything" Store. That doesn't fit on a sign as well, so I can understand why they shortened it.) It frightens me a little (okay, a lot) how fascinating I find this particular place. I could wander around in there all day, oohing and aahing at all the clever packages...a box shaped exactly like a pack of hot dogs! Who knew you needed to treat your processed meat products so delicately? (Well, I don't, but apparently, some folks do!) Ingeniously-designed separators to keep your socks matched and under control! (I do love me some organized drawers...but I do NOT need this...walk away, you can do it...) I managed to squelch the impulse to examine every single item in the vast array of Organizational Tools, selected my sandwich-and-snack-size boxes for lunch-packing purposes, and beat a hasty retreat.

That concluded the running-around portion of my day. I then was able to leave the 90+ degree heat and humidity of the Outside World and return triumphantly to the relative calm and cool of my air-conditioned house...to check emails, make phone calls, do laundry, and...arrange Thursday's Schedule! In order to make it more motivating and rewarding, I think I'll add "Eat Ice Cream" to the bottom of tomorrow's tasks!

Sunday, June 5, 2011

The Butterfly Effect

Last Friday, I awoke to absolutely heavenly weather--brilliantly-blue skies, gentle breeze, warm sunshine; in short, a delightful day to spend outside. I passed the morning traipsing amongst the brick pathways of nearby Brookside Gardens, admiring the enormous variety of colorful, sweetly-scented flowers, learning about butterflies in a special exhibit dedicated to these delicate winged insects, and generally soaking in Nature in all her glory. And man, was it utterly exhausting. Why, you ask? Oh, did I neglect to mention the six...enthusiastic... 2nd-graders I was charged with corralling and controlling on this School Outing?

At first, I found myself (soothed by the pastoral setting, no doubt) smiling benignly at the combined energy and excitement of a pack of semi-tame 8-year olds. However...after the tenth repetition of the following Rule Reminders: "No running! Stay with the group! (and my favorite) "We walk on the sidewalk, NOT the ornamental stone wall!" (If it had been only my own children, I would have been tempted to add "DUH! What, have you never been out in public before?"), the level of rambunctiousness started to wear very thin. I swear, it's like they all ingested big heaping bowls of sugar for breakfast...with a Pepsi chaser. (And since my little darling was of course assigned to me, I can assure you that at least for him, this was not the case. So I have no idea what the HECK caused his spazziness...Overdose of Fresh Air? Pollen Overload from sniffing all those pretty blooms? Or just a Natural Field Trip High?)

Finally, after our scheduled time of uncontrolled-leaping-about-the-gardens had come to a close (oh thank goodness), we were allowed inside the actual Butterfly House to observe the flitting and flying creatures up-close-and-personal. If possible, the kids were even more charged up by being in close proximity to the butterflies. They stood open-mouthed, eyes raised to watch the swooping, fluttering, and occasionally, landing of the gorgeous, graceful fliers. They were quieter than they'd been all day--except when a bold (foolish...endangered) butterfly would land on a student's arm or shirt, causing a sudden outburst of shrieking, pointing, and general mayhem. My nerves must have been wearing thin by this point, because when one of Riley's friends exclaimed, "Look! I can see its proboscis!" I automatically started to scold, "Hey, we don't use that kind of language!" before my fatigued brain caught up and I realized ...oh...nevermind...official-scientific-bug-term..."Good job, Jason! Keep up the nice work!" Riley's one and only complaint when it was time to leave was that more butterflies didn't land on HIM while he was exploring their habitat. I felt compelled to point out that, if the wannabe-entomologists hadn't all been buzzing around like hyperactive hummingbirds at the time, they might not have frightened off the other wildlife.

At last the teachers instructed their students to kindly desist from menacing the flora and fauna, and get their bums back on the bus for the return to school. Free of the responsibility of herding and supervising my Butterfly Posse, I waved them goodbye with a warm surge of affection...magnified by the fact that I had driven my own car...and therefore didn't have to endure the bus ride with them. So, although it was certainly no relaxing "walk in the park", Nature, the 2nd-graders, and the chaperones all came through unscathed; therefore, we'll chalk this one up as an all-around successful Educational Experience. Now could someone get me a a bowl of sugar and a Pepsi to help me recover?

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Lights, Camera, Action!

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Johna...and I am a Netflix Junkie. My first clue that I just might be developing a...dependency...came when I found myself sprinting to the mailbox (okay, it's only about 25 feet, so I probably...stroll briskly) to retrieve my latest DVD in its bright red envelope. I then eagerly rip it open (obediently following instructions to tear along the pre-perforated lines) to reveal the movie I've chosen, one that will hopefully provide me a few hours of escapist entertainment. After the kids are safely tucked in bed on these Movie Nights, I curl up on the couch for the duration, ignoring all chores and other obligations (We're out of milk? It'll wait until tomorrow! Hey, I fed everyone and supervised Homework Time, that counts for something!)

Having grown up in the 70s, I have to believe that at least part of the allure of the mail-order-film-thing is how different it is from my childhood experience. First of all, my Mom and Dad were possibly the last people on the planet to concede to buying on of those newfangled VCR-thingamabobs. Then once we (at long last) owned one, we had to travel to a Video Shop (for us, a 10-15 minute drive, depending on whether we could be satisfied with the miniscule selection but cheaper prices of the local family-run outfit, or wanted to go a little further for the vast choices and higher cost of the Mega-Store one town over). Then we perused the shelves, peering around other customers camped in front of the New Releases section, hoping the most current flick had at least one copy available. Once we made a decision, we waited in line (practically around the block, on a Friday or Saturday night) for the honor of taking the videotape home to watch. Of course, when we were done, we got the pleasure of driving back to the store to return the tape. If it turned out to be a good show, and we had enjoyed a nice family viewing time, this process might have felt like five dollars well-spent. But if we had chosen a dud, it seemed irritating beyond belief.

So you can see why I get a little giddy over the fact that I pay approximately ten bucks a month to pick and watch as many movies as I want, right? Which incidentally leads me to my second confession: because it feels so cost-efficient and affordable, and because the logistics are so very easy (walk to mailbox! repeat!) I take absolutely no responsibility to ensure that I'm making a quality selection. I'll take a shot on just about anything. (Of course this open-minded policy has led to some real turkeys...Hot Tub Time Machine, for example. Alas, John Cusack, I never dreamed you could disappoint me so! There may have been no monetary penalty, but I want my two hours back!) And if I determine in the first half-hour or so that it absolutely stinks...or I just don't like it, I feel no guilt whatsoever in clicking that Off Button (defiantly--take that, bad movie!), shoving it back in that cleverly-designed, pre-paid package, and whisking it straight back to the warehouse. Then I make up for it with a mindless, super-fun flick like Iron Man 2 (who knew Robert Downey Jr. as a comic book character would be so awesome?) Send me my next risk-free option, please!

I must say, though, that my devil-may-care attitude has also prompted me to tiptoe down some cinematic paths I would have previously avoided like the plague. Such as...Oscar Nominees. I always figured those were too highbrow and challenging for someone who resides happily in the "Light and Fluffy" realm of movie viewing. But I checked out The King's Speech, and what do you know, it lived up to the hype! (also: Colin Firth. Enough said.) Another potentially dangerous category: documentaries. I've sat through some visual stunners (Under the Sea), some heartwarming narratives (Born Free) and some...nausea-inducing-but-educational lessons (Food, Inc.). Finally, in the past two weeks I have--through no conscious plan--ended up with not one, but TWO separate movies based on true stories with varyingly tragic endings. In the first (127 Hours) a man treks out into a gorgeous-but-desolate area to hike...alone...without telling anyone where he's going... gets pinned to a rock wall in a narrow crevice due to a freak accident...and must hack off his own arm with a dull penknife in order to escape and survive. Believe it or not, it was compelling, except that it was difficult for me not to yell at the TV the entire time "WHY didn't you call your mother before you left? Idiot!" In the second (Into the Wild), a brilliant, quirky, recent-college-graduate abandons his life of wealth and privilege to wander the Earth--searching his soul, seeking a meaningful existence, and communing with Nature. He finally realizes his dream of reaching Alaska, where he sets up an isolated camp and pursues a simple life. It's all extremely inspirational and moving and fascinating...right up until he mistakes one nutritious, edible wild plant for a poisonous, deadly one...and dies a prolonged, excruciating, horrible death. Jeez Louise! I think it's safe to say I am D-O-N-E with real-life dramas--that end in death or dismemberment.

Whew, I feel better for getting all that off my chest. And I guess as far as vices go, Excessive Movie Viewing--even with a penchant for Bad Films--ranks pretty low on the "must-seek-intervention" scale. Hey, the weekend's coming...maybe I'll check and see if The A-Team is out on DVD yet! (Bradley Cooper. Enough said!)